MASTERPIECES OF LATIN LITERATURE THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES VIRGIL Rnlargcil from a OMII MASTERPIECES OF LATIN LITERATURE TERENCE: LUCRETIUS: CATULLUS: VIRGIL: HORACE: TIBULLUS: PROPERTIUS: OVID: PETRONIUS : MARTIAL : JUVENAL : CICERO: CAESAR: LIVY: TACITUS: PLINY THE YOUNGER : APULEIUS WITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES AND NOTES EDITED BY GORDON JENNINGS LAING, PH. D. ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF LATIN IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO Boston : 4 Park Street ; New York : 85 Fifth Avenue Chicago : 378-388 Wabaih Avenue fic rmiersiDc press, 4EambriD0e Copyright, 1903, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. All rights reserved. The Rivertide Prets, Cambridge, Matt., U.S.A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. College Library Ll4 Wu CONTENTS [The names of translators are given in italics.'] MM INTRODUCTION vii TERENCE. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 1 PHORMIO . .' 4 LUCRETIUS. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH . 63 INVOCATION TO VENUS. H. A. J. Munro .... 66 THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA. Goldwin Smith . . .67 ATOMS AND VOID. H. A. J. Munro 69 THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO EPICURUS. W. H. Mallock . 71 THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. H. A. J. Munro ... 74 THE FEAR OF DEATH. R. Y. Tyrrell 76 THE HONEY OF THE MUSES. H. A. J. Munro ... 77 LOVE'S EXTRAVAGANCE. H. A. J. Munro . . . .78 THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN. H. A. J. Munro ... 81 CATULLUS. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 100 ON THE DEATH OF LESBIA'S SPARROW. Sir Theodore Martin 102 DEDICATION OF His PINNACE. George Lamb . . . 103 To LESBIA. Robinson Ellis 105 To THE SAME. -Sir Theodore Martin 105 To HIMSELF, ON LESBIA'S INCONSTANCY. JR. Y. Tyrrell . 106 VAHUS' MISTRESS. J. Hookhctm Frere . . . . .108 To FABULLUS. Sir Theodore Martin . . ... 109 To SIRMIO. Leigh Hunt . . . ... . .110 To DIANA. R. C. Jebb . . . ; . . . . Ill To CORNIFICIUS. Robinson Ellis 112 ACME AND SEPTIMIUS. Sir Theodore Martin . . . 112 To LESBIA. W. E. Gladstone 114 THE EPITHALAMIUM OF JULIA AND MANLIUS. J. Bookham Frere 115 REMORSE. Sir Theodore Martin, R. Y. Tyrrell . . .124 LOVE AND HATB. W. S. Landor 125 iv CONTENTS AT His BBOTHEK'S GBAVB. Sir Theodore Martin . . 126 CICERO. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 127 THE SPEECH FOB CLUENTIOS. W. Peterson .... 130 FRIENDSHIP. (From De Amicitia.) Andrew P. Peabody . 151 LETTEBS. E. S. Shuckburgh. To l'n. Pompeius Magnus, in Asia ..... 158 To his Wife and Family, in Roma G. E. Jeans . . 160 To Atticus in Italy, on bis Journey to Rome . . . 162 To Caesar, in Gaul 163 To his Brother Quintus, in Gaul 165 To C. Trebatius Testa, in Gaul 166 To Atticua, in Rome ......... 167 Cicero and his Son to Terentia and Tullia, in Rome . . 169 To Atticus, in Rome 171 Servius Sulpieins to Cicero, at Astura .... 172 To Atticus, in Rome . . 176 Cicero, the Younger, to Tiro . . . . . 176 To Gains Trebonius, in Asia . . .... . 180 CAESAR. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH . . . j . , . ' . . 182 THE SIEGE OF ALKSIA. T. Bice Holmes . . . . 184 VIRGIL. BIOGBAPHICAL SKETCH . . , '. '.. ' 198 DAMON AND ALPHESIBOEUS. Sir Charles Bowen . . . 201 RULES OF HUSBANDRY. James Rhoades .,._'. . 208 SIGNS OF BAD WEATHER. James Ehoades . . . 210 AFTER CAESAB'S DEATH. James Rhoades . .'''.'. 212 ITALY. James Rhoades . . . .'.".'. . 213 THE BATTLE OF THE BEES. James Rhoades . . . 215 AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES. Sir Charles Bowen . . 216 HORACE. BIOGBAPHICAL SKETCH ... . . . . . 273 To LYDIA. Sir Theodore Martin . . . . . .276 WINTEB. Sir Theodore Martin ..... . . 277 To LEUCONOE. John Conington .' . "" . . . 278 To THE SHIP OF STATE. R. M. Field . . . . 278 INNOCENCE. Sir Theodore Martin 280 To CHLOK. Lord Ravensworth 281 ON THE DEATH OF A FBIEND. Sir Theodore Martin . . 281 To LYDIA. Sir Theodore Martin 283 SIMPLICITY. W. E. Gladstone 284 A WOMAN'S WOBD. Lord Ravensworth . . . . 284 THE GOLDEN MEAN. Lord Lytton ... . . . 285 CONTENTS v A RECONCILIATION. Norma Ease Waterbury . . . 286 To THE SPUING OF BANDUBIA. John Conington . . . 287 To MAECENAS. -Sir Stephen de Vere 288 COUNTRY LIFE. John Dryden 291 A CHALLENGE. Lord Lytton 294 A BORE. John Conington ....... 295 A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION. Sir Theodore Martin . . 299 To His BOOK. Sir Theodore Martin 300 TIBULLUS. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH THE POET'S IDEAL. James Grainger .... A RURAL FESTIVAL. James Grainger .... PROPERTIUS. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 312 BEAUTY UNADORNED. Goldwin Smith .... 313 To MAECENAS. Thomas Gray 314 A CHANGE OF VIEW. Thomas Gray 318 A ROMAN MATRON TO HER HUSBAND. Goldwin Smith . 320 OVID. / BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH . 325 DIDO TO AENEAS. Alexander Pope 327 PHAETHON. Henry King 334 LIVY. George Baker. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 348 THE HISTORIAN'S PREFACE 350 THE RAPE OF THE SABINE WOMEN 353 HORATIUS . 356 BEFORE THE WAR 359 HANNIBAL 360 THE MARCH ACROSS THE ALPS 362 THE BATTLE OF CANNAE . . . . . . . 372 THE CARTHAGINIANS IN CAPUA . 380 THE END OF THE WAR 381 THE DEATH OF HANNIBAL 385 PETRONIUS. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 387 AT TRIMALCHIO'S DINNER. B. Y. Tyrrell . . . .389 MARTIAL. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH . , . : . . . . . 393 A FRIEND. Goldwin Smith 394 THE DINER-OUT. Goldwin Smith 395 A LITERARY HOST. James Elphinston 395 A ROMAN DAY. Goldwin Smith 396 THE TRUE BUSINESS OF LIFE. Goldwin Smith . 396 vi CONTENTS A JUGGLER. James Elphinston 397 DEATH OF A CHARIOTEER. Gold win Smith . . . . 398 TACITUS. Arthur Murphy. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ....... 399 CUSTOMS OF THE GERMANS ....... 401 THE MUTINY OK THE PANNONIAN LEGIONS . . . 410 THE GREAT FIRE AT ROME . 424 JUVENAL. BIOGRAPHICAL, SKETCH . . . . . . . 432 ROME. William Giffbrd 433 PLINY THE YOUNGER. John B. Firth. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 450 To CORNELIUS TACITUS . . . . . * ' + . . 451 To Sosius SENECIO . . . 452 To SEPTICIUS CLARUS 453 To CALPUHNIA . . . . ... . . 454 To TACITUS . . . . . . . . . .455 To SURA . . 460 To GEMINUS 464 To MAXIMUS . . . ' . . . . . . .465 To Fuscus . . ... .- . . . .466 To TRAJAN 468 TRAJAN TO PLINY 471 APULEIUS. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 472 CUPID AND PSYCHE. Walter Pater . < . . 473 NOTE. The several translations by Goldwin Smith from Lucre- tius, Propertius, and Martial are taken from his Bay Leaves, by his permission and that of The Macmillan Company, publishers of the volume. The following extracts also are used by permission of The Macmillan Company : Cicero's " Letters," from the translation by E. S. Shuckburgh ; " The Last Stand of Vercingetorix," from Caesar's Conquest of Gaul, by T. Rice Holmes; Ode 29, Book III., from Sir Stephen de Vere's Odes and Epodes of Horace ; and " Cupid and Psyche," from Marius the Epicurean, by Walter Pater. The extract from Andrew Preston Peabody's translation of Cicero's De Amicitia is printed by arrangement with Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., the publishers ; and the version of Horace's Ode 14, Book I., by permission of Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, publishers of Echoes from the Sabine Farm, by Eugene and Roswell Martin Field. Acknowledgment is due also to Miss Norma II. Waterbury for per- mission to use her prize translation of Horace's Ode 0, Book III. INTRODUCTION IN this brief introduction an attempt will be made to give an outline of the general tendencies of Latin literature. The subject merits some attention, inso- much as the emphasis constantly laid upon the Greek origin of Roman literary forms has tended to obscure the fact that the strongest forces in Latin literature were not due to Greek or any other influence, but were its own, its peculiar birthright. They were qualities derived from certain inherent characteristics of the Roman people, which showed themselves in the very earliest monuments of their literature, and which per- sisted throughout its history in spite of much run- ning after foreign models and, in more than one period, of an unfavorable social or political milieu. I mean a certain seriousness of purpose, which found its most splendid manifestation in the expression of patriotism, in the glorification of the duties of citizen- ship, and in the construction of an enduring system of law ; and together with this, a shrewdness which enabled them to see quickly the different aspects of a question, to be swift to detect hypocrisy and fraud, the quality, in short, which, tempering their gravity, saved it from being merely heaviness, and which made them natural satirists. It is the former characteris- tic that we find exemplified in those religious observ- ances of which the surviving chants formed a con- vih INTRODUCTION stituent part, in the early collections of laws, and in the historical records which the priests kept ; it was the latter that animated the Fescennine verses, and formed the dominating element in the old satura. In the literature that followed, in the great majority of the works that were produced from the middle of the third century before Christ, we can trace one or other of these distinctly Roman tendencies. Of the first we have innumerable examples in the department of oratory. This lay close to the practice of law, and ability in speaking was essential to every one who aimed at a public career. So important a role did oratory play in Koman life that its require- ments practically controlled the whole system of edu- cation from the end of the primary school course, and the question whether any particular subject should find a place in the curriculum of the Indus gram- matici or of the schola rhetorici was determined by its advantages or disadvantages as a preliminary to an orator's equipment. It is true that Roman orators were trained in Greek rhetorical methods, made a careful study of the great Greek orators, and were familiar with all the details of the battle between the Atticists and the Asiatics ; but this, far from being slavish imitation, was only part and parcel of their desire for efficiency, their earnestness in everything they undertook. Whatever complex of influences may have been brought to bear on Cicero's oratorical style, to whatsoever extent the form may be contribu- tory to the final effect, it is as ever the spirit that moves, the spirit of the Koman filled with a sense of the high responsibility of office, of the greatness of the Roman people. " The Senate and the People of Rome," " the Senate and the People of Rome," this INTRODUCTION ix is the refrain that recurs again and again in all the great orations, as it does in the pages of Livy, for Livy's history is patriotism writ long, from the stately preface through the accounts of foreign wars and in- ternal dissensions ; and the chapters that more than others stir the blood are those that tell of the heroes who fought and died for their country, well content even at the cost of their lives to have deserved well of it. Virgil's works breathe the same spirit of patriotism, his Georgics glorifying Italy with her mighty rivers, her cities crowning the hilltops, her teeming soil ; his Aeneid exalting the race, descendants of gods and of heroes, men of prayer, yet withal strenuous in action, ready to suffer all things to attain their goal, gather- ing new strength from disaster, believing in the great- ness of their destiny, fighting, waiting, enduring. And in Horace's lyrics we find from time to time the same note struck, as for example in the patriotic series at the beginning of the third book. These are not, perhaps, the odes that we turn to most frequently, yet they all show a consistent elevation. Tibullus too, with his love of fatherland, may be mentioned, and Propertius, pedantic and self -concentrated, but patriotic still. Even in a branch so directly influenced by Greek work as philosophy there is a strong infusion of Ro- man spirit. In this department the Romans made absolutely no original contributions, founded no new schools, yet there is a sufficiently imposing list of men who in one way or another performed signal service. They emphasized the practical side of philosophic doc- trine, made plain the drift of the teaching of this or that school, and brought philosophy down from the x INTRODUCTION clouds to dwell among men. In Lucretius' Da Rerum Natura we have, so far as the subject matter goes, nothing more than an exposition of the theory of Epicurus, but in the intense seriousness with whicli the poet points out the practical bearing of the creed and its great importance for the conduct of life, the tone of the work is essentially Roman ; and it is to this very Roman element that it owes its tremendous vigor of presentation, its glowing portrayal of the blessings of Epicureanism. Widely different from the method of Lucretius is that which Cicero adopted in his philosophical works, in which we find urbanity instead of vehemence, and a tolerant eclecticism in- stead of the dogmatic teaching of a single creed. Yet there are some points of similarity between the two in that Cicero also aimed at making Greek philosophy accessible to the Romans, and he too laid stress upon the value of literary form as an element of success. He did succeed, not only in his own day but in later centuries as well, when his writings were the princi- pal medium through which Greek philosophy became known to western Europe. Other writers, other fields, other periods might be drawn upon for further illustration of the serious practical trend of the Roman mind, as for example that great mass of legal lore which, accumulating year after year for centuries, found a final codification under Justinian, a Krrjfw. e det, the foundation of all modern law; or those writings in which agriculture had a long series of exponents, ranging from the dry didacticism of Cato to the poetic elevation of Virgil's Georgics. Nor can I refrain from mentioning that sacred band, among whose ranks oven so great a personage as Julius Caesar has a place, the Roman INTRODUCTION xi grammarians, who, zealous and acute, albeit sometimes misguided, exorcised the spirits of many a problem of tense and mood, of long and short, ghosts that have even to this day wandered restlessly over the world, refusing to be laid, although more than the traditional three handfuls of dust have been thrown upon their remains. The satirical vein was steadily productive, appear- ing either deliberately, of set purpose and intent, in writings aimed at various abuses, or incidentally in works of heavier calibre. It is represented, as we have seen, in such remnants as we have of the early literature. It found exuberant vent in the comedies of Plautus, and in a modified form enlivened the plays of Terence. In Lucilius it attained to full and free expression, and his fearlessness and vigor of attack, his keenness of vision and rapidity of execution became proverbial. Unfortunately he is not known to us ex- cept in fragments of his works and through the refer- ences of other writers, but we have enough to see that he was singularly virile of mind and facile of pen. As trenchant as he was merciless, he showed in his attacks on vice in high places a range of conception that does not remind us of a literature in the making. His technique was rude, as Augustan critics noted, but its rudeness or crudeness served in many cases to point the asperity of his invective. Nor is satire wanting in the best of the later repub- lican literature. It gave a Lucilian edge to more than one poem of Catullus, made the dicta of Caesar famous, was the salt of Cicero's orations, in urbane guise one of the charms of his letters. Emergent still under the Empire it manifested within Horace's own work a striking development. xii INTRODUCTION Conventional at first and having more than a modi- cum of the old personal element, it presently adopted broader methods, and by its substitution of types for individuals, by its potentialities of suggestion, its crea- tion of atmosphere, it gained in subtlety what it lost in directness, and succeeded by its very lightness, its elusiveness, its lack of insistence. In Persius we have a tortured imitation of the same form, with frequent echoes of Horace, but broken echoes only. The style is recondite and obscure. Much studied and over elaborated, it smells of the lamp. The poet's whole manner, with its many phrases of but doubtful mean- ing, its hazy situations and invisible transitions, shows that he wrote for an age which could be impressed only by the unusual. Of a different ilk is the satire of Petronius, coming not out of the schools, but seeming to spring from the ground soil of Italy. Spontaneous and exuberant, it teems with broad characterizations and realistic pic- tures of low life. Elaborate descriptions of petty inci- dents are set off by the introduction of the quaint idiom of popular speech with its proverbs, its slang, its many expressions of mingled simplicity and shrewdness. Later times furnish us with still further examples of this race tendency to satire. We see it highly developed in the writings of the historian Tacitus, who was in some respects most Roman of them all, of more than Roman gravity, of more than Roman keenness of satire, a man of republican ideals living in an age which had seen tyranny. We find it in Juvenal, whose style, strongly influenced by the stand- ards of the public readings, is one of boundless vehe- mence, showing many vivid word-pictures and brilliant sententiae. His rhetoric is sometimes pompous, on INTRODUCTION xiii occasion even blatant, and his expression not infre- quently transcends his feeling, yet on the whole there seems to be a reasonably solid substratum of convic- tion. In Martial the satire is less pretentious, but there is no lack of effectiveness in his sharp attacks on contemporary conditions of life, his innumerable snapshots at the social farrago. It is then in the great orations, the histories, the national epic, the patriotic lyrics, the practical expo- sitions of philosophic systems, the codes of law on the one hand, and in the satirical writings on the other, that we get the purest traditions of the trend of Roman intellectual activity. In the former we have varying manifestations of that seriousness of purpose which the Romans themselves called gravitas, in the latter the output of that satira which was wholly theirs, qualities which after all are not so much dis- tinct as different aspects of the same character, for seriousness of purpose may reasonably enough be said to imply some degree of sensitiveness, and satire in its best form is the protest of wounded ideals. The whole muster, it might seem, shows a woeful lack of productiveness along the higher lines of ima- ginative writing, but if we turn from the arid list of departments to the contents of the most representa- tive works, the first impression is materially modified. It was only an imagination of rare power that could make a poem on the atomic theory of Epicurus so great a masterpiece as the De Rerum Natura of Lucretius. In it are descriptions that range from the exquisiteness of imagery to be found in the pic- ture of the abodes of the gods, " where never creeps a cloud or moves a wind," to the Dantesque horrors of the Inferno that he did not believe in. Here we xiv INTRODUCTION have lines that sound with the clash of struggling bat- talions, there the perfect quiet of a lonely hillside ; now the peace and plenty of vineyards and olive- yards, now battle-fields that show, like a picture by Verestchagin, the grisly realities of war. His is not the restraint of later art, but the storm of undisci- plined power, seeing every detail in the white light of his own imagination, and painting it as he saw it. Virgil has less power, but his art is subtler, his work- manship finer, and although the themes of many of his pictures are drawn from Homer, the composition, the details, the atmosphere are of his own creating. His poems abound in golden words and phrases, in lines of an exaltation that could be found only in one who stood on the higher plane of poesy, who had been touched by the divine afflatus. He was the inter- preter of the muses, the vates, the inspired seer. There were ventures in divers other fields ; and even if these constitute only a minor part of the message which Roman literature has brought to the world, they are none the less of abiding interest, not simply as so many indications of the different influences that bore on the evolution of literature and of society, but by reason of their intrinsic worth. In lyric poetry, for example, besides the patriotic odes of Horace we have by the same hand many other pieces, of lighter tone and not always showing the elevation of the true lyric, yet of enduring charm, winning us by their very restraint, by their perfect artistic form, their many successes of phrase and line, their good humor, their kindly philosophy ; and Catullus, his predeces- sor, of more spontaneous utterance, more passionate, of greater intensity, of rare depth of feeling and sin- cerity of expression. In elegy, too, the Romans were INTRODUCTION xv conspicuously successful. This was a favorite medium of emotional expression, and shows a wide range of tone in the different works of Tibullus, Propertius, and Ovid. In pastoral poetry there are the Eclogues of Virgil, which, with all their inconsistencies of scenery and not infrequent political drift, rank with the best of his work. In epistolography the Letters of Cicero are an exemplar of the best Latin style with its toga off ; while the correspondence of Pliny, an imitation of them, furnishes us with many glimpses of a person- ality that, even if not constructed on a large plan, is not without its interesting sides. Nor is fiction alto- gether wanting, as the Satirae of Petronius bear wit- ness, and a hundred years later the Golden Ass of Apuleius, which gives us both by content and by style signs manifest that the old order of things was at an end. Of strictly original dramatic composition there was but little. In consideration of their satirical tenden- cies it might have been expected that native Roman comedy would have flourished. The work done, more- over, by Plautus and Terence in the adaptation of Greek plays shows clearly that vis comica was not lacking. Yet at a comparatively early period we find legitimate comedy hardly able to hold its own against the mime and other doubtful forms of comic enter- tainment. Neither can the Romans be said to have succeeded in tragedy. It is true that the adaptations of Greek tragedies which the first wave of Hellenism brought with it seem to have had, to a very consider- able extent, dignity of characterization and dramatic effectiveness. This is the judgment of Quintilian, and the fragments that remain confirm it. Yet the later examples, the plays of Seneca written in the xvi INTRODUCTION age of Nero, show that even at that date tragedy had not escaped from its Greek leading-strings. Here again we have the same old themes of Greek mythology, and such changes of manner as we find in the intro- duction of lurid details and melodramatic situations, in the constant striving for epigrammatic and senten- tious effects, do not make for an increase in strength. The fundamental cause of this failure in the higher forms of dramatic expression is probably to be found in the Roman lack of creative power in art. This resulted in the production of plays which, adhering closely to Greek models, failed by the very remote- ness of their subjects to hold audiences which were, for the most part, of a low grade of culture, and whose interest in gladiatorial and similar exhibitions, part of their heritage as a fighting people, was encouraged more and more by the ruling class. In the selections that follow an attempt has been made to give a representation of Latin literature in English translations. That some authors, some works that might reasonably be looked for are not represented is due either to lack of space or to the fact that there are no good translations of them. Plautus, for example, does not appear, for the reason that, only a certain amount of space being available for comedy, it seems probable that one play printed in its entirety will give a better idea of the class to which it belongs than shorter selections from differ- ent authors. The Phormio of Terence has accord- ingly the double function of representing both its au- thor and the type known as the Fdbula Pcdliata. This plan of giving selections of considerable length and of as much integrity as possible has been followed INTRODUCTION xvii throughout. In Lucretius, the last part of the fifth book is the piece de resistance ; in Virgil the sixth book of the Aeneid ; in Cicero, for the orations the second division of the Pro Cluentio, for the philoso- phical works a portion of the De Amicitia ; in Livy, a series of chapters dealing with the career of Han- nibal from his operations in Spain to his death in Bithynia. Where an author worked in several de- partments, these are represented, so far as their re- presentation has been found to be compatible with the general plan of giving long selections. In the case of Cicero's orations one of the political speeches would have been preferred, but the Pro Cluentio has been substituted on account of the merit of the translation. In a few instances, where the translator's rendering seems somewhat more literal than the purpose of the book requires, changes have been made, for which the editor is solely responsible. Where the original is in verse, metrical translations have been regularly used, the only exceptions being the Phormio, where the ver- sion of the Roman Society of London has been drawn upon, and parts of Lucretius, where Munro's transla- tion has been given. Throughout the book the aim has been to give the best translation, irrespective of the name or fame of the translator, and the fact that the renderings of the famous classicists of the eighteenth century have been very sparingly used is due to their seeming to be inferior to the more modern work. GORDON JENNINGS LAING. August 1, 1903. TERENCE A NATIVE of Carthage, born about 190 B. c., Terence came at an early age to Rome, where from the lowly posi- tion of a slave in one of the patrician households he rose to distinction as one of the great representatives of Roman comedy. He belonged to the literary clique known as the Scipionic circle, of which the younger Scipio Africanus was the most conspicuous figure, and which included among oth- ers Laelius, whom Cicero afterwards made the principal interlocutor in his dialogue On Friendship, Polybius the historian, Panaetius the Stoic philosopher, Philus, and Me- tellus, all of them men of broad culture and deeply im- bued with a love of Greek literature. His literary activity was confined to the production of palliatae, comedies the scenes of which were laid in Greece, and which obtained their name from the fact that the person- ages represented wore the Greek pallium. They were not original compositions, but were based on plays of Menan- der (342-292 B. c.), and other dramatists of the so-called New Attic Comedy, who, differing essentially in their aims from the playwrights of the Old Attic Comedy, avoided politics, and devoted themselves to the portrayal of social life. Their comedies were comedies of manners. In a majority of the plays the central interest is a love intrigue of more or less doubtful morality. The same types of char- acter recur again and again : the tearful lover, the damsel in distress, the unscrupulous parasite, 1 the intriguing slave, 1 The hanger-on, who in return for his support, assisted his patron in questionable transactions. 2 TERENCE the choleric old man, the guileful courtesan, the jealous wife, the shameless slave-trader, the thieving and insolent cook. The Phormio is representative of the class. It bears the name of the parasite, through whose intrigues the action is carried on. Two brothers, Chremes and Demipho, had gone abroad, leaving their sons, Phaedria and Antipho re- spectively, in the care of Geta, a slave. He, however, instead of obeying the fathers' instructions, proceeded to abet the sons in their evil courses, and presently both of them were entangled in love affairs of distressing complex- ity. Phaedria fell desperately in love with a music girl, Pamphila, who was owned by Dorio, a slave-trader, and for whose release thirty minae 1 were requisite ; while Antipho married an orphan, Phanium by name, quieting her guar- dian's objections by collusion with Phormio, who summoned him into court and charged him with being her next of kin, and so, by Athenian law, under obligation to marry her. It is at this point that the play opens. Phormio is confronted by two problems : to reconcile Antipho's father to the marriage, and to get the thirty minae for Phaedria. In the latter case he is successful through his own efforts ; in the former, chance favors him. Demipho, on returning to Athens, is very angry at what his son has done, and declares that he will never recognize the marriage. After much wrangling, Phormio agrees to take her off his hands, and marry her himself, provided he be given thirty minae. The money is forthcoming, and Phormio promptly uses it to purchase the music girl for Phaedria. It then transpires that Phanium, instead of being poor and unknown, is the daughter of Chremes by a secret marriage, and there is no further objection to her as a wife for Antipho. Chremes, whose double life has been exposed, is not in a position to treat Phaedria harshly, and so all ends happily. Besides the Phormio, five other plays of Terence have 1 About $540. TERENCE 3 come down to us : The Maid of Andros, The Self- Tor- mentor, The Eunuch, The Brothers, and The Mother-in- Law. All of them were produced between 166 and 160 B. 0. The poet died in the following year. His work shows little or no originality. He followed his Greek masters closely, confining himself indeed to two, Menander and Apollodorus, the most careful workers of the school. Far from feeling this lack of creative power as a defect, he prided himself on the faithfulness and accu- racy with which he reproduced his originals. The titles of all his plays are Greek, the names of all his characters are Greek, and there are few, if any, allusions to Roman customs or institutions. Only in one respect did he treat his sources more freely than Plautus, his predecessor in the same field, and that was in the use of the device known as contamination, the welding of the plots or parts of the plots of two or more plays into one. Comparing him with Plautus along other lines, while we miss the rollicking, boisterous merriment of the earlier playwright, there is a decided advance in the direction of more polished dialogue, more careful characterization, a more artistic construction of plot. In the matter of diction the contrast is still more striking. In Plautus we find the language of the street, but Terence used that of the salon, and its exquisite purity has been the admiration of both ancient and modern critics- 4 TERENCE PHORMIO CHARACTERS. DAVCS, a slave. GETA, a slave of Demipho. ANTIPHO, a young man, son of Demipho. PHAEDRIA, a young man, son of Chremes. DEMIPHO, an old man. % PHORMIO, a parasite. HEGIO, \ CRATINCS, > advisers of Demipho. CRITO, ) DORIO, a slave-trader. CHREMES, an old man, brother of Demipho. SOPHRONA, a nurse. NAUSISTRATA, a matron, wife of Chremes. A Cantor. SCENE : A street in Athens. In the background the houses of CHREMES, DEMIPHO, and DORIO. The scene remains the same throughout the play. ACT I. SCENE 1. Enter DAVUS, carryiny a bag of money. Davus. My great friend and countryman, Geta, came to see me yesterday. I had owed him a trifling sum for a long time, the balance of a small account, and he asked me to get it for him. I have done so, and am bringing it with me. I hear that his master's son has married a wife, and it is for her, I suppose, that this money is being scraped together. How un- fair it is that the poor should always have to be add- ing to the treasures of the rich ! This girl will carry off at one swoop everything that he, poor fellow, has saved with such difficulty and self-denial, out of his PHORMIO 6 allowance, nor will she give a thought to the trou- ble he had in procuring it. They '11 beat him out of another contribution when she has a baby, and an- other when the baby has a birthday, and another when it is initiated. The mother will take it all : the child will simply be the pretext for the presents. But I think I see Geta. SCENE 2. Enter GET A, from DEMIPHO'S house. Geta (speaking to some one within). If a red- headed fellow should ask for me Davus. Here he is, you needn't go on. Geta. Oh, I was looking for you, Davus. Davus (giving him the bag^). There ! Take it, it's good money. You '11 find that it 's just the amount of the debt. Geta. Thank you. I 'm very much obliged to you for not having forgotten me. Davus. You well may be, especially when you con- sider how people act now-a-days. One has to take it as a great favor if anybody pays what he owes. But why do you look so sad ? Geta. Why, don't you know what terrible trouble we 're in ? Davus. No. What is it? Geta. I'll tell you, provided you can hold your tongue. Davus. What a simpleton you are ! After proving a man's reliability in money matters, are you afraid to trust him with words ? What is there in it for me to deceive you ? Geta. Well, listen, then. Davus. I 'm all attention. 6 TERENCE Geta. Do you know Chremes, my old master's elder brother ? Davus. Of course I do. Geta. Well, do you know his son, Phaedria ? Davus. As well as I know you. Geta. It happened that both the old gentlemen had to go abroad at the same time : Chremes to Lem- nos, and my master to an old friend in Cilicia, who had written to him, holding out tempting prospects of all but mountains of gold. Davus. What ! to him who had so much ! Geta. Never mind, that 's his way. Davus. Oh, it 's I who ought to have been a rich man. Geta. Both these old gentlemen, when they went away, left me as a sort of guardian to their sons. Davus. A hard office, Geta ! Geta. So I have found by experience. My pro- tecting deity must have been angry with me when I was left in charge. At first I began to check them ; but why make a long story of it ? So long as I was faithful to the old gentlemen, my shoulders ached for it. I remembered the proverb about the folly of kick- ing against the pricks. I began to humor them and to do whatever they wanted. Davus. You know how to suit your market. Geta. My young master did not get into any mis- chief at first, but Phaedria straightway got hold of a little music girl, and fell head over heels in love with her. She belonged to a brutal slave-trader. Phae- dria had n't a penny to give for her his father had seen to that so all he could do was to feast his eyes on her, dangle after her, and escort her to her music lesson and home again. The rest of us had plenty PHORMIO 7 of time on our hands, and used to accompany him. Now there was a barber shop opposite the school where she took her lessons, and we generally waited there till she was ready to go home. One day a young fellow came in crying. Surprised, we asked him what was the matter. "Never before," said he, "has pov- erty seemed to rne so cruel and hard. I 've just seen a maiden in this neighborhood weeping for her dead mother, who was buried right opposite. The girl had no friend, acquaintance, or kinsman nobody but one old woman, to help her bury her mother. I felt for her ; she was such a stunning-looking girl ! " Why make a long story ? He moved us all to compassion. " Had n't we better go and see her ? " said Antipho. " I think so," said some one else ; " show us the way, please." We set out, reached the place, saw her. She was beautiful, and there was all the more cer- tainty about it because she had nothing to set off her beauty : hair dishevelled feet bare untidy weeping shabbily dressed. Her beauty had to be brilliant indeed, not to be eclipsed by all that. Phae- dria merely said, " She 's not bad looking," but my young master Davus. I know. He fell in love with her. Geta. Yes, but do you know how deeply ? Listen to what happened. Next day he went straight to the old woman, and implored her to let him have the girl. She refused, and said that what he asked was not right ; that the girl was a citizen of Athens, a good girl of a good family. If he wanted her for his wife, she would agree to his marrying her legally ; if not, she would have nothing to do with him. My young master did n't know what to do ; he wanted to marry her, but he feared his father. 8 TERENCE Davits. Would n't his father, on his return, have forgiven him ? Geta. What ! He forgive him for marrying a low- born, dowerless girl? Never. Davus. What was the outcome of it ? Geta. The outcome of it ? There 's a parasite named Phormio, an impudent fellow, the gods con- found him ! Davus. What did he do ? Geta. He gave Antipho this advice : " It 's the law that orphan girls must marry their next of kin, and this same law commands their next of kin to marry them. Now, I'll declare you to be next of kin, and will bring an action against you. I '11 pre- tend to be a friend of the girl's father. The matter will come before a jury ; I'll invent the whole story about who her father and mother were, and how she is related to you ; and well shall I serve my own in- terest by so doing. You '11 make no defence to any of these charges, and I '11 win the case. Your father will come home. I '11 have a law-suit on my hands. But what difference will that make to me ? The girl will be ours." Davus. What consummate impudence ! Geta. He got the young fellow's consent, and it was done ; we went into court lost our case he married her. Davus. You don't say so ! Geta. Yes, I do. Davus. Oh, Geta ! what will become of you ? Geta. I 'm sure I don't know ; all I know is that I '11 bear patiently whatever may befall. Davus. I like that ; that 's the way a man should act. PHORMIO 9 Geta. My only hope is in myself. Davus. That 's right. Geta. However, I suppose that I must go to an intercessor, who will plead for me in this way : " Let him off just this once, I pray you ; if he offends again, I '11 not intercede for him." Lucky if he does not add, " As soon as my back is turned, kill him, for all I care." Davus. How about the young fellow who was so attentive to the music girl ? How is he getting on ? Geta. But so so, poorly. Davus. Has n't much to give her, perhaps ? Geta. Nothing but unalloyed hope. Davus. Has his father returned ? Geta. Not yet. Davus. When do you expect your old master back ? Geta. I don't know for certain, but I heard just now that a letter had come from him, and had been taken to the custom-house officers ; l I '11 go and ask for it. Davus. Can I be of any further service, Geta ? Geta. No, good-by. [Exit DAVUS. GETA calls to slave within.] Hi, boy ! Is no one ever coming ? [Enter a slave. GETA gives him the bag.~\ Here, give this to Dorcium. 2 [Exit. ACT II. SCENE 1. Enter ANTIPHO and PnAEDRiA/rom CHREMES' house. Antipho. To think, Phaedria, that it should have come to this ; that I should be afraid of him who has 1 They collected the port duties, and had the right to open letters. 8 Geta's wife. 10 TERENCE my interest most at heart, my own father, whenever I think of his return ! Had I not been thoughtless, I should have been looking forward to his arrival in the proper spirit. Phaedria. What 's the matter ? Antipho. Do you ask, you who are my accomplice in so bold a deed ? Oh, that it had never come into Phormio's head to advise me as he did, and that he had not urged me (though I did n't need much urg- ing) to that act which was the beginning of all my troubles ! Suppose I had not won her ; I should have suffered for the next few days, but I should n't have been racked by this daily anxiety Phaedria. Oh, doubtless ! Antipho. Expecting my father to come any day, and put an end to my married life. Phaedria. Other people fret because they see too little of those they love ; you complain because you see too much of her. You have a surfeit of love, Antipho. But, as a matter of fact, this life of yours is one to be desired and longed for. So help me, Heaven, I should be ready to lay down my life, if I might enjoy my love as long as you have yours. Just think how I am suffering from want, while you are revelling in plenty ; to say nothing of the fact that you have, without any expense, won a well-born, well- bred wife ; that you have, just as you wished, been married publicly, and without any scandal. You would be a happy man if there were not one thing wanting the temperament to bear your good fortune con- tentedly. If you had to deal with the slave-trader that I have, you would understand. But nearly all men's dispositions are the same ; we are always dis- contented with our lot. PHORMIO 11 Antipho. But, Phaedria, to ine it is you who seem to be the lucky man, for you still have the power of doing what you choose : you can keep your sweetheart or let her go, whereas I, poor wretch, have got into such a fix that 1 can neither get rid of my wife nor keep her. But what is this ? Is n't this Geta that I see running this way ? So it is. Dear me ! I wonder what news he brings. SCENE 2. Enter GETA, running. Geta (to himself, not noticing ANTIPHO and PHAE- DRIA). You 're a lost man, Geta, unless you quickly devise some plan of protection ; so many disasters suddenly threaten, and you are so unprepared. I don't know how to avoid them, or how to get myself out of this scrape. Our bold stroke can't be kept secret any longer. Antipho (aside to PHAEDRIA). What is it that he 's in such a flurry about ? Geta. Besides, I 've only a moment for this busi- ness. The master is here. Antipho (aside). What disaster is this ? Geta. When he hears of it, what means shall I find to turn aside his anger ? Suppose I speak ? I should enrage him. Hold my tongue ? I should aggravate him. Try to excuse myself ? I might as well wash a brick. Oh, poor me ! I 'm in for it. And then, too, I 'm on tenter-hooks about Antipho ; I pity him ; I fear him. It 's he who 's keeping me here now. But for him I should have taken good care of myself, and paid the old gentleman out for his ill temper ; I should have got a few things together and bolted straightway. 12 TERENCE Antipho (aside). What flight or theft is this that he 's scheming ? Geta. But where shall I find Antipho ? Which way shall I start to seek him ? Phaedria (aside). He 's talking about you. . Antipho (aside). 1 expect to hear of some great disaster or other from this messenger. Phaedria (aside). Oh, dear ! Geta. I '11 go home ; that 's where he generally is. Phaedria (aside). Let 's call the fellow back. Antipho. Stop, there ! Geta (without looking back). Umph ! You speak haughtily enough, whoever you are. Antipho. Geta ! Geta (looking baclc). It 's the very man that I want to see. Antipho. Pray, let me have the news that you bring, and tell it to me, if you can, in a word. Geta. I will. Antipho. Out with it. Geta. At the harbor just now Antipho. Not my ? Geta. You 've guessed it. Antipho. I 'm undone. Phaedria. Whew ! Antipho. What am I to do ? Phaedria. What is it you say? Geta. I 've seen his father, your uncle. Antipho. Poor wretch that I am ! How shall I ward off this sudden disaster ? If my fortunes have fallen so low that I must be parted from you, Pha- nium, I don't care to live. Geta. Well, then, if that 's so, Antipho, you ought to be all the more on the alert ; Fortune favors the brave. PHORMIO 13 Antipho. I 'm beside myself. Geta. But, Antipho, this is just the time when you should n't be beside yourself, for if your father sees that you 're afraid he '11 think that you 're to blame. Phaedria. That 's true. Antipho. I can't change my character. Geta. How would you manage if you had some- thing harder to do ? Antipho. Why, since I can't do this, I should be ' still less able to do that. Geta. There 's nothing in this, Phaedria ; let 's be off. Why are we wasting time here ? I 'm going. Phaedria. And I too. Antipho. Oh, pray! Suppose I pretend to be brave ? (feigning an expression of boldness). Will this do ? Geta (not turning round). You 're talking non- sense. Antipho. Look at my face, both of you. Now, will this do ? Geta. No. Antipho. Well, then, this? Geta. Almost. Antipho. This, then. Geta. That will do. Now stick to that, and see that you answer him word for word, tit for tat, and don't let him, however angry he may be, get the better of you by his savage abuse. Antipho. I understand. Geta. You were forced into it against your will by the law, the sentence passed upon you, do you under- stand? But who's the old gentleman I see at the end of the street ? Antipho. 'T is he himself. I can't stay. Geta. Oh, what are you doing, where are you going, Antipho ? Stop, stop ! 14 TERENCE Antipho. I know myself and my offence ; I leave Phanium and my life in your hands. [Exit hastily. Phaedria. What will happen now, Geta ? Geta. You '11 get a lecture ; and I, unless I'm very much mistaken, shall be tied up and flogged. But, Phaedria, we ourselves must now carry out the advice which we just gave to Antipho. Phaedria. Away with your " musts," give me your orders. Geta. Do you remember what you used to say at the very beginning of this business, by way of shield- ing us from blame, that the case against us was law- ful and clear, sure to win, as good as it could be ? Phaedria. I remember. Geta. Well, there 's need of the selfsame defence now, or, if possible, of one better and more plausible. Phaedria. I '11 do my best. Geta. Now do you attack first. I '11 be here in re- serve, ready to relieve you, if you fail. Phaedria. Agreed. (They retire to back of stage.} SCENE 3. Enter DEMIPHO. Demipho (to himself, not seeing PHAEDRIA and GETA). To think of it, to think of it ! Antipho mar- ried without my consent ! Had he no regard for my authority ? No, I '11 say nothing about my author- ity, but for my displeasure ? No shame ? Oh, what an outrage ! Oh, that Geta, his prompter ! Geta (aside). My turn at last ! Demipho. What will they say to me ? What ex- cuse will they find ? PHORMIO 15 Phaedria (aside). Oh, I '11 find one ; don't let that trouble you. Demipho. Will it be, " I did it against my will, the law compelled me " ? Well, I concede that. Geta (aside). Good. Demipho. But wittingly and without a word, to let your opponents win did the law compel you to do that? Phaedria (aside). That 's a hard one. Geta (aside). I '11 fix it ; leave it to me. Demipho. I don't know what I 'in to do, seeing that this has happened. It 's such a surprise that I can hardly believe it even now. I 'm so upset that I can't bring myself to think it over. It shows that every one, even at the height of prosperity, should con- sider ways and means of bearing adversity danger, loss, exile. A man returning from a journey should always keep in mind the possibility of his son being in a scrape, his wife being dead, or his daughter ill ; he should remember that these are the common incidents of life, and so prevent their surprising him. What- ever turns out well contrary to his expectation, should be reckoned as so much gain. Geta (aside). Oh, Phaedria, it 's hard to believe, but I 'm away ahead of my master in philosophy, for I 've considered all the disagreeable things which may befall me on his return : to grind corn in the mill, be flogged, wear chains, work as a field hand. None of these things will surprise me. Whatever turns out well contrary to my expectation, I shall reckon as so much gain. But why don't you go up to him and begin to coax him ? Demipho. Why, here 's my nephew Phaedria. Phaedria (going up to him). How do you do, uncle ? 16 TERENCE Demipho. How do you do ? but where 's Antipho ? Phaedria. Your safe return Demipho. Yes, I know what you would say, but answer my question. Phaedria. He 's well, he 's here ; have you found everything to your liking ? Demipho. I wish I had. Phaedria. What is it that 's wrong ? Demipho. Need you ask me, Phaedria? A nice marriage you 've brought about here in my absence ! Phaedria. What, are you angry with him on that account ? Geta (aside). What an artist he is ! Demipho. How could I fail to be angry with him ? Just let me set eyes on him. He '11 soon learn that his once lenient father has become harshness itself. Phaedria. But, uncle, he has n't done anything for you to be angry at. Demipho. Why, look you now ! it 's all of a piece ! they 're in it together ! Know one and you know all. Phaedria. It is n't so. Demipho. When Number One has done something wrong, Number Two stands forth as his advocate ; when Number Two is in trouble, Number One comes forward. It 's a mutual protection society. Geta (aside*). He does n't know it, but the old man has painted them in their true colors. Demipho. If it were n't so, you would n't be siding with him, Phaedria. Phaedria. If Antipho's fault, uncle, had been one that affected his fortune or good name, I shouldn't have said a word against his suffering the punishment which he deserved ; but when some one, resorting to sharp practice and taking advantage of our youth, PHORMIO 17 laid a trap for us, and won the case, is it our fault, or the fault of the jury, who often, as you know, cast the rich from envy, and find for the poor from com- passion. Geta (aside). If I didn't know the details of the trial, I should really believe that he was telling the truth. Demipho. Can any juryman get at the right and wrong of a case, when the defendant acts as he did and says never a word ? Phaedria. Any other well-bred young fellow might have done the same : when he appeared in court he could n't deliver the speech he had prepared ; his mod- esty was too much for him. Geta (aside). Phaedria 's fine! But why don't I accost the old fellow ? (going up to Aim.) How do you do, master ? I 'm delighted to see you safe home again. Demipho. O worthy guardian ! true prop of the family ! to whose care I commended my son when I went abroad ! Geta. I 've heard you for some time maligning us, and me most unjustly of all. Why, what did you ex- pect me to do in this trial ? The law does n't allow a slave to plead, nor can he be called as a witness. Demipho. I pass over all that ; I admit the defence that he was young, unsophisticated, afraid to speak ; I allow your plea of being a slave ; but however nearly related the girl might be, he need n't have mar- ried her. You should have given her a dowry, as the law directs, and she should have hunted up another husband. On what reckoning did he choose to marry a pauper ? Geta. It was n't a reckoning, but cash that we wanted. 18 TERENCE Demipho. He could have raised it somehow. Geta. Where ? It 's easy to talk. Demipho. Well, if he could n't get it in any other way, he might have borrowed it on interest. Geta. A pretty idea that ! As if any one would, trust him while you 're alive ! Demipho. No, no, it shall not, it cannot be. I '11 not let her live with him one single day as his wife. This is not a case for leniency. I wish some one would point out that fellow to me, or show me the place where he lives. Geta. You mean Phormio ? Demipho. The man who took up this woman's case. Geta. I '11 have him here presently. Demipho. Where 's Antipho now ? Geta. Out. Demipho. Go, find him, Phaedria, and bring him here. Phaedria. I '11 go right away. [Exit into Dorio's house. Geta (aside'). Yes, to Pamphila. Demipho. I '11 go home, and greet my household gods ; thence to the market place and ask some of my friends to stand by me in this matter, so that I may be ready for Phormio if he should come. [Exit into his house. ACT III. SCENE 1. Enter PHORMIO and GETA. Phormio. You say that he was so frightened at his father's return that he ran away. Geta. Quite so. PHORMIO 19 Phormio. And Phanium is left alone ? Geta. Yes. Phormio. And the old gentleman is angry ? 6reta. Furious. Phormio (to himself). Upon you alone, Phormio, devolves the corfduct of this affair ; you 're the one who has made this dish, and you 're the one who must eat it. Set about it then ! Geta. Pray, help us. Phormio (to himself}. Suppose he asks Geta. We 're depending wholly on you. Phormio (to himself). But see ! What if he re- plies Geta. It was you who drove him to it. Phormio (to himself). I have it, I think. Geta. Do help us. Phormio. Bring the old fellow out. I 've all my plans arranged. Geta. What are you going to do ? Phormio. Just what you want me to do, have Phanium stay where she is, free Antipho from blame, turn aside the current of the old man's wrath upon myself. Geta. You 're a plucky fellow, and a friend in- deed. But, Phormio, I 'm often afraid that your dare-devil ways will land you in the stocks some day. Phormio. Not a bit of it. I 've had experience, and can see my way clearly now. Just think of all the people I 've beaten out of their very lives for- eigners and citizens ; the better I know the way, the oftener I try it. Come, tell me now, have you ever heard of any action for assault being brought against me? Geta. How do you account for that ? 20 TERENCE Phormio. It 's this way : the net is not spread for the hawk or the kite, that do us harm ; it 's laid for those that do us none at all. In the one case there 's profit, in the other mere labor lost. Men who have something to lose are exposed to divers perils, but I have nothing, and everybody knows it. What 's that you say ? Have me convicted, and take me to jail ? No, no ! they don't care to support a big eater, and to my mind they 're wise not to wish to requite an in- jury by the greatest of favors. Geta. Antipho will never be able to reward you as you deserve. Phormio. That 's true, but then no one is ever as grateful to his patron as he ought to be. Just think ! You go to his house scot-free, you 've had your bath, been anointed, there 's not a care on your mind, while he has all the worry and expense. You have a good time, he frets and fumes. You may laugh, drink first, take your place first. Then a puzzling dinner is set before you. Geta. What do you mean by that? Phormio. One where you are puzzled which dish you had better taste first. Reckoning up how plea- sant, how delicious these things are, should n't you regard the man who furnishes them as a god incar- nate? , Geta. Here 's the old man ! Mind what you 're doing ; it 's the first onset that 's always the fiercest. If you hold your own in that, all the rest will be mere play. [They retire to back of stage. PHORMIO 21 SCENE 2. Enter DEMIPHO and his three advisers. Demipho. Did you ever hear of anybody being wronged in a more insulting way than I have been in this matter ? Stand by me, I pray you. Geta (aside). He 's furious. Phormio (aside). Just keep your eye on me ; I '11 stir him up presently. (Aloud.~) Good heavens! Phanium not related to him? Is that what Demi- pho says ? Does Demipho say that she 's not related to him ? Geta. That 's what he says. Demipho. I believe that this is the very man I was speaking of. Follow me. Phormio. And says he does n't know who her fa- ther was? Geta. That 's what he says. Phormio. And denies all knowledge of Stilpo ? Geta. Just so. Phormio. Because the poor girl was left in want, people don't know her father, and she herself is neglected. Just see what avarice does. Geta. If you cast any slurs on my master, you '11 hear from me to your sorrow. Demipho. The insolence of the fellow ! He has actually come here to accuse me ! Phormio. As for the young man, I 've no quarrel with him for not knowing much about my friend, who was well on in years, and in poor circumstances. He earned his living by the work of his hands, and so he generally stayed in the country, where he held some land under my father. I 've often heard him tell 22 TERENCE how this kinsman of his neglected him. But what a man he was ! the best I 've ever known. Geta. Something of a contrast between him and you ! Phormio. Oh, go and be hanged ! If I had n't thought so highly of him, I never should have got into all this trouble with your family for the daugh- ter's sake, whom your master is now treating so shab- bily. Geta. You scoundrel, are you going to continue abusing my master behind his back ? Phormio. But he deserves it. Geta. You say so, you jail-bird ? Demipho. Geta ! Geta. You thief ! You swindler ! Demipho. Geta ! Phormio (aside). Answer him. Geta. Who is it? Oh! Demipho. Silence ! Geta. This fellow has never ceased to heap abuse on you behind your back, saying things which don't apply to you at all, but to himself. Demipho. Hold your tongue. (7b PHORMIO.) Young man, pray answer me, if you please. Just explain to me who that friend of yours was, and how he claimed kinship with me. Phormio. Fishing, just as if you did n't know him ! Demipho. I know him ? Phormio. Yes. Demipho. I tell you that I don't know him ; recall him to my memory, since you say I do. Phormio. What, not know your own cousin ? Demipho. You '11 be the death of me. Tell me his name. PHORMIO 23 Phormio. His name ? Certainly. Demipho. Why don't you tell it to me? Phormio (aside). By Heaven, it 's all over with me ! I 've forgotten his name. Demipho. Eh ! What 's that you 're saying ? Phormio (aside). Geta, if you remember what we said just now, prompt me. (Aloud.} Well, I won't tell you his name ; you come to pump me, as if you did n't know. Demipho. I pump you ? Geta (aside to PHORMIO). Stilpo. Phormio. But after all, what do I care ? His name was Stilpo. Demipho. Whom did you say ? Phormio. Stilpo, I say ; you knew him. Demipho. I never knew him, and I never had a kinsman of that name. Phormio. So ? Are you not ashamed ? Now if he had left behind him a property worth ten talents Demipho. The gods confound you ! Phormio. You 'd have been the very first to trace your ancestry from memory, going back to grandfather and great-grandfather. Demipho. I take you at your word. In that case I should on my return home have told everybody how she was related to me. Now do you do likewise. Pray, how is she related to me ? Geta. Well done, our side ! (Aside to PHORMIO.) Look out, you there ! Phormio. I 've already explained the whole matter clearly to those to whom it was my duty to explain it, the gentlemen of the jury. If what I said was untrue, why did n't your son disprove it ? Demij)h,o. My son, indeed ! I can't speak of his folly in the terms it deserves. 24 TERENCE Phormio. But now do you, who are so wise, go to the magistrates, and ask them for a new trial, since it seems that you are sole monarch here, and can get judgment given twice in the same case. Demipho. Though I 've been wronged, yet rather than be involved in a lawsuit, or listen to your talk, I '11 give her the dowry which the law orders, just as if she really were related to me. Away with her, and take five minae. Phormio. Ha, ha ! you 're delightful ! Demipho. What 's the matter ? Is n't my request reasonable ? Am I to be refused even this, the com- mon right of citizens ? Phormio. And pray does the law order you to pay her off and get rid of her, after you 've done what you liked with her, just as if she were a courtesan ? Does it not, on the contrary, order that she be given in marriage to her next of kin, to live with him all her days, lest poverty should drive her to evil courses ? And this is what you forbid. Demipho. Yes, to her next of kin ; but how do we come in ? or why ? Phormio. Oh, my good sir, " don't plead a lost cause," as the saying is. Demipho. What ! not plead my cause ? I '11 not stop till I 've gained my point. Phormio. Nonsense ! Demipho. You '11 see. Phormio. Besides, we have nothing to do with you, Demipho ; judgment has been given against your son, not against you ; your time for marrying has passed. Demipho. You 're to think that he says everything that I say ; or I '11 turn him out of doors, wife and all. Geta (aside). He 's furious. PHORMIO 25 Phormio. Better turn yourself out. Demipho. You scoundrel ! Do you mean to thwart me in everything ? Phormio (aside). He's trying to hide it, but he's afraid of us all the same. Geta (aside). You've made a good beginning. Phormio (aloud). Now, why not bear what must be borne ? Behave as you should, and let 's be friends. Demipho. I want your friendship, or wish to see or hear you ! Phormio. If you 're on good terms with her, you '11 have some one to comfort you in your old age; re- member that you 're getting on in years. Demipho. Let her comfort you ; take her for your- self. Phormio. Don't let your anger run away with you. Demipho. Now look here ! Unless you 're quick about taking that woman away, I '11 throw her out of the house ; that 's all I have to say, Phormio. Phormio. If you treat her in any way unbecoming a lady I '11 bring a heavy action against you ; that 's all I have to say, Demipho. (Aside.*) If I 'm wanted, send to my house for me. Geta (aside). I understand. [Exit PHORMIO. SCENE 3. Demipho. What trouble and anxiety my son has caused me by entangling us in this marriage ! And he won't let me see him, so that I might at least know what he has to say about the matter, or what his opinion is. ( To GETA.) Go, find out whether he has come home yet. 26 TERENCE Geta. Yes. [Exit into DEMIPHO'S house. Demipho. You see how the matter stands. What am I to do ? Speak, Hegio. Hegio. What, I ? With your permission, I think that Cratinus had better speak. Demipho. Speak, Cratinus. Cratinus. What, do you want me to speak ? Demipho. Yes, you. Cratinus. I should like to see you do what is to your advantage. This is how I look at it: it's right and just that what your son has done in your absence should be undone ; and you '11 be able to manage it. That 's what I say. Demipho. Now do you speak, Hegio. Hegio. I think that Cratinus has spoken to the best of his ability ; but the fact is, " Many men, many minds ! " Every one has his own way. It seems to me that what has been done by the law can't be un- done, and that it 's wrong to try. Demipho. Now, Crito. Crito. I reserve my decision ; the matter is an important one. Hegio. Can we be of any further service ? Demipho. You have done well. (Exeunt advisers.) I'm much more uncertain now than I was before. Geta (entering from DEMIPHO'S house). They say that he has n't come back. Demipho. I must wait till my brother comes ; I '11 do whatever he advises me. I '11 go down to the har- bor and inquire when he is to return. [ Exit. Geta. But I '11 look for Antipho, and let him know what 's been done here. Ah, there I see him coming back in the very nick of time ! PHORMIO 27 SCENE 4. Enter ANTIPHO. Antipho. There 's no doubt about it, Antipho, you 're a great deal to blame for your cowardice. Just think of going off as you did and leaving your very life to be protected by others ! Did you think that others would look after your interests better than yourself ? However other matters stood, you certainly ought to have done your best for her whom you now have at home, and seen to it that she should not be deceived and harmed through you. All her hopes and resources, poor thing, rest in you alone. Geta (coming forward}. Well, as a matter of fact, master, we 've been blaming you this long time for going away. Antipho. You 're the very man I was looking for. Geta. But we have n't on that account been any the less zealous in your cause. Antipho. Tell me, pray, how stand my affairs and my fortune ? Does my father suspect anything ? Geta. Nothing as yet. Antipho. Is there any hope for the future ? Geta. I don't know. Antipho. Oh, dear ! Geta. Except that Phaedria has never ceased to fight for you. Antipho. Nothing new in him. Geta. And Phormio has shown himself as strenu- ous in this as in other matters. Antipho. What has he done ? Geta. He silenced the old gentleman, who was in a great rage. 28 TERENCE Antipho. Well done, Phormio ! Geta. And I, too, did what I could. Antipho. My Geta, I love you all. Geta. The affair has begun as I 've told you. So far everything 's quiet, and your father 's going to wait for your uncle's arrival. Antipho. Why is he waiting for him ? Geta. He said that he wished to follow his advice in the matter. Antipho. O Geta, how greatly I fear my uncle's return, for he, as it seems, is to decide whether I am to live or die. Geta. Here 's Phaedria. Antipho. Where ? Geta. There, coming out of his training-school. 1 SCENE 5. Enter DORIO and PHAEDRIA from DORIO'S house. Phaedria. Dorio, listen to me, I beseech you. Dorio. No, I won't. Phaedria. Just a moment. Dorio. Let me alone. Phaedria. Do listen to what I have to say. Dorio. But I 'm tired of listening to the same thing a thousand times over. Phaedria. But this time I '11 tell you something that you '11 be pleased to listen to. Dorio. Go on, I 'm listening. Phaedria. Can't I prevail on you to wait for the next three days ? Where are you going now ? Dorio. I was wondering whether you'd tell me anything new. 1 Humorously applied to Doric's house. PHORMIO 29 Antipho (aside). Ah ! I 'm afraid the slave-trader may Geta (aside). Get his head broken. I 'm afraid of that too. Phaedria. Won't you trust me? Dorio. Nonsense ! Phaedria. If I give you my word of honor ? Dorio. Stuff! Phaedria. You '11 say that you were well repaid for your kindness. Dorio. Words ! Phaedria. Believe me, you '11 be glad that you did it ; indeed that 's true. Dorio. Dreams ! Phaedria. Try me ; it 's not for long. Dorio. The same old song ! Phaedria. I '11 regard you as my kinsman, my pa- rent, my friend, my Dorio. Chatter away. Phaedria. To think of your being so hard and inexorable that neither pity nor entreaties have any effect on you ! Dorio. To think, Phaedria, of your being so thought- less and shameless as to expect to bamboozle me with fine words, and get my girl for nothing ! Antipho (aside'). I 'm so sorry for him ! Phaedria. Alas ! What he says is too true. Geta (aside). How like himself each is ! Phaedria. I wish that this piece of bad luck had not happened to me at a time when Antipho has troubles of his own ! Antipho. Eh? What 's that you 're saying, Phae- dria? Phaedria. Oh, you lucky fellow ! SO TERENCE Antipho. I lucky ? Phaedria. You 've got your sweetheart, and you Ve never had to face a trouble like this. Antipho. Got her ! no, I 'm like the man in the proverb, I " hold a wolf by the ears." l Dorio. That 's just my difficulty with this fellow. Antipho. Oh, don't be a slave-trader by halves! (To PHAEDRIA.) Has he done anything final ? Phaedria. He ? Yes, acted like a perfect brute, sold my Pamphila. Geta. What! Sold her? Antipho. What 's that you say? Sold her? Phaedria. That 's what he 's done. Dorio. What a crime, for a man to sell a girl that he bought with his own money I Phaedria. I can't get him to wait for me and put off his other purchaser for just the next three days, while I get together the money that I 've been pro- mised by my friends. If I don't give it you then, don't wait an hour longer. Dorio. Still dinning that into my ears ! Antipho. It 's not a long time that he asks for. Agree to his proposition. He '11 repay twice over the benefit you confer. Dorio. That 's all talk. Antipho. Will you let Pamphila be banished from the city ? Have you the heart to sunder their love ? Dorio. Neither you nor I need trouble about that. Geta. May all the gods give you what you deserve ! Dorio. I 've borne with you against my will for several months ; you 've been all promises and tears, but no cash ; now, instead, I 've found a man with cash and no tears. Make way for your betters. 1 Difficult to hold, dangerous to let go. PHORMIO 31 Antipho. But, if I remember rightly, a day was fixed long ago, by which you were to pay him. Phaedria. So it was. Dorio. Do I deny it ? Antipho. Has that day passed ? Dorio. No, but this one has come before it. Antipho. Are n't you ashamed of your treach- ery ? Dorio. Not a bit, if I make anything out of it. Geta. Dirt! Phaedria. Dorio, is this the way to act ? Dorio. It 's my way ; take it or leave it. Antipho. And you deceive him like this ? Dorio. But, Antipho, it 's he who 's deceiving me. He knew what I was ; I thought he was something different. He 's taken me in ; I 've been to him just what I always was. But however that may be, I '11 do this much for you. The soldier said that he 'd give me the money early to-morrow morning. If you bring it to me before he does, Phaedria, I '11 act on my old rule, " First come, first served." That 's all. [Exit. SCENE 6. Phaedria. What am I to do? Miserable man that I am, how can I find the money for him on such short notice, I who have less than nothing ? If we could have got him to wait, it was promised me in three days. Antipho. Geta, can we let him be so unhappy, him who helped me so kindly a little while ago, as you told me ? Now that he needs it, let 's try to repay our debt of gratitude to him. Geta. That 's what we ought to do, I know. 32 TERENCE Antipho. Then be up and doing; you alone can save him. Geta. What am I to do ? Antipho. Find the money. Geta. I wish I could ; but tell me where I 'm to get it. Antipho. My father 's here. Geta. I know he is ; but what of that ? Antipho. A word to the wise ! Geta. Oh, that 's what you mean ? Antipho. Yes. Geta. A fine plan indeed ! Not much ! Have n't I every reason to congratulate myself, if I don't get into trouble on account of your marriage, without your bidding me for Phaedria's sake to run the risk of utter destruction by further mischief ? Antipho. He 's right. Phaedria. Oh, Geta, am I a stranger to you ? Geta. No ; but is n't it enough that the old gentle- man should be angry with us, without our goading him into such fury that there won't be any place left for entreaty ? Phaedria. What! Let another take her out of my sight to foreign parts ? Never ! So, while you can and while I remain here, speak to me, Antipho, look upon me. Antipho. Why? Pray, what are you going to do ? Phaedria. I 've made up my mind to follow her wherever she 's taken, or to die. Geta. The gods help you, but go slow. Antipho. See whether you can give him any assist- ance. Geta. How can I ? Antipho. Oh, find some plan for him, I implore PHORMIO 33 you, Geta, or he '11 do something rash that we '11 be sorry for afterwards. Geta. I 'm trying to find one. Antipho (aside). I believe Phaedria's saved. Geta. But I 'm afraid of getting into trouble. Antipho. Don't be afraid ; we '11 share both good and bad fortune with you. Geta. How much money do you want? Tell me. Phaedria. Only thirty mimic. Geta. Thirty ? Why, she 's very dear, Phaedria. Phaedria. No, a girl like that is cheap at the price. Geta. Well, well, I '11 find the money and hand it over to you. Phaedria. Oh, you dear old fellow ! Geta. Be off with you. Phaedria. I want it without delay. Geta. You shall have it without delay. But I must have Phormio to help me in this business. Antipho. He's ready; lay any burden you please on his shoulders, he '11 bear it ; there never was such a friend as he. Geta. Then let 's go to him straightway. Antipho. Can I be of any use to you ? Geta. No. Go home and cheer up that poor girl, who, I'm sure, is sitting in there half dead with fear. Why don't you go ? Antipho. There 's nothing I should like to do so much. \_Exit into DEMIPHO'S house. Phaedria (to GETA). How will you manage it ? Geta. I '11 tell you as we go, only come away from here. [Exeunt PHAEDRIA and GETA. 34 TERENCE ACT IV. SCENE 1. Enter DEMIPHO and CHREMES. Demipho. . Well, have you brought back your daughter with you, on whose account you went to Lemnos ? Chremes. No. Demipho. And why not ? Chremes. When her mother saw that I was stay- ing here rather a long time, and the girl's age did n't admit of neglect on my part, she set out, so they said, with all her household, to come to me. Demipho. Pray, then, why did you stay there so long after you had heard this ? Chremes. Hang it I 1 I was ill ; that delayed me. Demipho. What caused your illness? The cir- cumstances ? Chremes. Do you ask me ? Why, old age itself is an illness. However, I 've heard, from the sailor who brought them over, that they got here safely. Demipho. Have you heard, Chremes, what has happened to my son while I was away ? Chremes. Yes ; and his action makes me uncer- tain what to do ; for if I offer my daughter in mar- riage to an outsider, I '11 have to explain in detail bow and by whom she is mine. Now I know that I can trust you as myself ; whereas, if an outsider wishes to form a connection with me, he'll say no- thing so long as we 're on good terms, but if we fall out, he '11 know more than there 's any need of his 1 Chremes is restive under his brother's cross-questioning, and makes somewhat evasive answers. PHORMIO 35 knowing. Moreover, I 'ra afraid of this coming some- how to my wife's ears, and if that happens there 's nothing left for me to do but to clear out and run away from home. I 've only myself, of all my be- longings, that I can call my own. Demipho. I know, and it makes me anxious. But I '11 never tire of trying to accomplish what I promised. SCENE 2. Enter GETA. Geta. Phormio is the cleverest man I 've ever known. I went to him to tell him that money was wanted, and how it was to be got. Before I was half through, he understood. He was delighted, praised me, inquired where the old gentleman was, and thanked Heaven that he had been given an opportunity of proving himself no less a friend to Phaedria than he had been to Antipho. I told him to wait for me at the market- place, and I would bring Demipho there. But there 's the old gentleman himself now ! And who is that behind him ? Whew ! it 's Phaedria's father come home ! But why should I be afraid, simpleton that I am ? Because I 've got two men to cheat instead of one ? It 's better, I take it, to have two strings to one's bow. I'll ask Demipho for the money, as I intended to do ; if he gives it to me, all right. If I can get nothing out of him, then I '11 tackle the new- comer. SCENE 3. Enter ANTIPHO, unobserved, from DEMIPHO'S house. Antipho. I wonder how soon Geta will be back. But I see my uncle standing with my father ! Heav- ens ! how I fear what his return may mean for me ! 38 TERENCE Geta (aside). I '11 approach them. (Aloud.) Our own Chremes ! How do you do ? * Chremes. How do you do, Geta ? Geta. It 's a great pleasure to see you safe home again. Chremes. Yes, yes. Geta. How goes it ? Chremes. I 've found a good many changes here the usual experience of one coming home. Geta. True, indeed. Have you heard what Anti- pho has done ? Chremes. Yes, the whole story. Geta (to DEMIPHO). Did you tell him ? What a shame it was, Chremes, that he should be overreached in that way ! Demipho. That 's what I was just telling Chremes. Geta. Well, I 've turned the matter over carefully in my mind, and I think I 've found a remedy. Chremes. What is it, Geta ? Demipho. What 's your remedy ? Geta. After leaving you, I happened to meet Phormio. Chremes. Who's Phormio? Geta. The man by whom that girl Chremes. I understand. Geta. I thought I might as well sound him, so I took him aside. " Come, Phormio," I said, " why should n't we settle this business in a friendly way, instead of quarrelling over it ? My master 's a gentle- man, and does n't care to go to law, though, by Hea- ven, all his friends just now agreed in advising him to turn her out of doors." Antipho (aside). What 's he up to ? Where will all this end ? PHORMIO 37 Geta. I went on, " Do you say that he would have to pay the legal penalty, if he cast her forth ? That matter has been looked into already. Oh, but you '11 sweat if you go to law with that man. Such a speaker as he is ! And even suppose you win, after all, it 's only his money, not his life that 's at stake." When I saw that I had made some impression on him by this sort of talk, I added, " We 're all by ourselves here now ; tell me what you '11 take, cash down, the understanding being that my master desists from the lawsuit, the girl takes herself off, and you trouble us no more." Antipho (aside). Has Heaven deprived him of his wits? Geta. " For I 'm quite sure that if you say any- thing like what 's fair and right, he 's such a good fellow that you '11 not have to exchange three words this day." DemipJio. Who ordered you to say this ? Chremes. But, Demipho, we can't get what we want on better terms. Antipho (aside). It 's all over with me ! DemipJio. Go on with your story. Geta. At first he talked like a madman. Chremes. Pray what did he ask ? Geta. Far too much. Chremes. But how much ? tell me. Geta. If we would give him a great talent * Demipho. A great drubbing, he means ! The im- pudence of him ! Geta. Just what I said to him. " Pray what more could my master do, even if he were arranging the marriage of an only daughter ? He 's not gained much 1 About $1180. 38 TERENCE by not having had one, seeing that a girl 's been found for him to provide with a dowry." His last words were, " From the very beginning I 've been willing, as in duty bound, to marry my friend's daughter, for I thought how much she would suffer if, poor as she was, she were handed over to some rich man as his slave. But to speak plainly with you, I wanted some one who would bring me a trifle of money to pay my debts. Even now, if Demipho is willing to pay me as much as I shall get with the girl I 'm engaged to, there 's no one I should sooner have for my wife than Pha- nium." Antipho (aside"). Is this stupidity or malice ? Has he something in view, or does n't he know what he 's doing ? It 's more than I can tell. Demipho. But suppose he's head over heels in debt? Geta. " My land," he said, " is mortgaged for ten minae." * Demipho. All right, he shall marry her. I '11 give the money. Geta. " And my house for ten more." Demipho. Oh, no ! that 's too much. Chr ernes (to Demipho). Be quiet. (To Geta.} Draw on me for those ten. Geta. " I must buy a maid for my wife ; I need a little more furniture ; then there are the expenses of the wedding. Call that another ten." Demipho. Let him straightway bring a thousand ac- tions against me ! I won't give him anything ! Shall this infamous scoundrel insult as well as cheat me ? Chremes. Do be quiet. I '11 pay it ; all you have to do is to see that your son marries the girl we want him to marry. 1 About $197. PHORMIO 39 Antipho (aside). Woe's me! Geta, you 've un- done me with your tricks. Chremes. It 's for my sake that she 's being turned out ; it 's only right that I should lose the money. Geta. " Let me know as soon as possible," he said, " whether they will give her to me, so that I may break off my engagement, and not be left in suspense. The other parties, you understand, have promised me a dowry." Chremes. Let him have the money directly ; he shall break off his engagement, and marry Phanium. Demipho. And much good may it do him ! Chremes. By good luck I have some money with me now, the rent of my wife's estate in Lemnos ; I '11 take it, and tell my wife that you wanted it. [Exeunt CHREMES and DEMiPHbmto the former's house. SCENE 4. Antipho (coming forward). Geta! Geta. Well! Antipho. What have you done ? Geta. Cleaned the old gentlemen out of their money. Antipho. And is that enough ? Geta. I don't know. 'T was all I was told to do. Antipho. What, you scoundrel, won't you answer my question ? Geta. Why, what are you talking about ? Antipho. Talking about ? Thanks to you, I may as well go and hang myself. May all the gods and goddesses in heaven above and hell beneath make an example of you! Look you, if you want anything done, put it in this man's hands, and he '11 bring you 40 TERENCE out of smooth water unto a rock. What worse policy could there have been than to touch this sore, and mention my wife? You 've given my father hopes of being able to turn her out. Come now, if Phormio gets this dowry, he '11 have to marry her. What 's to be done then ? Geta. But he won't marry her. Antipho. Oh, no ! of course not ! And when they demand their money back, on my account, forsooth, he '11 prefer the stocks ! Geta. There's no story, Antipho, that can't be spoiled in the telling. You leave out all the strong points, and put in all the weak ones. Now hear the other side. If he receives the money, he '11 have to marry her, as you say, and I agree with you so far. But at least some little time will be given for getting ready the nuptials, for invitations, for sacrific- ing. Meanwhile, Phaedria's friends will give him the money that they have promised, and then Phormio will pay it back again. Antipho. On what ground ? What excuse will he make? Geta. Do you ask ? Why, he '11 say, " So many evil omens have befallen me since this business was begun : a strange black dog came into my house ; a snake fell from the tiles through the skylight ; a hen crowed ; the soothsayer has forbidden it ; the diviner has put a stop to it ; to begin any new business before winter " an excellent reason. That 's how things will go. Antipho. I sincerely hope so. Geta. They will ; trust me. Here 's your father coming out of the house. Be off, and tell Phaedria that we 've got the money. [Exit ANTIPHO. PHORMIO 41 SCENE 5. Enter DEMIPHO and CHREMES /rom the latter'* house. Demipho. Never you mind, I say ; I '11 take care that he does n't cheat us. I '11 never be fool enough to let this money out of my hands without having witnesses present ; I '11 tell them to whom I give it, and for what. Geta (aside). How careful he is when care is n't needed ! Chrerncs. That 's how you ought to do it ; and make haste, while he 's of the same mind, for if that other girl becomes more urgent, he may throw us over. Geta. You 've hit it exactly. Demipho (to GETA). Then take me to him. Geta. I 'm all ready. Chremes. When you 've done this, come over and see my wife, and she '11 call on the girl before she goes away. She '11 tell her, by way of preventing her being angry, that we 're going to marry her to Phormio ; that he 's much better suited to her, inso- much as he 's more closely connected with her ; that we 've not failed in our duty, and have given him as much dowry as he wanted. Demipho. What the deuce have you to do with that? Chremes. A great deal, Demipho. It 's not suffi- cient to do your duty ; you must win the world's ap- proval as well. I want her to act of her own free will, so that she won't say that she was turned out. Demipho. I can do all this myself. Chremes. Yes, but it takes a woman to manage a woman. 42 TERENCE jtfemipho. Well, I '11 ask your wife to do it. [Exeunt DEMIPHO and GETA, R. Ohremes. Now I wonder where I 'm to find those women. SCENE 6. Enter SOPHRONA from DEMIPHO'S house. Sophrona. What am I to do ? Wretched woman that I am, whom can I find to befriend me ? Whom can I ask for advice ? Where turn for help ? I 'm afraid that, as a result of my counsel, my mistress may be shamefully treated, for I hear that the young man's father is furious at what he 's done. Chremes (aside). Now, who in the world is this old woman coming out of my brother's house in such a fluster ? Sophrona. It was want that drove me to it. I knew that this marriage was invalid, but I wanted her to be safe in the meantime. Chremes (aside). By Heaven, unless my mind de- ceives me or my eyesight 's failing, this is my daugh- ter's nurse. Sophrona. And the man who is her father Chremes (aside'). What am I to do ? Sophrona. Can't as yet be discovered. Chremes (aside). Shall I go up to her, or wait till I understand better what she 's saying ? Sophrona. But if I could find him now I should have nothing to fear. Chremes (aside). It 's she herself ; I '11 speak to her. Sophrona. Who 's talking here ? Chremes. Sophrona ! Sophrona. And mentioning my name ? PHORMIO 43 Chremes. Look at me. Sophrona. For Heaven's sake, is it Stilpo? Chremes. No. Sophrona, You deny it ? Chremes. Pray, Sophrona, come a little away from the door of that house, and don't ever call me by that name again. Sophrona. What? Aren't you the man you al- ways said you were ? Chremes. Hush ! Sophrona. Why do you fear that door ? Chremes. I 've a savage wife caged up there. I used to call myself by that false name lest you might inadvertently talk too much, and so somehow it might come to her ears. Sophrona. Then, by the powers, that 's why we poor women could never find you here in Athens. Chremes. But tell me, what have you to do with that house you 've just left ? Where are my wife and daughter ? Sophrona. Oh, dear me ! Chremes. What 's the matter? Are n't they alive? Sophrona. Your daughter is, but all this trouble killed her mother. Chremes. That 's too bad ! Sophrona. So I being an old woman, all alone, poor, and friendless did the best I could for the girl, and married her to the young master of this house. Chremes. What, to Antipho ? Sophrona. Yes, that 's the man. Chremes. What, has he two wives ? Sophrona. No, only this one. 44 TERENCE Chremes. Then what about the other who was said to be his kinswoman ? Sophrona. Why, this is she, of course. Chremes. What 's that ? Sophrona. We made up that story, so that her lover might get her without a dowry. Chremes. Gracious Heavens ! How often things one dares not hope for are brought about by mere chance ! On my return home I 've found my daughter mar- ried to the man I wanted and in the way I wanted. With great trouble to himself, but without troubling us in the least, he, all alone, has done what my bro- ther and I were trying so hard to do. Sophrona. Now see what 's to be done. The young man's father has come home, and they say that he 's very angry. Chremes. Never fear ; but in the name of gods and men don't let anybody know that she 's ray daughter. Sophrona. Nobody shall know through me. Chremes. Come with me ; I '11 tell you the rest in- side. [Exeunt CHREMES and SOPHRONA into DEMIPHO'S house. ACT V. SCENE 1. Enter DEMIPHO and GETA, R. Demipho. It 's our own fault that we make it men's interest to be rogues. We 're too eager to be called good and kind. " Run, but not past your own house," as the saying is. 1 Was n't it enough for me to have been 1 Run away, if it is necessary, but not so precipitately as to pnss your natural shelter ; don't let your panic drive you to extremes. PHORMIO 45 wronged by the fellow, without actually throwing away money, and giving him means of subsistence until he can bring off some new villainy ? Geta. Assuredly. Chremes. The people who get rewarded nowadays are those who put wrong for right. Geta. Very true. Demipho. So we 've managed matters very badly in dealing with him. Geta. It '11 be all right, provided you can end the affair as you planned, by getting him to marry her. Demipho. What ! Is there any doubt about that ? Geta. Indeed, I 'm rather inclined to fear (know- ing the man's character) that he may change his mind. Demipho. What ! Change his mind ? Geta. I don't know, I only say " he might." Demipho. I '11 do as my brother advised : I '11 bring his wife here to talk to her. Geta, go on ahead, and tell Phanium that Nausistrata is coming. [Exit DEMIPHO into CHREMES' house. Geta. We 've found the money for Phaedria ; there has n't been a word said about the lawsuit ; we 've ar- ranged that the girl shan't leave just yet. What next ? What 's to be done now ? You 're still in the same fix, Geta ; it 's a case of paying one with what you 've borrowed from another. The punishment that was close at hand has been staved off for a while, but your score of stripes will mount up unless you look out. Now I '11 go home and explain matters to Phanium, so that she won't be afraid of Phormio or of what Nausistrata may say. [Exit into DEMIPHO'S house. 46 TERENCE SCENE 2. Enter DEMIPHO and NAUsiSTRATA/rom CHREMES' house. Demipho. Now, Nausistrata, with your wonted tact, get her into a good humor with us, so that she '11 do willingly what she has to do. Nausistrata. I will. Demipho. You 're helping me by your services now, just as you assisted me with your money a little while ago. Nausistrata. You 're quite welcome, but indeed I 'm less able to help you, through my husband's fault, than I ought to be. Demipho. Why ? Nausistrata. Because he 's careless of my father's honest earnings. My father used to get two talents a year regularly out of those estates. What a difference there is between one man and another ! Demipho. Two talents, you say ? Nausistrata. Yes, two talents, and that, too, when things were much cheaper than they are now. Demipho. Heavens ! Nausistrata. What do you think of that ? Demipho. Oh, I quite agree with you. Nausistrata. I wish I 'd been born a man, I should have shown them Demipho. I 'm sure you would. Nausistrata. How to Demipho. Pray, spare yourself for your interview with the girl, lest, being so young, she tire you out. Nausistrata. I '11 do as you wish ; but I see my husband coming out of your house. PHORMIO 47 SCENE 3. Enter CHREMES /rom DEMIPHO'S house. Ohremes (not seeing his wife). 'St, Demipho, have you paid him the money ? Demipho. I looked after that at once. Chremes. I wish you had n't. Oh ! I see my wife ! I had almost said too much. Demipho. Why do you wish I had n't paid it, Chremes ? Chremes. It does n't matter. Demipho. What do you mean ? Have you been talking to the girl on whose account we 're bringing Nausistrata ? Chremes. I 've settled it all. Demipho. What does she say ? Chremes. She can't be taken away. Demipho. Why can't she ? Chremes. Because they 're in love with one an- other. Demipho. Well, what 's that to us ? i Chrem.es. A great deal ; and, besides, I find that she 's related to us. Demipho. What ? You 're raving. Chremes. You '11 find it so. I know what I 'm saying ; I 've just recalled the matter. Demipho. Are you in your right mind ? Nausistrata. Oh, I pray you, don't wrong a kins- woman. Demipho. She is n't a kinswoman. Chremes. Don't contradict me. Her father went under a different name; that's how you made the mistake. 48 TERENCE Demipho. Did n't she know her father ? Chremes. Yes. Demipho. Then why did she call him by a wrong name? Chremes. Won't you ever give in or understand ? Demipho. How can I understand when you tell me nothing ? Chremes. There you go again. Nausistrata. I wonder what all this is about ? Demipho. I 'm sure I don't know. Chremes. Do you want to know ? "Well, the girl has no nearer relatives than you and I, and that 's the truth. Demipho. Good Heavens ! let 's go to her. I want all of us to know the right and wrong of the case to- gether. Chremes. Oh, Demipho ! Demipho. What 's the matter ? Chremes. To think that you should have so little faith in me ! Demipho. Oh, you want me to believe you, do you ? You want me to stop asking questions? Well, so be it. But what about our friend's daughter ? < Chremes. That 's all right. Demipho. Then are we to send Nausistrata away ? Chremes. Of course. Demipho. And Phanium is to stay ? Chremes. Yes. Demipho. Then you may go home, Nausistrata. Nausistrata. And indeed I think that her staying is a much better arrangement for all of us than what you intended at first. I thought her a very well-bred girl, when I saw her. [Exit into CHREMES' house. Demipho. Now, what 's all this about ? PHOEMIO 49 Chremes. Has she shut the door yet ? Demipho. Yes. Chremes. Heavens, what luck ! I 've found my daughter married to your son. Demipho. Eh ! how could that be ? Chremes. I can't explain here. It 's not safe. Demipho. Well, come inside, then. Chremes. I tell you I don't want even our sons to know this. [JZxeunt into DEMIPHO'S house. SCENE 4. Enter ANTIPHO. Antipho. However my own affairs may turn out, I 'm glad my cousin has got what he wanted. How shrewd to have a love affair of the kind that wlien things go wrong, a remedy is possible ! As soon as Phaedria found the money, all his troubles were at an end ; but I can't by any device free myself from my difficulties. To keep my secret means to live in dread ; to reveal it, disgrace. I shouldn't go home now, if some hope of keeping her hadn't been held out to me. But where can I find Geta ? SCENE 5. Enter PHORMIO. Phormio (not seeing ANTIPHO). I've received the money, paid it over to the slave-trader, and taken the girl away. I 've seen that Phaedria has her for his very own ; she 's been set free. Now, I 've still one thing left to do, and that 's to get away from the old gentlemen for a spree. That 's how I '11 spend the next few days. Antipho. Why, there 's Phormio. Say I 50 TERENCE Phormio. What? Antipho. Tell me Phaedria's plans. What does he intend to do? Phormio. He 's going to play your rQle. Antipho. My r61e ? Phormio. Yes, keep out of his father's sight. He 's asked that you play his, and plead his cause, for he 's coming to my house to take a few drinks. I '11 tell the old gentlemen that I 'm going to the fair at Su- nium to buy that slave girl whom Geta was talking about just now, so that when they miss me they won't think that I 'm squandering their money. But listen, there 's some one at your door. Antipho. See who 's coming out. Phormio. It 's Geta. SCENE 6. Enter GETA/rom DEMIPHO'S house. GETA (not seeing the others). O Fortune ! O lucky Fortune ! What blessings you have showered on my master Antipho this day ! Antipho. What does the fellow mean ? Geta. And freed us, his friends, from fear ! But I 'm wasting time in not throwing my cloak over my shoulder, 1 and hurrying to tell him what has befallen him. Antipho (to PHORMIO). Do you understand what he 's talking about ? Phormio. No, do you ? Antipho. No, not a word. Phormio. No more do I. 1 The cloak was thrown back over the shoulder to make miming eaner. PHORMIO 51 Geta. I '11 go to the slave-trader's ; that 's where they are now. Antipho. Hi, Geta ! Geta. There you are ! Is it a new or clever thing to call me back just when I 've started running? * Antipho. Geta ! Geta. By the powers, he 's urgent. Well, you shan't get the better of me by pestering me. Antipho. Won't you stop ? Geta. To the whipping-post with you ! Antipho. That 's where you '11 be presently, unless you halt, you scoundrel. Geta. This must be some one who knows me pretty well : he threatens me with punishment. Is it the man I 'm looking for ? Why, so it is. I '11 accost him. Antipho. What 's the matter ? Geta. Oh, you luckiest of all men in the whole wide world ! there can be no doubt, Antipho, but that you 're the special favorite of the gods. Antipho. I would that I were ; but I should like to be told why I 'm to believe this. Geta. To be steeped in joy will that be enough for you ? Antipho. How you do keep me on the rack ! Phormio. Enough of your promises ! Tell us your news. Geta. Oh, are you here too, Phormio ? Phormio. Yes, but won't you tell us ? Geta. Listen, then. As soon as we had paid you the money at the bank, we started straight home ; then my master sent me to your wife. Antipho. What for ? 1 To hail a slave who seemed to be in a hurry was a common joke. 52 TERENCE Geta. I '11 not speak of that, Antipho, for it has nothing to do with this story. When I was about to enter the women's apartments, the page Midas ran up to me, caught me by the cloak behind, and pulled me back. I looked around, and asked him why he was detaining me ; he answered that his mistress could n't be seen those were his orders. " Sophrona," he said, " has just brought in Chremes, the old man's brother, and he 's inside with them now." When I heard this, I proceeded to go quietly up to the door on tiptoe reached it stood there held my breath put my ear close to : so 1 began to listen, trying in this way to catch what they were saying. Antipho. Bravo, Geta ! Geta. There I heard this glorious thing, so that I all but shouted aloud for joy. Antipho. What was it ? Geta. What do you think ? Antipho. I don't know. Geta. Well, it 's a truly wonderful story. Your uncle turns out to be your wife's father. Antipho. Eh, what do you say ? Geta. He had a clandestine affair with her mother at Lemnos. Phormio. It 's a dream. Can we suppose that she did n't know her own father ? Geta. There was some reason for that, Phormio, you may be sure ; but do you think that outside the door I could understand everything that was going on inside ? Antipho. As a matter of fact, I 've had an inkling of that tale too. Geta. Well, I '11 give you a proof to make you be- lieve it. While this was going on your uncle crossed PHORMIO 53 over from that house to this ; presently he went back again with your father. They both say that they con- sent to your keeping her. And, to clinch the matter, I 've been sent to find you and to take you to them. Antipho. Then away with me instantly ! Why don't you go ? Geta. I will. Antipho. Good-by, my dear Phormio. Phormio. Good-by, Antipho. It 's turned out well, so help me Heaven ! [Exeunt ANTIPHO and GETA to DEMIPHO'S house. SCENE 7. Phormio. I 'm glad that these two have had such an unexpected piece of luck. Now I have an excel- lent chance of outwitting the old gentlemen and reliev- ing Phaedria of his financial worries, so that he won't have to ask favors of any of his friends ; for this money shall be given to him just as it was given to me, whether they like it or not. I 've found in the facts of the case the means to make them give it. Now I must assume a new bearing and expression. I '11 go into this alley hard by, and come out upon them when they leave the house. I 'm not going to the fair, as I pretended. [ Withdraws into alley. SCENE 8. Enter DEMTPHO and CHREMES/rom the former's house. Demipho. Brother, I am indeed truly thankful to Heaven for this satisfactory settlement. Chremes. Is n't she a lady, as I said ? Demipho. She certainly is. Now we must get 54 TERENCE hold of Phormio as soon as possible, and get our thirty minae away from him before he squanders them. Phormio (coming forward^). I should like to see Demipho, if he 's at home, to Demipho. Why, we were just going to you, Phormio. Phormio. For the same reason, perhaps ? Demipho. Yes. Phormio. That 's what I thought. And why were you coming to me ? Demipho. Such a question ! Phormio. Did you think that I would n't do what I had once undertaken'? Now, mark you, I may be poor, but I 've always made a point of preserving my honor. So I 've come to you, Demipho, to say that I 'm ready. Give me my wife as soon as you please, for on seeing how you had set your hearts on this I deferred all other business, as it was right I should. Demipho. But my brother here has counselled me not to give her to you. " Think," he says, " what a scandal it will make, if you do ; she was n't given be- fore, when it might have been done honorably, and it 's a shame to drive her out of doors now as a divorced woman." He used pretty nearly the same arguments as you did to me a little while ago. Phormio. You 're treating me pretty cavalierly. Demipho. How so ? Phormio. Do you ask ? Because I shan't be able to marry the other girl either, for how could I have the face to go back to her whom I jilted ? Chremes (aside to DEMIPHO). Say, "Besides, I see that Antipho does n't want to part with her." Demipho. Besides, I see that my son does n't want to part with his wife. But, Phormio, pray come to the bank, and have that money paid back to me. PHORMIO 55 Phormio. What ! the money I paid out at once to my creditors ? Demipho. What 's to be done, then ? Phormio. If you like to give me the girl whom you 've promised me, I '11 marry her ; but if you choose that she should stay with you, her dowry must stay with me ; for it 's not right that I should be disap- pointed to suit your convenience, seeing that, on your account, I jilted the other girl, who was bringing me a dowry of the same amount. Demipho. To perdition with you, you swaggering scoundrel ! Do you think that we know so little of you and your doings as that ? Phormio. I 'm getting angry. Demipho. As if you would marry her if she were offered to you ! Phormio. Try me ! Demipho. Your plan was that my son should keep his wife in your house. Phormio. Pray, what are you talking about ? Demipho. Just you give me my money. Phormio. No, you give me my wife. Demipho. Then to court with you. Phormio. Indeed, if you trouble me any more Demipho. What will you do ? Phormio. I? Perhaps you think that I act as champion for dowerless women only ? I do the same for women with dowries. Chremes. What has that to do with us ? Phormio. Oh, nothing. I knew a married woman here in Athens whose husband Chremes. Eh ? Demipho. What 's that ? Phormio. Had another wife in Lemnos. Chremes. I 'm a lost man. 56 TERENCE Phormio. And he had a daughter by her, whom he brought up secretly. Chremes. I 'm dead and buried. Phormio. So I 'm going now to tell her this story. (Starts towards CHREMES' house.) Chremes. I entreat you, don't. Phormio. Oho ! were you the man ? Demipho. How he mocks us ! Chremes. We grant you a quittance. Phormio. Oh, nonsense ! Chremes. What more do you want? We make you a present of the money that you have. Phormio. Yes, yes ! You silly old men, what the mischief do you mean by playing with me in this way, like children that don't know their own minds ? "I will " and " I won't " " I will," and then again " I won't " " take her," " give her up," - " what has been said is all unsaid ; the bargain which has just been struck is void." Chremes (to DEMIPHO). How or from whom did he learn this ? Demipho (to CHREMES). I don't know, but I'm quite sure that I did n't tell anybody. Chremes (to DEMIPHO). So help me Heaven, it 's like a miracle. Phormio (aside). I 've put a spoke in their wheel. Demipho (to CHREMES). Come, is this fellow to carry off so large a sum of money from us, and laugh at us so openly ? Better to die, by Heaven ! Prepare to act boldly, and with presence of mind. You see that your transgression has got abroad, and you can't keep it from your wife any longer. Now, Chremes, the best way to win forgiveness is to tell her ourselves what she 's certain to learn some day from others ; then PHORMIO 57 we shall be able to take vengeance on this scoundrel in our own way. Phormio (aside). Hello ! unless I keep a sharp lookout I '11 be in a fix ; they 're coming at me with the spirit of gladiators. Chremes (to DEMIPHO). But I 'm afraid she '11 never forgive me. Demipho {to CHREMES). Cheer up, I '11 restore you to favor with her, Chremes. There 's the fact that the girl's mother has passed away to fall back upon. Phormio. So this is how you treat me ? A clever enough plan of attack ! But, Demipho, you 've done your brother no good in goading me on. {To CHREMES.) What! after amusing yourself as you pleased in foreign parts, and showing so little respect to your wife here, a lady of birth too, as to insult her in this outrageous way, you mean to go whining to her for forgiveness, do you ? By telling her the whole story, I '11 so kindle her wrath that you '11 never quench the flames, even though you dissolved in tears. Demipho. To think of any man being so impu- dent ! The scoundrel ought to be transported at the public expense to some desert land. Chremes. He 's got me in so tight a place that I really don't know what to do with him. Demipho. I know ; let 's go to law. Phormio. To law, certainly. In this court, if you please. ( Goes towards CHREMES' house.) Chremes. After him ! Hold him back, while I call the slaves out ! (DEMIPHO takes hold of PHORMIO.) Demipho. But I can't hold him alone ; come and help me. (CHREMES takes hold of PHORMIO.) 58 TERENCE Phormio (to DEMIPHO). One action for assault against you. Demipho. Go to law, then. Phormio. Another against you, Chremes. Chremes. Drag him away. Phormio. Is that your game ? then I must use my voice. Nausistrata, come forth. Chremes. Stop his vile mouth ; see how strong he is! Phormio. Nausistrata, I say ! Demipho. Won't you be quiet ? Phormio. I be quiet? Demipho. If he won't come along, punch him in the belly. Phormio. Or knock his eye out ; the time is com- ing when I shall have a fine revenge on you. SCENE 9. Enter NAusiSTRATA/rom CHREMES' house. Nausistrata. Who 's calling me ? Why, husband, what in the world is all this disturbance about ? Phormio (to CHREMES). Well, why do you stand like a mute ? Nausistrata. Who's this man? Why don't you answer me ? Phormio. He answer you ! Why, he does n't know where he is. Chremes. Mind you, don't believe a word he says. Phormio. Go up to him, touch him ; if he is n't in a cold sweat all over, you may kill me. Chremes. It 's all a lie. Nausistrata. What's a lie? What story is he telling ? PHORMIO 59 Phormio. You shall know presently. Listen. Chremes. What, will you believe him ? Nausistrata. And pray how can I believe him be- fore he has told me anything ? Phormio. The wretch is scared out of his wits. Nausistrata. Indeed, it can't be for nothing that you 're so afraid. Chremes. I afraid ? Phormio. Oh, no, not at all! Since you're not afraid, and the story I tell is all a lie, do you tell it yourself. Demipho. Scoundrel! Is he to tell it to please you? Phormio. You 've done your brother a good turn, you have ! Nausistrata. Husband, won't you tell me ? Chremes. But Nausistrata. But what ? Chremes. It is n't worth telling. Phormio. It is n't worth your while to tell, but it is worth her while to hear. In Lemnos Chremes. Here, what are you saying ? Demipho. Hold your tongue, will you ? Phormio. Without your knowledge Chremes. I 'm in for it ! Phormio. He married a wife. Nausistrata. Oh, husband, the gods forbid ! Phormio. That 's the truth. Nausistrata. Unhappy woman that I am, it 's all over with me ! Phormio. And by her he 's had one daughter al- ready, while you 're in a state of blissful ignorance. Chremes (aside to DEMIPHO). What are we to do? 60 TERENCE Nausistrata. A wicked and terrible thing, by the immortal gods ! Phormio (overhearing CHREMES). Do? There's nothing left to do. Phormio. Was there ever anything more disgrace- ful? Nausistrata. I address you, Demipho, for it makes me sick to talk to that creature. Was this the rea- son of his travelling so often to Lemnos and stay- ing there so long? Was this the cause of the fall in prices which brought down our income ? Demipho. Nausistrata, I admit that he deserves blame in this matter, but it is n't an unpardonable offence. Phormio (aside). He 's pleading for the dead. Demipho. It wasn't, you must understand, because he was tired of you, or because he disliked you, that he did this. It all happened about fifteen years ago. He had been drinking when he met the woman. This girl was born, but he never had anything to do with the mother afterwards. She 's dead and gone now ; the only difficulty is removed. So, I beg you, be pa- tient in this, as you have been in all other matters. Nausistrata. I patient ? I am indeed sorely anx- ious that this should be his last offence, but how can I hope for that? Am I to suppose that he will grow steadier as he grows older ? Why, he was old when he did it ; so much for years bringing steadiness ! Are my looks and age likely to be more attractive to. him now than they were then, Demipho? What grounds do you give me for expecting or hoping that he won't do it again ? Phormio. Now 's the time for all who would attend the funeral of Chremes ! That 's the way I '11 give it PHORMIO 61 to him. Such is the fate of those who attack Phormio, so let any one who likes come on, and I '11 lay him as low as this man here. But I 'm willing that he should be pardoned ; he 's had punishment enough to satisfy me. His wife has something to din into his ears as long as he lives. Nausistrata. Well, I 've deserved this, I suppose. What 's the good of my telling you now in detail, Demipho, what a good wife I 've been to him? Demipho. I know it all as well as you do. Nausistrata. Then do you think that I deserved such treatment ? Demipho. Not in the least. But seeing that what 's done can't be undone by reproaches, forgive him. He begs your pardon, acknowledges his sin, and makes a clean breast of it. What more do you want? Phormio (aside). Before she forgives him, I must look out for myself and for Phaedria. Look here, Nausistrata, before you give any rash answer, listen to me. Nausistrata. What have you to say ? Phormio. I got thirty minae out of him by a trick ; I 've given them to your son, who has bought his mistress with them from a slave-trader. Chremes. Eh, what 's that you say ? Nausistrata. Pray, do you think it such a heinous crime that your son, who is a young man, should have a mistress, while you have two wives ? Have you no shame ? Will you have the face to blame him ? An- swer me. Demipho. He '11 do as you wish. Nausistrata. No, to tell you my feeling in the matter, I don't mean to pardon him or to make any promise, or even to give an answer, until I 've seen my 62 TERENCE son ; I leave it all to him to decide ; I '11 do what he bids me. Phormio. You 're a sensible woman, Nausistrata. Nausistrata (to CHEEMES). Are you satisfied with that? Chremes. Yes. (Aside.*) I 'm coming off finely, much better than I expected. Nausistrata. Tell me your name. Phormio. Phormio, a friend of your family, and especially of your son Phaedria. Nausistrata. Well, Phormio, I assure you, after this I '11 do whatever I can for you, both in word and deed. Phormio. You 're very kind. Nausistrata. Not at all, you deserve it. Phormio. Would you like, Nausistrata, to do something to-day that would please me, and at the same time vex your husband's sight ? Nausistrata. I certainly should. Phormio. Then invite me to dinner. Nausistrata. Indeed I do. Demipho. Let 's go inside, then. Nausistrata. Yes, but where 's Phaedria, our judge ? Phormio. I '11 have him here presently. [Exeunt PHORMIO towards the forum, the others into CHREMES' house. Cantor l (to the audience). Farewell, and give us your applause. 1 The cantor, whose principal function was to siug the lyrical parts of the play, always spoke the last words. LUCRETIUS BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ST. JEROME in his Chronicle places the birth of Lucre- tius in the year 94, adding that after having become insane by drinking a love philtre he wrote some books in the lucid intervals of his madness ; that he committed suicide in his forty-fourth year, and that Cicero revised his work. From other sources it seems probable that 97 and not 94 was the year of the poet's birth. The remaining statements of St. Jerome's notice are likewise open to grave question. The story of the love philtre may be dismissed without discus- sion ; and there is no confirmation of the assertions con- cerning his madness and suicide. The Cicero mentioned is probably the famous orator, but even this is uncertain. His poem On the Nature of Things consists of six books, and is an exposition of the doctrines of the Epicurean phi- losophy. The first two books are devoted to the atomic theory in its more general aspects. Starting from the two fundamental principles that nothing is produced from no- thing and that nothing returns to nothing, he explains the existence of the universe, of all forms of life, of all natural phenomena, as due to the chance combination of an infinite number of atoms moving in an infinite void. The atoms have existed from all eternity, and are indestructi- ble. They are of extreme minuteness, indivisible, and im- perceptible by any of the senses. Having an inherent power of deflection they swerve from the straight line as they fall, and, colliding, combine in forms of manifold va- riety. The third book deals with the constitution of the 64 LUCRETIUS soul, which is, like everything else, material, consisting of small round atoms of unusual fineness. It cannot exist apart from the body. In the fourth book we have a treat- ment of sense perceptions ; in the fifth, of the formation of the world, the origin of life, and the development of man ; in the sixth, of such natural phenomena as thunder, light- ning, and earthquakes. The poem concludes with an ac- count of the plague at Athens. It was not, however, so much the theory of Epicurus that attracted Lucretius as its practical application. In his view of life there were two principal causes of unhappiness : belief in the interference of the gods in the affairs of the world, and fear of death. He welcomed the Epicurean philosophy, because, as he believed, it proved that both were groundless. Epicurus did, it is true, believe in the existence of gods, but the atomic theory excluded them from all part in the creation and management of the world. They lived in perfect tranquillity somewhere in the vast spaces between the worlds, and paid no attention to terres- trial things. There was accordingly no reason why men should dread them. In the same way, the soul having been proved to be subject to immediate disintegration on separating from the body, death should have no more ter- rors. The most conspicuous feature of the book is the poet's splendid enthusiasm. His theme does not at first sight seem to be an inspiring one, but the atomic theory came to him as a revelation, and the realization of what it meant for him and for all who would believe filled him with a sort of frenzy. He had what the Greeks called /xavia, possession, something stronger than inspiration as ordinarily used, and this, carrying him without a sign of weariness through long and intricate disquisitions on details of the theory, manifests itself every now and then with increased intensity in some arraignment of religion so-called, or some fine piece of de- scriptive writing, or a glorification of Epicurus. All his LUCRETIUS 65 references to the master show a rare earnestness. Epi- curus is to him something more than mortal, something of a god. He it was who first pointed out the way of truth, who showed a light in the darkness, who made hap- piness possible for men. The ultra sombre, almost morbid view of life that we find in many passages of the poem is in part due to the same impassioned zeal for the doctrines he was preaching ; for while his keen sense of the misery and suffering in the world had much to do with his embrac- ing Epicureanism in the first place, the enthusiasm with which he embraced it tended to make him exaggerate the evils which he was combatting. The note sounded in the second book (v. 578 seq.), " nor did night ever follow day, or morning night, that heard not, mingling with the cries of sickly infants, wailings the attendants on death and black funeral " recurs again and again. In depicting the different phases of nature he stands in the first rank among Roman poets. His descriptions, introduced from time to time to relieve the tension of philosophic argument, are marked by an accuracy, a truthfulness, a startling vivid- ness, that could come only from highly trained powers of observation ; but they have besides the charm which springs from a genuine feeling for the beauty of the external world. Nor does the compression which so many of them show de- tract at all from their effectiveness. The " shells that paint the lap of earth, where the sea with gentle waves beats on the thirsty sand of the winding shore," the " grey-green strip of olives running between vineyards," such descrip- tions as these linger in the memory, when more elaborate pictures might fail. On the side of language Lucretius was hampered by the fact that Latin had not in his time developed a philosophi- cal vocabulary. So we find him complaining of the " pov- erty of the Latin language." The Latin hexameter, too, was a medium which, although it had been used before by Ennius, had not as yet attained to any very great degree of flexibility. 66 LUCRETIUS INVOCATION TO VENUS 1 (L, 1-43.) MOTHER of the Aeneadae, a darling of men and gods, increase-giving Venus, who beneath the gliding signs of heaven fillest with thy presence the ship-car- rying sea, the corn-bearing lands, since through thee every kind of living things is conceived, rises up and beholds the light of the sun. Before thee, goddess, flee the winds, the clouds of heaven ; before thee and thy advent ; for thee earth manifold in works puts forth sweet-smelling flowers ; for thee the levels of the sea do laugh and heaven propitiated shines with out- spread light. For soon as the vernal aspect of day is disclosed, and the birth favoring breath of favonius 3 unbarred is blowing fresh, first the fowls of the air, O lady, shew signs of thee and thy entering in, throughly smitten in heart by thy power. Next the wild herds bound over the glad pastures and swim the rapid rivers : in such wise each made prisoner by thy charm follows thee with desire, whither thou goest to lead it on. Yes, throughout seas and mountains and sweeping rivers and leafy homes of birds and grassy plains, striking fond love into the breasts of all thou constrainest them each after its kind to continue their races with desire. Since thou then art sole mistress of the nature of things, and without thee nothing rises up into the divine borders of light, nothing grows to be glad or lovely, I would have thee for a helpmate in writing the verses which I essay to pen on the nature 1 Venus is invoked as the procreative power in nature. 3 The Romans. According to legend Aeneas, son of Venus, was the founder of the Roman race. 8 The west wind. THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA 67 of things for our own son of the Memmii, 1 whom tliou, goddess, hast willed to have no peer, rich as he ever is in every grace. Wherefore all the more, O lady, lend my lays an ever living charm. Cause meanwhile the savage works of war to be lulled to rest through- out all seas and lands ; for thou alone canst bless mankind with calm peace, seeing that Mavors 2 lord of battle controls the savage works of war, Mavors who often flings himself into thy lap quite vanquished by the never-healing wound of love ; and then with up- turned face and shapely neck thrown back feeds with love his greedy sight gazing, goddess, open-mouthed on thee; and as backward he reclines, his breath stays hanging on thy lips. While then, lady, he is reposing on thy holy body, shed thyself about him and above, and pour from thy lips sweet discourse, asking, glorious dame, gentle peace for the Romans. For neither can we in our country's day of trouble with untroubled mind think only of our work, nor can the illustrious offset of Memmius in times like these be wanting to the general weal. H. A. J. MUNBO. THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA. 8 (I., 62-101.) PROSTRATE lay human life beneath the spell Of dark Religion lowering from the skies ; 1 The poem was dedicated to Gains Memmius. 2 Mars. 8 Iphigenia was the daughter of Agamemnon, the leader of the Greeks in their expedition against Troy. Her sacrifice was intended to appease Diana, to whose anger the contrary winds, which delayed the fleet at Aulis, were attributed. The preparations were made ostensibly for her marriage with Achilles, and it was only at the last moment that she realized the situation. 68 LUCRETIUS Nor was one found to break that thraldom fell Until a man of Greece dared lift his eyes, One whom no vengeful thunderbolts could quell Nor wrath of gods. But on his high emprise, Chafed to sublimer daring and intent, To burst through Nature's portals forth he went. Thus his undaunted spirit for mankind 70 O'er Superstition's power the victory won ; Past the world's flaming walls his venturous mind Through the unmeasured universe pressed on ; Thence brought us word how Being is defined By bounds fast set which nothing may o'er-run. 75 So trampled under foot Religion lies While Science soars victorious to the skies. Nor deem it sin by Reason to be freed, Or think I lead thee an unholy way ; Rather to many a dark and bloody deed *< Religion hurries those who own her sway. Was not Iphigenia doomed to bleed By the Greek chiefs, though first of men were they, Staining the altar of the Trivian Maid At Aulis where the fleet by winds was stayed ? Lo ! on her tresses fair for bridal tire The sacrificial fillet they have bound ; Beside the altar weeping stands her sire : In all the crowd no tearless eye is found. The priests make ready for their office dire, sc Yet pitying hide the knife. When gazing round The Maiden sees her doom, her spirit dies, Her limbs sink down, speechless on earth she lies. ATOMS AND VOID 69 The firstborn of his children she in vain Had brought the name of father to the king. 95 In arms upborne she goes, not by a train Of youths that the loud hymeneal sing Around a happy bride in joyous strain Bearing her home, but a sad offering, There to be slain by him who gave her birth. wo Such evil hath Religion wrought on earth. GOLDWIN SMITH. ATOMS AND VOID (I., 503-550.) FIRST of all then, since there has been found to exist a two-fold and widely dissimilar nature of two things, that is to say of body and of place in which things severally go on, each of the two must exist for and by itself and quite unmixed. For wherever there is empty space which we call void, there body is not ; wherever again body maintains itself, there empty void nowise exists. First bodies 1 therefore are solid and without void. Again since there is void in things begotten, solid matter must exist about this void, and no thing can be proved by true reason to conceal in its body and have within it void, unless you choose to allow that that which holds it in is solid. Again that can be nothing but a union of matter which can keep in the void of things. Matter therefore, which consists of a solid body, may be everlasting, though all things else are dissolved. Moreover if there were no empty void, the universe would be solid ; unless on the other hand there were certain bodies to fill up whatever places they occupied, the existing universe would be 1 The atoms. 70 LUCRETIUS empty and void space. Therefore sure enough body and void are marked off in alternate layers, since the universe is neither of a perfect fulness nor a perfect void. There are, therefore certain bodies which can vary void space with full. These can neither be broken in pieces by the stroke of blows from without, nor have their texture undone by aught piercing to their core nor give way before any other kind of assault ; as we have proved to you a little before. For without void nothing seems to admit of being crushed in or broken up or split in two by cutting, or of taking in wet or permeating cold or penetrating fire, by which all things are destroyed. And the more anything contains within it of void, the more thoroughly it gives way to the assault of these things. Therefore if first bodies are as I have shown solid and without void, they must be everlasting. Again unless matter had been eternal, all things before this would have utterly returned to nothing and whatever things we see would have been born anew from nothing. But since I have proved above that nothing can be produced from nothing, and that what is begotten cannot be recalled to nothing, first beginnings must be of an im- perishable body, into which all things can be dissolved at their last hour, that there may be a supply of mat- ter for the reproduction of things. Therefore first- beginnings are of solid singleness, and in no other way can they have been preserved through ages during infinite time past in order to reproduce things. H. A. J. MUNBO. THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO EPICURUS 71 THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO EPICURUS 1 (II, 1 seq.) I. WHEN storms blow loud, 't is sweet to watch at ease From shore, the sailor laboring with the seas : Because the sense, not that such pains are his, But that they are not ours, must always please. n. Sweet for the cragsman, from some high retreat Watching the plains below where legions meet, To wait the moment when the walls of war Thunder and clash together. But more sweet, in. Sweeter by far on Wisdom's rampired height To pace serene the porches of the light, And thence look down down on the purblind herd Seeking and never finding in the night IV. The road to peace the peace that all might hold, But yet is missed by young men and by old, Lost in the strife for palaces and powers, The axes, and the lictors, and the gold. v. Oh sightless eyes ! Oh hands that toil in vain ! Not such your needs. Your nature's needs are twain, 1 This selection bears on the principal aim of Epicurean ethics, to teach men how best to live in peace and tranquillity. The version is taken from Mr. Mullock's Lucretius on Life and Death, in the metre of Omar Khayydm. 72 LUCRETIUS And only twain : and these are to be free Your minds from terror, and your bones from pain. VI. Unailing limbs, a calm unanxious breast Grant Nature these, and she will do the rest. Nature will bring you, be you rich or poor, Perhaps not much at all events her best. vn. What though no statued youths from wall and wall Strew light along your midnight festival, With golden hands, nor beams from Lebanon Keep the lyre's languor lingering through the hall, VIII. Yours is the table 'neath the high-whispering trees ; Yours is the lyre of leaf and stream and breeze, The golden flagon, and the echoing dome Lapped in the Spring, what care you then for these ? IX. Sleep is no sweeter on the ivory bed Than yours on moss ; and fever's shafts are sped As clean through silks damasked for dreaming kings, As through the hood that wraps the poor man's head. x. What then, if all the prince's glittering store Yields to his body not one sense the more, Nor any ache or fever of them all Is barred out by bronze gates or janitor THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO EPICURUS 73 XI. What shall the palace, what the proud domain Do for the mind vain splendors of the vain ? How shall these minister to a mind diseased, Or raze one written trouble from the brain ? XII. Unless you think that conscience, with its stings And misery, fears the outward pomp of things Fears to push swords and sentinels aside, And sit the assessor of the king of kings. XIII. The mind ! Ay there 's the rub. The root is there Of that one malady which all men share. It gleams between the haggard lids of joy ; It burns a canker in the heart of care. XIV. Within the gold bowl, when the feast is set, It lurks. 'T is bitter in the laborer's sweat. Feed thou the starving, and thou bring'st it back Back to the Starving, who alone forget. xv. Oh you who under silken curtains lie, And you whose only roof-tree is the sky, What is the curse that blights your lives alike ? Not that you hate to live, but fear to die. XVI. Fear is the poison. Wheresoe'er you go, Out of the skies above, the clouds below, 74 LUCRETIUS The sense thrills through you of some pitiless Power Who scowls at once your father and your foe ; XVII. Who lets his children wander at their whim, Choosing their road, as though not bound by him : But all their life is rounded with a shade, And every road goes down behind the rim ! xvm. And there behind the rim, the swift, the lame, At different paces, but their end the same, Into the dark shall one by one go down, Where the great furnace shakes its hair of flame. XIX. Oh ye who cringe and cower before the throne Of him whose heart is fire, whose hands are stone, Who shall deliver you from this death in life Strike off your chains, and make your souls your own? W. H. MALLOCK. THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD (m., 1-80.) THEE, 1 who first wast able amid such thick dark- ness to raise on high so bright a beacon and shed a light on the true interests of life, thee I follow, glory of the Greek race, and plant now my footsteps firmly fixed in thy imprinted marks, not so much from a desire to rival thee as that from the love I bear thee I yearn to imitate thee ; for why need the swallow 1 Epicurus. THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD 75 contend with swans, or what likeness is there between the feats of racing performed by kids with tottering limbs and by the powerful strength of the horse? Thou, father, art discoverer of things, thou furnishest us with fatherly precepts, and like as bees sip of all things in the flowery lawns, we, O glorious being, in like manner feed from out thy pages upon all the golden maxims, golden I say, most worthy ever of end- less life. For soon as thy philosophy issuing from a godlike intellect has begun with loud voice to pro- claim the nature of things, the terrors of the mind are dispelled, the walls of the world part asunder, I see things in operation throughout the whole void ; the divinity of the gods 1 is revealed and their tranquil abodes which neither winds do shake nor clouds drench with rains, nor snow congealed by sharp frosts harms with hoary fall : an ever cloudless ether o'er- canopies them, and they laugh with light shed largely round. Nature too supplies all their wants and no- thing ever impairs their peace of mind. But on the other hand the Acherusian quarters 2 are nowhere to be seen. H. A. J. MUNRO. 1 The well-known description of the gods of the Epicureans in Tennyson's Lucretius is a reminiscence of this passage, which in its turn goes back to some lines in the Odyssey of Homer. 2 No abiding place of the dead is discerned by the poet in the plan of the universe revealed to him. As an argument in favor of the mortality of the soul, this is hardly cogent. 76 LUCRETIUS THE FEAR OF DEATH l (in., 894 sej.) *' No more shall look upon thy face Sweet spouse, no more with emulous race Sweet children court their sire's embrace. 2 " To their soft touch right soon no more Thy pulse shall thrill ; e'en now is o'er s Thy stewardship, Death is at the door. " One dark day wresteth every prize From hapless man in hapless wise, Yea, e'en the pleasure of his eyes. " Thus men bewail their piteous lot ; w Yet should they add, " 'T is all forgot, These things the dead man recketh not." Yea, could they knit for them this chain Of words and reasons, men might gain Some dull narcotic for their pain, r> Saying, " The dead are dead indeed ; The dead, from all heart-sickness freed, Sleep and shall sleep and take no heed." Lo, if dumb Nature found a voice, Would she bemoan, and not make choice 20 To bid poor mortals to rejoice, 1 The use of the metre of Tennyson's Two Voices was suggested to Mr. Tyrrell by the similarity of theme. See his Latin Poetry, p. 72. The first three stanzas are put into the mouth of some friend of the deceased, while the rest of the selection gives the Epicurean view. 9 Comparison with Gray's Elegy is inevitable. THE HONEY OF THE MUSES 11 Saying, " Why weep thy wane, O man ? Wert joyous e'en when life began, When thy youth's sprightly freshets ran ? " Nay, all the joys thy life e'er knew 25 As poured into a sieve fell through, And left thee but to rail and rue." Go, fool, as doth a well-filled guest Sated of life : with tranquil breast Take thine inheritance of rest. so Why seekest joys that soon must pale Their feeble fires, and swell the tale Of things of nought and no avail ? Die, sleep ! For all things are the same ; Tho' spring now stir thy crescent frame, 35 'T will wither : all things are the same. R. Y. TYBHELL. THE HONEY OF THE MUSES (IV., 1-25.) I TRAVERSE the pathless haunts of the Pierides 1 never yet trodden by sole of man. I love to approach the untasted springs and to quaff, I love to cull fresh flowers and gather for my head a distinguished crown from spots whence the muses have yet veiled the brows of none ; first because I teach of great things and essay to release the mind from the fast bonds of religious scruples, and next because on a dark subject I pen such lucid verses o'erlaying all with the muses' charm. 1 The muses. 78 LUCRETIUS For that too would seem to be not without good grounds : even as physicians when they propose to give nauseous wormwood to children, first smear the rim round the bowl with the sweet yellow juice of honey, that the unthinking age of children may be fooled as far as the lips, and meanwhile drink up the bitter draught of wormwood and though beguiled yet not betrayed, but rather by such means recover health and strength : so I now, since this doctrine seems gen- erally somewhat bitter to those by whom it has not been handled, and the multitude shrinks back from it in dismay, have resolved to set forth to you our doc- trine in sweet-toned Pierian verse and o'erlay it as it were with the pleasant honey of the muses, if happily by such means I might engage your mind on my verses, till such time as you apprehend all the nature of things and thoroughly feel what use it has. H. A. J. MUNBO. LOVE'S EXTRAVAGANCE l (IV., 1121-1191.) THEN too they 2 waste their strength and ruin them- selves by the labor, then too their life is passed at the beck of another. Meanwhile their estate runs away and is turned into Babylonian coverlets ; duties are neg- lected and their good name staggers and sickens. On her feet laugh elastic and beautiful Sicyonian 3 shoes, yes, and large emeralds with green light are set in gold and the sea-colored dress is worn constantly and much 1 Love finds a place in Lucretins's poem as one of the phenomena connected with the senses, which constitute the theme of the fourth book. 2 He lias heen speaking of lovers. 8 From Sicyon, a town in the northeast of the Peloponnesus. LOVE'S EXTRAVAGANCE 79 used drinks in the sweat. The noble earnings of their fathers are turned into hairbands, head-dresses ; some- times are changed into a sweeping robe and Aliden- sian and Cean dresses. 1 Feasts set out with rich cov- erlets and viands, games, numerous cups, perfumes, crowns and garlands are prepared ; all in vain, since out of the very well-spring of delights rises up some- thing bitter, to pain amid the very flowers ; either when the conscience-stricken mind haply gnaws itself with remorse to think that it is passing a life of sloth and ruining itself in brothels, or because she has launched forth some word and left its meaning in doubt and it cleaves to the love-sick heart and burns like living fire, or because it fancies she casts her eyes too freely about or looks on another, and it sees in her face traces of a smile. And these evils are found in love that is lasting and highly prosperous ; but in crossed and hopeless love are ills such as you may seize with closed eyes, past numbering ; so that it is better to watch beforehand in the manner I have prescribed, and be on your guard not to be drawn in. For to avoid falling into the toils of love is not so hard as, after you are caught, to get out of the nets you are in and to break through the strong meshes of Venus. And yet even when you are entangled and held fast you may escape the mis- chief, unless you stand in your own way and begin by overlooking all the defects of her mind or those of her body, whoever it is whom you court and woo. For this men usually do, blinded by passion, and attribute to the beloved those advantages which are not really theirs. We therefore see women in ways manifold 1 From Alida. in the southwest of Asia Minor, and Ceos, an island in the Aegean Sea. 80 LUCRETIUS deformed and ugly to be objects of endearment and held in the highest admiration. And one lover jeers at others and advises them to propitiate Venus, since they are troubled by a disgraceful passion, and often, poor wretch, gives no thought to his own ills, greatest of all. The black is a brune, the filthy and rank has not the love of order ; the cat-eyed is a miniature Pallas, the stringy and wizened a gazelle ; the dumpy and dwarfish is one of the graces, from top to toe all grace ; the big and overgrown is awe-inspiring and full of dignity. She is tongue-tied, cannot speak, then she has a lisp ; the dumb is bashful ; then the fire-spit, the teasing, the gossiping, turns to a shining lamp. One becomes a slim darling then when she cannot live from want of flesh ; and she is only spare, who is half dead with cough. Then the fat and big-breasted is a Ceres' self big-breasted from lacchus ; 1 the pug-nosed is a she Silenus and a satyress ; the thick-lipped a very kiss. It were tedious to attempt to report other things of the kind. Let her however be of ever so great dignity of appearance ; such that the power of Venus goes forth from all her limbs ; yet there are others too ; yet have we lived without her before ; yet does she do, and we know that she does, in all things the same as the ugly woman ; and fumigates herself, poor wretch, with nauseous perfumes, her very maids run- ning from her and giggling behind her back. But the lover, when shut out, often in tears covers the thresh- old with flowers and wreaths, and anoints the haughty doorposts with oil of marjoram and imprints kisses, poor wretch, on the doors. When, however, he has been admitted, if on his approach but one single breath should come in his way, he would seek specious 1 Bacchus, who was, according to one account, the son of Ceres. THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN 81 reasons for departing, and the long-conned deep-drawn complaint would fall to the ground ; and then he would blame his folly, on seeing that he had attributed to her more than it is right to concede to a mortal. Nor is this unknown to our Venuses ; wherefore all the more they themselves hide with the utmost pains all that goes on behind the scenes of life from those whom they wish to retain in the chains of love ; biit in vain, since you may yet draw forth from her mind into the light all these things and search into all her smiles ; and if she is of a fair mind and not troublesome, overlook them in your turn and make allowance for human failings. H. A. J. MUNBO. THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN 1 (V., 925-1457.) BUT the race of man then in the fields was much hardier, as beseemed it to be, since the hard earth had produced it ; and built on a groundwork of larger and more solid bones within, knit with powerful sin- ews throughout the frame of flesh ; not lightly to be disabled by heat or cold or strange kinds of food or any malady of body. And during the revolution of many lustres of the sun through heaven they led a life after the roving fashion of wild beasts. No one then was a sturdy guider of the bent plough or knew how to labor the fields with iron or plant in the ground young saplings or lop with prun ing-hooks old boughs 1 The importance of man's place in the nature of things is recog- nized by this long section at the end of the fifth book, in which the development of the race is traced through all the stages from primi- tive savagery to civilization and culture. 82 LUCRETIUS from the high trees. What the sun and rains had given, what the earth had produced spontaneously, was guerdon sufficient to content their hearts. Among acorn-bearing oaks they would refresh their bodies for the most part ; and the arbute-berries which you now see in the winter-time ripen with a bright scarlet hue, the earth would then bear in greatest plenty and of a larger size ; and many coarse kinds of food be- sides the teeming freshness of the world then bare, more than enough for poor wretched men. But rivers and springs invited to slake thirst, even as now a rush of water down from the great hills summons with clear plash far and wide the thirsty races of wild beasts. Then too as they ranged about they would occupy the well-known woodland haunts of the nymphs, out of which they knew that smooth-gliding streams of water with a copious gush bathed the dripping rocks, tric- kling down over the green moss ; and in parts welled and bubbled out over the level plain. And as yet they knew not how to apply fire to their purposes or to make use of skins and clothe their body in the spoils of wild beasts, but they would dwell in woods and mountain-caves and forests and shelter in the brush- wood their squalid limbs when driven to shun the buffeting of the winds and the rains. And they were unable to look to the general weal and knew not how to make a common use of any customs or laws. Whatever prize fortune threw in his way, each man would bear off, trained at his own discretion to think of himself and live for himself alone. And Venus would join the bodies of lovers in the woods ; for each woman was gained over either by mutual desire, or the headstrong violence and vehement lust of the man, or a bribe of some acorns and arbute-berries or choice THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN 83 pears. And trusting to the marvellous powers of their hands and feet they would pursue the forest-haunting races of wild beasts with showers of stones and club of ponderous weight ; and many they would conquer, a few they would avoid in hiding-places ; and like to bristly swine just as they were they would throw their savage limbs all naked on the ground, when overtaken by night, covering themselves up with leaves and boughs. Yet never with loud wailings would they call for the daylight and the sun, wandering terror-stricken over the fields in the shadows of night, but silent and bur- ied in sleep they would wait, till the sun with rosy torch carried light into heaven ; for accustomed as they had been from childhood always to see darkness and light begotten time about, never could any wonder come over them, nor any misgiving that never-ending night would cover the earth and the light of the sun be withdrawn for evermore. But what gave them trouble was rather the races of wild beasts which would often render repose fatal to the poor wretches. And driven from their home they would fly from their rocky shel- ters on the approach of a foaming boar or a strong lion, and in the dead of night they would surrender in terror to their savage guests their sleeping- places strawn with leaves. Nor then much more than now would the races of mortal men leave the sweet light of ebbing life. For then this one or that other one of them would be more likely to be seized, and torn open by their teeth would furnish to the wild beasts a living food, and would fill with his moaning woods and mountains and forests as he looked on his living flesh buried in a living grave. But those whom flight had saved with body eaten into, holding ever after their quivering palms over the noi- 84 LUCRETIUS some sores would summon death with appalling cries, until cruel gripings had rid them of life, forlorn of help, unwitting what wounds wanted. But then a sin- gle day gave not over to death many thousands of men marching with banners spread, nor did the stormy waters of the sea dash on the rocks men and ships. At this time the sea would often rise up and rage without aim, without purpose, without result, and just as lightly put off its empty threats ; nor could the win- ning wiles of the calm sea treacherously entice any one to his ruin with laughing waters, when the reck- less craft of the skipper had not yet risen into the light. Then too want of food would consign to death their fainting frames, now on the contrary 't is plenty sinks into ruin. They unwittingly would often pour out poison for themselves ; now with nicer skill men give it to their son's wife instead. Next after they had got themselves huts and skins and fire, and the woman united with the man passed with him into one domicile and the duties of wedlock were learnt by the two, and they saw an offspring born from them, then first mankind began to soften. For fire made their chilled bodies less able now to bear the frost beneath the canopy of heaven, and Venus impaired their strength and children with their ca- resses soon broke down the haughty temper of parents. Then too neighbors began to join in a league of friend- ship, mutually desiring neither to do nor suffer harm ; and asked for indulgence to children and womankind, when with cries and gestures they declared in stam- mering speech that meet it is for all to have mercy on the weak. And though harmony could not be estab- lished without exception, yet a very large portion ob- served their agreements with good faith, or else the race THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN 85 of man would then have been wholly cut off, nor could breeding have continued their generations to this day. But nature impelled them to utter the various sounds of the tongue and use struck out the names of things, much in the same way as the inability to speak is seen in its turn to drive children to the use of ges- tures, when it forces them to point with the finger at the things which are before them. For every one feels how far he can make use of his peculiar powers. Ere the horns of a calf are formed and project from his forehead, he butts with it when angry and pushes out in his rage. Then whelps of panthers and cubs of lions fight with claws and feet and teeth at a time when teeth and claws are hardly yet formed. Again we see every kind of fowl trust to wings and seek from pinions a fluttering succor. Therefore to sup- pose that some one man at that time apportioned names to things, and that men from him learnt their first words, is sheer folly. For why should this particular man be able to denote all things by words and to utter the various sounds of the tongue, and yet at the same time others be supposed not to have been able to do so ? Again if others as well as he had not made use of words among themselves, whence was implanted in this man the previous con- ception of its use, and whence was given to him the original faculty, to know and perceive in mind what he wanted to do? Again one man could not con- strain and subdue and force many to choose to learn the names of things. It is no easy thing in any way to teach and convince the deaf of what is need- ful to be done ; for they never would suffer nor in any way endure sounds of voice hitherto unheard to continue to be dinned fruitlessly into their ears. 86 LUCRETIUS Lastly what is there so passing strange in this cir- cumstance, that the race of men whose voice and tongue were in full force, should denote things by dif- ferent words as different feelings prompted ? since dumb brutes, yes, and the races of wild beasts are accustomed to give forth distinct and varied sounds, when they have fear or pain and when joys are rife. This you may learn from facts plain to sense : when the large spongy open lips of Molossian l dogs begin to growl enraged and bare their hard teeth, thus drawn back in rage they threaten in a tone far different from that in which they bark outright and fill with sounds all the places around. Again when they essay fondly to lick their whelps with their tongue or when they toss them with their feet and snapping at them make a feint with lightly closing teeth of swallowing though with gentle forbearance, they caress them with a yelp- ing sound of a sort greatly differing from that which they utter when left alone in a house they bay, or when they slink away howling from blows with a crouching body. Again is not the neigh, too, seen to differ, when a young stallion in the flower of age rages among the mares smitten by the goads of winged love, and when with wide-stretched nostrils he snorts out the signal to arms, and when as it chances on any other occasion he neighs with limbs all shaking ? Lastly the race of fowls and various birds, hawks and os- prays and gulls seeking their living in the salt water mid the waves of the sea, utter at a different time noises widely different from those they make when they are fighting for food and struggling with their prey. And some of them change together with the 1 The Molossi were a people of Epirus, in the northwest of Greece. Molossian hounds were famous in antiquity. THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN 87 weather their harsh croakings, as the long-lived races of crows and flocks of rooks when they are said to be calling for water and rain and sometimes to be sum- moning winds and gales. Therefore if different sen- sations compel creatures, dumb though they be, to utter different sounds, how much more natural it is that mortal men in those times should have been able to denote dissimilar things by many different words ! And lest haply on this head you ask in silent thought this question, it was lightning that brought fire down on earth for mortals in the beginning ; thence the whole heat of flames is spread abroad. Thus we see many things shine dyed in heavenly flames, when the stroke from heaven has stored them with its heat. Ay and without this when a branch- ing tree sways to and fro and tosses about under the buffeting of the winds, pressing against the boughs of another tree, fire is forced out by the power of the vio- lent friction, and sometimes the burning heat of flame flashes out, the boughs and stems rubbing against each other. Now either of these accidents may have given fire to men. Next the sun taught them to cook food and soften it with the heat of flame, since they would see many things grow mellow, when subdued by the strokes of the rays and by heat throughout the land. And more and more every day men who excelled in intellect and were of vigorous understanding, would kindly shew them how to exchange their former way of living for new methods. Kings began to build towns and lay out a citadel as a place of strength and of refuge for themselves, and divided cattle and lands and gave to each man in proportion to his personal beauty and strength and intellect ; for beauty and vig- 88 LUCRETIUS orous strength were much esteemed. Afterwards wealth was discovered and gold found out, which soon robbed of their honors strong and beautiful alike ; for men however valiant and beautiful of person gener- ally follow in the train of the richer man. But were a man to order his life by the rules of true reason, a frugal subsistence joined to a contented mind is for him great riches ; for never is there any lack of a lit- tle. But men desired to be famous and powerful, in order that their fortunes might rest on a firm founda- tion and they might be able by their wealth to lead a tranquil life ; but in vain, since in their struggle to mount up to the highest dignities they rendered their path one full of danger ; and even if they reach it, yet envy like a thunderbolt sometimes strikes and dashes men down from the highest point with ignominy into noisome Tartarus ; since the highest summits and those elevated above the level of other things are mostly blasted by envy as by a thunderbolt ; so that far better it is to obey in peace and quiet than to wish to rule with power supreme and be the master of kingdoms. Therefore let men wear themselves out to no purpose and sweat drops of blood, as they struggle on along the straight road of ambition, since they gather their knowledge from the mouths of others and follow after things from hearsay rather than the dictates of their own feelings ; and this prevails not now nor will prevail by and by any more than it has prevailed before. Kings therefore being slain the old majesty of thrones and proud sceptres were overthrown and laid in the dust, and the glorious badge of the sovereign head bloodstained beneath the feet of the rabble mourned for its high prerogative ; for that is greedily THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN 89 trampled on which before was too much dreaded. It would come then in the end to the lees of uttermost disorder, each man seeking for himself empire and sovereignty. Next a portion of them taught men to elect legal officers, and drew up codes, to induce men to obey the laws. For mankind, tired out with a life of brute force, lay exhausted from its feuds ; and therefore the more readily it submitted of its own free will to laws and stringent codes. For as each one moved by anger took measures to avenge himself with more severity than is now permitted by equitable laws, for this reason men grew sick of a life of brute force. Thence fear of punishment mars the prizes of life ; for violence and wrong enclose all who commit them in their meshes and do mostly recoil on him whom they began ; and it is not easy for him who by his deeds transgresses the terms of the public peace to pass a tranquil and a peaceful existence. For though he eludes God and man, yet he cannot but feel a mis- giving that his secret can be kept for ever; seeing that many by speaking in their dreams or in the wan- derings of disease have often we are told betrayed themselves and have disclosed their hidden deeds of evil and their sins. And now what cause has spread over great nations the worship of the divinities of the gods and filled towns with altars and led to the performance of stated sacred rites, rites now in fashion on solemn occasions and in solemn places, from which even now is im- planted in mortals a shuddering awe which raises new temples of the gods over the whole earth and prompts men to crowd them on festive days, all this it is not so difficult to explain in words. Even then in sooth the races of mortal men would see in waking mind glori- 90 LUCRETIUS ous forms, would see them in sleep of yet more mar- vellous size of body. To these then they would attribute sense, because they seemed to move their limbs and to utter lofty words suitable to their glori- ous aspect and surpassing powers. And they would give them life everlasting, because their face would appear before them and their form abide ; yes, and yet without all this because they would not believe that beings possessed of such powers could lightly be overcome by any force. And they would believe them to be preeminent in bliss, because none of them was ever troubled with the fear of death, and because at the same time in sleep they would see them perform many miracles, yet feel on their part no fatigue from the effort. Again they would see the system of heaven and the different seasons of the years come round in regular succession, and could not find out by what cause this was done ; therefore they would seek a refuge in handing over all things to the gods and supposing all things to be guided by their nod. And they placed in heaven the abodes and realms of the gods, because night and moon are seen to roll through heaven, moon, day and night, and night's austere constellations and night-wandering meteors of the sky and flying bodies of flame, clouds, sun, rains, snow, winds, lightnings, hail, and rapid rumblings and loud threatful thunderclaps. O hapless race of men, when that they charged the gods with such acts and coupled with them bitter wrath ! what groanings did they then beget for them- selves, what wounds for us, what tears for our chil- dren's children ! No act is it of piety to be often seen with veiled head to turn to a stone and approach every altar and fall prostrate on the ground and spread out 91 the palms before the statues of the gods and sprinkle the altars with much blood of beasts and link vow on to vow, but rather to be able to look on all things with a mind at peace. For when we turn our gaze on the heavenly quarters of the great upper world and ether fast above the glittering stars, and direct our thoughts to the courses of the sun and moon, then into our breasts burdened with other ills that fear as well be- gins to exalt its reawakened head, the fear that we may haply find the power of the gods to be unlimited, able to wheel the bright stars in their varied motion ; for lack of power to solve the question troubles the mind with doubts, whether there was ever a birth-time of the world, and whether likewise there is to be any end ; how far the walls of the world can endure this strain of restless motion ; or whether gifted by the grace of the gods with an everlasting existence they may glide on through a never-ending tract of time and defy the strong powers of immeasurable ages. Again who is there whose mind does not shrink into itself with fear of the gods, whose limbs do not cower in terror, when the parched earth rocks with the appall- ing thunderstroke and rattlings run through the great heaven ? Do not peoples and nations quake, and proud monarchs shrink into themselves smitten with fear of the gods, lest for any foul transgression or overweening word the heavy time of reckoning has arrived at its fulness ? When too the utmost fury of the headstrong wind passes over the sea and sweeps over its waters the commander of a fleet together with his mighty legions and elephants, does he not draw near with vows to seek the mercy of the gods and ask in prayer with fear and trembling a lull in the winds and propitious gales ; but all in vain, since often caught 92 LUCRETIUS up in the furious hurricane he is borne none the less to the shoals of death ? so constantly does some hid- den power trample on human grandeur and is seen to tread under its heel and make sport for itself of the renowned rods and cruel axes. 1 Again when the whole earth rocks under their feet and towns tumble with the shock or doubtfully threaten to fall, what wonder that mortal men abase themselves and make over to the gods in things here on earth high prerogatives and marvellous powers, sufficient to govern all things ? To proceed, copper and gold and iron were discov- ered and at the same time weighty silver and the sub- stance of lead, when fire with its heat had burnt up vast forests on the great hills, either by a discharge of heaven's lightning, or else because men waging with one another a forest-war had carried fire among the enemy in order to strike terror, or because drawn on by the goodness of the soil they would wish to clear rich fields, and bring the country into pasture, or else to destroy wild beasts and enrich themselves with the booty ; for hunting with the pitfall and with fire came into use before the practice of enclosing the lawn with toils and stirring it with dogs. Whatever the fact is, from whatever cause the heat of fiame had swallowed up the forests with a frightful crackling from their very roots and had thoroughly baked the earth with fire, there would run from the boiling veins and collect into the hollows of the ground a stream of silver and gold, as well as of copper and lead. And when they saw these afterwards cool into lumps and glitter on the earth with a brilliant gleam, they would lift them up attracted by the bright and polished lus- 1 A bundle of rods enclosing an axe was the emblem of magisterial authority at Rome. THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN 93 tre, and they would see them to be moulded in a shape the same as the outline of the cavities in which each lay. Then it would strike them that these might be melted by heat and cast in any form or shape soever, and might by hammering out be brought to tapering points of any degree of sharpness and fineness, so as to furnish them with tools and enable them to cut the forests and hew timber and plane smooth the planks, and also to drill and pierce and bore, and they would set about these works just as much with silver and gold at first as with the overpowering strength of stout copper, but in vain, since their force would fail and give way and not be able like copper to stand the severe strain. At that time copper was in higher esteem and gold would be neglected on account of its uselessness, with its dull blunted edge ; now copper lies neglected, gold has mounted up to the highest place of honor. Thus time as it goes round changes the seasons of things. That which was in esteem, falls at length into utter disrepute ; and then another thing mounts up and issues out of its degraded state and every day is more and more coveted and blossoms forth high in honor when discovered and is in marvel- lous repute with men. And now, Memmius, it is easy for you to find out by yourself in what way the nature of iron was dis- covered. Arms of old were hands nails and teeth and stones and boughs broken off from the forests, and flame and fire, as soon as they had become known. Afterwards the force of iron and copper was discov- ered, and the use of copper was known before that of iron, as its nature is easier to work and it is found in greater quantity. With copper they would labor the soil of the earth, with copper stir up the billows of 94 LUCRETIUS war and deal about wide gaping wounds and seize cat- tle and lands ; for everything defenceless and unarmed would readily yield to them with arms in hand. Then by slow steps the sword of iron gained ground and the make of the copper sickle became a by-word; and with iron they began to plough through the earth's soil, and the struggles of wavering war were rendered equal, and the custom of mounting in arms on the back of a horse and guiding him with reins and shew- ing prowess with the right hand is older than that of tempting the risks of war in a two-horsed chariot ; and yoking a pair of horses is older than yoking four or mounting in arms scythed chariots. Next the Poeni 1 taught the lucan kine 2 with towered body, hideous of aspect, with snake-like hand, to endure the wounds of war and to disorder the mighty ranks of Mars. Thus sad discord begat one thing after an- other, to affright nations of men under arms, and every day made some addition to the terrors of war. They made trial of bulls too in the service of war and essayed to send savage boars against the enemy, and some sent before them valorous lions with armed trainers and courageous keepers to guide them and to hold them in chains ; but in vain since heated with promiscuous slaughter they would disorder in their rage the troops without distinction, shaking all about the frightful crests upon their heads ; and the horse- men were not able to calm the breasts of the horses scared by the roaring and turn them with the bridle upon the enemy. The lionesses with a spring would throw their enraged bodies on all sides and would 1 The Carthaginians. 3 Elephants were so called because the Romans first saw them in iii. in southern Italy, in the array of I'yrrhus. THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN G5 attack in the face those who met them, and others off their guard they would tear down from above, and twining round them would bring them to the ground overpowered by the wound, fastening on them with firm bite and with hooked claws. The bulls would toss their own friends and trample them under foot and gore with their horns the flanks and bellies of the horses underneath and turn up the earth with threat- ening front. The boars too would rend their friends with powerful tusks, in their rage dyeing with their blood the weapons broken in them, ay dyeing with their blood the weapons broken in their own bodies ; and would put to promiscuous rout horse and foot ; for the tame beasts would try to avoid by shying to the side the cruel push of the tusk, or would rear up and paw the winds, all in vain, since you might see them tumble down with their tendons severed and straw the ground in their heavy fall. Those whom they believed before to have been sufficiently broken in at home, they would see lash themselves into fury in the heat of action from wounds and shouting, flight panic and uproar ; and they could not rally any portion of them ; for all the different kinds of wild beasts would fly all abroad ; just as now the lucan kine when cru- elly mangled by the steel fly often all abroad, after inflicting on their friends many cruel sufferings. But men chose thus to act not so much in any hope of vic- tory, as from a wish to give the enemy something to rue at the cost of their own lives, when they mistrusted their numbers and were in want of arms. A garment tied on the body was in use before a dress of woven stuff. Woven stuff comes after iron, because iron is needed for weaving a web ; and in no other way can such finely polished things be made, as 96 LUCRETIUS heddles and spindles, shuttles and ringing yarn-beams. And nature impelled men to work up the wool before womankind ; for the male sex in general far excels the other in skill and is much more ingenious ; until the rugged countrymen so upbraided them with it, that they were glad to give it over into the hands of the women and take their share in supporting hard toil, and in such hard work hardened body and hands. But nature parent of things was herself the first model of sowing and first gave rise to grafting, since berries and acorns dropping from the trees would put forth in due season swarms of young shoots under- neath ; and hence also came the fashion of inserting grafts in their stocks and planting in the ground young saplings over the fields. Next they would try another and yet another kind of tillage for their loved piece of land and would see the earth better the wild fruits through genial fostering and kindly cultiva- tion, and they would force the forests to recede every day higher and higher up the hillside and yield the ground below to tilth, in order to have on the uplands and plains meadows tanks runnels cornfields and glad vineyards, and allow a gray-green strip of olives to run between and mark the divisions, spreading itself over hillocks and valleys and plains ; just as you now see richly dight with varied beauty all the ground which they lay out and plant with rows of sweet fruit- trees, and enclose all round with plantations of other goodly trees. But imitating with the mouth the clear notes of birds was in use long before men were able to sing in tune smooth-running verses and give pleasure to the ear. And the whistlings of the zephyr through THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN 97 the hollows of reeds first taught peasants to blow into hollow stalks. Then step by step they learned sweet plaintive ditties, which the pipe pours forth pressed by the fingers of the players, heard through pathless woods and forests and lawns, through the unfrequented haunts of shepherds and abodes of unearthly calm. These things would soothe and gratify their minds when sated with food ; for then all things of this kind are wel- come. Often therefore stretched in groups on the soft grass beside a stream of water under the boughs of a high tree at no great cost they would pleasantly re- fresh their bodies, above all when the weather smiled and the seasons of the year painted the green grass with flowers. Then went round the jest, the tale, the peals of merry laughter; for the peasant muse was then in its glory ; then f rolick mirth would prompt to entwine head and shoulders with garlands plaited with flowers and leaves, and to advance in the dance out of step and move the limbs clumsily and with clumsy feet beat mother earth ; which would occasion smiles and peals of merry laughter, because all these things then from their greater novelty and strangeness were in high repute, and the wakeful found a solace for want of sleep in this, in drawing out a variety of notes and going through tunes and running over the reeds with curving lip ; whence even at the present day watch- men observe these traditions and have lately learned to keep the proper tune ; and yet for all this receive not a jot more of enjoyment than erst the rugged race of sons of earth received. For that which we have in our hands, if we have known before nothing pleasanter, pleases above all and is thought to be the best ; and as a rule the later discovery of something better spoils the taste for the former things and changes the feel- 98 LUCRETIUS ings in regard to all that has gone before. Thus began distaste for the acorn, thus were abandoned those sleeping places strawn with grass and enriched with leaves. The dress too of wild beasts' skin fell into neglect ; though I can fancy that in those days it was found to arouse such jealousy that he who first wore it met his death by an ambuscade, and after all it was torn in pieces among them and drenched in blood was utterly destroyed and could not be turned to any use. In those times therefore skins, now gold and pur- ple plague men's lives with cares and wear them out with war. And in this methinks the greater blame rests with us ; for cold would torture the naked sons of earth without their skins ; but us it harms not in the least to do without a robe of purple, spangled with gold and large figures, if only we have a dress of the people to protect us. Mankind therefore ever toils vainly and to no purpose and wastes life in groundless cares, because sure enough they have not learnt what is the true end of getting and up to what point genuine pleasure goes on increasing: this by slow degrees has carried life out into the deep sea and stirred up from their lowest depths the mighty billows of war. But those watchful guardians sun and moon travers- ing with their light all round the great revolving sphere of heaven taught men that the seasons of the year came round and that the system was carried on after a fixed plan and fixed order. Already they would pass their life fenced about with strong towers, and the land, portioned out and marked off by boundaries, be tilled ; the sea would be filled with ships scudding under sail ; towns have auxiliaries and allies as stipulated by treaty, when poets began to THE DEVELOPMENT OF MAN 99 consign the deeds of men to verse ; and letters had not been invented long before. For this reason our age cannot look back to what has gone before, save where reason points out any traces. Ships and tillage, walls, laws, roads, dress, and all such like things, all the prizes, all the elegancies too of life without exception, poems, pictures, and the chisel- ling of fine-wrought statues, all these things practice together with the acquired knowledge of the untiring mind taught men by slow degrees as they advanced on the way step by step. Thus time by degrees brings each several thing forth before men's eyes and reason raises it up into the borders of light ; for things must be brought to light one after the other and in due order in the different arts, until .these have reached their highest point of development. H. A. J. MUNRO. CATULLUS BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH SWEETEST of Roman singers, Catullus has won the hearts of his readers both in ancient and in modern times by his perfect sincerity, his exquisite tenderness, his abso- lute ingenuousness. Strange anomaly, a love poet with a really great love, he has told his story with simple direct- ness, expressed its varying phases with compelling candor, traced its course, which ran any way but smoothly, with a range of feeling that places his lyrics among the truest and most spontaneous utterances in literature. At once buoy- ant and moody, with equal capacity for great happiness and for great suffering, his poems show him now striking the stars, now plunged in depths of woe. Yet all told, after reading his "little book," with its alternate sunshine and shadow, it is the more sombre tone that prevails ; and the lighter pieces, while of lasting charm in themselves from their exuberance of spirits, their air of good fellowship, their humorous and satirical touches, have another and per- haps, from the point of view of the book as a whole, a still more striking effect in that they act as foils to those poems of the Lesbia group in which the poet's feelings find their most passionate expression. These are of singular inten- sity, some of them written in the heyday of his hopes and happiness, some in times of doubt and disillusion, some telling of his struggle between his love for Lesbia and his knowledge of her faithlessness, more than one a renuncia- tion, all examples of genuine self-revelation, the record of a rare spirit who happened upon misfortune. CATULLUS 101 He was born at Verona in 84 B. C. Almost the whole period of his literary activity, however, was spent in Rome, and it was there that he met Lesbia, as she is called in his poems, who seems to have given the first stimulus to his lyrical gift. While her identity has not been finally deter- mined, it is probable that she was none other than Clodia, the sister of Clod ins, the notorious enemy of Cicero. His affair with her lasted about four years, from 61-58. In 57 he joined the suite of the propraetor Memmius, who was going out to Bithynia. On returning to Rome in the fol- lowing year, he showed an increased interest in politics, bitterly opposing Caesar and his party. There is no refer- ence in his writings to any event later than 54, and it is assumed that he died soon after that year. Besides the Lesbia lyrics, the verses to different friends, and other occasional pieces, we have a number of epigrams and some longer poems, among which may be mentioned the Marriage ofPeleus and Thetis, an epyllion or miniature epic, into which is woven the story of Theseus and Ariadne ; the Attis, describing the self -mutilation of a young devotee of Cybele ; the Epithalamium of Julia and Manlius, one of the finest products of the poet's genius ; and Berenice's Hair, in which the hair itself gives the true history of its elevation from the head of Berenice, the sister, wife, and queen of Ptolemy Euergetes, to a place in the heavens. While these, in contrast to the best of the shorter poems, show in many respects the influence of the tenets of the group of " new poets," among whom Catullus' closest liter- ary friends were, and who, in violent reaction from the standards of the older national school, looked to Alexan- drian poetry as the only means of literary salvation, yet there are in almost all of them striking manifestations of those qualities of imagination and true poetic insight which make Catullus one of Rome's greatest poets. 102 CATULLUS ON THE DEATH OF LESBIA'S SPARROW (in.) 1 LOVES and Graces mourn with me, Mourn, fair youths, where'er ye be ! Dead my Lesbia's sparrow is, Sparrow, that was all her bliss, Than her very eyes more dear ; 5 For he made her dainty cheer, Knew her well, as any maid Knows her mother, never strayed From her bosom, but would go Hopping round her, to and fro, 10 And to her, and her alone, Chirrup'd with such pretty tone. Now he treads that gloomy track, Whence none ever may come back. Out upon you, and your power, is Which all fairest things devour, Orcus' gloomy shades, that e'er Ye took my bird that was so fair ! Ah, the pity of it ! Thou Poor bird, thy doing 't is, that now 20 My loved one's eyes are swollen and red, With weeping for her darling dead. SIB THEODOBB MARTIN. 1 The number of the poem in the complete collection. DEDICATION OF HIS PINNACE 103 DEDICATION OF HIS PINNACE 1 (IV.) THAT pinnace, friends, can boast that erst 'T was swiftest of its kind ; Nor swam the bark whose fleetest burst It could not leave behind ; Whether the toiling rower's force s Or swelling sail impell'd its course. This boast, it dares the shores that bound The Adrian's 2 stormy space, The Cyclad 3 islands sea-girt round, Bright Rhodes or rugged Thrace, 10 The wide Propontis 4 to gainsay, Or still tempestuous Pontic bay. There, ere it swam 'mid fleetest prows, A grove of spreading trees On high Cytorus' 6 hill, its boughs is Oft whisper'd in the breeze. Amastris, 6 pride of Pontic floods, Cytorus, green with boxen woods, 1 Pointing out to some friends an old pinnace beached somewhere near his villa on the shore of the Lago di Garda, Catullus tells how it had once borne him home from Asia Minor. After mentioning the most important places touched at or passed on the voyage, he dedi- cates the hulk to Castor and Pollux, twin gods of navigation. 2 The Adriatic Sea. The voyage is traced backward from Italy to Asia. 8 In the Aegean Sea. 4 Sea of Marmora. 6 A hill near the south coast of the Black Sea. 6 A city on the Black Sea. 104 CATULLUS Ye knew it then, and all its race, And know the pinnace too, 20 Which from its earliest rise, to grace Thy lofty summit grew ; And in the waves that wash thy shores Which moisten'd first its sturdy oars. Thence many vainly raging seas 25 It bore its master through ; Whether from right or left the breeze Upon the canvas blew ; Or prosperous to its course the gale Spread full and square the straining sail. so No vows to Ocean's gods it gave, For then no storm could shake ; When erst from that remotest wave It sought this limpid lake : 1 But, ah ! those days are fled at length, as And fled with them are speed and strength. Now old, worn out, and lost to fame, In rest that 's justly due, It dedicates this shatter'd frame, Ye glorious Twins, 2 to you 40 To you, whose often cheering ray Beam'd light and safety on its way. GEORGE LAMB. 1 Lake Benacns, now the Logo di Garda. The last part of the voy- age was up the rivers Po and Mincio. a The constellation Gemini was supposed to be Castor and Pol- lax. TO LESBIA 105 TO LESBIA (V.) LIVING, Lesbia, we should e'en be loving. Sour severity, tongue of eld maligning, All be to us a penny's estimation. Suns set only to rise again to-morrow. We, when sets in a little hour the brief light, 5 Sleep one infinite age, a night for ever. Thousand kisses, anon to these an hundred, Thousand kisses again, another hundred, Thousand give me again, another hundred. Then once heedf ully counted all the thousands, We '11 uncount them as idly ; so we shall not Know, nor traitorous eye shall envy, 1 knowing All those myriad happy many kisses. ROBINSON ELLIS. TO THE SAME (vn.) DOST thou, Lesbia, ask that I Say how many of thy kisses Would my craving satisfy, Yes, would surfeit me with blisses ? 1 Information as to the exact number of blessings of any kind was supposed to enable an enemy to exert an evil influence. 106 CATULLUS Count the grains of sand besprent 5 O'er Gyrene's 1 spicy plain, 'Twixt old Battus' 2 monument And the sweltering Hammon's 3 fane. Count the silent stars of night, That be ever watching, when 10 Lovers tasting stol'n delight Dream not of their silent ken. When these numbers thou hast told, And hast kisses given as many, Then I may, perchance, cry hold ! w And no longer wish for any. But, my love, there 's no amount For a rage like mine too vast, Which a curious fool may count, Or with tongue malignant blast. 20 Snt THEODORE MARTIN. TO HIMSELF ON LESBIA'S INCONSTANCY (VIE.) AH, poor Catullus, learn to put away Thy childish things. The lost is lost, be sure ; the task essay That manhood brings. 1 A city in Libya. 2 The founder of Cyrene. 8 A name under which Jupiter was worshipped in Africa. TO HIMSELF 107 Fair shone the skies on thee when thou to fare s Wast ever fain Where the girl beckon'd, lov'd as girl shall ne'er Be lov'd again. Yes, fain thou wast for merry mirth ; and she She ne'er said nay. 10 Ah, gayly then the morning smil'd on thee Each happy day. Now, she saith nay ; but thou be strong to bear, Harden thy heart ; Nor nurse thy grief, nor cling to her so fair, is So fixt to part. Farewell ! I 've learn'd my lesson : I '11 endure, Nor try to find Words that might wake thy ruth, or even cure Thy poison'd mind. 20 Yet will the time come when thy heart shall bleed, Accursed one, When thou shalt come to eld with none to heed, Unwooed, unwon. Who then will seek thee ? Who will call thee fair ? Call thee his own ? 26 Whose kisses and whose dalliance wilt thou share ? Be stone, my heart, be stone. R. Y. TYBBELL. 108 CATULLUS VARUS' MISTRESS (X.) VAEUS, whom I chanced to meet The other evening in the street, Engaged me there, upon the spot, To see a mistress he had got. She seem'd, as far as I can gather, 5 Lively and smart, and handsome rather. There, as we rested from our walk, We enter'd into different talk As, how much might Bithynia bring ? And had I found it a good thing ? 10 I answer'd, as it was the fact, The province had been stript and sack'd ; That there was nothing for the praetors, And still less for us wretched creatures, His poor companions and toad-eaters. is " At least," says she, " you bought some fellows To bear your litter ; for they tell us, Our only good ones come from there." I chose to give myself an air ; " Why, truly, with my poor estate, 20 The difference was n't quite so great Betwixt a province, good or bad, That where a purchase could be had, Eight lusty fellows, straight and tall, I should n't find the wherewithal M To buy them." But it was a lie ; For not a single wretch had I No single cripple fit to bear A broken bedstead or a chair. She, like a strumpet, pert and knowing, so TO FABULLUS 109 Said " Dear Catullus, I am going To worship at Serapis' l shrine Do lend me, pray, those slaves of thine ! " I answered " It was idly said, They were a purchase Cinna made 35 (Caius Cinna, my good friend) It was the same thing in the end, Whether a purchase or a loan I always used them as my own ; Only the phrase was inexact 40 He bought them for himself, in fact. But you have caught the general vice Of being too correct and nice, Over curious and precise ; And seizing with precipitation 45 The slight neglects of conversation." J. HOOK HAM FKKKI:. TO FABULLUS (Xm.) You dine with me, Fabullus mine, On Friday next, at half -past two : And I can promise that you '11 dine As well as man need wish to do ; If you bring with you, when you come, 5 A dinner of the very best, And lots of wine and mirth, and some Fair girl to give the whole a zest. But bring all these you must, I vow, If you 're to find yourself in clover, 10 1 An Egyptian divinity, whose cult was fashionable in Catullus' time. 110 CATULLUS For your Catullus' purse just now With spiders' webs is running over. But anyhow, a welcome warm And loving shall be yours, I ween ; And, for a rarer, daintier charm, is A perfume which the Paphian queen * Gave to my girl, so rare, so sweet, That, when you smell it, in the throes Of ecstasy you '11 straight entreat The gods to make you wholly nose. 20 SIB THEODORE MARTIN. TO SIRMIO 2 (XXXI.) BEST of all the scattered spots that lie In sea or lake apple of landscape's eye How gladly do I drop within thy nest, With what a sigh of full contented rest, Scarce able to believe my journey o'er, 5 And that these eyes behold thee safe once more. Oh, where 's the luxury like the smile at heart, When the mind, breathing, lays its load apart When we come home again, tired out, and spread The loosened limbs o'er all the wished-for bed ; 10 This, this alone is worth an age of toil ! Hail lovely Sirmio ! Hail paternal soil ! Joy, my bright waters, joy, your master 's come I Laugh, every dimple on the cheek of home I LEIQH HUNT. 1 Venn*. 2 A peninsula in the Lago dl Garda, where Catullus had a villa. TO DIANA 111 TO DIANA (XXXIV.) DIANA guardeth our estate, Girls and boys immaculate : Boys and maidens pure of stain, Be Diana our refrain. O Latonia, 1 pledge of love 5 Glorious to most glorious Jove, Near the Delian 2 olive-tree Latona gave thy life to thee, That thou shouldst be forever queen Of mountains and of forests green ; w Of every deep glen's mystery ; Of all streams and their melody : Women in travail ask their peace From thee, our Lady of Release : Thou art the Watcher of the Ways : 15 Thou art the moon with borrow'd rays ; And as thy full or waning tide Marks how the monthly seasons glide, Thou, Goddess, sendest wealth of store To bless the farmer's thrifty floor. 20 Whatever name delights thine ear, By that name be thou hallow'd here 1 Diana, daughter of Latona. 2 The island of Delos, one of the Cyclades, was supposed to be the birthplace of Apollo and Diana. 112 CATULLUS And as of old be good to us, The lineage of Romulus. R. C. JEBB. TO CORNIFICIUS (xxx vm.) CORNIFICIUS, ill is your Catullus, 111, ah heaven, a weary weight of anguish, More, more weary with every day, with each hour. You deny me the least, the very lightest Help, one whisper of happy thought to cheer me. s Nay, I 'm sorrowful. You to slight my passion ? Ah ! one word, but a tiny word to cheer me, Sad as ever a tear Simonidean. 1 ROBINSON ELLIS. ACME AND SEPTIMIUS (XLV.) SEPTIMIUS cried, as on his breast His darling Acme he caressed, " My Acme, if I love not thee To madness, ay, distractedly, And with a love that well I know 5 With time shall fonder, wilder grow In Libya may I then, my sweet, Or India's burning deserts meet 1 The allusion is to the pathetic quality of the work of Simonides, the Greek lyric poet (550-407 B. c.). ACME Ai SEPTIMIUS 113 The green-eyed lion's hungry glare, And none be by to help me there ! " w As thus he whispered, Love was pleased, And on the right propitious sneezed. Then bending gently back her head, And with that mouth, so rosy-red, Impressing on his eyes a kiss, is His eyes, that drunken were with bliss, " Oh, Septimillus, life ! " cried she, " So love our only master be, As burns in me, thine Acme true, A fire that thrills my marrow through, 20 Intenser, mightier, more divine, Than any thou canst feel in thine ! " As thus she whispered, Love was pleased, And on the right propitious sneezed. Now hallowed by such omens fair, Each dotes on each, that happy pair. He, sick with love, rates Acme's smiles Above the East or Britain's isles ; Whilst Acme, to Septimius true, For him, him only, doth renew at Love's first delights, and to her boy Unfolds fresh treasuries of joy. Were ever souls so lapped in bliss ! Was ever love so blest as this ! SIB THEODORE MAKTIX. 114 CATULLUS TO LESBIA (LI.) HIM rival to the gods I place, Him loftier yet, if loftier be, Who, Lesbia, sits before thy face, Who listens and who looks on thee ; Thee, smiling soft. Yet this delight 5 Doth all my sense consign to death ; For when thou dawnest on my sight, Ah, wretched ! flits my laboring breath. My tongue is palsied. Subtly hid Fire creeps me through from limb to limb : 10 My loud ears tingle all unbid : Twin clouds of night mine eyes bedim. Ease is my plague : ease makes thee void, Catullus, with these vacant hours, And wanton : ease that hath destroyed is Great kings, and states with all their powers. W. E. GLADSTONE. JULIA AND MANLIUS 115 THE EPITHALAMIUM OF JULIA AND MAN- LIUS l (LXI.) I. 8 You that from the mother's side Lead the lingering, blushing bride, Fair Urania's son Leave awhile the lonely mount, The haunted grove and holy fount 5 Of chilling Helicon. ii. With myrtle wreaths enweave thy hair Wave the torch aloft in air Make no long delay : With flowing robe and footsteps light, 10 And gilded buskins glancing bright, Hither bend thy way. in. Join at once, with airy vigor, In the dance's varied figure, To the Cymbal's chime : is Frolic unrestrain'd and free Let voice, and air, and verse agree, And the torch beat time. 1 The poem was written for the marriage of Manlius Torquatus, one of Catullus' friends. 2 Stanzas i.-viii. contain an invocation to Hymen, God of marriage. 116 CATULLUS IV. Hymen, come, for Julia Weds with Manlius to-day, ao And deigns to be a bride. Such a form as Venus wore In the contest famed of yore, On Mount Ida's side ; 1 v. Like the myrtle or the bay, 25 Florid, elegant, and gay, With foliage fresh and new ; Which the nymphs and forest maids Have foster'd in sequester'd shades, With drops of holy dew. so VI. Leave, then, all the rocks and cells Of the deep Aonian 2 dells, And the caverns hoar ; And the dreary streams that weep From the stony Thespian steep, 8 35 Dripping evermore. VII. Haste away to new delights, To domestic happy rites, Human haunts and ways ; With a kindly charm applied, 40 Soften and appease the bride, And shorten our delays. 1 When Paris awarded to her the golden apple. 3 Aonia was the name of that part of Boeotia in which Mount Heli- con was situated. * Mount Helicon, at the foot of which was the city of Thespiae. JULIA AND MANLIUS 117 VIII. Bring her hither, bound to move, Drawn and led with bands of love, Like the tender twine 45 Which the searching ivy plies, Clinging in a thousand ties O'er the clasping vine. IX. Gentle virgins, 1 you besides, Whom the like event betides, so With the coming year ; Call on Hymen ! call him now ! Call aloud ! A virgin now Best befits his ear. x. " Is there any deity 55 More beloved and kind than he More disposed to bless ; Worthy to be worshipp'd more ; Master of a richer store Of wealth and happiness ? eo XI. " Youth and age alike agree, Serving and adoring thee, The source of hope and care : Care and hope alike engage The wary parent sunk in age And the restless heir. 1 A choir of girls had been chosen to sing the hymeneal, which is given in stanzas x.-xvi. 118 CATULLUS XII. " She the maiden, half afraid, Hears the new proposal made, That proceeds from thee ; You resign and hand her over 70 To the rash and hardy lover With a fix'd decree. XIII. " Hymen, Hymen, you preside, Maintaining honor and the pride Of women free from blame, 75 With a solemn warrant given, Is there any power in heaven That can do the same ? XIV. " Love, accompanied by thee, Passes unreproved and free, so But without thee, not : Where on earth, or in the sky, Can you find a deity With a fairer lot ? xv. " Heirship in an honor'd line Is sacred as a gift of thine, But without thee, not : Where on earth, or in the sky, Can you find a deity With a fairer lot ? o XVT. " Rule and empire royalty, Are rightful as derived from thee, JULIA AND MANLIUS 119 But without thee, not : Where on earth, or in the sky, Can you find a deity as With a fairer lot?" XVII. 1 Open locks ! unbar the gate ! Behold the ready troop that wait The coming of the bride ; Behold the torches, how they flare ! 100 Spreading aloft their sparkling hair, Flashing far and wide. xvni. Lovely maiden ! here we waste The timely moments ; come in haste ! Come then .... Out, alack ! 105 Startled at the glare and din, She retires to weep within, Lingering, hanging back. XIX. Bashful honor and regret For a while detain her yet, no Lingering, taking leave : Taking leave and lingering still, With a slow, reluctant will, With grief that does not grieve. xx. Aurunculeia, 2 cease your tears, us And when to-morrow's morn appears, 1 In this and the following stanzas we have a picture of the scene in front of the bride's house, where a throng is waiting impatiently to escort her in torch-light procession to her husband's house. 2 The bride's full name was Julia Aurnncnleia. 120 CATULLUS Fear not that the sun Will dawn upon a fairer face, Nor in his airy, lofty race Behold a lovelier one. 120 XXI. Mark and hear us, gentle bride ; Behold the torches nimbly plied, Waving here and there ; Along the street and in the porch, See the fiery-tressed torch 125 Spreads its sparkling hair. XXII. Like a lily, fair and chaste, Lovely bride, you shall be placed In a garden gay, A wealthy lord's delight and pride ; iao Come away then, happy bride, Hasten, hence away ! XXIII. Mark and hear us he, your lord, Will be true at bed and board, Nor ever walk astray, i Withdrawing from your lovely side ; Mark and hear us, gentle bride, Hasten, hence away ! XXIV. Like unto the tender vine, He shall ever clasp and twine, uo Clinging night and day, JULIA AND MANL1US 121 Fairly bound and firmly tied ; Come away then, happy bride, Hasten, hence away ! XXVI. Make ready. There I see within The bride is veil'd ; the guests begin To muster close and slow : Trooping onward close about, Boys, be ready with a shout iw "Hymen! Hymen! Ho!" XXVII. Now begins the free career, 1 For many a jest and many a jeer, And many a merry saw ; Customary taunts and gibes, uo Such as ancient use prescribes, And immemorial law. xx vm. 2 " Some at home, it must be fear'd, Will be slighted, and cashier'd, Pride will have a fall ; us Now the favorites' reign is o'er, Proud enough they were before, Proud and nice withal. XXIX. " Full of pride and full of scorn ; Now you see them clipt and shorn, no 1 The procession was conducted with the greatest hilarity. 2 Stanzas xxviii.-xxxii. seem to have been sung by a choir of boys, who forecast the changes in the bridegroom's household after his marriage. 122 CATULLUS Humbler in array ; Sent away, for fear of harm, To the village or the farm, Pack'd in haste away. XXX. " Other doings must be done, 175 Another empire is begun, Behold your own domain ! Gentle bride ! Behold it there ! The lordly palace proud and fair : You shall live and reign iso XXXI. " In that rich and noble house, Till age shall silver o'er the brows, And nod the trembling head, Not regarding what is meant, Incessant uniform assent IBS To all that 's done or said. XXXII. " Let the faithful threshold greet, With omens fair, those lovely feet, Lightly lifted o'er ; * Let the garlands wave and bow 190 From the lofty lintel's brow That bedeck the door." XXXIII. See the couch 2 with crimson dress Where, seated in the deep recess, 1 The lifting of the bride over the threshold of her new home was probably a survival of the marriage by capture. 2 The bridegroom is represented as reclining at a wedding supper, which had been prepared in anticipation of the coming of the bride. JULIA AND MANLIUS 123 With expectation warm, us The bridegroom views her coming near, The slender youth l that led her here May now release her arm. xxxiv. With a fix'd intense regard He beholds her close and hard 200 In awful interview : Shortly now she must be sped To the chamber and the bed, With attendance due. XXXV. Let the ancient worthy wives, 205 That have pass'd their constant lives With a single mate, 2 As befits advised age, With council and precaution sage Assist and regulate. ao XXXVI. She the mistress of the band Comes again with high command, " Bridegroom, go your way ; There your bride is in the bower, Like a lovely lily flower, aw Or a rose in May. 1 Probably one of the boys who had conducted her during the pro- cession. 2 Only matrons who had been but once married were allowed to as- sist. 124 CATULLUS XXXIX. " Ay, and you yourself in truth Are a goodly, comely youth, 290 Proper, tall, and fair ; Venus and the graces too Have befriended each of you For a lovely pair." XLII. Fear not ! with the coming year, The new Torquatus will be here, Him we soon shall see With infant gesture fondly seek xso To reach his father's manly cheek, From the mother's knee. xiin. With laughing eyes and dewy lip, Pouting like the purple tip That points the rose's bud ; 255 While mingled with the mother's grace, Strangers shall recognize the trace That marks the Manlian blood. J. HOOKHAM FKEBB. REMORSE (LXXVI., w. 10 seq.) WHY longer keep thy heart upon the rack ? Give to thy soul a higher, nobler aim. And tho' thou tear thy heart out, look not back In tears upon a love that was thy shame. LOVE AND HATE 125 'T is hard at once to fling a love away 5 That has been cherish'd with the faith of years. 'Tis hard: but shrink not, flinch not. Come what may, Crush every record of its joys and fears. ye great gods, if ye can pity feel, If e'er to dying wretch your aid was given, w See me in agony before you kneel, To beg this plague from out my core be driven, Which creeps in drowsy horror thro' each vein, Leaves me no thought from bitter anguish free ; 1 do not ask that she be kind again, is Nor pure : for that can never, never be. I only crave the health that once was mine, Some little respite from this sore disease. If e'er I earned your mercy, powers divine, Grant me O grant to a sick heart some ease ! 20 SIB THEODORE MABTIN. R. Y. TYKKBLL. LOVE AND HATE (LXXXV.) I LOVE and hate. Ah ! never ask why so ! I hate and love and that is all 1 know. I see 't is folly, but I feel 't is woe. W. S. LANDOR. 126 CATULLUS AT HIS BROTHER'S GRAVE 1 (CL) O'ER many a sea, o'er many a stranger land, I bring this tribute 2 to thy lonely tomb, My brother ! and beside the narrow room That holds thy silent ashes weeping stand. Vainly I call to thee. Who can command <* An answer forth from Orcus' dreary gloom ? Oh, brother, brother, life lost all its bloom, When thou wert snatched from me with pitiless hand! Woe, woe is me, that we shall meet no more ! Meanwhile, these gifts accept, which to the grave 10 Of those they loved in life our sires of yore With pious hand and reverential gave Gifts that are streaming with a brother's tears ! And now, farewell, and rest thee from all fears ! Sm THEODORE MARTIN. 1 Catullus' brother died in the Troad, and was buried there. 2 Offerings of wine, milk, and flowers. CICERO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH THE most casual survey of the life and works of Cicero leaves us with a strong impression of his wonderful versa- tility. Turning easily from politics to literature, he found time, amid the manifold activities of a crowded public career, to elaborate and cast in permanent literary form his numerous orations, to make a close study of the vari- ous systems of rhetoric, to familiarize himself with the tenets of the different schools of philosophy, to make ven- tures even in the fields of historiography and of poetry, and to carry on a voluminous correspondence, which has survived as one of our most precious heritages from Roman anti- quity. He was born in 106 B. c. at Arpinum, an ancient city of the Volscians, already famous as the birthplace of Marius. His father was of equestrian rank, and the fam- ily seems to have been one of some local importance. He was educated at Rome, and his formative years were spent hi close contact with such men as the famous orators Marcus Antonius and Lucius Crassus, the poet Archias, whose citizen- ship he afterwards defended, Scaevola the augur, Phaedrus the Epicurean philosopher, Philo the academic, and Diodo- tus the Stoic. He had already established his reputation as an orator when he went to Greece in 79 to continue his rhetorical and philosophical studies. Returning to Rome two years later, he resumed activity as an advocate. His official career began in 75, when he was sent to Sicily as quaestor ; in 69 he was elected curule aedile, in 66 prae- 128 CICERO tor urbanus, in 63 consul. The year of his consulship was marked by the conspiracy of Catiline. Successful in bringing about the execution of some of the most notorious of the conspirators, he was himself subsequently driven into exile through the machinations of enemies, who revived a law according to which any one who ordered the execution of a Roman citizen before he had been condemned by the people, was guilty of treason. He had been in banishment some ten months when in August, 57,. he was recalled by a vote of the comitia centuriata. From 51 to 50 he was pro- consul of Cilicia. Meanwhile the struggle between Caesar and Pompey had come to a crisis. After long hesitation Cicero declared for Pompey and followed him to Dyrra- chiuni. When the supremacy of the Caesarians was estab- lished, he retired from political life and devoted himself to literature. After Caesar's assassination he emerged once more as an opponent of Mark Antony. This was the im- mediate cause of his fall. He was proscribed by the second triumvirate, and killed by their emissaries on the 7th of December, 43. "Most eloquent of all the descendants of Romulus, as many as are, or have been, or ever shall be," such is the characterization of Cicero by Catullus, and subsequent ages have indorsed his opinion. Some of his speeches are, it is true, open to criticism, if judged by the standard of a modern law court. He does not always confine himself strictly to the points of law involved, or to the facts of the case in hand. For example, in the Pro Archia, the pane- gyric of literature has a much more conspicuous place than the legality of the defendant's citizenship. There is, too, another criticism that is often and perhaps justly made, namely, that even the most impassioned of his utterances on state questions show a lack of that moral earnestness which is so prominent a feature of the orations of Demos- thenes. Yet even with these shortcomings, Cicero's orations are masterpieces of eloquence ; and his vivid imagination, that finds play in descriptions of persons, places, and ac- CICERO 129 tions, in similes and metaphors of almost infinite number and variety, his extraordinary keenness, which enabled him to single out swiftly and effectively the weak points in an adversary's position, his wide range of information, his marvellous command of language, and his powers of invec- tive make a combination of qualities difficult to parallel in the whole history of oratory. His rhetorical writings have special value as the produc- tions of one who, besides being conspicuously successful in the practice of oratoiy, had made a long and careful study of the methods and standards of the different schools. It was during years of enforced retirement that most of his philosophical works were written. They are, in the main, a working over of Greek material, especially the treatises of the post-Aristotelian philosophers, and offer very little that is new or original. Apart from their literary merit, their most important function, both in his own and in sub- sequent ages, was in serving as a medium for the popular- ization of Greek philosophy. They are, for the most part, cast in the form of dialogues, and deal with such ques- tions as Government, Law, the Theory of Knowledge, the Greatest Good and the Greatest Evil, the Nature of the Gods, and more practical problems of ethics, as in the treatise on Moral Duties addressed to his son Marcus. Among the most charming are the two short pieces on Old Age, in which we have a masterly characterization of Cato Major, and on Friendship, in which Laelius is the principal interlocutor. Of greater interest are the letters, of which we have six- teen books addressed to his intimate friend Atticus, sixteen to other friends and members of his household, three to his brother Quintus, and one to Brutus. These furnish us with a large mass of material for the study of colloquial Latin, and are, in addition, of inestimable value for the light they throw upon the political history of the time, and upon Cicero's character and private life. 130 CICERO THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS l (The second division of the case, from section 164 to the end.) THERE you have, gentlemen, 2 all that his accusers have succeeded in raking together for the whole case, after eight years' preparation, concerning the character of A. Cluentius, against whom, on his trial, they would fain stir up ill-feeling. How trivial are the allegations in themselves, how groundless in fact, how short to answer ! Listen now to what concerns the oath you have sworn, to what belongs to your court, to what the statute of poisoning, 3 in obedience, to whose summons you are here assembled, has imposed on you as an ob- ligation. I should like to know how brief the state- ment of this case could have been made, and how much that I have said was spoken in deference to my client's wishes, but did not in any way concern your court. It was alleged by the prosecution that A. Cluentius made away with Vibius Capax 4 by poison. There is 1 The trial took place in 66 B. c. The defendant, Aulus Cluentina Habitus, was accused of having poisoned or caused to be poisoned (1) Vibius Capaz, (2) Balbutius, (3) Oppianicus, his step-father. The last was the principal count of the accusation. The prosecution was instituted by Oppianicns' son, but the real instigator of the action was Sassia, the wife of the alleged victim, and the mother of the defendant. Eight years before, Oppianicus, brought to trial by Cluentius on a charge of attempting to poison him, had been convicted, and banished from the city. He died in exile, apparently in consequence of a fall from his horse, but according to Sassia, from poison administered by an agent of Cluentius. In the first part of the speech Cicero tries to remove the prejudice that existed against his client as a result of the feeling that he had had some part in the wholesale bribery of the jurors at the trial of Oppianicus in 74. In the second part he deals with the specific charges of poisoning. 8 Of the jury. 8 The fifth chapter of the Lex Cornelia de Sicariis et Venejicis. * Not otherwise known. THE SPEECH FOR CLUE&TIUS 131 opportunely present in court a most reputable and in every way worthy person, the Senator L. Praetorius, whose hospitality and intimate friendship this Vibius enjoyed, with whom he lived at Rome when he was taken ill, and at whose house he expired. I assert that he died intestate, and that the succession to his estate was by edict of the praetor assigned to Numerius Cluentius, his sister's son, whom you see here in court, a most honorable and eminently estimable young man, and a Roman knight to boot. The second charge of poisoning states that poison was, at the instigation of Habitus, 1 prepared for young Oppianicus 2 here, when a large company was break- fasting together, as is the custom at Larinum, 8 on the occasion of his marriage ; and that when it was being offered him in honey wine, Balbutius, 4 one of his friends, intercepted it on its passage, drank it, and instantly expired. If I were to treat this matter as if I had an accusation to dispose of, I should state at greater length what I am now cursorily mentioning in my speech. What has Habitus ever done that this monstrous deed should not be thought quite foreign to his char- acter ? And had he any reason for being in such fear of Oppianicus, 5 seeing he could not have said one single word in this case, while, as you will presently be made aware, so long as his mother lives my client can never be free from prosecution ? Was it that he wanted his case to lose no element of danger, but rather 1 The defendant. Habitus was his cognomen. 2 Son of Oppianicus. 8 A town near the borders of Apulia, where the most important personages of the trial lived. * Mentioned only in this speech. 5 The son. 132 CICERO to have a fresh charge added on to it? What kind of a time was that to choose for administering poison, on such a day and before such a number of people ? By whom, moreover, was it offered ? Where was it procured ? What about the stoppage of the cup ? And why was it not offered afresh ? There is much that might be said ; but I shall not lay myself open to the charge of wishing to say something while saying nothing. The facts are their own defence. I assert that the youth spoken of, who, according to you, ex- pired immediately after draining the cup, did not die on that day at all. It is a monstrous accusation and a shameless falsehood. I say that when he came to the breakfast he was suffering from indigestion : he indulged his appetites too freely at the time, as young men like him will do ; and he died in consequence after a few days' illness. Who will vouch for this ? The same man who will vouch for his own sorrow his father the young man's father, I repeat. He who for his grief of heart could have been induced by a very faint suspicion to come forward on the other side as a witness against A. Cluentius, gives him the sup- port of his testimony instead. Read it. And do you, sir, 1 if you please, stand up for a little, and endure the pang of this indispensable allusion ; on which I shall not linger any longer, since by acting like the excellent man you are, you have not permitted your sorrow to involve the guiltless in the calamity of a baseless ac- cusation. I have still one similar charge remaining, gentlemen, which will enable you thoroughly to appreciate the truth of what I said in the beginning of my speech that whatever misfortune A. Cluentius has seen during 1 Balbutius' father. THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS 133 these past years, whatever anxiety and trouble he has had at this time, has been entirely due to the machina- tions of his mother. You allege that Oppianicus l lost his life by poison given him in a piece of bread by one M. Asellius, an intimate friend of his, who acted, you say, at the instigation of Habitus. Now I have first to ask what motive Habitus had for wishing to take the life of Oppianicus ? I admit, indeed, that they had been at enmity. But it is either from feelings of fear or of hatred that men desire the death of their enemies ; and what fear, I ask, could have prompted Habitus to seek to perpetrate such a monstrous crime? Was there any reason why any one should be afraid of Oppianicus now that he had been punished for his crimes and banished the country ? What had he to fear ? The attack of a ruined man ? Impeachment by a felon ? Harm from the evidence of an outlaw ? If again it was because he hated his enemy that Habi- tus desired his death, was he such a fool as to think that the life which Oppianicus was then living con- demned, an outlaw, forsaken by all was worthy of the name, when, owing to the monstrosity of his char- acter, no one would receive him into his house, no one would go near him, no one would speak to him, no one would look at him ? And was it to this man that Habitus grudged his life ? If he hated him bitterly and with all his heart, ought he not to have wished him to live as long as possible ? Was his enemy to hasten his death death that in his troubles was for him the only refuge from misfortune ? Why, had he possessed a spark of spirit or courage, he would have died by his own hand, as many brave men in like afflictions 1 Cicero now comes to the principal charge against his client, the alleged poisoning of his stepfather, Oppianicus. 134 CICERO have done before him ; and wherefore should his enemy have wished to put in his way what he ought to have desired for himself? As it is, I wonder what evil death has brought him ! Unless indeed, carried away by idle tales, we imagine that he is suffering in the nether world the punishment of the wicked, and that he has fallen in with more enemies there than he left behind him here ; that by the avenging furies of his mother-in-law, 1 of his wives, of his brother, and of his children, he has been driven headlong into the place where the ungodly have their home. If, however, these representations are untrue, as all must know they are, what, I ask, has death taken away from him save the sensation of misery ? But again, by whom was the poison administered ? By M. Asellius. What connection had he with Habi- tus ? None ; in fact, as he was very intimate with Oppianicus, he was more probably even on bad terms with him. Did he then choose the person who, as he knew, was anything but friendly to himself, and who was an intimate acquaintance of his intended victim, to be the instrument of his own crime and of the jeop- ardy of his foe ? Then why do you, 2 whom filial piety has prompted to undertake this prosecution, suffer this Asellius to go so long unpunished ? Why have you not followed the example of Habitus, and so secured, by the conviction of the man who proffered the poison, a previous verdict prejudicing my client? Again how incredible it is, gentlemen, that poison should have been administered in a piece of bread ! how unusual ! how strange ! Could it diffuse its effects more readily 1 Oppianicns was said to have poisoned her as well as many others of his relatives. 2 Oppianicus' son. THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS 135 thus than in a draught, or more widely when concealed in a portion of bread than if it had been entirely dis- solved in a liquid ? Could it make its way into the veins and into every part of the body more quickly when taken in food than when taken in drink? Would it be more likely, in the event of discovery, to escape detection in the bread than in the draught, where it would have been so mixed as to be altogether incapable of separation ? " But he died a sudden death." Even had that been the case, it would never- theless, owing to the frequency of such occurrences, furnish no adequate ground at all for suspecting poison ; and even if there were room for such a suspicion it would nevertheless fall on others before my client. But it is just here that men lie in the most shameless way, as you will see if you listen to the story of his death, and of how after his death a charge against Habitus was raked up by his mother. Wandering an outlaw from place to place, and find- ing no entertainment anywhere, Oppianicus betook himself to C. Quinctius, 1 in the Falernian territory ; there his illness began, and he remained for a long time seriously indisposed. Sassia, who was with him, under the idea that the purity and legitimacy of the marriage tie had been set aside by her husband's conviction, was holding closer intercourse with Sex. Albius, a lusty yeoman who used to keep company with her, than her husband, with all his looseness, could have endured in the days of his prosperity ; and much of this Nico- stratus, a faithful slave of Oppianicus, very inquisi- tive and very truthful, is said to have reported to his master. Meanwhile Oppianicus began to recover. Unable to put up any longer with the unconscionable 1 He had been Oppianicus' counsel. 136 CICERO conduct of the Falernian yeoman, he set out for Rome, where he used to have some hired lodgings outside the city gates ; but falling from his horse, he is said to have struck his side violently, in bad health as he was, and to have died a few days after reaching the city in a fever. Such, gentlemen, are the circumstances of his death. Either they involve no suspicion at all, or, if they do, it hangs upon some domestic tragedy com- prised within the four walls of his house. On his decease that abominable woman began at once to plot against her son. She resolved to hold an inquest on her husband's death. Having bought from A. Rupilius, who had been the medical attendant of Oppianicus, one Strato, as if forsooth she entertained the same design as Habitus when he bought Diogenes, 1 she gave out that she intended to examine Strato by torture, as well as Ascla, one of her own slaves ; and she further called on young Oppianicus to give up for like examination the slave Nicostratus, whom she suspected of having been too communicative in his ex- cessive fidelity to his master. At that time Oppiani- cus was but a boy ; and being told that it was about his father's death that the inquest was to be held, he did not dare refuse, though he believed the slave had been well disposed to his father and was so also to himself. The friends, and guest-friends of Oppianicus and of the woman herself are called together in large numbers, men of reputation and of every kind of dis- tinction ; and in the rigid inquiry which ensues all sorts of instruments of torture are brought into requi- sition. The slaves were wrought on both by hope and by fear to make them say something on the rack ; but 1 The slave of Cluentius' physician, whose cooperation Oppianicus' agent had tried to procure in attempting Cluentius' life. THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS 137 I suppose it was the high character of the spectators, and the intensity of the torture that led them to hold by the truth and to protest that they had nothing to tell. So by the advice of the friends the inquiry was adjourned for that day. After a considerable interval they are summoned a second time ; the examination is begun over again, and all the most powerful and ago- nizing tortures are applied. Unable to stand it any longer, the witnesses expostulate. The bloodthirsty and unnatural woman is beside herself with rage at the utter disappointment of her designs ; and though now the torturer and his very instruments were wearied out, she refused to desist. Then one of the spectators, a man whom his country had honored with high office, and who was personally of the most exalted worth, re- marked that he saw her object was not to find out the truth, but to force them to make some false deposition. With this the rest agreed, and so it was unanimously resolved that, in their opinion, the inquiry had gone on long enough. Nicostratus is given back to Oppiani- cus, and Sassia herself departs with her people for Larinum, grieved at the thought that her son would now surely be beyond the reach of danger. Not even the fictions of suspicion, she reflected, far less a regu- lar accusation, could touch him ; and not even his mother's secret plottings, to say nothing of the open attack of his enemies, had been able to do him harm. On her arrival at Larinum, she who had pretended that she was fully convinced that Strato had in time past administered poison to her husband, forthwith made him a present of a shop in the town, equipped and fitted up for the practice of medicine. For one, two, three years Sassia kept quiet ; it seemed as if she were praying and desiring that some 138 CICERO disaster might come upon her son, rather than plan- ning and contriving it. In the interval, during the consulship of Q. Hortensius and Q. Metellus, design- ing to draw him on to this prosecution, though his at- tention was otherwise occupied and nothing was further from his thoughts, she betrothed to Oppianicus here, against his will, the daughter whom she had borne to her son-in-law, 1 in the hope that these matrimonial bonds, as well as the fetters of an expectant heir, would put him in her power. About this very time Doctor Strato committed a domestic theft, aggravated by murder, under the following circumstances. There was in the house a cabinet which he knew contained a considerable sum in gold and silver. So by night he killed two of his fellow-slaves in their sleep, and flung them into the fishpond ; and then, cutting out the bottom of the box with his own hands, he removed 150,000 sesterces 2 and five pounds' weight of the gold, one of the slaves, a mere boy, being privy to the deed. Next day the theft was discovered, and suspicion was directed exclusively against the slaves who were miss- ing. But on noticing that the bottom of the box had been cut out, men began to ask by what means it could have been done ; and one of Sassia's friends recollected that he had lately seen for sale at an auction, among other small effects, a bent crooked little saw, with teeth all over it, by which he thought the part removed could have been cut out. To be brief, on inquiry being made of the collectors, 3 it is discovered that the saw in ques- tion had found its way into the hands of Strato. This 1 Sassia had induced A. Aurins Melinus, her daughter's husband, to put away his wife, and marry her. a About $6000. 8 Those who collected the money from purchasers at public auc- tions. THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS 139 aroused suspicion ; and when Strato was openly charged with the crime, the boy who had been his accomplice became greatly terrified and made a clean breast of the matter to his mistress. The bodies were found in the fishpond. Strato was thrown into prison, and fur- thermore the money, though by no means all of it, is discovered in his shop. A criminal investigation is instituted into the theft. What else can one suppose? Do you tell me that after the pillaging of the box, the abstraction of the money (which was not all recovered), and the murder of the slaves, it was concerning the death of Oppian- icus that the inquiry was appointed ? Can you satisfy any one of this ? Is there anything more improbable that you could have brought forward ? To pass over other points, was inquiry held into the death of Oppi- anicus three years after his decease ? Aye, and even on this occasion, inflamed by her former hatred, she again demanded Nicostratus for a groundless exami- nation. At first Oppianicus refused ; but afterwards, when she threatened to take away her daughter and alter her will, a most faithful slave, to humor a most bloodthirsty woman, was by him not given up for ex- amination but simply handed over to the executioner. Well, then, after an interval of three years, the inquiry into her husband's death was reopened. Who were the slaves examined ? A fresh charge was alleged, I suppose, and suspicion was directed against fresh persons Strato and Nicostratus ? What ! had not these men been examined at Rome ? Can it be that you, Sassia, with guilt now to aggravate the distemper that had before infuriated your woman's heart, after having held an inquiry at Rome at which it had been determined, on the representation of T. Annius, L. 140 CICERO Rutilius, P. Saturius, and the other honorable men, that the thing had evidently gone on long enough can it be, I ask, that three years afterward, without inviting the presence, I shall not say of any man, or you might perhaps retort that the yeoman was in attendance, but of any respectable man, you attempted, about the same matter and on the same persons, to hold an inquiry that involved capital consequences to your son ? Or do you say (for a possible argument occurs to me though you must remember that it has not yet been put forward) that it was when investiga- tion was being made into the theft that Strato made a confession about the poison ? In this very way, gen- tlemen, does it happen that truth raises her head out of the depths to which depravity ofttimes weighs her down, and the defence of innocence that has been stifled breathes again. Either cunning rogues have no daring in proportion to their invention, or they whose audacity is conspicuous and prominent have no knavish arts by which to back it. But if craft were daring or audacity cunning, resistance would be hardly possible. Was the theft not committed ? Why, nothing was more notorious at Larinum. Then did suspicion not attach to Strato ? Why, the saw was his accuser, and the boy who had been his accomplice informed on him. Was this not the object of the inquiry ? What other ground, then, was there for holding it?. Will you not have to say what Sassia said more than once at the time that when investigation was being made about the theft Strato while on the rack made a state- ment about the poison ? Here we have an instance of what I said above : the woman has audacity enough and to spare, but is wanting in prudence and tact. Sev- eral minutes of the depositions made at the inquiry are THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS 141 brought forward ; they have been read aloud and com- municated to you, and they are the very minutes which she said were attested by the signature of the witnesses at the inquiry. But in them not a syllable about the theft is to be found. It never occurred to her first to write out Strato's deposition about the theft, and after- wards to tack on some statement about the poison which might seem not to have been elicited by direct questioning, but to have been wrung from him in his agony. The subject of the inquiry is the theft. The suspicion of poisoning had been done away with by the previous inquiry, as, indeed, the woman herself had admitted ; for after deciding at Rome, on the representation of her friends, that it had gone far enough, she had during the three years that followed shown a fondness for this Strato above all her slaves, holding him in high esteem, and conferring on him every mark of favor. Well, then, the inquiry was be- ing made about the theft the theft, namely, which beyond all dispute he had committed did he with- out saying a word upon the subject of that inquiry make a statement at once about the poison ? If he did not speak of the theft when one might have ex- pected him to do so, did he never, even at the end, or in the middle, or at least in some part or other of the inquiry, say a single word about it ? You see now, gentlemen, that with the same hand with which, if opportunity were given her, she would gladly slay her son, this abominable woman has forged her account of the inquiry. And even with regard to it, can you mention the name of any single individual who witnessed it with his hand and seal ? You will find no one, except perhaps a person l whose charac- 1 The Falernian yeoman, Sassia's paramour. 142 CICERO ter is such that I should prefer his being brought forward to no name being mentioned at all. What say you, T. Aecius ? l Are you actually bringing before a court a capital charge, a criminal informa- tion, a written instrument involving the fortunes of another, without giving the name of any voucher for that instrument, of any one who sealed it, of any one who witnessed its signature ? And will this hon- orable court admit the weapon which you have drawn forth from a mother's bosom for the ruin of a most guiltless son ? But enough ; the document has no weight. As to the inquiry itself, however, why was it not reserved for the court ? why not for the friends and guest-friends of Oppianicus, whom she had in- vited to be present on the former occasion ? why not at least for the existing conjuncture? What was done with these men? I ask you, Oppianicus, to say what happened to your slave, Nicostratus. You were shortly about to impeach my client, and you ought therefore to have brought him to Rome, allowed him to give information, aye, and preserved him in safety for examination, for this court, and for this occasion. As to Strato, gentlemen, I have to inform you that he was crucified after having had his tongue cut out, as is known to every one at Larinum. It was not her own evil conscience that the distraught woman feared, it was not the detestation of the townsmen, it was not the public scandal. Just as if every one were not to be a witness to her crime, what she dreaded was lest the dying words of a slave should testify against her. Gracious Heaven ! what a prodigy have we in this woman ! Where in the whole world can we point to 1 He visa conducting the prosecution. THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS 143 such a monster of iniquity, where to such a hateful and horrible abomination as having ever had its birth ? Surely you see now, gentlemen, that it was only under constraint of the weightiest reasons that I spoke as I did of a mother at the beginning of my speech. Yes, there is no form of evil or of crime that she has not from the first desired, longed for, contrived, and put into execution against her son. I say nothing of her first outrageous lust, I say nothing of her accursed union with her son-in-law, I say nothing of how a mother's passion drove a daughter from her husband's arms ; all this, though it brought dishonor on the whole family, did not go so far as to put my client in danger of his life. I do not arraign her second marriage with Oppianicus, by contracting which but not till he had given her his children's lives in pledge l she plunged a family in mourning for the death of those who should have been her step-sons. I pass by the fact that, though she knew that it was Oppianicus who had procured the proscription and assassination of A. Aurius, whose mother-in-law once and whose wife she herself but a short time before had been, she chose for herself a habitation and a home in which the tokens of her hus- band's death and his despoiled estate would day by day be present to her eyes. My first charge relates to the criminal attempt at poisoning by Fabricus, 2 which has now at length been brought to light. What was even at that early date matter of suspicion to men in general, and of incredulity to my client, now appears evident and obvious to all : the mother cannot of course have been kept in ignorance of that attempt. Oppi- 1 Oppianicus was charged with having removed his widower's en- cumbrance on Sassia's request. 2 Oppianicus' agent in the attempt on Clueiitius' life. 144 CICERO anicus contrived nothing apart from the woman's cooperation. Had he acted alone, she would surely have left him after the detection of his design, and left him not as one separating herself from a wicked hus- band, but as fleeing from a most ruthless foe ; she would surely have turned her back for all time upon a house that was a very sink of iniquity. But so far was she from doing this that from that time forth she lost no opportunity of hatching some plot or other, devoting all her powers of thought every day and every night to the destruction of the son of her bosom. And first, by way of nerving Oppianicus there for the prosecu- tion of her son, she bound him to herself by gifts and presents, bestowing on him her daughter's hand in marriage, and holding out the hope of succession to her estate. Thus whereas in most cases, when unaccustomed enmity has sprung up among kinsmen, we see divorces and the severing of relationships ensue, this woman thought that no one would be strong enough for the prosecution of her son except one who had previously taken his sister 1 to wife. New relationships often lead others to lay aside long-standing animosities ; she thought that in the bond of relationship she would have a pledge that would give a backbone to her feud. Nor did she bestow all her pains on securing a prose- cutor for her son ; she also pondered with what wea- pons she could furnish him. To this end it was that by means of threats and promises alike she worked upon the slaves ; to this end did she hold those ever- lasting and more barbarous inquests on the death of Oppianicus, which were at last brought to a close not by any moderation on her part, but by the influence 1 Auria, ( 'liit-nt ins' half-sister. THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS 145 of her friends. In the same inquiry originated the inquiries held three years afterward at Larinum ; in the same distraction of mind the forgery of the depo- sitions there made ; in the same frenzy also the exe- crable amputation of Strato's tongue. She it was, in short, who found and got ready all the materials of this elaborate indictment. And after dispatching thus equipped to Rome a prosecutor for her son, she herself tarried awhile at Larinum in order to seek out and hire witnesses ; but on being informed of the near approach of the defendant's trial, she hastened hither with all speed, for fear that the prosecution might fail in diligence, or else that the witnesses might want money, or that she might perchance miss seeing this man's garb of mourning, 1 and his unkempt appear- ance, a spectacle so dear to her mother's heart. But what, think you, were the circumstances which attended her journey to the capital? I live in the neighborhood of Aquinum and Fabrateria, 2 and from many citizens I have heard and ascertained the facts. What crowds ran together in these towns ! What loud groans were uttered alike by the men and by the women ! The idea of a lady of Larinum actually setting out for Rome from the very shores of the Adri- atic, with a crowd of attendants and a store of money, in order to be able more readily to compass in a capi- tal trial the ruin and destruction of her son ! There was, I might almost say, not a man among them but thought that every spot on which she had set her foot would require to be freed from pollution ; not a man but thought that the footprints of that crime- stained mother were a profanation to the earth, the 1 Accused persons wore a dark-colored toga. 2 Towns in Latium, not far from Arpinum, Cicero's birthplace. 146 CICERO mother of all. So in no town was she permitted to make a halt. Inns were there in abundance, but no- where was there found a host who did not shun the contagion of her presence. She preferred to intrust herself to the solitude of night rather than to any city or hostelry. And thinks she now that any one of us are unaware of her schemes, her intrigues, her daily stratagems ? Full well we know those whom she has approached, to whom she has promised money, whose honesty she has attempted to shake by proffers of reward ; aye, and we have heard of her nightly sacri- fices, which she imagines are a secret, of her impious prayers and her abominable vows, by which she makes the very gods in heaven witnesses to her crime ; not knowing that it is piety, and holy fear, and the prayers of the righteous that avail to turn their hearts, not the defilements of superstition, nor the blood of vic- tims sacrificed for the furtherance of crime. Her unnatural frenzy I am confident the immortal gods have spurned from their altars and their shrines. Do you, gentlemen, whom fortune has appointed to play the part of another Providence to A. Cluentius here for all the rest of his life, ward off from the per- son of her son the monstrous inhumanity of this mother. Men have often on the bench pardoned the offences of children out of compassion for their parents ; do not you, we pray you, sacrifice to his mother's unnatural cruelty the life this man has most virtuously led, es- pecially as you may see a whole township arrayed in evidence against her. You must know, gentlemen, that all the men of Larinum incredible though it is, I say it in all truth all who were able made the journey to Rome, to give my client, so far as in them lay, the support of their sympathy and numbers in THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS 147 this hour of danger. Their town has at this time been committed to the care of the women and children, and is at present under the protection, not of its or- dinary defenders, but only of the general peace which prevails in Italy. And yet even they, no less than these whom you see here in court, are kept day and night in suspense and disquietude about the issue of this trial. For in their view it is not on the fortunes of a single townsman that you are about to give ver- dict, but on the standing of the whole municipality, on its credit, and the whole body of its interests. Gentlemen, the defendant is conspicuous for devotion to the public good of his town, for kindliness to the in- habitants individually, for righteousness and conscien- tiousness towards all men ; and he moreover maintains in his own circle the position of high rank bequeathed him by his forefathers in such a way as to emulate their gravity, their force of character, their popularity, their generosity. And therefore do they in the name of the community pronounce his eulogy in language which not only expresses their deliberate opinion of his character, but bears witness also to their solicitude and sorrow; and while this eulogy is being read I must ask you who have brought it to stand up. From the tears of those present, gentlemen, you may infer that when they passed this decree every member of the town council was also in tears. Again as to the neighbors, what enthusiasm, what incredible good- will, what anxiety do they display ! They have not sent in writing the panegyric they decreed, but have instructed men of the highest reputation, well known to all of us, to be present here in large numbers and to pronounce his eulogy in person. Illustrious citizens of Ferentum l are here in court, and men of the Mar- 1 In Apulia. 148 CICERO rucini 1 no less distinguished than they ; from Teanum Apulum 2 and from Luceria 2 you see honorable Ro- man knights come to speak his praise ; from Bovia- num and from the length and breadth of Samnium most flattering panegyrics have been forwarded, and men of the highest consideration and renown have also come in person. And as to those who have pro- perty, business avocations, or grazing stock in the ter- ritory of Larinum, honorable men of the highest dis- tinction, it were hard to speak of their solicitude and anxiety. Few, I think, are loved by one as this man is by them all. How sorry I am that L. Volusienus, a man of the greatest distinction and worth, is not pre- sent at this trial ! Would that P. Helvidius Ruf us, an eminently illustrious Roman knight, could be here when I speak his name ! Sleepless day and night in my client's interests, while he was instructing me in the case he fell seriously and dangerously ill ; and yet even in his illness he is as anxious about the defendant's safety as about his own recovery. His evidence and eulogy will make you aware of no less enthusiasm on the part of that excellent and honorable senator Cn. Tudicus. Of you, P. Volumnius, I speak in the same expectation but with greater reserve, inasmuch as you are on the jury in this case. To be brief, the whole neighborhood, I tell you, cherishes the greatest good- will towards the defendant. Their unanimous enthu- siasm, solicitude, and painstaking care ; my exertions and I have pleaded this case from beginning to end single-handed, as I have long been wont to do ; and also the justice and clemency of this court, are com- bated by one woman, the defendant's mother. And 1 Their territory extended along the right bank of the river Ater- IIHIS to the Adriatic Sea. - In Apulia. THE SPEECH FOR CLUENTIUS 149 what kind of mother ? You see how she is carried along in all the blindness of cruelty and crime. No depths of dishonor have ever proved a hindrance to her lust. In the depravity of her mind she has over- turned in the foulest manner all the binding ordi- nances of society, too infatuated to be called a human being, too outrageous for the name of woman, too un- natural for that of mother. Aye, and she has ever confounded the designations of kinship as well as the name and ordinances of nature. Her son-in-law's wife, a step-mother to her son, the mistress of her daughter's husband, she has, in a word, sunk so low as to have nothing left her in the likeness of man except her external form. Now by your hate of crime, gentlemen, debar a mother from access to the life-blood of her son. In- flict on her who gave him birth the pang, incredible as it is, of seeing the deliverance and triumph of her off- spring; suffer the mother to depart vanquished by your justice, and so deprive her of the joy of being be- reft of her child. And again, by that love which, if true to your nature, you have for honor, truth, and virtue, raise at length from the ground the suppliant now before you, after so many years of groundless prejudice and peril. Now for the first time since the avaricious conduct of others fanned that prejudice into flame has he begun to take heart, and in reliance on your impartiality in some degree to breathe again, for- getting fear. His all is in your hands ; many there are who desire his deliverance, but you alone are able to secure it. Habitus entreats you, gentlemen, and beseeches you with tears not to sacrifice him to the prejudice which in courts of law ought to be of no avail ; not to the mother whose vows and prayers you 150 CICERO must put far from your minds ; not to the execrable Oppianicus, a convicted criminal now in his grave. But if at this trial the stroke of some disaster lay my guiltless client low, then will he verily in his wretched- ness if indeed he continue to live, which it will be hard for him to do often bitterly lament that the poison of Fabricus was ever detected. For had it not been exposed at the time it would have been to this most miserable man, not poison, but the antidote of his many sorrows ; aye, and his mother might per- chance have followed in his funeral procession, counter- feiting grief for the death of her son. But as it is what good will have been done, save that it will seem as if his life were preserved only for affliction out of the midst of deathf ul snares only that in death he might be robbed of the sepulchre of his fathers ? Long enough has he been in trouble, gentlemen ; years enough has he suffered from prejudice. None save her who gave him birth was ever so bitter against him but that we may believe his vengeance is now fully satisfied. Do you who are just towards all men, who tenderly sustain all those that are cruelly assailed, preserve A. Cluentius. Restore him to his townsmen unharmed ; give him back to the friends, the neigh- bors, the guest-friends of whose zeal for him you are witnesses ; lay him under an eternal obligation to your- selves and your children. To you, gentlemen, this ap- pertains, to your dignity, your clemency ; with justice do we require you to deliver at last from his distresses a most worthy and altogether guiltless man, and one who to very many people is most beloved and dear. Thus will you give all men to know that, while preju- dice may find a place in public meetings, truth reigns supreme in courts of law. W. PETERSON. FRIENDSHIP 151 FRIENDSHIP 1 (De Atnicitia, VI.-IX.) Laelius. Friendship is nothing else than entire fellow-feeling as to all things, human and divine, with mutual good-will and affection ; and I doubt whether anything better than this, wisdom alone excepted, has been given to man by the immortal gods. Some pre- fer riches to it ; some, sound health ; some, power ; some, posts of honor ; many, even sensual gratification. This last properly belongs to beasts ; the others are precarious and uncertain, dependent not on our own choice so much as on the caprice of Fortune. Those, indeed, who regard virtue as the supreme good are en- tirely in the right ; but it is virtue itself that produces and sustains friendship, nor without virtue can friend- ship by any possibility exist. In saying this, however, I would interpret virtue in accordance with our habits of speech and of life ; not defining it, as some philoso- phers do, by high-sounding words, but numbering oil the list of good men those who are commonly so re- garded, the Pauli, the Catos, the Galli, the Scipios, the Phili. Mankind in general are content with these. Let us then leave out of the account such good men as are nowhere to be found. Among such good men as there really are, friendship has more advantages than I can easily name. In the first place, as Ennius says : " How can life be worth living, if devoid Of the calm trust reposed by friend in friend ? 1 This dialogue is part of the output of the years 45 and 44, which Cicero devoted almost exclusively to literature. The interlocutors are Laelius, the intimate friend of Scipio the younger, and his two sons-in- law Fannns and Scaevola. 152 CICERO What sweeter joy than in the kindred soul, Whose converse differs not from self-communion ? " How could you have full enjoyment of prosperity, un- less with one whose pleasure in it was equal to your own ? Nor would it be easy to bear adversity, unless with the sympathy of one on whom it rested more heavily than on your own soul. Then, too, other ob- jects of desire are, in general, adapted, each to some specific purpose, wealth, that you may use it ; power, that you may receive the homage of those around you ; posts of honor, that you may obtain reputation ; sensual gratification, that you may live in pleasure ; health, that you may be free from pain, and may have full exercise of your bodily powers and faculties. But friendship combines the largest number of utilities. Wherever you turn, it is at hand. No place shuts it out. It is never unseasonable, never annoying. Thus, as the proverb says, " You cannot put water or fire to more uses than friendship serves." I am not now speaking of the common and moderate type of friend- ship, which yet yields both pleasure and profit, but of true and perfect friendship, like that which existed in the few instances that are held in special remembrance. Such friendship at once enhances the lustre of pros- perity, and by dividing and sharing adversity lessens its burden. Moreover, while friendship comprises the greatest number and variety of beneficent offices, it certainly has this special prerogative, that it lights up a good hope for the time to come, and thus preserves the minds that it sustains from imbecility or prostration in misfortune. For he, indeed, who looks into the face of a friend beholds, as it were, a copy of himself. Thus the absent are present, and the poor are rich, and the FRIENDSHIP 153 weak are strong, and what seems stranger still the dead are alive, such is the honor, the enduring re- membrance, the longing love, with which the dying are followed by the living ; so that the death of the dying seems happy, the life of the living full of praise. But if from the condition of human life you were to exclude all kindly union, no house, no city, could stand, nor, indeed, could the tillage of the field survive. If it is not perfectly understood what virtue there is in friend- ship and concord, it may be learned from dissension and discord. For what house is so stable, what state so firm, that it cannot be utterly overturned by hatred and strife ? Hence it may be ascertained how much good there is in friendship. It is said that a certain philosopher l of Agrigentum sang in Greek verse that it is friendship that draws together and discord that parts all things which subsist in harmony, and which have their various movements in nature and in the whole universe. The worth and power of friendship, too, all mortals understand, and attest by their ap- proval in actual instances. Thus, if there comes into conspicuous notice an occasion on which a friend in- curs or shares the perils of his friend, who can fail to extol the deed with the highest praise? What shouts filled the whole theatre at the performance of the new play of my guest and friend Marcus Pacuvius, when the king not knowing which of the two was Orestes 2 Pylades said that he was Orestes, while Orestes persisted in asserting that he was, as in fact he was, Orestes ! The whole assembly rose in applause at this 1 Empedocles, born about 485 B. c. 2 The friendship of Orestes and Pylades was proverbial. On this occasion each insisted that he should be the one to suffer. The king referred to is Thoas, of the Tauric Chersonesus. 154 CICERO mere fictitious representation. What may we suppose that they would have done, had the same thing oc- curred in real life ? In that case Nature herself dis- played her power, when men recognized that as rightly done by another, which they would not have had the courage to do themselves. Thus far, to the utmost of my ability, as it seems to me, I have given you my sentiments concerning friendship. If there is more to be said, as I think that there is, endeavor to obtain it, if you see fit, of those who are wont to discuss such subjects. Fannius. But we would rather have it from you. Although I have often consulted those philosophers also, and have listened to them not unwillingly, yet the thread of your discourse differs somewhat from that of theirs. Scaevola. You would say so all the more, Fannius, had you been present in Scipio's garden at that dis- cussion about the republic, and heard what an advo- cate of justice he showed himself in answer to the elaborate speech of Philus. Fannius. It was indeed easy for the man preemi- nently just to defend justice. Scaevola. As to friendship, then, is not its defence easy for him who has won the highest celebrity 1 on the ground of friendship maintained with preeminent faithfulness, consistency, and probity ? Laeliva. This is, indeed, the employing of force ; for what matters the way in which you compel me ? You at any rate do compel me ; for it is both hard and unfair not to comply with the wishes of one's sons- in-law, especially in a case that merits favorable con- sideration. 1 He refers to the great friendship of Laelius and Scipio. FRIENDSHIP 155 In reflecting, then, very frequently on friendship, the foremost question that is wont to present itself is, whether friendship is craved on account of conscious infirmity and need, so that in bestowing and receiving the kind offices that belong to it each may have that done for him by the other which he is least able to do for himself, reciprocating services in like manner ; or whether, though this relation of mutual benefit is the property of friendship, it has yet another cause, more sacred and more noble, and derived more genu- inely from the very nature of man. Love, which in our language gives name l to friendship, bears a chief part in unions of mutual benefit ; for a revenue of ser- vice is levied even on those who are cherished in pre- tended friendship, and are treated with regard from interested motives. But in friendship there is nothing feigned, nothing pretended, and whatever there is in it is both genuine and spontaneous. Friendship, therefore, springs from nature rather than from need, from an inclination of the mind with a certain consciousness of love rather than from calculation of the benefit to be derived from it. Its real quality may be discerned even in some classes of animals, which up to a certain time so love their offspring, and are so loved by them, that the mutual feeling is plainly seen, a feeling which is much more clearly manifest in man, first, in the affection which exists between chil- dren and parents, and which can be dissolved only by atrocious guilt ; and in the next place, in the springing up of a like feeling of love, when we find some one of manners and character congenial with our own, who becomes dear to us because we seem to see in him an illustrious example of probity and virtue. For there 1 Amor, amicitia. 156 CICERO is nothing more lovable than virtue, nothing which more surely wins affectionate regard, insomuch that on the score of virtue and probity we love even those whom we have never seen. Who is there that does not recall the memory of Caius Fabricius, of Manius Curius, of Tiberius Coruncanius, whom he never saw, with some good measure of kindly feeling? On the other hand, who is there that can fail to hate Tarquin- ius Superbus, Spurius Cassius, Spurius Maelius ? Our dominion in Italy was at stake in wars under two com- manders, Pyrrhus and Hannibal. On account of the good faith of the one, 1 we hold him in no unfriendly remembrance ; the other because of his cruelty our people must always hate. But if good faith has such attractive power that we love it in those whom we have never seen, or what means still more in an enemy, what wonder is it if the minds of men are moved to affection when they behold the virtue and goodness of those with whom they can become intimately united ? Love is, indeed, strengthened by favors received, by witnessing assiduity in one's service, and by habitual intercourse ; and when these are added to the first impulse of the mind toward love, there flames forth a marvellously rich glow of affectionate feeling. If there are any who think that this proceeds from con- scious weakness and the desire to have some person through whom one can obtain what he lacks, they assign, indeed, to friendship a mean and utterly igno- ble origin, born, as they would have it, of poverty and neediness. If this were true, then the less of resource one was conscious of having in himself, the better fit- ted would he be for friendship. The contrary is the 1 Pyrrhus, King of Epirus, who invaded Italy in 280 B. C. FRIENDSHIP 157 case ; for the more confidence a man has in himself, and the more thoroughly he is fortified by virtue and wisdom, so that he is in need of no one, and regards all that concerns him as in his own keeping, the more noteworthy is he for the friendships which he seeks and cherishes. What? Did Africanus 1 need me? Not in the least, by Hercules. As little did I need him. But I was drawn to him by admiration of his virtue, while he, in turn, loved me, perhaps, from some favorable estimate of my character ; and intimacy increased our mutual affection. But though utilities many and great resulted from our friendship, the cause of our mutual love did not proceed from the hope of what it might bring. For as we are beneficent and generous, not in order to exact kindnesses in return (for we do not put our kind offices to interest), but are by nature inclined to be generous, so, in my opinion^ friendship is not to be sought for its wages, but be- cause its revenue consists entirely in the love which it implies. Those, however, who, after the manner of beasts, refer everything to pleasure, think very differ- ently. Nor is it wonderful that they do ; for men who have degraded all their thoughts to so mean and contemptible an end can rise to the contemplation of nothing lofty, nothing magnificent and divine. We may, therefore, leave them out of this discussion. But let us have it well understood that the feeling of love and the endearments of mutual affection spring from nature, in case there is a well-established assur- ance of moral worth in the person thus loved. Those who desire to become friends approach each other, and enter into relation with each other, that each may enjoy the society and the character of him whom 1 Scipio. 158 CICERO he has begun to love ; and they are equal in love, and on either side are more inclined to bestow obli- gations than. to claim a return, so that in this mat- ter there is an honorable rivalry between them. Thus will the greatest benefits be derived from friendship, and it will have a more solid and genuine founda- tion as tracing its origin to nature than if it pro- ceeded from human weakness. For if it were utility that cemented friendships, an altered aspect of util- ity would dissolve them. But because nature can- not be changed, therefore true friendships are eternal. This may suffice for the origin of friendship, unless you have, perchance, some objection to what I have said. ANDREW P. PEA BODY. LETTERS l TO CN. POMPEIUS MAGNUS, IN ASIA (Fam. V., 7.) a ROME, B. c. 62. M. TULLIUS CICERO, son of Marcus, greets Cn. Porapeius, son of Cneius, Imperator. If you and the army are well I shall be glad. From your official dispatch I have, in common with every one else, received the liveliest satisfaction ; for you 1 In the Letters Mr. E. S. Shnckbnrgh's translation has been used, except in the case of Fam. XIV., 2, where Mr. Q. E. Jeans's version baa been given. The chronological order has been followed. 2 This letter, one of the collection Ad Familiares, was written shortly after Pompey's dispatches, containing the news of his victory over Mithridates, had been received at Rome. LETTERS 159 have given us that strong hope of peace, of which, in sole reliance on you, I was assuring every one. But I must inform you that your old enemies 1 now posing as your friends have received a stunning blow by this dispatch, and, being disappointed in the high hopes they were entertaining, are thoroughly depressed. Though your private letter to me contained a some- what slight expression of your affection, yet I can assure you it gave me pleasure : for there is nothing in which I habitually find greater satisfaction than in the consciousness of serving my friends ; and if on any occasion I do not meet with an adequate return, I am not at all sorry to have the balance of kind- ness in my favor. Of this I feel no doubt even if my extraordinary zeal in your behalf has failed to unite you to me that the interests of the state will certainly effect a mutual attachment and coalition between us. To let you know, however, what I missed in your letter I will write with the candor which my own disposition and our common friendship demand. I did expect some congratulation in your letter on my achievements, 2 for the sake at once of the ties between us and of the Republic. This I presume to have been omitted by you from a fear of hurting any one's feelings. But let me tell you that what I did for the salvation of the country is approved by the judgment and testimony of the whole world. You are a much greater man than Africanus, 3 but I am not much infe- rior to Laelius either ; and when you come home you will recognize that I have acted with such prudence 1 Caesar and his party. 2 Cicero had written him an account of his suppression of the Cati- lin.iri.in conspiracy. 3 Scipio, whose name, together with that of Laelins, has been al- ready mentioned in connection with the dialogue On Friendship. 160 CICERO and spirit, that you will not be ashamed of being coupled with me in politics as well as in private friend ship. TO HIS WIFE AND FAMILY IN ROME 1 (Fam. XIV., 2.) THESSALONICA, B. c. 58. I SEND this, my dear Terentia, with much love to you, and my little Tullia, and my Marcus. I hope you will never think that I write longer let- ters to other people, unless it so happens that any one has written to me about a number of matters that seem to require an answer. In fact, I have nothing to say, nor is there anything just now that I find more diffi- cult. But to you and my dear little girl I cannot write without shedding many tears, when I picture to myself, as plunged in the, deepest affliction, you whom my dearest wish has been to see perfectly happy ; and this I ought to have secured for you ; yes, and I would have secured, but for our being all so faint-hearted. I am most grateful to our friend Piso 2 for his kind services. I did my best to urge that he would not forget you when I was writing to him ; and have now thanked him as in duty bound. I gather that you think there is hope of the new tribunes ; that will be a safe thing to depend on, if we may on the profession of Pompe- ius, but I have my fears of Crassus. It is true I see that everything on your part is done both bravely and lovingly, nor does that surprise me, but what pains me is that it should be my fate to expose you to such severe suffering to relieve my own. For Publius Vale- 1 Written during his exile. 2 Tullia's husband. LETTERS 161 rius, who has been most attentive, wrote me word, and it cost me many tears in the reading, how you had been forced to go from the temple of Vesta to the Valerian office. 1 Alas, my light, my love, whom all used once to look up to for relief ! that you, my Terentia, should be treated thus ; that you should be thus plunged in tears and misery, and all through my fault ! I have indeed preserved others, only for me and mine to perish. As to what you say about our house 2 or rather its site I for my part shall consider my restoration to be complete only when I find that it has been re- stored to me. But these things are not in our hands : what troubles me is, that in the outlay which must be incurred you, unhappy and impoverished as you are, must necessarily share. However, if we succeed in our object, I shall recover everything ; but then, if ill- fortune continues to persecute us, are you, my poor dear, to be allowed to throw away what you may have saved from the wreck ? As to my expenses, I entreat you, my dearest life, to let other people, who can do so perfectly if they will, relieve you ; and be sure as you love me not to let your anxiety injure your health, which you know is so delicate. 3 Night and day you are always before my eyes ! I can see you making every exertion on my behalf, and I fear you may not be able to bear it. But I know well that all our hopes are in you ; so be very careful of your 1 Terentia's half-sister Fabia was a Vestal, and it is possible that she had taken refuge -with her. The " Valerian office " was proba- bly a bank, where she was required to make a declaration about her husband's property. 2 His house on the Palatine had been destroyed and a temple of Liberty built on its site. 8 Terentia is said to have lived to the age of 103. 162 CICERO health, that we may be successful in what you hope and are working for. As far as I know there is nobody I ought to write to except those who write to me, or these whom you mention in your letters. Since you prefer it I will not move any further from here, but I hope you will write to me as often as possible, especially if we have any surer grounds for hoping. Good bye, my dar- lings, good bye. TO ATTICUS IN ITALY, ON HIS JOURNEY TO ROME (Att. IV., 4 b.) ANTIUM, 1 B. C. 56. IT will be delightful if you come to see us here. You will find that Tyrannic 2 has made a wonderfully good arrangement of my books, the remains of which are better than I had expected. Still, I wish you would send me a couple of your library slaves for Tyrannic to employ as gluers, 3 and in other subordinate work, and tell them to get some fine parchment 4 to make title-pieces, which you Greeks, I think, call " sillybi." But all this is only if not inconvenient to you. In any case, be sure you come yourself, if you can halt for a while in such a place, and can persuade Pilia 5 to accompany you. For that is only fair, and 1 A town in Latium, on the Mediterranean, where one of Cicero's villas was situated. 2 His librarian. 8 Their duty would be to glue together the separate leaves of papy- rus used in making up a roll. 4 A strip of parchment, on which the title of the book was written, was attached to the roll. 6 Atticus' wife. LETTERS 163 Tullia is anxious that she should come. My word I You have purchased a fine troop ! 1 Your gladiators, I am told, fight superbly. If you had chosen to let them out you would have cleared your expenses by the last two spectacles. But we will talk about this later on. Be sure to come, and, as you love me, see about the library slaves. TO CAESAR, IN GAUL (Fam. VH., 5.) a ROME, B. o. 64. CICERO greets Caesar, imperator. Observe how far I have convinced myself that you are my second self, not only in matters which concern me personally, but even in those which concern my friends. It had been iny intention to take Gaius Trebatius with me for what- ever destination I should be leaving town, in order to bring him home again honored as much as my zeal and favor could make him. But when Pompey remained home longer than I expected, and a certain hesitation on my part (with which you are not unacquainted) appeared to hinder, or at any rate to retard, my de- parture, I presumed upon what I will now explain to you. I begin to wish that Trebatius should look to you for what he had hoped from me, and in fact, I have been no more sparing of my promises of good- will on your part than I had been wont to be of my 1 Atticus speculated in gladiators. 2 A letter of recommendation in behalf of C. Trebatius Testa, the jurist. We have seventeen letters of Cicero addressed to him, most of them written in a semi-humorous strain, and all indicating a close friendship between the two men. 164 CICERO own. Moreover, an extraordinary coincidence has occurred which seems to support my opinion and to guarantee your kindness. For just as I was speaking to our friend Balbus about this very Trebatius at my house, with more than usual earnestness, a letter from you was handed to me, at the end of which you say : " Miscinius Rufus, whom you recommend to me, I will make king of Gaul, or, if you choose, put him under the care of Lepta. 1 Send me some one else to promote." I and Balbus both lifted our hands in surprise : it came so exactly in the nick of time, that it appeared to be less the result of mere chance than something providential. I therefore send you Treba- tius, and on two grounds, first that it was my spon- taneous idea to send him, and secondly, because you have invited me to do so. I would beg you, dear Caesar, to receive him with such a display of kind- ness as to concentrate on his single person all that you can be possibly induced to bestow for my sake upon my friends. As for him I guarantee not in the sense of that hackneyed expression of mine, at which, when I used it in writing to you about Milo, you very properly jested, but in good Roman language such as sober men use that no honester, better, or more modest man exists. Added to this, he is at the top of his profession as a jurisconsult, possesses an un- equalled memory, and the most profound learning. For such a man I ask neither a tribuueship, prefec- ture, nor any definite office, I ask only your good-will and liberality : and yet I do not wish to prevent your complimenting him, if it so please you, with even these marks of distinction. In fact, I transfer him entirely from my hand, so to speak, to yours, which is 1 A friend of Cicero's, who was with Caesar in Gaul. LETTERS 165 as sure a pledge of good faith as of victory. Excuse my being somewhat importunate, though with a man like you there can hardly be any pretext for it however, I feel that it will be allowed to pass. Be careful of your health and continue to love me as ever. TO HIS BROTHER QUINTUS, IN GAUL (Q.Fr.IH.,7.) TUSCULUM, 1 B. C. 54. AT Home, and especially on the Appian road as far as the temple of Mars, there is a remarkable flood. The promenade of Crassipes has been washed away, pleasure grounds, a great number of shops. There is a great sheet of water right up to the public fishpond. That doctrine of Homer's is in full play : " The days in autumn when in violent flood Zeus pours his waters, wroth at sinful men " for it falls in with the acquittal of Gabinius " Who wrench the law to suit their crooked ends And drive out justice, recking naught of Gods." But I have made up my mind not to care about such things. When I get back to Rome I will write and tell you my observations, and especially about the dic- tatorship, and I will also send a letter to Labienus and one to Ligurius. I write this before daybreak by the carved wood lampstand, in which I take great delight, because they tell me that you had it made when you were at Samos. Good-bye, dearest and best of bro- thers. 1 About ten miles southeast of Rome. Cicero had a villa there. 166 CICERO TO C. TREBATIUS TESTA, IN GAUL (Fam. VH., 16.) ROME, B. c. 54. IN the " Trojan Horse," 1 just at the end, you re- member the words, "Too late they learn wisdom." You, however, old man, were wise in time. Those first snappy 2 letters of yours were foolish enough, and then . . . ! I don't at all blame you for not being over-curious in regard to Britain. 3 For the present, however, you seem to be in winter quarters somewhat short of warm clothing, and therefore not caring to stir out : " Not here and there, but everywhere, Be wise and ware : No sharper steel can warrior hear." If I had been by way of dining out, I would not have failed your friend Cn. Octavius ; to whom, however, I did remark upon his repeated invitations, " Pray, who are you ? " But, by Hercules, joking apart, he is a pretty fellow : I could have wished you had taken him with you ! Let me know for certain what you are do- ing and whether you intend coming to Italy at all this winter. Balbus has assured me that you will be rich. Whether he speaks after the simple Roman fashion, meaning that you will be well supplied with money, or according to the Stoic dictum, that " all are rich who can enjoy the sky and the earth," I shall know here- 1 A play by one of the earlier Roman dramatists, either Livius or Naevius. 2 The firet letters written by Trebatins after going to Gaul seem to have been full of complaints. 8 Trebatins did not cross the Channel. LETTERS 167 after. Those who come from your part accuse you of pride, because they say you won't answer men who put questions to you. However, there is one thing that will please you : they all agree in saying that there is no better lawyer than you at Samarobriva ! TO ATTICUS IN ROME (Att. V., 1.) MnmiRNAE, 1 B. c. 51. YES, I saw well enough what your feelings were as I parted from you ; what mine were I am my own wit- ness. This makes it all the more incumbent on you to prevent an additional decree being passed, so that this mutual regret of ours may not last more than a year. As to Annius Saturninus, your measures are ex- cellent. As to the guarantee, 2 pray, during your stay at Rome, give it yourself. You will find several guarantees on purchase, such as those of the estates of Mennius, or rather of Attilius. As to Oppius, 3 that is exactly what I wished, and especially your having engaged to pay him the 800 sestertia, 4 which I am determined shall be paid in any case, even if I have to borrow to do so, rather than wait for the last day of getting in my own debts. I now come to that last line of your letter written crossways, in which you give me a word of caution about your sister. 5 The facts of the matter are these. On arriving at my place at Ar- 1 In Latium, on the Via Appia. The letter was written by Cicero on his way to Cilicia, whither he was going as proconsul. 2 Of the title to some property that Cicero was selling. 8 The agent of Caesar. * About $34,000. 5 Atticus' sister Pomponia was the wife of Cicero's brother Quintus. 168 CICERO pinum, my brother came to see me, and our first sub- ject of conversation was yourself, and we discussed it at great length. After this I brought the conversation round to what you and I had discussed at Tusculum, on the subject of your sister. I never saw anything so gentle and placable as my brother was on that occasion in regard to your sister : so much so, indeed, that if there had been any cause of quarrel on the score of ex- pense, it was not apparent. So much for that day. Next day we started from Arpinum. A country fes- tival caused Quintus to stop at Arcanum ; I stopped at Aquinum ; but we lunched at Arcanum. You know his property there. When we got there Quintus said, in the kindest manner, " Pomponia, do you ask the ladies in ; I will invite the men." Nothing, as I thought, could be more courteous, and that, too, not only in the actual words, but also in his intention and the expression of face. But she, in the hearing of us all, exclaimed, " I am only a stranger here ! " The origin of that was, as I think, the fact that Statius had preceded us to look after the luncheon. Thereupon Quintus said to me, " There, that 's what I have to put up with every day ! " You will say, " Well, what does that amount to ? " A great deal ; and, indeed, she had irritated even me : her answer had been given with such unnecessary acrimony, both of word and look. I concealed my annoyance. We all took our places at table except her. However, Quintus sent her dishes from the table, which she declined. In short, I thought I never saw anything better-tempered than my brother, or crosser than your sister : and there were many par- ticulars which I omit that raised my bile more than they did that of Quintus himself. I then went on to Aquinum ; Quintus stopped at Arcanum, and joined LETTERS 169 me early the next day at Aquinum. He told me that she had refused to sleep with him, and when on the point of leaving, she behaved just as I had seen her. Need I say more ? You may tell her herself that in my judgment she showed a marked want of kindness on that day. I have told you this story at greater length, perhaps, than was necessary, to convince you that you, too, have something to do in the way of giv- ing her instruction and advice. There only remains for me to beg you to complete all my commissions before leaving town ; to give Pomptinus l a push, and make him start ; to let me know as soon as you have left town, and to believe that, by heaven, there is nothing I love and find more pleasure in than yourself. I said a most affectionate good-bye to that best of men, A. Torquatus, at Minturnae, to whom I wish you would remark, in the course of conversation, that I have mentioned him in my letter. CICERO AND HIS SON TO TERENTIA AND TULLIA, IN ROME 2 (Fam. XIV., 14.) MTKTUHNAE, B. c. 49. . TULLIUS to Terentia, her father to Tullia, his two sweethearts, and Cicero to his excellent mother and darling sister, send warm greetings. If you are well, we are so too. It is now for you to consider, and not 1 An old friend of Cicero's, who was to be one of his lieutenants in Cilicia. 2 Cicero had taken part in the general flight from Rome that fol- lowed the news of Caesar's having crossed the Rubicon. 170 CICERO for me only, what you must do. If Caesar means to come to Rome in a peaceable manner, you can stay at home with safety for the present : but if in his mad- ness he is going to give up the city to plunder, I fear Dolabella 1 himself may not be able to protect us suffi- ciently. Besides, I am alarmed lest we should be cut off from you, so that when you do wish to leave town you may be prevented. There is one other thing, which you are in the best position to observe yourselves are other ladies of your rank remaining in Rome ? If not, it deserves consideration whether you can do so with propriety. As things stand at present, indeed, always provided that I am allowed to hold this district, you will be able to stay with me or .on one of our es- tates with the greatest comfort. There is another thing I am afraid of a want of provisions in the city before long. On these points pray consult with Pom- ponius, 2 with Camillus, with anybody you think right : above all don't be frightened. Labienus has made things better for us. Piso, too, is helpful in quitting the city and declaring his own son-in-law guilty of treason. Do you, dear hearts, write to me as often as possible, and tell me how you are and what is going on around you. Quintus and his son and Rufus send their love. Good-bye ! 1 Tullia's second husband, who belonged to Caesar's party. 2 Atticus. LETTERS 171 TOATTICUS IN ROME 1 (Att. VII., 20.) CAPUA, B. c. 49. I HAVE no choice but to be brief. I have given up all hope of peace, and as to war, our men are not stir- ring a finger. Don't, pray, suppose that our consuls care for anything less than that : though it was in hopes of hearing something and learning what prepara- tions we were making that I came to meet them in a pelting rain on the 4th, according to orders. They, however, had not arrived, and were expected on the 5th empty-handed and unprepared. Pompey, again, is said to be at Luceria, and on his way to join some cohorts of the Appian legions, which are far from be- ing in a very satisfactory state. But he, 2 they say, is hurrying along and is expected at Rome every hour, not to fight a battle for who is there to fight with ? but to prevent the flight from town. For myself, if it is to be in Italy " if die I must," etc. ! I don't ask your advice about that : but if it is to be outside Italy what can I do ? On the side of remaining there are the winter season, my lictors, the improvi- dence and carelessness of our leaders : on the side of flight, my friendship for Pompey, the claims of the loyalist cause, the disgrace of having anything to do with a tyrant ; as to whom it is uncertain whether he will copy Phalaris or Pisistratus. 3 Pray unravel these 1 One of the many letters in which Cicero asks Atticus for advice and guidance. He complains of the apathy of the consuls, comparing it with Caesar's energetic movements. 2 Caesar. 8 Tyrants of Agrigentum and Athens respectively. 172 CICERO perplexities for me, and help me with your advice, though I expect by this time you are in a warm corner yourself at Rome. However, do the best you can. If I learn anything fresh to-day, I will let you know. For the consuls will be here directly on the 5th, the date they fixed themselves. I shall look for a letter from you every day. But do answer this as soon as you can. I left the ladies and the two boys at For- miae. SERVIUS SULPICIUS 1 TO CICERO, AT ASTURA (Fam. IV., 5.) ATHENS, B. c. 45. WHEN I received the news of your daughter Tul- lia's death, I was indeed as much grieved and dis- tressed as I was bound to be, and looked upon it as a calamity in which I shared. For if I had been at home, 1 should not have failed to be at your side, and should have made my sorrow plain to you face to face. That kind of consolation involves much distress and pain, because the relations and friends, whose part it is to offer it, are themselves overcome by an equal sorrow. They cannot attempt it without many tears, so that they seem to require consolation themselves rather than to be able to afford it to others. Still I have decided to set down briefly for your benefit such 1 The collection of letters Ad Familiares includes many letters to Cicero by various correspondents. Among the best known is this let- ter of consolation written by the distinguished jurist and orator Serving Sulpicius Ruf us, on the death of Cicero's daughter, Tullia. - Cicero had a villa upon an island at the mouth of the Aatura, a river in Latiura flowing into the Mediterranean. LETTERS 173 thoughts as have occurred to my mind, not because I suppose them to be unknown to you, but because your sorrow may perhaps hinder you from being so keenly alive to them. Why is it that a private grief should agitate you so deeply? Think how fortune has hitherto dealt with us. Reflect that we have had snatched ^from us what ought to be no less dear to human beings than their children country, honor, rank, every political distinction. What additional wound to your feelings could be inflicted by this particular loss ? Or where is the heart that should not by this time have lost all sensibility and learn to regard everything else as of minor importance ? Is it on her account, pray, that you sorrow ? How many times have you recurred to the thought and I have often been struck with the same idea that in times like these theirs is far from being the worst fate to whom it has been granted to exchange life for a painless death ? Now what was there at such an epoch that could greatly tempt her to live ? What scope, what hope, what heart's solace ? That she might spend her life with some young and distinguished husband? How impossible for a man of your rank to select from the present generation of young men a son-in-law, to whose honor you might think yourself safe in trusting your child! Was it that she might bear children to cheer her with the sight of their vigorous youth? who might by their own character maintain the position handed down to them by their parent, might be expected to stand for the offices in their order, might exercise their freedom in supporting their friends ? What single one of these prospects has not been taken away before it was given ? 1 By the triumph of the Caesarian party. 174 CICERO But, it will be said, after all it is an evil to lose one's children. Yes, it is : only it is a worse one to endure and submit to the present state of things. I wish to mention to you a circumstance which gave me no common consolation, on the chance of its also proving capable of diminishing your sorrow. On my voyage from Asia, as I was sailing from Aegina towards Megara, I began to survey the localities that were on every side of me. Behind me was Aegina, in front Megara, on my right Piraeus, on my left Corinth : towns which at one time were most flourishing, but now lay before my eyes in ruin and decay. I began to reflect to myself thus : " Ah ! do we manikins feel rebellious if one of us perishes or is killed we whose life ought to be still shorter when the corpses of so many towns lie in helpless ruin ? Will you please, Servius, restrain yourself and recollect that you are born a mortal man ? " Believe me, I was no little strengthened by that reflection. Now take the trouble, if you agree with me, to put this thought before your eyes. Not long ago all those most illustrious men per- ished at one blow : 1 the empire of the Roman people suffered that huge loss : all the provinces were shaken to their foundations. If you have become the poorer by the frail spirit of one poor girl, are you agitated thus violently ? If she had not died now, she would yet have had to die a few years hence, for she was mortal born. You, too, withdraw soul and thought from such things, and rather remember those which become the part you have played in life : that she lived as long as life had anything to give her ; that her life outlasted that of the Republic ; that she lived to see you her own father praetor, consul, and augur ; that she 1 The defeat of the Pompeians by Caesar at Pharsalus. LETTERS 175 married young men of the highest rank ; that she had enjoyed nearly every possible blessing ; that, when the Republic fell, she departed from life. What fault have you or she to find with fortune on this score ? In fine, do not forget that you are Cicero, and a man accustomed to instruct and advise others ; and do not imitate bad physicians, who in the diseases of others profess to understand the art of healing, but are un- able to prescribe for themselves. Rather suggest to yourself and bring home to your own mind the very maxims which you are accustomed to impress upon others. There is no sorrow beyond the power of time at length to diminish and soften : it is a reflection on you that you should wait for this period, and not rather anticipate that result by the aid of your wis- dom. But if there is any consciousness still existing in the world below, such was her love for you and her dutiful affection for all her family, that she certainly does not wish you to act as you are acting. Grant this to her your lost one ! Grant it to your friends and comrades who mourn with you in your sorrow ! Grant it to your country, that if the need arises she may have the use of your services and advice. Finally since we are reduced by fortune to the necessity of taking precautions on this point also do not allow any one to think that you are not mourning so much for your daughter as for the state of public affairs and the victory of others. I am ashamed to say any more to you on this subject, lest I should ap- pear to distrust your wisdom. Therefore I will only make one suggestion before bringing my letter to an end. We have seen you on many occasions bear good fortune with a noble dignity which greatly enhanced your fame : Now is the time for you to convince us that 176 CICERO you are able to bear bad fortune equally well, and that it does not appear to you to be a heavier burden than you ought to think it. I would not have this be the only one of all the virtues that you do not possess. As far as I am concerned, when I learn that your mind is more composed, I will write you an account of what is going on here, and of the condition of the province. Good-bye. TO ATTICUS, IN ROME (Att. XV., 16 a.) ASTURA, B. o. 44. AT length a letter-carrier from my son? 1 And, by Hercules, a letter elegantly expressed, showing in itself some progress. Others also give me excellent reports of him. Leonides, 2 however, still sticks to his favorite " at present." But Herodes 2 speaks in the highest terms of him. In short, I am glad even to be deceived in this matter, and am not sorry to be credu- lous. Pray let me know if Statius has written to you anything of importance to me. CICERO, THE YOUNGER, TO TIRO 3 (Fam. XVI., 21.) ATHENS, B. c. 44. AFTER I had been anxiously expecting letter-car- riers day after day, at length they arrived forty-six 1 Marcus, who was at the time a student in Athens. a Whose lectures Marcus was attending. * Cicero's freedman and confidential secretary. It was he who LETTERS 177 days after they left you. Their arrival was most wel- come to me : for while I took the greatest possible pleasure in the letter of the kindest and most beloved of fathers, still your most delightful letter put a fin- ishing stroke to my joy. So I no longer repent of having suspended writing for a time, but am rather rejoiced at it ; for I have reaped a great reward in your kindness from my pen having been silent. I am therefore exceedingly glad that you have unhesitat- ingly accepted my excuse. I am sure, dearest Tiro, that the reports about me which reach you answer your best wishes and hopes. I will make them good, and will do my best that this belief in me, which day by day becomes more and more en evidence, shall be doubled. Wherefore you may with confidence and as- surance fulfil your promise of being the trumpeter of my reputation. For the errors of my youth have caused me so much remorse and suffering, that not only does my heart shrink from what I did, my very ears abhor the mention of it. And of this anguish and sorrow I know and am assured that you have taken your share. And I don't wonder at it! for while you wished me all success for my sake, you did so also for your own ; for I have ever meant you to be my part- ner in all my good fortunes. Since, therefore, you have suffered sorrow through me, I will now take care that through me your joy shall be doubled. Let me assure you that my very close attachment to Cratippus 1 is that of a son rather than a pupil : for though I enjoy his lectures, I am also specially edited the letters Ad Familiares. The modern tone of this letter, written by a university student to his father's man of business, will be noticed. 1 The distinguished Peripatetic philosopher. 178 CICERO charmed with his delightful manners. I spend whole days with him, and often part of the night : for I induce him to dine with me as often as possible. This intimacy having been established, he often drops in upon us unexpectedly while we are at dinner, and laying aside the stiff airs of a philosopher joins in our jests with the greatest possible freedom. He is such a man so delightful, so distinguished that you should take pains to make his acquaintance at the ear- liest possible opportunity. I need hardly mention Brut- tius, 1 whom I never allow to leave my side. He is a man of a strict and moral life, as well as being the most delightful company. For in him fun is not divorced from literature and the daily philosophical inquiries which we make in common. I have hired a residence next door to him, and as far as I can with my poor pittance 2 I subsidize his narrow means. Further- more, I have begun practising declamation in Greek with Cassius ; in Latin I like having my practice with Bruttius. My intimate friends and daily com- pany are those whom Cratippus brought with him from Mitylene good scholars, of whom he has the highest opinion. I also see a great deal of Epicrates, the leading man at Athens, and Leonides, 3 and other men of that sort. So now you know how I am going on. You remark in your letter on the character of Gor- gias. 4 The fact is, I found him very useful in my daily practice of declamation ; but I subordinated 1 Known only from this passage. 2 About $4000 a year. 8 He had written to Cicero somewhat unfavorably about his son. * A distinguished rhetorician, but a man of dissolute habits. He seems to have encouraged young Marcus in dissipation, and Cicero had objected to his son's intimacy with him. LETTERS 179 everything to obeying my father's injunctions, for he had written ordering me to give him up at once. I would n't shilly-shally about the business, for fear my making a fuss should cause my father to harbor some suspicion. Moreover, it occurred to me that it would be offensive for me to express an opinion on a decision of my father's. However, your interest and advice are welcome and acceptable. Your apology for lack of time I quite accept ; for I know how busy you always are. I am very glad that you have bought an estate, and you have my best wishes for the success of your purchase. Don't be surprised at my congrat- ulations coming in at this point in my letter, for it was at the corresponding point in yours that you told me of your purchase. You are a man of property ! You must drop your city manners : you have become a Koman country gentleman. How clearly I have your dearest face before my eyes at this moment ! For I seem to see you buying things for the farm, talking to your bailiff, saving the seeds at dessert in the corner of your cloak. But as to the matter of money, I am as sorry as you that I was not on the spot to help you. But do not doubt, my dear Tiro, of my assisting you in the future, if fortune does but stand by me ; especially as I know that this estate has been purchased for our joint advantage. As to my com- missions about which you are taking trouble many thanks ! But I beg you to send me a secretary at the earliest opportunity if possible a Greek ; for he will save me a great deal of trouble in copying out notes. Above all, take care of your health, that we may have some literary talk together hereafter. I commend Anteros 1 to you. 1 The slave who brought the letter. 180 CICERO TO GAIUS TREBONIUS, IN ASIA 1 (Fam. X., 28.) HOME, B. c. 43. How I could wish that you had invited me to that most glorious banquet on the Ides of March ! 2 We should have had no leavings ! 3 While, as it is, we are having such a trouble with them, that the magnificent service which you men then did the state leaves room for some grumbling. In fact, for Antony's having been taken out of the way by you, the best of men, and that it was by your kindness that this pest still survives, I sometimes do feel, though perhaps I have no right to do so, a little angry with you. For you have left behind an amount of trouble which is greater for me than for every one else put together. For as soon as a meeting of the senate could be freely held, after Antony's very undignified departure, I returned to that old courage of mine, which along with that gallant citizen, your father, you ever had upon your lips and in your heart. For the tribunes having summoned the senate for the 20th of Decem- ber, and having brought a different piece of business before it, I reviewed the situation as a whole, 4 and spoke with the greatest fire, and tried all I could to recall the now languid and wearied senate to its an- cient and traditional valor, more by an exhibition of high spirit than of eloquence. 1 Trebonius had taken a prominent part in the conspiracy which resulted in the assassination of Caesar. He afterwards went as pro- consul to the province of Asia. 8 The date of the assassination. 8 Cicero would have had Antony killed too. 4 The speech alluded to is the third Philippic. LETTERS 181 This day and this earnest appeal from me were the first things that inspired the Roman people with the hope of recovering its liberty. And had not I sup- posed that a gazette of the city and of all acts of the senate was transmitted to you, I would have written you out a copy with my own hand, though I have been overpowered with a multiplicity of business. But you will learn all that from others. From me you shall have a brief narrative, and that a mere sum- mary. Our senate is courageous, but the consulars are partly timid, partly disaffected. We have had a great loss in Servius. 1 Lucius Caesar entertains the most loyal sentiments, but, being Antony's uncle, he refrains from very strong language in the senate. The consuls are splendid. Decimus Brutus is cover- ing himself with glory. The youthful Caesar 2 is be- having excellently, and I hope he will go on as he has begun. You may at any rate be sure of this that, had he not speedily enrolled the veterans, and had not the two legions transferred themselves from Antony's army to his command, and had not Antony been con- fronted with that danger, there is no crime or cruelty which he 3 would have omitted to practise. Though I suppose these facts too have been told you, yet I wished you to know them still better. I will write more when I get more leisure. 1 Servius Sulpicius Ruf us, who had died while on an embassy to Antony. s Afterwards Augustus. 8 Antony. CAESAR BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH INDISPUTABLY the greatest personality in Roman history, Caesar, in addition to his epoch-making achievements as a statesman and as a general, showed throughout his career a keen interest in various branches of literature and science. His writings included commentaries on the Gallic and on the Civil War, a grammatical treatise on Analogy which is said to have been composed during a journey from Italy to Transalpine Gaul, a work dealing with some problems of astronomy, a pamphlet against Cato Minor, written in the camp at Munda in answer to the panegyric which Cicero had published shortly after Cato's suicide at Utica, some poems, and many letters and speeches. Of these the commentaries alone have come down to us, the others being known only through the testimony of contemporary or later authors or from a few fragments which have survived. He was born in 100 B. c. The Julian gens, to which he be- longed, was of patrician rank, and more than one of its mem- bers had already attained to the consulship. Of bis early life and education, little is known, but one of his tutors is said to have been the Gaul M. Antonius Gnipho, a rhetori- cian of some repute. Through the marriage of his father's sister to Marius, he was during his boyhood and youth brought in close contact with the great popular leader, and this connection undoubtedly did much to develop in him the democratic spirit which helped to make him the idol of the Roman masses. His wife was Cornelia, the daughter of Cinna, the famous adherent of Marius. He began his CAESAR 183 military service under M. Minucius Thernius in Asia. On his return to Rome in 78, he came forward with an accusa- tion of extortion against Cn. Dolabella, who had been pro- consul of Macedonia. Although unsuccessful in this and in a similar attempt directed against Gaius Antonius, for- merly proconsul in Greece, his speeches won high praise, and he was regarded as one of the best orators of the time. He subsequently pursued his rhetorical studies under Molon at Rhodes. After holding office as quaestor, aedile, and praetor, he went in 61 to Further Spain as propraetor. The year 60 saw the formation of the first triumvirate, which made him, together with Pompey and Crassus, su- preme in the state. Consul in 59, he was in the following year appointed to the proconsulship of Gaul, where he spent the greater part of nine years, actively engaged in military and administrative work. In the mean time a rupture be- tween him and Pompey had taken place. In the Civil War which followed, the victories at Pharsalus (48), Thapsus (46), and Munda (45) made him absolute master of the Roman world. His triumph, however, was short-lived ; he was assassinated on the 15th of March, 44. The commentaries on the Gallic War are a record of his career in Gaul during the years 58-52, and were in all proba- bility written in 51. There are seven books, each giving an account of the events of a single year. The last two years of his command are treated by his lieutenant Hirtius in the eighth book. The gap between the Gallic War and the Civil War, that is, the years 51-49, is filled by the narratives of others of his lieutenants dealing with the Alexandrian, the African, and the Spanish wars. His commentaries on the Civil War consist of three books, the first two tak- ing up the events of 49, the third those of 48. His aim in writing the account of the Gallic War seems to have been to impress the Roman people with the greatness of his services in extending the bounds of their empire. In his work on the Civil War he doubtless desired to show that he had done everything in his power to avert the War. 184 CAESAR It is pei'haps the element of restraint and reserve that contributes most to the effectiveness of Caesar's style. His narrative, moreover, is marked by a sustained objectivity : he writes as if he had been only a spectator of the events of which he was so great a part. Carefully avoiding all merely rhetorical devices, and using only the purest Latin, he tells his story with the utmost directness, simplicity, and clearness. THE SIEGE OF ALESIA 1 Taken from the narrative based on De Bella Gallico, VII., 69-89, in T. Rice Holmes' Caesar's Conquest of Gaul. NEXT day the Romans arrived at Alesia, where Vercingetorix was preparing to make his final stand. The column descended a valley closed on the right and the left by the hills of Bussy and Pevenel. On their left front, connected with Pevenel by a broad neck of land, rose a hill, much lower than Gergovia, 2 but still too steep to be taken by assault. The Gauls were swarming on the eastern slope, beneath the scarped rocks of the plateau, on which stood the town ; and Vercingetorix had made them build a wall and dig a ditch, to protect their encampment. Just at their feet the legions saw a stream, the Oze, winding like a steely thread through the greenery that fringed the north of the hill ; and beyond its southern side, 1 Alesia, the capital of the Mandubii, now Alise Ste. Reine on Mont Anxois, west of Dijon, was the scene of the last concerted attempt on the part of the Gauls to free themselves from Roman rule. That this rebellion of 52 B. c., which had begun in the country of the Arverni, the modern Auvergne, became a national one was due very largely to the enthusiastic patriotism and personal magnetism of the young Arvernian chieftain Vercingetorix. It was only after many months of fighting that Caesar forced the rebels to retreat to Alesia. 8 The capital of the Arverni, upon which Caesar had made an unsuc- cessful attack. THE SIEGE OF ALESIA 185 parallel to the Oze, but invisible, flowed the little river Ozerain. Moving down past the hill of Rea, the soldiers came to a miniature plain, which extended, three miles in length, beneath the western slope of Alesia, and was bounded on its further side by a range of heights; the river Brenne, which received the waters of the Oze and the Ozerain, meandered through it from south to north ; and beyond the Oze- rain the steep declivities of Flavigny completed the zone of hills. Caesar harangued his troops and encouraged them to brace themselves for a toilsome effort. As it was evident that the place could not be taken except by a blockade, he drew a line of investment, fully ten miles in length, along which a ring of camps was constructed. Those intended for the cavalry were on low ground, three in the plain and one in the valley of the Rabutin, which entered the Oze from the north. The rest were strongly placed upon the slopes of the out- lying hills. Close to the camps redoubts or block- houses, twenty-three in all, were thrown up ; and strong pickets were placed in them, to guard against any sudden sortie. Soon after the commencement of the works, Ver- cingetorix sent all his cavalry down the hill ; and a desperate combat was fought in the western plain. Caesar's Gallic 1 and Spanish horse were soon in trou- ble ; and he sent his Germans to reinforce them. The legions were drawn up in front of their camps, to deter the enemy's foot from attempting a sortie. The Gauls were beaten, and galloped back along the valleys of the Oze and the Ozerain, hotly pursued by the Germans : but the gates of the camp being too 1 Some of the Gauls had adhered to Caesar. 186 CAESAR narrow, many of the thronging fugitives were cut down ; while others threw themselves off their horses and tried to scramble over the wall. The legions, by Caesar's order, moved forward a little. The Gauls inside the wall were smitten with panic : " To arms ! " they cried, " To arms ! " Many of them fled helter- skelter up the hillside ; and Vercingetorix was obliged to shut the gates of the town, for fear the camp should be left unprotected. He saw with dismay that the toils were closing around him. He had never expected that Caesar, who had failed so ignominiously at Gergovia, would be strong enough to attempt a systematic blockade. But there were now ten legions instead of six ; and wherever he looked, over the plain or down in the valleys, there were soldiers at work with axe or spade. There was nothing for it but to appeal to the whole Gallic people to extricate him from the trap in which he was caught. The ring of redoubts was not yet complete : the Romans were far too few to blockade the whole circuit of the mountains : and the cavalry might perhaps steal out in the dark without attract- ing notice. He charged them to go, each to his own country, and bring back with them every man who could wield a sword. He reminded them of all that he had done for the good cause, and adjured them not to abandon him to the vengeance of the Romans. Everything depended on their using all speed : if they left him to perish, the whole garrison would per- ish with him. By reducing the rations, he reckoned that he might make the provisions last a little over a month. Silently up each river valley sped the shad- owy cavalcade, until it was lost to view. Caesar learned the whole story from some deserters. THE SIEGE OF ALESIA 187 Its only effect was to stimulate his inventive genius. If he could keep the army of Vercingetorix from breaking out, he could also keep the relieving force from breaking in. The most vulnerable part of his position was the open meadow on the western side of the mountain. Across this expanse, from the Oze to the Ozerain, a trench was dug, twenty feet wide with perpendicular sides, to prevent the enemy from at- tacking the troops while they were constructing the proper works. About four hundred yards behind the ends of this trench, but bending outwards, was traced the line of contra vallation, which was prolonged so as to surround Alesia, and ran along the lower slopes of the encircling hills and across the valley of the Rabutin. First of all, two parallel trenches were dug, each fifteen feet wide and eight feet deep, the outer of which extended only across the plain, while the in- ner, embracing the whole circuit of the hill, was filled, where the level permitted, with water drawn from the Ozerain and the Rabutin. Just behind the outer trench, and also behind that portion of the other which encompassed the rest of the position, a rampart was erected, surmounted by a palisade, with an embattled fence of wattle-work in front, from the bottom of which projected stout forked branches. The combined height of rampart and palisade was twelve feet. Wooden towers were erected upon the western sec- tion of the rampart at intervals of eighty feet, and also at certain points along the rest of the contra- vallation. To repel the reinforcements for which Vercingetorix had sent, a line of works somewhat similar to these, forming the circum vallation, was traced along the heights of Mavigny, Pevenel and Bussy, and across the 188 CAESAR intervening valleys and the plain. The circuit of this line was fully ten miles. But even these works were not deemed sufficient. The Gauls made frequent and furious sallies. Com- paratively few of the Romans were available as com- batants ; for many had to go in quest of corn and timber, while others were laboring on the works. Caesar therefore invented various subsidiary defences. Ditches, five feet deep, were dug just inside the large moat that was filled with water ; and five rows of strong boughs were fixed in each, with one end protrud- ing above ground, sharpened and with the branches projecting so as to form a kind of abatis. In front of them and rising a few inches above the ground, but purposely concealed by brushwood, were sharp pointed logs embedded in small pits. In front of these again, concealed, but barely concealed, beneath the turf, were barbed spikes fixed in pieces of wood. Fringed by these formidable defences, Caesar expected that contravallation and circumvallation would be alike impregnable. Nevertheless, the struggle was likely to be pro- longed ; and it would certainly tax to the utmost the endurance and the fighting power of the men. As soon as the relieving army should arrive, the Romans would be hemmed in between two desperate enemies. Every moment for preparation was precious. Flying parties scoured the country for corn and provender : but they could not collect a sufficient supply ; and the rations had to be reduced. Every day, even by night, when the moon was up, or in the glow of the watch-fires, the besieged could see the indefatigable legionaries laboring to finish their works before the time for the great hazard should arrive. THE SIEGE OF ALES I A 189 Meanwhile Vercingetorix had abandoned his camp, and withdrawn the troops who occupied it into the town. He took every precaution to husband his scanty resources. He ordered the whole of the grain to be thrown into one common stock and brought to him for safe keeping ; and he let it be known that dis- obedience would be punished with death. From time to time each man received his scanty ration. Meat was tolerably abundant ; for the Mandubii had driven large numbers of cattle into the stronghold. The appeal of Vercingetorix had meanwhile been answered. A council of chieftains met to consider the situation. Vercingetorix, in his great need, had asked for an universal levy : but the cooler judgment of the council rejected his demand. So vast a mul- titude would become unmanageable ; and it would be impossible to find food for so many mouths. It was resolved, therefore, to call upon each tribe for a limited contingent. The summons was obeyed with alacrity ; and from north and south and east and west, from the Seine, the Loire and the Garonne, from the marshes of the Scheldt and the Sambre and the mountains of the Vosges and the Cevennes, from the Channel and the Atlantic Ocean, horse and foot came swarming to save the hero of Gaul. But even in this supreme moment, in one instance, tribal jealousy prevailed over patriotism. The Bellovaci perempto- rily refused to send a single man. They intended, they said, to attack Caesar on their own account, and had no intention of being dictated to by any one. They consented, however, as a personal favor to Commius, king of the Atrebates, who had great influence with them, to despatch a small contingent. Four generals were chosen ; for, except Vercingetorix 190 CAESAR himself, there was no one leader of sufficient eminence to command universal confidence. And, as if this weakening of authority were not enough, the generals were fettered by civil commissioners, whose instruc- tions they were to follow in the conduct of the cam- paign. One of the four was Commius, who had, in former years, rendered good service to Caesar, but was now swept away on the wave of patriotic enthusi- asm. He had indeed good reason to abhor the Ro- man name. Just before the outbreak of the rebellion, Labienus 1 had discovered that he was conspiring against Caesar, and had sent the tribune Volusenus to assassinate him. He escaped with a wound ; and now he saw a prospect of taking his revenge. His brother generals were Eporedorix and Viridomarus, representing the Aedui, and Vercassivellaunus, a cou- sin of Vercingetorix. The vast host mustered in the country of the Aedui, eight thousand horsemen and nearly two hundred and fifty thousand foot, and marched for Alesia in the certain confidence of victory. By this time the garrison were in great straits. Their grain was all consumed. 2 Day after day they strained their eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the relieving army: but there was never a sign. At length the chieftains called a council of war. Some advised surrender : others were clamorous for a grand sortie : but one proposal equalled in atrocity the worst that has been told of Jerusalem or Samaria. An Arvernian chieftain, called Critognatus, reminded his hearers that their fathers, when driven into their 1 At this time Caesar's most trusted officer. At the outbreak of the Civil War he deserted to Pompey. 8 According to Napoleon I. (Prtcis dea gwrrea de Cisar, 1836, p. 110), more than 50 days must have elapsed between the departure of Vercingetorix's cavalry and the arrival of the relieving army. THE SIEGE OF ALES I A 191 fastnesses by the Cimbri and Teutoni, had sustained life by feeding upon the flesh of those who were use- less for warfare ; and he urged that, to give the garri- son strength to hold out to the last against the tyrants who made war only to enslave, this glorious precedent should be followed. Finally it was decided that all who were too old, too young, or too feeble to fight should be expelled from the town ; that those who remained should try every expedient before having recourse to the desperate remedy of Critognatus ; but that, if the relieving army failed to arrive in time, they should even follow his counsel rather than sur- render. Accordingly the Mandubii, to whom the town belonged, were compelled to depart, with their wives and children. They presented themselves before the Roman lines. Many of them were weeping. They piteously begged the soldiers to receive them as slaves, only give them something to eat. To grant their prayer was impossible ; and a line of guards, whom Caesar posted on the rampart, forbade any attempt to escape. But suspense was nearly at an end. It was just after the expulsion of the Mandubii when the anxious watchers on the hill saw, moving over the plain, a multitude of cavalry. The infantry were on the heights of Mussy-la-Fosse behind. In a fever of ex- ultation men ran to and fro, exchanging congratula- tions. The garrison descended the hill, prepared for a sortie. Vercingetorix had forgotten nothing. His men were provided with fascines 1 for filling up the trenches, and movable huts to protect their approach. Soon a fierce combat of horse was raging over the plain. The legionaries were posted, ready for emer- 1 Bundles of sticks. 192 CAESAR gencies, along the outer and the inner lines. Arch- ers were scattered among the Gallic ranks ; and the arrows fell so thick and fast that scores of wounded horsemen were seen riding off the field. Every man fought like a hero ; for they knew that from the heights around friends and enemies alike were anx- iously watching. The numbers of the Gauls began to tell ; and their countrymen, behind and before, en- couraged them by loud yells. All through the after- noon the battle raged uncertain. But towards sunset the ever-victorious Germans charged in a compact body, and threw the division opposed to them into disorder : the archers were exposed and killed : the rout was general ; and the besieged who had sallied forth turned in despair, and reascended the hill. But Commius and his brother generals were still hopeful. Next day their men were hard at work, making fascines and scaling ladders for a grand as- sault on the Roman lines. About midnight they quitted their camp, and moved in silence across the plain. As they approached the works, they raised a simultaneous shout, to put the besieged on the alert ; and, as they flung their fascines into the ditch, the trumpet was heard, calling the garrison to arms. Stones flew from slings : arrows whizzed through the air ; and, though the Romans too plied their slings, and supports hurried from the neighboring redoubts to the relief of any point that was too hardly pressed, the enemy were too many for them, and they suffered heavily : but when those ghost-like companies rushed in to storm the rampart, they trod upon the spikes, or, stumbling into the holes, impaled themselves on the pointed logs, while heavy pikes were hurled down from the towers into the seething multitude. The THE SIEGE OF ALESIA 193 Roman artillery made great havoc. The losses on either side were very heavy ; for they were fighting in the dark, and shields were of little use. Towards dawn the Gauls retreated, fearing an attack in flank ; and the besieged, who had lost much valuable time in attempting to cross the inner trench, went back before they could strike a blow. One more chance remained. The leaders of the relieving army questioned the rustics about the lie of the ground on the north and the nature of the Roman defences. Mont Rea, which bounded the plain and rose above the further bank of the Oze, extended so far to the north that Caesar had not been able to en- close it in his line of circumvallation. On the south- ern slope, close to the stream, stood one of the Roman camps. It was held by two legions, perhaps about eight thousand men, under Reginus and Caninius. In order to avoid observation, it would be necessary to approach the camp by a wide detour. The Gauls sent scouts to reconnoitre. It appeared that Mont Rea was connected by a ridge with a further group of heights. Just after dark sixty thousand picked men, under the command of Vercassivellaunus, left the Gallic camp, and, passing right round the sweep of the northern hills, halted at daybreak for a rest in a hollow north-east of Mont Re*a. About noon, just as they were moving down on the camp, the cavalry, by a preconcerted arrangement, streamed over the plain towards the Roman lines : the rest of the infantry showed themselves in front of their encampment ; and Vercingetorix, observing these movements from the citadel, descended the hill and moved towards the plain. This time there was no delay. The inner trench 194 CAESAR was filled up, where necessary, with earth and fascines : stout sappers' huts, destined to protect the men when they should approach to storm the lines, long poles fitted with hooks for tearing down the rampart, and other implements which Vercingetorix had provided, were carried across; and the besieged moved on to make their last effort. A desperate struggle then began. Wherever there was a weak spot in the defences, the Gauls threw them- selves upon it ; and the Romans, comparatively few in numbers, and scattered owing to the vast extent of their lines, found great difficulty in massing themselves upon the exposed points. Moreover, they were pain- fully distracted by the roar of battle in their rear ; for both on the inner and the outer line men felt, as they fought, that they must perish if their comrades behind suffered the enemy to break through. Yet, agitated as they were, they combated with a nervous eager en- ergy; and the besieged struggled as desperately as they ; for both knew that that day's fight would decide all : the Gauls were lost unless they could break the line ; the Romans, if they could but hold that line, saw their long toil at an end. From the slope of Fla- vigny, south of the Ozerain, the view from which em- braced the whole plain, Caesar directed the battle, and sent supports to every point where he saw his men hard pressed. The attack on the circumvallatiou in the plain was comparatively feeble ; for the bulk of the relieving force was formidable only in numbers. Nor were those numbers wisely directed. The Aedui may have been treacherous : the generals may have disagreed, or they may have been fettered by the civil commissioners ; anyhow the Gauls made no at- tempt upon the circumvallation, except on Mont Re*a THE SIEGE OF ALESIA 195 and in the plain. The fighting was fiercest on Mont Re'a. The Gauls were so numerous that Vercassivel- launus could always send fresh men to relieve their comrades. Coming down on the camp from a higher level, the assailants hurled their missiles with fatal momentum : they shot earth in heaps over the pointed logs and the spikes, and, locking their shields over their heads, passed unscathed to the rampart ; and, then their numbers began to tell. Suddenly a gal- loper rode up and told Caesar that the garrison were worn out, and their stock of missiles failing. He im- mediately sent Labienus with six cohorts to the res- cue, telling him to hold on as long as he could, and when he could hold on no longer, to sally forth, and fight it out in the open. Then, riding down between the lines on to the plain, he harangued his weary sol- diers and adjured them not to give in : just one short hour, and the prize was won. At last the besieged abandoned in despair the attempt to break through, and, wheeling to the left, crossed the Ozerain, and flung themselves against the works at the foot of Fla- vigny. They drove the artillerymen from the towers with volleys of missiles : they shot earth and fascines into the ditch, and made their way across : they tore down the palisading of the rampart : six cohorts, then seven more were sent down to help, and still they pressed on, till Caesar himself hurried to the spot with fresh reinforcements, and drove them away. Everywhere, except at Mont Rea, the victory was won. Caesar called out four cohorts from the nearest re- doubt, told his cavalry to follow him, and sent a horse- man galloping to the northern cavalry camp to send another detachment down upon the enemy's rear. They were now swarming over the rampart ; and, as 196 CAESAR a last resource, Labienus summoned every available man from the neighboring redoubts to his aid. By good luck these reinforcements amounted to eleven cohorts, perhaps four thousand men. And now, conspicuous in his crimson cloak, Caesar was descried, hurrying across the plain. The enemy made a su- preme effort. Labienus and his men took heart, and rushed into the thick of the stormers. As Caesar ap- proached, he heard the shouts of the combatants : he saw the camp abandoned and the short swords flash- ing over the slopes beyond. Suddenly the cavalry appeared on the heights above the enemy's rear : Caesar's reserves came up to attack them in front; and they fled in bewilderment, into the midst of the hostile squadrons. Vercassivellaunus himself was captured, and seventy-four standards ; and of the sixty thousand chosen men who had marched out of camp the night before only a remnant returned. The whole scene was visible from the town ; and in despair the officers left in command sent to recall their com- rades from below. The vast host without vanished in the gathering darkness. The legions were too tired to follow, or all might have been destroyed : but at midnight the cavalry were sent in pursuit ; and when day broke, they were still hunting the fugitives and capturing or slaying them in scores. All was lost : so Vercingetorix clearly saw. In the night he formed his resolve. Next morning he gath- ered the tribal chiefs around him. He told them that he had fought, not for himself but for his country- men ; and, since they must needs all bow to fortune, he was ready to place himself at their disposal, to die, if they wished to appease the Romans by his death, or to yield himself up as a prisoner of war. They THE SIEGE OF ALESIA 197 accepted his offer, and consented to purchase life by sacrificing the leader of their own choice. Ambassa- dors were sent to learn the pleasure of the conqueror. He ordered the chiefs of the garrison to be brought out, and all the arms to be surrendered. The chiefs were led forth ; and Caesar, seated on his tribunal, received their submission. Vercingetorix, mounted on a gaily caparisoned charger, rode round the tri- bunal, and then, leaping to the ground, took off his armor, laid down his sword, and bowed himself at Caesar's feet. He was sent to Rome, and imprisoned in a dungeon. Six years later he was brought out, to adorn Caesar's triumph ; and then he was put to death. T. RICE HOLMES. VIRGIL BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH WHILE in true poetic inspiration Virgil does not rank with Lucretius or Catullus, yet in his larger conception of the poet's function, in his more artistic handling of his themes, and in his mastery of technique he is far supe- rior to them. He is a product of the Augustan age, with its more settled political and social atmosphere, its wider culture, and its higher ideals of literary art. We miss, it is true, the individual note that marks the work of some of the earlier poets, hut in its place is something of fuller volume, an essentially national tone, emanating from one who was possessed with the idea of his country's greatness. In his Georgics he sings the praise of Italian agriculture ; his Aeneid is a glorification of the Roman race. He was horn in Mantua in 70 B. c. His parents were plebeians, but sufficiently prosperous to give their son a good education. He received his first training at Cremona, went afterwards to Naples, and finally to Rome. How long he remained at the capital on this occasion is not certain, but we know from the Eclogues that he was in his native place during the troubles caused by the confiscation of lands in northern Italy for the benefit of the veterans of Octavian l after the battle of Fhilippi in 42 B. c. The soldiers, not satisfied with the lands which had been assigned to them around Cremona, proceeded to seize those near Mantua; and it was only through the protection afforded him by Asinius Pollio, the legate in the district, and afterwards 1 Afterwards the Emperor Augustus. VIRGIL 199 by the intervention of Octavian himself, that the poet was secured in the possession of his farm. From this time on he enjoyed the patronage of Maecenas and Octavian, liv- ing for the most part either at Naples or at Rome. About 37 B. c., possibly at the suggestion of Maecenas, he be- gan the composition of the Georgics, and the next seven years were spent upon this work. The writing of the Aeneid followed, and he had devoted eleven years to it when he died in 19 B. c. while returning from a journey to Athens. Not to mention some minor poems attributed to him, Virgil's works consist of the Eclogues, ten in number, the Georgics, in four books, and the Aeneid, in twelve. The Eclogues are either genuine pastoral poems following more or less strictly the form used by his model Theocri- tus, or pastoral allegories in which, while the speakers are ostensibly shepherds and the pastoral background is pre- served, prominent personages of the time are really repre- sented and topics discussed which have no connection what- ever with any phase of shepherd life. To the first class the second, third, fifth, seventh, and eighth belong, some of them (the third, seventh, and eighth) showing the amoc- baean structure that is characteristic of bucolic poetry. In the second class are the first, the sixth, the ninth, and the tenth. The fourth is altogether outside the bucolic sphere. The content of the Georgics is aptly summed up in the opening lines : What makes the cornfield smile ; beneath what star, Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod Or marry elm with vine ; how tend the steer ; What pains for cattle keeping, or what proof Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees, Snch are my themes. Among the many sources used by the poet in the composi- tion of the work we find writers as far removed from one another as Homer and Hyginus. A large element, however, 200 VIRGIL came from his own experience on his Mantuan estate. A striking feature of the poem is the artistic interweaving of episodes having in themselves little or nothing to do with the main theme. The first book, for example, has a fine description of the portents that appeared just after Caesar's assassination ; the second, the famous passage in which the praises of Italy are sung ; the fourth, the story of Ari- staeus. But this is only one of the devices adopted to lighten a theme that in less skilful hands could hardly have failed to become tedious. We have besides many finely elaborated pictures of nature, picturesque descriptions of rural occupations and activities, little touches of realism, wise saws and homely maxims, all wrought into a per- fect whole by the sure hand of the artist. In the Aeneid Virgil enters the epic field. It is the story of the coming of Aeneas of Troy and his followers to Italy, and the founding of the Roman state. In the first six books we are told of the sack of Troy by the Greeks, the flight of Aeneas with a remnant of the Trojans, their long wanderings, their visit to Sicily, their stay at Car- thage, and Aeneas' descent into Hades. The second half of the poem describes the wars with the natives, ending with the death of Turnus, the young chieftain of the Rutulians, at the hands of Aeneas. While we must admit the justice of some of the criticisms of the Aeneid, that the poet has in many passages imi- tated and even plagiarized from Homer, that there is, espe- cially in the last six books, a lack of that variety of incident which is so characteristic of the Homeric epics, the poem shows, nevertheless, qualities which give it one of the first places in the list of the world's great epics : descriptive powers of a high order, a wealth of imagery that mani- fests itself sometimes in similes and metaphors, sometimes in a single word or phrase charged with poetic associations, a rare skill in handling dramatic situations, a perfect mas- tery of language, and lastly a marvellous command of the dactylic hexameter. DAMON AND ALPHESIBOEUS 201 DAMON AND ALPHESIBOEUS 1 (Eclogue Vin.) SONGS of the shepherds Damon and Alphesiboeus, my theme : Hearkening to whom with rapture as each in rivalry sung, Heifers forgot their pasture, upon whose melodies hung Lynxes smitten with wonder, and every listening stream Loitered with altered current along its watery way ; 5 Damon and Alphesiboeus shall be our burden to-day. Sailing already abreast of the great Timavus's hill, 2 Whether I find thee, 3 or coasting around Illyria still, Comes not the bright day ever when this poor tongue shall be free Thy fair deeds to proclaim ? Shall I ne'er at liberty be 10 Proudly to waft thy verse o'er earth and her every clime, Only of Athens worthy, and buskin 'd tragedy's prime ? Thou my Muse's beginning, her song shall finish with thee. 1 The Eclogue contains the songs of the two shepherds Damon and Alphesiboeus, the former telling of the faithlessness of his mistress, the latter giving the song of a Thessalian girl who is trying by magic to win hack her lover. 8 The rocks near the month of the river Timavns on the north shore of the Adriatic. 8 Pollio, to whom the poem is addressed, was on his way home from a successful campaign in Ulyricum, on the east coast of the Adriatic. 202 VIRGIL Take these strains at thy bidding essayed, and grant me to lay Round thy brow these ivies to twine with the con- queror's bay. is Hardly as yet from the skies had the night's chill shadow dispersed, Dew lay sweet on the spring-tide grass for the cattle atliirst ; Propped on an olive staff thus sang young Damon, the first : (Damon sings.) Rise, fair star of the morning, and herald the genial day. I, whom a passion for Nysa the false has served to betray, Here will lament ; and to gods whose presence attested in vain Naught has availed me in death's last hour once more will complain. Begin, my flute of the mountains, with me my Mae- nalus 1 strain. Maenalus ever has forests that sing to him ; ever a Speaks in his pines ; to the loves of the shepherds he listens for aye ; 25 Hears Fan piping, who brooked not that reeds should idle remain. Begin, my flute of the mountains, with me my Mae- nalus strain. 1 M t Maenalus in Arcadia was a haunt of Pan, the god of shep- herds. DAMON AND ALPHESIBOEUS 203 Nysa with Mopsus l weds ; what next is a lover to see? Soon will the griffin be matched with the mare, and in summers to be Timid fawns with the hounds come down to the pools on the plain. so Begin, my flute of the mountains, with me my Mae- nalus strain. Hew fresh torches 2 the bridal to grace ; thy bride is in sight, Mopsus the bridegroom thou go scatter the nuts 8 to her train ! Hesper 4 from Oeta's summit for thee sails into the night. Begin, my flute of the mountains, with me my Mae- nalus strain. 15 Worthy the lord they give thee to wed, who scornest the world, Holdest the pipe of the shepherd and these poor goats in disdain, Thinkest light of a brow untrimmed and a beard un- curled, Deeming the gods untroubled by mortal passion and pain! Begin, my flute of the mountains, with me my Mac- nalus strain. 40 1 His rival. * The bride was escorted in torchlight procession from her old home to the bridegroom's house. 8 Nuts were scattered among those who took part in the procession. * The evening star rises over Mt. Oeta. The scene is laid in Thessaly, which was famous for its witchcraft 204 VIRGIL 'T was in our crofts I saw thee, a girl thy mother be- side, Plucking the apples dewy, myself thy pilot and guide; Years I had finished eleven, the twelfth was begin- ning to reign ; Scarce was I able to reach from the ground to the branches that snapped. Ah, when I saw ! how I perished ! to fatal folly was rapt! 45 Begin, my flute of the mountains, with me my Mae- nalus strain. Now have I learned what love is. Among rocks sav- age and wild Tmaros 1 or Rhodope J bare him or far Garainantes 2 for child, Mortal his lineage is not, nor human blood in his veins. Begin, my flute of the mountains, with me my Mae- nalus strains. so Fell love taught one mother 8 her sinful hands to imbrue Once in her children's blood, and the mother was heartless too. Heartless the mother most ? Or was love more cruel and fell ? Cruel was love; thou also, the mother, heartless as well. Begin, my flute of the mountains, with me my Mae- nalus strain. 1 Names of mountains : Tmaros in Epirus, Rhodope in Thrace. 3 A savage tribe in the interior of Africa. 8 Medea. DAMON AND ALPHESIBOEUS 205 Now let the wolf turn tail to the sheep ; oaks stubborn have power Apples golden to bear, on the alder the daffodil flower ! Droppings of amber rich from the bark of the tama- risk rain ; Screech-owls vie with the swan, and to Orpheus Tityrus l change ; Orpheus play for the woods, as Arion 2 with dolphins range. eo Begin, my flute of the mountains, with me my Mae- nalus strain. Nay, let the sea drown all. Farewell to the woods. I will leap Here from this mountain crest that for ever watches the deep ; This death-song of the dying for last sad gift let her keep. Cease, my flute, it is ended, the Maenalus mountain refrain. K Thus sang Damon. The answer of Alphesiboeus again, Muses, recount! Frail mortals to all things cannot attain. (Alphesiboeus sings.^) Fetch me the water; with soft wreaths circle the altar divine ; Burn to the gods rich boughs, heap frankincense on the fire ; 1 Used here for any shepherd. 2 According to the fable he was saved from drowning by a dol- phin which he had charmed by his music. 206 VIRGIL So to the passionless heart of this ice-cold lover of mine 70 I may reach with my magic ; it is but a chant we require. Homeward bring from the city, my chants, bring Daphnis again. Chants from her heavenly station can draw down even the moon ! Circe once with a chant transformed Ulysses' train. Cold snakes split in the meadows asunder with chant and with tune ! 75 Homeward bring from the city, my chants, bring Daphnis again. These three threads, each tinted a separate color, I twine Hound thee first in a circle ; and thrice these altars around Carry the image a number uneven is dear to the shrine ; In three knots, Amaryllis, 1 let each of the colours be wound. so Wind them, prithee, and cry, " I am weaving Venus's chain." Homeward bring from the city, my chants, bring Daphnis again. As in a fire that is one and the same, grows harder the clay, Softer the wax, may Daphnis be wrought by passion to-day. 1 She addresses herself. DAMON AND ALPHESIBOEUS 207 Crumble the cake, let the boughs of the bay-tree crackle and blaze. 85 Daphnis has fired me with passion, I light over Daphnis the bays. Homeward bring from the city, my chants, bring Daphnis again. May such love upon Daphnis be laid as the heifer's, who hies Wearily after her mate through the forest and hills in the quest. 89 Down by the river bank upon greenest sedges she lies, Lost in her grief, nor remembers at nightfall late to arise. Such may his love be, nor I care ever to heal his unrest. Homeward bring from the city, my chants, bring Daphnis again. These worn garments he left me, my faithless love, as he went ; Pledges dear of himself; by the door let them buried remain. as Hold them, O Earth ! they are pledges, and owe me the Daphnis I lent. Homeward bring from the city, my chants, bring Daphnis again. These green herbs, these poisons from Pontus 1 gathered in bloom, Moeris 2 gave me ; in plenty they grow on the Pontus plain ; 1 On the shores of the Black Sea. 2 A shepherd and sorcerer. 208 VIRGIL Often the form of a wolf with these I have seen him assume, 100 And in the forests plunge, or the ghosts call forth from the tomb, Often remove to an alien field rich harvests of grain. Homeward bring from the city, my chants, bring Daphnis again. Carry the ashes without, Amaryllis, and into the brook Over thy shoulders fling them, nor venture behind thee to look ! 105 These are for Daphnis ; he recks nor of gods nor magical strain. Homeward bring from the city, my chants, bring Daphnis again. Look ! As I linger to take it, the cinder itself from the grate Catches the altar with flickering flames. Good luck on us wait ! Ay, there is something surely, and Hylax barks at the gate ! no Ought I to hope ? Or do lovers their own dreams fashion in vain ? Cease, my chants. From the city he comes, my Daphnis, again. SIB CHARLES BOWKN. RULES OF HUSBANDRY (Geotgios, L, 176-203.) MANY the precepts of the men of old, I can recount thee, so thou start not back, And such slight cares to learn not weary thee. RULES OF HUSBANDRY 209 And this among the first : Your threshing-floor With ponderous roller must be levelled smooth, 5 And wrought by hand, and fixed with binding chalk, Lest weeds arise, or dust a passage win Splitting the surface, then a thousand plagues Make sport of it : oft builds the tiny mouse Her home, and plants her granary, underground, 10 Or burrow for their bed the purblind moles, Or toad is found in hollows, and all the swarm Of earth's unsightly creatures ; or a huge Corn-heap the weevil plunders, and the ant, Fearful of coming age and penury. is Mark too, what time the walnut in the woods With ample bloom shall clothe her, and bow down Her odorous branches : if the fruit prevail, Like store of grain will follow, and there shall come A mighty winnowing-time with mighty heat ; 20 But if the shade with wealth of leaves abound, Vainly your threshing-floor will bruise the stalks Swoln but with chaff. Many myself have seen Steep, as they sow, their pulse-seeds, drenching them With lees of oil and natron, that the fruit 25 Might swell within the treacherous pods, and they Make speed to boil at howso' small a fire. Yet, culled with caution, proved with patient toil, These have I seen degenerate, did not man Put forth his hand with power, and year by year 30 Choose out the largest. So, by fate impelled, Speed all things to the worse, and backward borne Glide from us ; even as who with struggling oars Up stream scarce pulls a shallop, if his arms Relax but for one moment, and the boat 35 Is headlong swept adown the hurrying tide. JAMES RHOADES. 210 VIRGIL SIGNS OF BAD WEATHER (Georgica, L, 351-392.) AY, and that these things we might win to know By certain tokens, heats and showers, and winds That bring the frost, the Sire of all himself Ordained what warnings in her monthly round The moon should give, what bodes the south wind's fall; s What oft-repeated sights the herdsman seeing Should keep his cattle closer to their stalls. No sooner are the winds at point to rise, Than either Ocean's firths begin to toss And swell, and a dry crackling sound is heard 10 Upon the heights, or one loud ferment booms The beach afar, and through the forest goes A murmur multitudinous. By this Scarce can the billow spare the curved keels, When swift the sea-gulls from the middle main is Come winging, and their shrieks are shoreward borne, When ocean-loving cormorants on dry land Besport them, and the hern, her marshy haunts Forsaking, mounts above the soaring cloud. Oft, too, when wind is toward, the stars thou 'It see 20 From heaven shoot headlong, and through murky night Long trails of fire white-glistening in their wake, Or light chaff flit in air with fallen leaves, Or feathers on the wave-top float and play. But when from regions of the furious North as It lightens, and when thunder fills the halls Of Eurus l and of Zephyr, all the fields 1 The southeast wind. SIGNS OF BAD WEATHER 211 With brimming dykes are flooded, and at sea No mariner but furls his dripping sails. Never at unawares did shower annoy : so Or, as it rises, the high-soaring cranes Flee to the vales before it, or, with face Upturned to heaven, the heifer snuffs the gale Through gaping nostrils, or about the meres Shrill-twittering flits the swallow, and the frogs 35 Crouch in the mud and chant their dirge of old. Oft, too, the ant from out her inmost cells, Fretting the narrow path, her eggs conveys ; Or the huge bow sucks moisture ; or a host Of rooks from food returning in long line 40 Clamor with jostling wings. Now mayst thou see The various ocean-fowl and those that pry Round Asian meads 1 within thy freshet-pools, Cayster, as in eager rivalry, About their shoulders dash the plenteous spray, 45 Now duck their head beneath the wave, now run Into the billows, for sheer idle joy Of their mad bathing-revel. Then the crow With full voice, good-for-naught, inviting rain, Stalks on the dry sand mateless and alone. so Nor e'en the maids, that card their nightly task, Know not the storm-sign, when in blazing crock They see the lamp-oil sputtering with a growth Of mouldy snuff-clots. JAMES KHOADES. 1 The meadows beside the river Cayster in Ionia. 212 VIRGIL AFTER CAESAR'S DEATH (Oeorgics, I., 466-514.) HE * too it was, when Caesar's light was quenched, For Rome had pity, when his bright head he veiled In iron-hued darkness, till a godless age Trembled for night eternal ; at that time Howbeit earth also, and the ocean-plains, 5 And dogs obscene, and birds of evil bode Gave tokens. Yea, how often have we seen Etna, her furnace-walls asunder riven, In billowy floods boil o'er the Cyclops' fields, 2 And roll down globes of fire and molten rocks ! 10 A clash of arms through all the heaven was heard By Germany ; strange heavings shook the Alps. Yea, and by many through the breathless groves A voice was heard with power, and wondrous-pale Phantoms were seen upon the dusk of night, is And cattle spake, portentous ! streams stand still, And the earth yawns asunder, ivory weeps For sorrow in the shrines, and bronzes sweat. Up-twirling forests with his eddying tide, Madly he bears them down, that lord of floods, 20 Eridanus, 8 till through all the plain are swept Beasts and their stalls together. At that time In gloomy entrails ceased not to appear Dark-threatening fibres, springs to trickle blood, And high-built cities night-long to resound 25 With the wolves' howling. Never more than then From skies all cloudless fell the thunderbolts, 1 The nun. An eclipse took place in November of the year of the assassination, and there were rumors of many portents. 3 Sicily, the fabled home of the Cyclops. 8 The river Po. ITALY 213 Nor blazed so oft the comet's fire of bale. Therefore a second time 1 Philippi saw The Roman hosts, with kindred weapons rush so To battle, nor did the high gods deem it hard That twice Emathia 2 and the wide champaign Of Haemus 3 should be fattening with our blood. Ay, and the time will come when thereanigh, Heaving the earth up with his curved plough, 35 Some swain will light on javelins by foul rust Corroded, or with ponderous harrow strike On empty helmets, while he gapes to see Bones as of giants from the trench untombed. JAMES BHOADES. ITALY (Georgics, II, 136-176.) Bur no, not Mede-land with its wealth of woods, Fair Ganges, Hermus 4 thick with golden silt, Can match the praise of Italy ; nor Ind, Nor Bactria, 5 nor Panchaia, 6 one wide tract Of incense-teeming sand. Here never bulls 5 With nostrils snorting fire upturned the sod Sown with the monstrous dragon's teeth, nor crop Of warriors bristled thick with lance and helm ; But heavy harvests and the Massic 7 juice 1 Virgil's geography is vague. The decisive battle between Caesar and Pompey had been fought at Pharsalia in Thessaly. Philippi, where Brutus and Cassius were defeated by Octavian and Antony, was in Macedonia. 2 A part of Macedonia. 8 The Balkan range. 4 A river in Aeolis in Asia Minor. 5 Properly Bactra, the capital of the province of Bactriana in Asia. 6 The fabulous spice-isle off the coast of Arabia. 7 Mous Massicus in Campania was famous for its vineyards. 214 VIRGIL Of Bacchus fill its borders, overspread 10 With fruitful flocks and olives. Hence arose The war-horse stepping proudly o'er the plain ; Hence thy white flocks, Clitumnus, 1 and the bull, Of victims mightiest, which full oft have led, Bathed in thy sacred stream, the triumph-pomp is Of Romans to the temples of the gods. Here blooms perpetual spring, and summer here In months that are not summer's ; twice teem the flocks ; Twice doth the tree yield service of her fruit. But ravening tigers come not nigh, nor breed 20 Of savage lion, nor aconite betrays Its hapless gatherers, nor with sweep so vast Doth the scaled serpent trail his endless coils Along the ground, or wreathe him into spires. Mark too her cities, so many and so proud, 25 Of mighty toil the achievement, town on town Up rugged precipices heaved and reared, And rivers undergliding ancient walls. Or should I celebrate the sea that laves 29 Her upper 2 shores and lower ? 8 or those broad lakes ? Thee, Larius, 4 greatest and, Benacus, 5 thee With billowy uproar surging like the main ? Or sing her harbors, and the barrier cast Athwart the Lucrine, 6 and how ocean chafes With mighty bellowings, where the Julian wave ss 1 A river of Umbria, in the neighborhood of which a famous breed of white cattle was reared. a The Adriatic Sea. 8 The Tyrrhenian Sea. 4 Lago di Como. 6 Lago di Garda. 6 Lucrinus and Avermis were two small lakes on the Campanian coast, connected with the sea and with one another .by a channel, and used as a harbor. A strong breakwater had been built by Ootavian on the strip of land that separated Lucriuus from the sea. THE BATTLE OF THE BEES 215 Echoes the thunder of his rout, and through Avernian inlets pours the Tuscan tide ? A land no less that in her veins displays Rivers of silver, mines of copper ore, Ay, and with gold hath flowed abundantly. 40 A land that reared a valiant breed of men, The Marsi 1 and Sabellian youth, and, schooled To hardship, the Ligurian, and with these The Volscian javelin-armed, the Decii 2 too, The Marii and Camilli, names of might, 45 The Scipios, stubborn warriors, ay and thee, Great Caesar, who in Asia's 3 utmost bounds With conquering arm e'en now art driving back The unwarlike Indian from the heights of Rome. Hail, land of Saturn, 4 mighty mother thou eo Of fruits and heroes ; 't is for thee I dare Unseal the sacred fountains, and essay Themes of old art and glory, as I sing The song of Ascra 5 through the towns of Home. JAMES RHOADES. THE BATTLE OF THE BEES (Qeorgics, IV., 67-85.) Bur if to battle they have hied them forth For oft 'twixt king and king with uproar dire 1 The Marsi, Sabelli, and Volscians belonged to the Urabrian stock. The Ligurians were of doubtful origin. 2 Here and in the names that follow the reference is to distin- guished Roman families. 8 After the battle of Actium Octavian made a triumphal progress through Syria, Palestine, and Asia Minor. 4 Saturn was said to have dwelt in Italy during the Golden Age. 6 A town in Boeotia, the native place of Hesiod, whose Works and Days had a strong influence upon Virgil's Georgics. 216 VIRGIL Fierce feud arises, and at once from far You may discern what passion sways the mob, And how their hearts are throbbing for the strife ; 5 Hark ! the hoarse brazen note that warriors know Chides on the loiterers, and the ear may catch A sound that mocks the war-trump's broken blasts ; Then in hot haste they muster, then flash wings, Sharpen their pointed beaks and knit their thews, 10 And round the king, even to his royal tent, Throng rallying, and with shouts defy the foe. So when a dry spring and clear space is given, Forth from the gates they burst, they clash on high ; A din arises ; they are heaped and rolled is Into one mighty mass, and headlong fall, Not denselier hail through heaven, nor pelting so Rains from the shaken oak its acorn-shower. Conspicuous by their wings, the chiefs themselves Press through the heart of battle, and display 20 A giant's spirit in each pigmy frame, Steadfast no inch to yield till these or those The victor's ponderous arm has turned to flight. JAMES RHOADES. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES (Aeneid, VI.) WEEPING he spake, then gave to his flying vessels the rein, Gliding at last on the wind to Euboean Cumae's 1 plain. 1 On the coast of Campania. It was colonized from Chalcis in Eoboea. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 217 Seaward the bows are pointed, an anchor's hook to the land Fastens the ships, and the sterns in a long line border the strand. Troy's young warriors leap with exultant hearts from the bark 5 Forth upon Italy's soil. Some look for the fiery spark Hid in the secret veins of the flint ; some scour the profound Forest, and wild beasts' cover, and show where waters abound. While the devout Aeneas a temple seeks on the height, Fhoebus's mountain throne, and a cavern vast as the night, 10 Where in mysterious darkness the terrible Sibyl l lies, Maiden upon whose spirit the Delian seer 2 of the skies Breathes his immortal thought, and the knowledge of doom untold. Soon they arrive at Diana's grove and her palace of gold- Flying, as legends tell, from the thraldom of Minos 3 the king, is Daedalus, 4 trusting the heavens, set forth on adven- turous wing ; Sailed for the ice-bound north by a way unimagined and strange ; Airily poising at last upon this Chalcidian range, 1 The Cumaean SibyL 2 Apollo. 8 King of Crete. 4 The famous artisan of Attic and Cretan mythology. 218 VIRGIL Here first touching the land, to Apollo hallowed his light w Oarage of wings ; and a temple colossal built on the site. Graved on the doors is the death of Androgeos ; l yonder in turn Attica's land, condemned each year in atonement to yield Seven of her children ; the lots are drawn, still stand- ing the urn ; Rising from midmost ocean, to match them, Crete is revealed. Here is the gloomy romance of the bull, Pasiphae's 2 blind as Passion ; and twiformed Minotaur, 3 two bodies com- bined, Record of lawless love ; there, marvellous labor, were shaped Palace and winding mazes, 4 from whence no feet had escaped, Had not Daedalus pitied the lorn princess 6 and her love, And of himself unentangled the woven trick of the grove, so Guiding her savior's 6 steps with a thread. Thee, too, he had wrought, 1 Son of Minos, killed by the bull of Marathon, with which Aegeua, king of Attica, had forced him to fight. To avenge his death Minos made war upon Attica, and compelled the Athenians to send once in every nine years seven boys and seven girls to Crete, to be devoured by the Minotaur. 8 Wife of Minos. 8 A monster with the body of a man and the head of a bull. 4 The Minotaur was kept in the labyrinth built by Daedalus. 6 Ariadne, daughter of Minos, who fell in love with Theseus, son of Aegens, when he came from Athens to kill the Minotaur. Theseus. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 219 Icarus, 1 into the picture, had grief not baffled the thought. Twice he essayed upon gold to engrave thine agony, twice Faltered the hands of the father, and fell. Each noble device Long their eyes had perused, but Achates 2 now is in sight ; 35 With him the priestess comes, dread servant of Phoebus and Night, Daughter of Glaucus the seer. To the Trojan mon- arch she cries : " 'T is not an hour, Aeneas, for feasting yonder thine eyes. Better to slaughter from herds unyoked seven oxen and seven Ewes of the yester year, as a choice oblation to Heaven." 40 Then, as the ministers hasten the rites ordained to prepare, Into the depth of the temple she bids Troy's children repair. There is a cavern hewn in the mountain's enormous side, Keached by a hundred gates, and a hundred passages wide. Thence roll voices a hundred, the seer's revelations divine. 45 When by the doors they stood : " 'T is the hour to inquire of the shrine," 1 Son of Daedalus, who was drowned while attempting to accom- pany his father's flight from Crete. 2 Aeneas' faithful companion. 220 VIRGIL Cried the illumined maiden : " The God ! lo, here is the God!" Even as she spake, while still on the threshold only she trod, Sudden her countenance altered, her cheek grew pale as in death, Loose and disordered her fair hair flew, heart panted for breath, so Bosom with madness heaved. More lofty than wo- man's her frame, More than mortal her voice, as the presence of Deity came Nearer upon her. "And art thou slow to petition the shrine, Troy's Aeneas a laggard at prayer? nought else will incline This charmed temple," she cries, " its colossal doors to unclose." 55 Then stands silent. The veteran bones of the Teu- crians l froze, Chilled with terror, and prayer from the heart of the monarch arose : " Phoebus ! compassionate ever to Troy in the hour of her woe, Who against haughty Achilles of old didst prosper the bow 59 Bent by the Dardan Paris, beneath thine auspices led Many a sea I have travelled around great continents spread, Far as Massylian 2 tribes and the quicksands lining their plain. Italy's vanishing regions, behold, thy people attain I 1 The Trojans. 2 On the north coast of Africa. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 221 Here may the evil fate of the Trojans leave us at last ! Spare, for 'tis mercy's hour, this remnant of Per- gama's 1 race, Gods and goddesses all, whose jealous eyes in the past Looked upon Ilion's l glories ! From thee I implore one grace, Prophet of Heaven, dark seer of the future. Grant us the debt, Long by the destinies owed us a kingdom promised of yore Foot upon Latium's borders at length may Teucrians set, 70 Bearing their household gods by the tempests tossed evermore ! I, their votary grateful, in Phoebus' and Trivia's 2 praise Hewn from the solid marble a glorious fane will raise, Call by Apollo's name his festival. Also for thee Shall in our future kingdom a shrine imperial be. 75 There shall thine own dark sayings, the mystic fates of our line, Gracious seer, be installed, and a priesthood chosen be thine. Only entrust not to leaves thy prophecy, maiden divine, Lest in disorder, the light winds' sport, they be driven on the air ; Chant thyself the prediction." His lips here ended from prayer. so Still untamed of Apollo, to stature terrible grown, Eaves the prophetic maid in her cavern, fain to de- throne 1 Troy. 2 Diana. 222 VIRGIL This great God who inspires her the more with bit doth he school Fiery mouth and rebellious bosom and mould her to rule. Wide on a sudden the hundred enormous mouths of her lair s> Fly, 6f themselves unclosing, and answer floats on the air : " Thou who hast ended at last with the dangers dread of the sea, Greater on land still wait thee. Lavinium's l kingdom afar Teucria's children shall find of that ancient terror be free Yet shall repent to have found it. I see grim visions of war, 90 Tiber foaming with blood. Once more shall a Simois 2 flow, Xanthus be there once more, and the tents of a Dorian 3 foe. Yonder in Latium rises a second Achilles, 4 and born, Even as the first, of a goddess ; and neither at night nor at morn Ever shall Juno leave thee, the Trojans' enemy sworn, 95 While thou pleadest for succor, besieging in misery sore Each far people and city around Ausonia's 6 shore ! 1 The city founded by Aeneas in Latium. 2 The Simois and Xanthus were the two rivers which flowed through the Trojan plain. 8 Greek. 4 Turnus, chief of the Kutuli. 6 Italy. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 223 So shall a bride l from the stranger again thy nation destroy, Once more foreign espousals a great woe bring upon Troy. Yield not thou to disasters, confront them boldly, and more 100 Boldly as fortune suffers and first from a town of the Greek, 2 Marvel to say, shall be shown thee the way salvation to seek." So from her awful shrine the Cumaean Sibyl intones Fate's revelation dread, till the cavern echoes her groans, Robing her truths in gloom. So shakes, as she fumes in unrest, 105 Phoebus his bridle reins, while plunging the spur in her breast. After her madness ceased and her lips of frenzy were stiU, Thus Aeneas replied : " No vision, lady, of ill Comes unimagined now to the exile here at thy door ; Each has he counted and traversed already in spirit before. no One sole grace I entreat since these be the gates, it is said, Sacred to Death and the twilight lake by the Acheron 3 fed- Leave to revisit the face of the sire 4 I have loved so well ; Teach me the way thyself, and unlock yon portals of hell. 1 Aeneas married Lavinia, daughter of king Latinus, who had been previously betrothed to Turnus. 2 Pallantenm, the city of Evander. 8 One of the rivers of Hades. * Anchises. 224 VIRGIL This was the sire I bore on my shoulders forth from the flame, 115 Brought through a thousand arrows, that vexed our flight as we came, Safe from the ranks of the foeman. He shared my journey with me ; Weak as he was, braved ocean, the threats of sky and of sea ; More than the common strength or the common fate of the old. 'T is at his bidding, his earnest prayer long since, I am fain 120 Thus in petition to seek thy gate. With compassion behold Father and son, blest maid, for untold thy power, nor in vain Over the groves of Avernus 1 hath Hecate 2 set thee to reign. Grace was to Orpheus granted, his bride from the shadows to bring, Strong in the power of his lyre and its sounding- Thracian string. 125 Still in his turn dies Pollux, 8 a brother's life to re- deem, Travels and ever retravels the journey. Why of the great Theseus 4 tell thee, or why of Alcides 5 mighty relate ? 1 Lake Avernus near Comae, where there was supposed to be an entrance to the lower world. 2 Diana's name in the lower world. 8 Pollux shared his immortality with his brother Castor, who had been born mortal. They lived and died alternately. 4 Thesus descended into Hades with Pirithous to assist him in carrying off Proserpina. 6 Hercules, whose twelfth labor was to bring up the three-headed dog Cerberus from Hades. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 225 My race, even as theirs, is descended from Jove the supreme." 129 So evermore he repeated, and still to the altar he clung. She in reply : " Great Hero, of heaven's high lineage sprung, Son of Anchises of Troy, the descent to Avernus 1 is light; Death's dark gates stand open, alike through the day and the night. But to retrace thy steps and emerge to the sunlight above, This is the toil and the trouble. A few, whom Jupi- ter's love 135 Favors, or whose bright valor has raised them thence to the skies, Born of the gods, have succeeded. On this side wilderness lies, Black Cocytus 2 around it his twilight waters entwines. Still, if such thy desire, and if thus thy spirit inclines Twice to adventure the Stygian lake, 3 twice look on the dark 140 Tartarus, 4 and it delights thee on quest so wild to embark, Learn what first to perform. On a tree no sun that receives Hides one branch all golden its yielding stem and its leaves Sacred esteemed to the queen of the shadows. For- ests of night Cover it, sloping valleys enclose it around from the light. 145 1 Here used to designate the lower world. 2 A river of Hades. 8 Where the river Styx widened. 4 That part of Hades where the souls of the wicked abode. 226 VIRGIL Subterranean gloom and its mysteries only may be Reached by the mortal who gathers the golden growth of the tree. This for her tribute chosen the lovely Proserpina 1 needs Aye to be brought her. The one bough broken, an- other succeeds, Also of gold, and the spray bears leaf of a metal as bright. iso Deep in the forest explore, and if once thou find it aright, Pluck it ; the branch will follow, of its own grace and design, Should thy destiny call thee; or else no labor of thine Ever will move it, nor ever thy hatchet conquer its might. Yea, and the corpse of a friend, although thou know'st not," she saith, 155 "Lies upon shore unburied, and taints thy vessels with death, While thou tarriest here at the gate thy future to know. Carry him home to his rest, in the grave his body bestow ; Death's black cattle provide for the altar ; give to the shades This first lustral oblation, and so on the Stygian glades, i6o Even on realms where never the feet of the living come, Thou shalt finally look." Then, closing her lips, she was dumb. 1 Queen of Hades. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 227 Sadly, with downcast eyes, Aeneas turns to depart, Leaving the cave ; on the issues dark foretold by her words 164 Pondering much in his bosom. Achates, trusty of heart, Paces beside him, plunged in a musing deep as his lord's. Many the troubled thoughts that in ranging talk they pursue Who is the dead companion the priestess spake of, and who Yonder unburied lies ? And advancing thither, they find High on the beach Misenus, to death untimely con- signed, 170 Aeolus-born l Misenus, than whom no trumpeter bright Blew more bravely for battle, or fired with music the fight; Comrade of Hector great, who at Hector's side to the war Marched, by his soldier's spear and his trumpet known from afar. After triumphant Achilles his master slew with the sword, ns Troy's Aeneas he followed, a no less glorious lord. Now while over the deep he was sounding his clarion sweet, In wild folly defying the Ocean Gods to compete, Envious Triton, 2 lo ! if the legend merit belief Drowned him, before he was ware, in the foaming waves of a reef. MO All now, gathered around him, uplift their voices in grief, 1 Son of Aeolus of Troy. 2 Son of Neptune. 228 VIRGIL Foremost the faithful chieftain. Anon to their tasks they hie ; Speed, though weeping sorely, the Sibyl's mission, and vie, Building the funeral altar with giant trees to the sky. Into the forest primeval, the beasts' dark cover, they go; m Pine-trees fall with a crash and the holm-oaks ring to the blow. Ash-hewn timbers and fissile oaks with the wedges are rent ; Massive ash-trees roll from the mountains down the descent. Foremost strides Aeneas, as ever, guiding the way, Cheering his men, and equipped with a forester's axe as they. 190 Long in his own sad thoughts he is plunged then raising his eyes Over the measureless forest, uplifts his prayer to the skies. " O that in this great thicket the golden branch of the tree Might be revealed ! For in all she related yonder of thee m Ever, alas ! Misenus, the prophetess spake too true." Lo ! at the words twain doves came down through the heavenly blue, And at his side on the green turf lighted. The hero of Troy Knows the celestial birds of his mother, 1 and cries with joy : 1 VenuB. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 229 " Guide us, if ever a way be, and cleaving swiftly the skies, Wing for the grove where in shadow a golden branch overlies 200 One all-favored spot. Nor do thou in an hour that is dark, Mother, desert thy son ! " So saying, he pauses to mark What be the omens, and whither the birds go. They in their flight, Soaring, and lighting to feed, keep still in the Teu- crians' sight. When they have come to the valley of baleful Aver- nus, the pair, 205 Shooting aloft, float up through a bright and radiant air; Both on a tree they have chosen at length their pin- * ions fold Through whose branches of green is a wavering glimmer of gold. As in the winter forest a mistletoe often ye see 209 Bearing a foliage young, no growth of its own oak-tree, Circling the rounded boles with a leafage of yellow- ing bloom ; Such was the branching gold, as it shone through the holm-oak's glooin, So in the light wind rustled the foil. Aeneas with bold Ardor assails it, breaks from the tree the reluctant gold ; 214 Then to the Sibyl's palace in triumph carries it home. Weeping for dead Misenus the Trojan host on the shore Now to his thankless ashes the funeral offerings bore. 230 VIRGIL Rich with the resinous pine and in oak-hewn timbers cased Rises a giant pyre, in its sides dark foliage laced ; Planted in front stand branches of cypress, gifts to the grave ; 220 Over it hang for adornment the gleaming arms of the brave. Some heat fountain water, the bubbling caldron pre- pare; Clay-cold limbs then wash and anoint. Wail sounds on the air. Dirge at an end, the departed is placed on the funeral bed ; O'er him they fling bright raiment, the wonted attire of the dead. 225 Others shoulder the ponderous bier, sad service of death ; Some in ancestral fashion the lighted torches beneath Hold with averted eyes. High blaze on the burning pyre Incense, funeral viands, and oil outpoured on the fire. After the ashes have fallen and flames are leaping no more, 230 Wine on the smouldering relics and cinders thirsty they pour. Next in a vessel of brass Corynaeus 1 gathers the bones, Thrice bears pure spring water around Troy's sorrow- ing sons, Sprinkles it o'er them in dew, from the bough of an olive in bloom, 234 Gives lustration to all, then bids farewell to the tomb. 1 One of Aeneas' companions. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 231 But the devout Aeneas a vast grave builds on the shore, Places upon it the warrior's arms, his trumpet and oar, Close to the sky-capped hill that from hence Misenus l is hight, Keeping through endless ages his glorious memory bright. Finished the task, to accomplish the Sibyl's behest they sped. 240 There was a cavern deep, with a yawning throat and a dread, Shingly and rough, by a sombre lake and a forest of night Sheltered from all approach. No bird wings safely her flight Over its face, from the gorges exhales such poison- ous breath, 244 Rising aloft to the skies in a vapor laden with death. Here four sable oxen the priestess ranges in line ; Empties on every forehead a brimming beaker of wine ; Casts on the altar-fire, as the first-fruits due to the dead, Hair from between both horns of the victim, plucked from its head ; Loudly on Hecate calls, o'er heaven and the shadows supreme. 250 Others handle the knife, and receive, as it trickles, the stream Warm from the throat in a bowl. Aeneas with fal- chion bright 1 Properly Misenum, the promontory southeast of Comae. 232 VIRGIL Slays himself one lamb of a sable fleece to the fell Mother and queen of the Furies, and great Earth, sister of Night, Killing a barren heifer to thee, thou mistress of Hell. 255 Next for the Stygian monarch a twilight altar he lays; Flings on the flames whole bodies of bulls unquartered to blaze, Pours rich oil from above upon entrails burning and bright. When, at the earliest beam of the sun, and the dawn of the light, Under his feet earth mutters, the mountain forests around 260 Seem to be trembling, and hell dogs bay from the shadow profound, Night's dark goddess approaching. " Avaunt, ye un- hallowed, avaunt ! " Thunders the priestess. " Away from a grove that is Hecate's haunt. Make for the pathway, thou, and unsheathe thy sword ; thou hast need, 264 Now, Aeneas, of all thy spirit and valor indeed ! " When she had spoken, she plunged in her madness into the cave ; Not less swiftly he follows, with feet unswerving and brave. Gods ! whose realm is the spirit-world, mute shadows of might, Chaos, and Phlegethon 1 thou, broad kingdoms of silence and night, 1 A river of Hades. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 233 Leave vouchsafe me to tell the tradition, grace to exhume 270 Things in the deep earth hidden and drowned in the hollows of gloom. So unseen through darkness, amid lone night, they strode Down the unpeopled realm of Death, and his ghostly abode, As men journey in woods when a doubtful moon has bestowed Little of light, when Jove has concealed in shadow the heaven, 275 When from the world by sombre Night Day's colors are driven. Facing the porch itself, in the jaws of the gate of the dead, Grief, and Remorse the Avenger, have built their terrible bed. There dwells pale-cheeked Sickness, and Old Age sorrowful-eyed, Fear, and the temptress Famine, and hideous Want at her side, 230 Grim and tremendous shapes. There Death with Labor is joined, Sleep, half-brother of Death, and the Joys unclean of the mind. Murderous Battle is camped on the threshold. Front- ing the door The Iron cells of the Furies, and frenzied Strife, evermore Wreathing her serpent tresses with garlands dabbled in gore. 235 234 VIRGIL Thick with gloom, an enormous elm in the midst of the way Spreads its time-worn branches and limbs: false Dreams, we are told, Make their abode thereunder, and nestle to every spray. Many and various monsters, withal, wild things to behold, Lie in the gateway stabled the awful Centaurs J of old; 290 Scyllas 2 with forms half -human ; and there with his hundred hands Dwells Briareus ; 3 and the shapeless Hydra 4 of Lerna's lands, Horribly yelling ; in flaming mail the Chimaera 6 ar- rayed ; Gorgons 6 and Harpies, 7 and one three-bodied and terrible Shade. 8 Clasping his sword, Aeneas in sudden panic of fear 295 Points its blade at the legion ; and had not the Hea- ven-taught seer Warned him the phantoms are thin apparitions, clothed in a vain 1 Fabled to have been half man, half horse. 2 The monster Scylla is usually said to have dwelt in the cave of a rock between Italy and Sicily. Virgil here speaks as if there were several of them, and places them in the lower world. 8 A monstrous giant, one of the sons of Uranus and Gaea. 4 The huge water serpent that lived in the marsh of Lerna near Argos. 6 A fabulous composite of dragon, lion, and goat. 6 Three daughters of Phorcys, whose hair was of snakes and whose looks turned all beholders to stone. 7 Mythical monsters, half bird and half woman. 8 The giant Geryon. AENEAS 1 DESCENT INTO HADES 235 Semblance of form, but in substance a fluttering bodi- less train, Idly his weapon had slashed the advancing shadows in twain. 299 Here is the path to the river of Acheron, ever by mud Clouded, for ever seething with wild, insatiate flood Downward, and into Cocytus disgorging its endless sands. Sentinel over its waters an awful ferryman stands, Charon, grisly and rugged; a growth of centuries lies Hoary and rough on his chin ; as a flaming furnace his eyes. 305 Hung in a loop from his shoulders a foul scarf round him he ties ; Now with his pole impelling the boat, now trimming the sail, Urging his steel-gray bark with its burden of corpses pale, Aged in years, but a god's old age is unwithered and hale. Down to the bank of the river the streaming shadows repair, 310 Mothers, and men, and the lifeless bodies of those who were Generous heroes, boys that are beardless, maids un- wed, Sons borne forth in the sight of their sires to the pile of the dead, Many as forest leaves that in autumn's earliest frost Flutter and fall, or as birds that in bevies flock to the coast sis 236 VIRGIL Over the sea's deep hollows, when winter, chilly and frore, Drives them across far waters to land on a sunnier shore. Yonder they stood, each praying for earliest passage, and each Eagerly straining his hands in desire of the opposite beach. Such as he lists to the vessel the boatman gloomy re- ceives, 320 Far from the sands of the river the rest he chases and leaves. Moved at the wild uproar, Aeneas, with riveted eyes : " Why thus crowd to the water the shadows, priest- ess ?" he cries ; " What do the spirits desire ? And why go some from the shore Sadly away, while others are ferried the dark stream o'er?" s Briefly the aged priestess again made answer and spake : " Son of Anchises, sprung most surely from gods upon high, Yon is the deep Cocytus marsh, and the Stygian lake. Even the Immortals fear to attest its presence and lie! These are a multitude helpless, of spirits lacking a grave ; 330 Charon the ferryman ; yonder the buried, crossing the wave. Over the awful banks and the hoarse-voiced torrents of doom AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 237 None may be taken before their bones find rest in a tomb. Hundreds of years they wander, and flit round river and shore, Then to the lake they long for are free to return once more." 335 Silent the hero gazed and his footstep halted, his mind Filled with his own sad thoughts and compassion of doom unkind. Yonder he notes, in affliction, deprived of the dues of the dead, Near Leucaspis, 1 Orontes * who Lycia's vessels had led. Over the wind-tossed waters from Troy as together they drave, MO One wild storm overtook them, engulfing vessels and brave. Yonder, behold, Palinurus the pilot gloomily went, Who, while standing from Libya's shores, on the planets intent, Fell but of late from the stern, and was lost in a watery waste. Hardly he knows him at first, as in shadow sadly he paced ; 345 Then at the last breaks silence and cries : " What God can it be Robbed us of thee, Palinurus, and drowned thee deep in the sea? Answer me thou ! For Apollo I ne'er found false till to-day ; Only in this one thing hath his prophecy led us astray. 1 Former companions of Aeneas. 238 VIRGIL Safe with life from the deep to Italian shores, we were told, 350 Thou should'st come at the last ! Is it thus that his promises hold ? " " Son of Anchises," he answers, " Apollo's tripod and shrine Have not lied ; no god overwhelmed me thus in the brine. True to my trust I was holding the helm, stood ruling the course, When by sad misadventure I wrenched it loose, and perforce 355 Trailed it behind in my fall. By the cruel waters I swear Fear of mine own life truly I knew not, felt but a care Lest thy bark, of her rudder bereft, and her helms- man lost, Might be unequal to combat the wild seas round her that tossed. Three long nights of the winter, across great waters and wide, 3eo Violent south winds swept me ; at fourth day's dawn I descried Italy's coast, as I rose on the crest of a wave of the sea. Stroke by stroke I was swimming ashore, seemed nearly to be Safe from the billows ; and weighted by dripping garments I clave, Clutching my hands, to the face of a cliff that towered on the wave, sw AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 239 When wild people assailed me, a treasure-trove to their mind. Now are the waves my masters ; I toss on the beach in the wind. O ! by the pleasant sun, by the joyous light of the skies, By thy sire, and lulus, 1 the rising hope of thine eyes, Save me from these great sorrows, my hero ! Over me pour 370 Earth, as in truth thou canst, and return to the Velian 2 shore. Else, if a heavenly mother hath shown thee yonder a way, Since some god's own presence, methinks, doth guide thee, who here Seekest to cross these streams and the Stygian marshes drear, Give thy hand to thy servant, and take him with thee to-day, 375 So that in quiet places his wearied head he may lay ! " Thus, sad phantom, he cried ; thus answered the seer of the shrine : "Whence, Palinurus, comes this ill-omened longing of thine ? Thou cast eyes, unburied, on Stygian waves, the severe Stream of the Furies, approach unbidden the banks of the mere ! aao Cease thy dream that the Fates by prayer may be ever appeased, Yet keep this in remembrance, that so thy lot may be eased : 1 Aeneas' sou. - Volia was a town on the Lucanian coast. 240 VIRGIL Many a neighboring people from cities far and un- known, Taught by prodigies dire of the skies, thy bones shall atone, Building thy tomb, and remitting their gifts each year to thy ghost ; sss So Palinurus' 1 name shall for ever cleave to the coast." Thus his affliction she soothes. For a little season his sad Spirit has comfort ; he thinks on his namesake land and is glad. Thence they advance on the journey and now draw near to the flood. Soon as the boatman saw them, from where on the water he stood, 390 Move through the silent forest and bend their steps to the beach, Ere they arrive he accosts them, and first breaks si- lence in speech. " Stranger, approaching in arms our river, whoever thou art, Speak on the spot thine errand, and hold thee further apart. This is the kingdom of shadows, of sleep and the slumberous dark ; 395 Bodies of living men are forbidden the Stygian bark. Not of mine own good will was Alcides over the wave Yonder, or Theseus taken, nor yet Pirithous brave, Though from gods they descended, and matchless warriors were ; One 2 from the monarch's presence to chains sought boldly to bear 400 1 There was a promontory so called. a Hercules. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 241 Hell's unslumbering warder, 1 and trailed him trem- bling away. Two 2 from her bridal chamber conspired Death's queen to convey." Briefly again makes answer the great Atnphrysian seer : 8 " Here no cunning awaits thee as theirs was, far be the fear. Violence none our weapons prepare ; Hell's warder may still m Bay in his cavern for ever, affrighting the phantoms chill ; Hell's chaste mistress keep to her kinsman's halls if she will. Troy's Aeneas, a son most loving, a warrior brave, Goes in the quest of his sire to the deepest gloom of the grave. If thou art all unmoved at the sight of a love so true " 410 Here she displays him the bough in her garment hidden from view " Know this branch." In his bosom the tempest of anger abates. Further he saith not. Feasting his eyes on the wand of the Fates, Mighty oblation, unseen for unnumbered summers be- fore, Charon advances his dark-blue bows, and approaches the shore ; us 1 Cerberus. 2 Theseus and Pirithons. 8 The Sibyl. The epithet " Amphrysian " is applied to her as the priestess of Apollo, who, according to the story, fed the flocks of Admetus near the river Amphrysus in Thessaly. 242 VIRGIL Summons the rest of the spirits in row on the benches who sate Place to resign for the comers, his gangway clears, and on board Takes Aeneas. The cobbled boat groans under his weight. Water in streams from the marshes through every fissure is poured. Priestess and hero safely across Death's river are passed, 420 Land upon mud unsightly, and pale marsh-sedges, at last. Here huge Cerberus bays with his triple jaws through the land, Crouched at enormous length in his cavern facing the strand. Soon as the Sibyl noted his hair now bristling with snakes, Morsels she flings him of meal, and of honeyed opiate cakes. 425 Maddened with fury of famine his three great throats unclose ; Fiercely he snatches the viand, his monstrous limbs in repose Loosens, and, prostrate laid, sprawls measureless over his den. While the custodian sleeps, Aeneas the entrance takes, Speeds from the bank of a stream no traveller crosses again. 430 Voices they heard, and an infinite wailing, as onward they bore, Spirits of infants sobbing at Death's immediate door, AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 243 Whom, at a mother's bosom, and strangers to life's sweet breath, Fate's dark day took from us, and drowned in un- timeliest death. Near them are those who, falsely accused, died guilt- less, although 435 Not without trial, or verdict given, do they enter be- low; Here, with his urn, sits Minos 1 the judge, convenes from within Silent ghosts to the council, and learns each life and its sin. Near them inhabit the sorrowing souls, whose innocent hands Wrought on themselves their ruin, and strewed their lives on the sands, 440 Hating the glorious sunlight. Alas ! how willingly they Now would endure keen want, hard toil, in the re- gions of day ! Fate forbids it ; the loveless lake with its waters of woe Holds them, and nine times round them entwined, Styx bars them below. Further faring, they see that beyond and about them are spread 445 Fields of the Mourners, for so they are called in worlds of the dead. Here dwell those whom Love, with his cruel sickness, hath slain. Lost in secluded walks, amid myrtle groves overhead, 1 Minos, king of Crete, became after his death one of the judges in Hades. 244 VIRGIL Hiding they go, nor in death itself are they eased of the pain. Phaedra, 1 and Procris, 2 here, Eriphyle 3 here they be- hold, 450 Sadly displaying the wounds that her wild son wrought her of old. Yonder Pasiphae * stood and Evadne ; 5 close to them clung Laodamia, 6 and Caenis, 7 a man once, woman at last, Now by the wheel of the Fates in her former figure recast. Fresh from her death-wound still, here Dido, 8 the others among, 455 Roamed in a spacious wood. Through shadow the chieftain soon Dimly discerned her face, as a man, when the month is but young, Sees, or believes he has seen, amid cloudlets shining, the moon. Tears in his eyes, he addressed her with tender love as of old : 1 Wife of Theseus, who killed herself when her stepson Hippoly- t us rejected her love. 2 Wife of Cephalns, who, moved by jealousy to spy upon her hus- band, was accidentally killed by him. 8 Killed by her son Alcmaeon, because, bribed with a necklace, she had induced her husband to join the expedition of the Seven against Thebes, in which he was slain. Wife of Minos. 6 Wife of Capaneus, who threw herself on her husband's funeral pyre and perished. 8 Wife of Protesilaus, the first Greek who fell at Troy. 7 A girl whom her lover Neptune transformed into a man, but who, on being slain by the Centaurs, was retransformed. 8 She had committed suicide after Aeneas' departure from Car- thage. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 245 " True, then, sorrowful Dido, the messenger fires that told 460 Thy sad death, and the doom thou soughtest of choice by thy hand ! Was it, alas ! to a grave that I did thee ? Now by the bright Stars, by the Gods, and the faith that abides in realms of the Night, 'T was unwillingly, lady, I bade farewell to thy land. Yet, the behest of Immortals, the same which bids me to go 465 Through these shadows, the wilderness mire and the darkness below, Drove me imperious thence, nor possessed I power to believe I at departing had left thee in grief thus bitter to grieve. Tarry, and turn not away from a face that on thine would dwell ; 'T is thy lover thou fliest, and this is our last fare- well ! " 470 So, with a burning heart and with glowering eyes as she went, Melting vainly in tears, he essayed her wrath to re- lent ; She with averted gaze upon earth her countenance cast, Nothing touched in her look by her lover's words to the last, 474 Set as a marble rock of Marpessus, 1 cold as a stone. After a little she fled, in the forest hurried to hide, 1 A mountain in the island of Paros in the Aegaean Sea. 246 VIRGIL Ever his foe ; Sychaeus 1 , her first lord, there at her side, Answers sorrow with sorrow, and love not less than her own. Thence on the path appointed they go, and the utter- most plain Ixeach ere long, where rest in seclusion the glorious slain. 480 Tydeus 2 here he discerns, here Parthenopaeus 2 of old Famous in arms, and the ghost of Adrastus, 2 pallid and cold. Wailed in the world of the sunlight long, laid low in the fray, Here dwell Ilion's chiefs. As his eyes on the gallant array Lighted, he groaned. Three sons of Antenor yonder they see, 435 Glaucus 8 and Medon and young Thersilochus, breth- ren three ; Here Polyphaetes, servant of Heaven from his earliest breath ; There Idaeus, the shield and the reins still holding in death. Thickly about him gather the spectral children of Troy: 'T is not enough to have seen him, to linger round him is joy, 490 Pace at his side, and inquire why thus he descends to the dead. 1 Her husband, after whose mnrder by her brother Pygmalion she had come from Tyre to Africa, and founded Carthage. a One of the Seven against Thebes. 8 In this and in the next two lines we have the names of distin- guished Trojans who had been killed in the war. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 247 But the Achaean l chiefs, Agamemnon's 2 legions ar- rayed, When on the hero they looked, and his armor gleam- ing in shade, Shook with an infinite terror, and some turned from him and fled, As to the Danaan 1 vessels in days gone by they had sped. 495 Some on the air raise thinnest of voices ; the shout of the fray Seems, upon lips wide-parted, begun, then passing away. Noble Dei'phobus here he beholds, all mangled and marred, Son of the royal Priam ; his visage cruelly scarred, Visage and hands ; from his ravaged temples bloodily shorn soo Each of his ears, and his nostrils with wounds in- glorious torn. Hardly he knew him in sooth, for he trembled, seek- ing to hide These great wrongs ; but at last in a voice most lov- ing he cried : " Gallant Dei'phobus, born of the Teucrian lineage bright, Who had the heart to revenge him in this dire fashion and dread ? sos Who dared thus to abuse thee? On Troy's last funeral night, Weary of endless slaughter and Danaan blood, it was said 1 Greek. 2 The leader of the Greeks. 248 VIRGIL Thou hadst laid thee to die on a heap of the nameless dead. Yea ! and a vacant mound upon far Rhoetaeum's 1 coast I there built thee, and thrice bade loud farewell to thy ghost. sic Hallowed the spot by thine armor and name. Ere crossing the wave Never, friend, could I find thee, nor give thee an Ilian grave." " Nothing was left undone, O friend ! " he replies ; " thou hast paid All that Dei'phobus claims, all debt that was due to his shade. 'T was my destiny sad, and the crime accursed of the Greek sis Woman, 2 in woe that plunged me, and wrote this tale on my cheek. Well thou knowest for ah ! too long will the mem- ory last How Troy's funeral night amid treacherous pleasures we passed ; When Fate's terrible steed 8 overcame our walls at a leap, Carrying mailclad men in its womb towards Per- gama's steep ; 520 How, a procession feigning, the Phrygian 4 mothers she led Round our city in orgy, with lighted torch at their head, Waving herself the Achaeans to Ilion's citadel keep. 1 A promontory north of Troy. * Helen, who after Paris' death had been given to Deiphobus. * The wooden horse. * Trojan. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 249 I, that night, overburdened with troubles, buried in sleep, s24 Lay in the fatal chamber, delicious slumber and deep Folding mine eyelids, like the unbroken rest of the slain. She, meanwhile, my glorious spouse, from the palace has ta'en Every weapon, and drawn from the pillow the fal- chion I bore, Then Menelaus l summons, and straightway loosens the door, Hoping in sooth that her lover with this great boon might be won, 530 Deeming the fame of her guilt in the past might so be undone. Why on the memory linger ? The foe streamed in at the gate Led by Ulysses, the plotter. May judgment, Immor- tals, wait Yet on the Greeks, if of vengeance a reverent heart may be fain ! Tell me in turn what sorrow has brought thee alive and unslain sss Hither ? " he cries ; " art come as a mariner lost on the main, Or by the counsel of Heaven ? What fortune drives thee in quest, Hither, of sunless places and sad, the abodes of un- rest ?" Morn already with roseate steeds, while talk they exchange, Now in her journey has traversed the half of the heavenly range, MO 1 Brother of Agamemnon and husband of Helen. 250 VIRGIL And perad venture thus the allotted time had been passed, Had not the faithful Sibyl rebuked him briefly at last. " Night draws nigh, Aeneas. In tears we are spend- ing the hours. Here is the place where the path is divided. This to the right, Under the walls of the terrible Dis * to Elysium 2 ours. 545 Yonder, the left, brings doom to the guilty, and drives them in flight Down to the sinful region where awful Tartarus lowers." " Terrible priestess, frown not," Dei'phobus cries ; " I depart, Join our shadowy legion, restore me to darkness anon. Go, thou joy of the race ; may the Fates vouchsafe thee a part sso Brighter than mine ! " And behold, as he uttered the word, he was gone. Turning his eyes, Aeneas sees broad battlements placed Under the cliffs on his left, by a triple rampart en- cased ; Hound them in torrents of ambient fire runs Phlege- thon swift, River of Hell, and the thundering rocks sends ever adrift. 555 1 The ruler of the world below, corresponding to the Greek Pluto. 2 The abode of the blessed, as Tartarus was the place of punish- ment for the wicked. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 251 One huge portal in front upon pillars of adamant stands ; Neither can mortal might, nor the heavens' own warrior bands, Rend it asunder. An iron tower rears over the door, Where Tisiphone l seated in garments dripping with gore Watches the porch, unsleeping, by day and by night evermore. seo Hence come groans on the breezes, the sound of a pitiless flail, Rattle of iron bands, and the clanking of fetters that trail. Silent the hero stands, and in terror rivets his eyes. " What dire shapes of impiety these ? Speak, priest- ess ! " he cries. " What dread torment racks them, and what shrieks yonder arise ? " sw She in return : " Great chief of the Teucrian hosts, as is meet Over the threshold of sinners may pass no innocent feet. Hecate's self, who set me to rule the Avernian glade, Taught me of Heaven's great torments, and all their terrors displayed. Here reigns dread Rhadamanthus, 2 a king no mercy that knows, 570 Chastens and judges the guilty, compels each soul to disclose Crimes of the upper air that he kept concealed from the eye, 1 One of the Furies. 2 He acted, together with Aeacus and Minos, as judge of the dead. 252 VIRGIL Proud of his idle cunning, till Death brought punish- ment nigh. Straightway then the Avenger Tisiphone over them stands, Scourges the trembling sinners, her fierce lash arming her hands ; 575 Holds in her left uplifted her serpents grim, and from far Summons the awful troop of her sisters gathered for war! Then at the last with a grating of hideous hinges un- close Hell's infernal doors. Dost see what warders are those Crouched in the porch ? What presence is yonder keeping the gate ? MO Know that a Hydra l beyond it, a foe still fiercer in hate, Lurks with a thousand ravening throats. See ! Tar- tarus great Yawning to utter abysses, and deepening into the night, Twice as profound as the space of the starry Olym- pian height. "Here the enormous Titans, 2 the Earth's old progeny, hurled 535 Low by the lightning, are under the bottomless waters whirled. Here I beheld thy children, Aloeus, giants 3 of might, Brethren bold who endeavored to pluck down heaven from its height, 1 A water-snake. 2 Sons of Uranus and Gaea, who were conquered by Zens and cast into Tartarus. Otus and Ephialtes. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 253 Fain to displace great Jove from his throne in the kingdom of light. Saw Salmoneus l too, overtaken with agony dire m While the Olympian thunder he mimicked and Jove's own fire. Borne on his four-horsed chariot, and waving torches that glowed, Over the Danaan land, through the city of Elis, he rode, Marching in triumph, and claiming the honors due to a god. Madman, thinking with trumpets and tramp of the steeds that he drove 595 He might rival the storms, and the matchless thun- ders of Jove ! But the omnipotent Father a bolt from his cloudy abyss Launched no brand from the pine, no smoke of the torchlight this And with an awful whirlwind blast hurled Pride to its f all. Tityos 2 also, the nursling of Earth, great mother of all, eoo Here was to see, whose body a long league covers of plain ; One huge vulture, standing with hooked beak at his side, Shears his liver that dies not, his bowel fruitful of pain, Searches his heart for a banquet, beneath his breast doth abide, Grants no peace to the vitals that ever renew them again. eos 1 Son of Aeolus, who usurped the name and sacrifices of Jupiter. 2 Son of Gaea, a giant of Euboea, who was punished for insulting Artemis. 254 VIRGIL " Why of Pirithous tell, and Ixion, Lapithae J tall, O'er whose brows is suspended a dark crag, ready to fall, Ever in act to descend ? Proud couches raised upon bright Golden feet are shining, a festal table in sight Laden with royal splendor. The Furies' Queen 2 on her throne ao Sits at the banquet by forbids them to taste it has flown Now to prevent them with torch uplifted, and thun- dering tone. " All who have hated a brother in lifetime, all who have laid Violent hands on a parent, the faith of a client be- trayed ; Those who finding a treasure have o'er it brooded alone, eis Setting aside no portion for kinsmen, a numerous band; Those in adultery slain, all those who have raised in the land Treason's banner, or broken their oath to a master's hand, Prisoned within are awaiting an awful doom of their own. " Ask me not, what their doom, what form of re- quital or ill 620 Whelms them below. Some roll huge stones to the crest of the hill, 1 A mythical people of Thessaly, ruled by Pirithous, son of Ixion. * Either Alecto or Megaera. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 255 Some on the spokes of a whirling wheel hang spread to the wind. Theseus sits, the unblest, and will ever seated re- main; Phlegyas 1 here in his torments a warning voice to mankind Raises, loudly proclaiming throughout Hell's gloomy abodes : 625 ' Learn hereby to be just, and to think no scorn of the Gods ! ' This is the sinner his country who sold, forged tyr- anny's chain, Made for a bribe her laws, for a bribe unmade them again. Yon wretch dared on a daughter with eyes unholy to look. 629 All some infamy ventured, of infamy's gains partook. Had I a thousand tongues, and a thousand lips, and a speech Fashioned of steel, sin's varying types I hardly could teach, Could not read thee the roll of the torments suffered of each!" Soon as the aged seer of Apollo her story had done, " Forward," she cries, " on the path, and complete thy mission begun. ess Hasten the march ! I behold in the distance battle- ments great, Built by the Cyclops' forge, and the vaulted dome at the gate 1 King of the Phlegyae in Boeotia, who, to avenge his daughter, set fire to the temple of Apollo at Delphi, and was killed by the arrows of the god. 256 VIRGIL Where the divine revelation ordains our gifts to be laid." Side by side at her bidding they traverse the region of shade, Over the distance hasten, and now draw nigh to the doors. 640 Fronting the gates Aeneas stands, fresh water he pours Over his limbs, and the branch on the portal hangs as she bade. After the rite is completed, the gift to the goddess addressed, Now at the last they come to the realms where Joy has her throne ; Sweet green glades in the Fortunate Forests, abodes of the blest, 645 Fields in an ampler ether, a light more glorious dressed, Lit evermore with their own bright stars and a sun of their own. Some are training their limbs on the wrestling-green, and compete Gaily in sport on the yellow arenas, some with their feet Treading their choral measures, or singing the hymns of the god ; eso While their Thracian priest, 1 in a sacred robe that trails, Chants them the air with the seven sweet notes of his musical scales, Now with his fingers striking, and now with his ivory rod. Orpheus. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 257 Here are the ancient children of Teucer, 1 fair to be- hold, Generous heroes, born in the happier summers of Old, 655 Ilus, Assaracus by him, and Dardan, founder of Troy. Far in the distance yonder are visible armor and car Unsubstantial, in earth their lances are planted, and far Over the meadows are ranging the chargers freed from employ. All the delight they took when alive in the chariot and sword, eeo All of the loving care that to shining coursers was paid, Follows them now that in quiet below Earth's breast they are laid. Banqueting here he beholds them to right and to left on the sward, Chanting in chorus the Paean, beneath sweet forests of bay, Whence, amid wild wood covers, the river Eridanus, poured, 665 Rolls his majestic torrents to upper earth and the day. Chiefs for the land of their sires in the battle wounded of yore, Priests whose purity lasted until sweet life was no more, Faithful prophets who spake as beseemed their god and his shrine, 669 All who by arts invented to life have added a grace, 1 Teucer, Ilus, Assaracus, and Dardan all belonged, in different generations, to the royal house of Troy. 258 VIRGIL All whose services earned the remembrance deep of the race, Hound their shadowy foreheads the snow-white gar- land entwine. Then, as about them the phantoms stream, breaks silence the seer, Turning first to Musaeus, 1 for round him the shadows appear Thickest to crowd, as he towers with his shoulders over the throng 675 " Tell me, ye joyous spirits, and thou, bright master of song, Where is the home and the haunt of the great An- chises, for whom Hither we come, and have traversed the awful rivers of gloom ? " Briefly in turn makes answer the hero : " None has a home In fixed haunts. We inhabit the dark thick glades, on the brink eso Ever of moss-banked rivers, and water meadows that drink Living streams. But if onward your heart thus wills ye to go, Climb this ridge. I will set ye in pathways easy to know." Forward he marches, leading the way ; from the heights at the end Shows them a shining plain, and the mountain slopes they descend. ew There withdrawn to a valley of green in a fold of the plain 1 A mythical poet of pre-Homeric times. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 259 Stood Anchises the father, his eyes intent on a train Prisoned spirits, soon to ascend to the sunlight again ; Numbering over his children l dear, their myriad bands, All their destinies bright, their ways, and the work of their hands. m When he beheld Aeneas across these flowery lands Moving to meet him, fondly he strained both arms to his boy, Tears on his cheek fell fast, and his voice found slowly employ. " Here thou comest at last, and the love I counted upon Over the rugged path has prevailed. Once more, O my son, 695 I may behold thee, and answer with mine thy voice as of yore. Long I pondered the chances, believed this day was in store, Reckoning the years and the seasons. Nor was my longing belied. O'er how many a land, past what far waters and wide, Hast thou come to mine arms ! What dangers have tossed thee, my child ! TOO Ah! how I feared lest harm should await thee in Libya wild ! " " Thine own shade, my sire, thine own disconsolate shade, Visiting oft my chamber, has made me seek thee," he said. 1 The Romans. 260 VIRGIL " Safe upon Tuscan waters the fleet lies. Grant me to grasp Thy right hand, sweet father, withdraw thee not from its clasp." 705 So he replied ; and a river of tears flowed over his face. Thrice with his arms he essayed the beloved one's neck to embrace ; Thrice clasped vainly, the phantom eluded his hands in flight, Thin as the idle breezes, and like some dream of the night. There Aeneas beholds in a valley withdrawn from the rest -no Far-off glades, and a forest of boughs that sing in the breeze ; Near them the Lethe 1 river that glides by abodes of the blest. Bound it numberless races and peoples floating he sees. So on the flowery meadows in calm, clear summer, the bees Settle on bright-hued blossoms, or stream in com- panies round tu Fair white lilies, till every plain seems ringing with sound. Strange to the scene Aeneas, with terror suddenly pale, Asks of its meaning, and what be the streams in the distant vale, 1 The river of f orgetf ulnew. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 261 Who those warrior crowds that about yon river await. Answer returns Anchises : " The spirits promised by Fate 720 Life in the body again. Upon Lethe's watery brink These of the fountain of rest and of long oblivion drink. Ever I yearn to relate thee the tale, display to thine eyes, Count thee over the children that from my loins shall arise, So that our joy may be deeper on finding Italy's skies." 725 " O my father ! and are there, and must we believe it," he said, " Spirits that fly once more to the sunlight back from the dead ? Souls that anew to the body return and the fetters of clay? Can there be any who long for the light thus blindly as they ? " " Listen, and I will resolve thee the doubt," Anchises replies. 730 Then unfolds him in order the tale of the earth and the skies. " In the beginning, the earth, and the sky, and the spaces of night, Also the shining moon, and the sun Titanic and bright Feed on an inward life, and with all things mingled, a mind Moves universal matter, with Nature's frame is com- bined. 73S 262 VIRGIL Thence man's race, and the beast, and the bird that on pinions flies, All wild shapes that are hidden the gleaming waters beneath. Each elemental seed has a fiery force from the skies, Each, its heavenly being, that no dull clay can dis- guise, Bodies of earth ne'er deaden, nor limbs long destined to death. 740 Hence, their fears and desires; their sorrows and joys ; for their sight, Blind with the gloom of a prison, discerns not the heavenly light. " Nor when at last life leaves them, do all sad ills, that belong Unto the sinful body, depart ; still many survive Lingering within them, alas! for it needs must be that the long 745 Growth should in wondrous fashion at full completion arrive. So, due vengeance racks them, for deeds of an earlier day Suffering penance, and some to the winds hang view- less and thin Searched by the breezes ; from others, the deep in- fection of sin Swirling water washes, or bright fire purges, away. 750 Each in his own sad ghost we endure ; then pass to the wide Realms of Elysium. Few in the fields of the happy abide, Till great Time, when the cycles have run their courses on high, AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 263 Takes the inbred pollution, and leaves to us only the bright Sense of the heaven's own ether, and fire from the springs of the sky. 755 When for a thousand years they have rolled their wheels through the night, God to the Lethe river recalls this myriad train, That with remembrance lost once more they may visit the light, And, at the last, have desire for a life in the body again." When he had ended, his son and the Sibyl maiden he drew veo Into the vast assembly the crowd with its endless hum ; There on a hillock plants them, that hence they better may view All the procession advancing, and learn their looks as they come. " What bright fame hereafter the Trojan line shall adorn, What far children be theirs, from the blood of Ital- ians born, TBS Splendid souls, that inherit the name and the glory of Troy, Now will I tell thee, and teach thee the fates thy race shall enjoy. Yon fair hero who leans on a lance unpointed and bright, Granted the earliest place in the world of the day and the light, Half of Italian birth, from the shadows first shall ascend, 770 264 VIRGIL Silvius, 1 Alban of name, thy child though born at the end, Son of thy later years by Laviiiia, consort of thine, Reared in the woods as a monarch and sire of a royal line. Next to him Procas, the pride of the race; then Capys, and far Numitor; after him one who again thy name shall revive, 775 Silvius, hight Aeneas, in pious service and war Noble alike, if to Alba's throne he shall ever arrive. Heroes fair ! how grandly, behold ! their manhood is shown, While their brows are shaded by leaves of the citizen- crown ! 2 These on the mountain ranges shall set Nomentum 3 the steep, 7 Gabii's towers, Fidenae's town, Collatia's keep ; Here plant Inuus' camp, there Cora and Bola en- throne, Glorious names ere long, now a nameless land and unknown. Romulus, scion of Mars, at the side of his grandsire 4 see Ilia fair his mother, the blood of Assaracus he ! ns See on his helmet the doubled crest, how his sire has begun Marking the boy with his own bright plumes for the world of the sun. 1 In this and the following lines we have the names of princes of Alba. 2 A crown of oak leaves was awarded for saving a citizen's life in battle. * A town in Old Latium. So, too, the other places mentioned. * Numitor, the father of Rhea Silvia, or Ilia. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 265 Under his auspices Rome, our glorious Rome, shall arise, Earth with her empire ruling, her great soul touching the skies. Lo ! seven mountains enwalling, a single city, she lies, 790 Blest in her warrior brood ! So crowned with towers ye have seen Ride through Phrygia's cities the great Berecynthian queen, 1 Proud of the gods her children, a hundred sons at her knee, All of them mighty immortals, and lords of a heavenly fee ! 794 Turn thy glance now hither, behold this glorious clan, Romans of thine. See Caesar, and each generation of man Yet to be born of lulus beneath heaven's infinite dome. Yonder behold thy hero, the promised prince, upon whom Often thy hopes have dwelt, Augustus Caesar, by birth 799 Kin to the godlike dead, who a golden age upon earth Comes to renew where once o'er Latiurn Saturn reigned, Holding remote Garamantes and India's tribes en- chained. Far beyond all our planets the land lies, far beyond high Heaven, and the sun's own orbit, where Atlas, lifting the sky, 1 Cybele, the mother of the Gods. Mt. Berecyntus in Phrygia was one of the seats of her worship. 266 VIRGIL Whirls on his shoulders the sphere, inwrought with its fiery suns ! sos Ere his arrival, lo ! through shivering Caspia 1 runs Fear, at her oracle's answers. The vast Maeotian plain, 2 Sevenfold Nile and his mouths, are fluttered and tremble again ; Ranges of earth more wide than Alcides ever sur- veyed, Though he pursued deer brazen of limb, tamed Ery- manth's 3 glade, ao Lerna 4 with arrows scared, or the Vinegod, 6 when from the war Homeward with ivied reins he conducts his conquer- ing car, Driving his team of tigers from Nysa's 8 summits afar. Art thou loth any longer with deeds our sway to ex- pand? Can it be fear forbids thee to hold Ausonia's land ? sis " Who comes yonder the while with the olive branch on his brow, Bearing the sacred vessels ? I know yon tresses, I know Yon gray beard, Rome's monarch, 7 the first with law to sustain Rome yet young ; from the lordship of Cures' 8 little domain 1 The country of the Parthians, southeast of the Caspian Sea. 2 Maeotis Pains is the ancient name of the Sea of Azof. 8 A mountain chain in the northwest corner of Arcadia, the haunt of the wild boar destroyed by Alcides (Hercnles). 4 The marsh near Argos where Hercules killed the Hydra. 6 Bacchus. lr In India, the scene of Bacchus' nurture. 7 Numa Pompilins, the second king 1 of Rome. 8 The ancient Sabine town from which Numa came. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 267 Sent to an empire's throne. At his side goes one who shall break 820 Slumberous peace, to the battle her easeful warriors wake, House once more her battalions disused to the triumph so long, Tullus the king ! Next, Ancus the boastful marches along, See, overjoyed already by praises breathed from a crowd ! Yonder the royal Tarquins are visible ; yonder the proud 825 Soul of avenging Brutus, 1 with Rome's great fasces again Made Rome's own ; who first to her consul's throne shall attain, Hold her terrible axes : his sons, the rebellious pair, Doom to a rebel's death for the sake of Liberty fair. Ill-starred sire ! let the ages relate as please them the tale, 830 Yet shall his patriot passion and thirst of glory pre- vail. Look on the Decii 2 there, and the Drusi ; hatchet in hand See Torquatus the stern, and Camillus home to his land Marching with rescued banners. But yonder spirits 3 who stand 334 1 The leader of the revolution which resulted in the expulsion of the Tarquins from Rome, and the establishment of the Republic. 3 Like the following, heroes of Republican history. 8 Caesar and Pompey. The civil wars of the last days of the Re- public are foretold. 268 VIRGIL Dressed in the shining armor alike, harmonious now While in the world of shadows with dark night over their brow Ah ! what battles the twain must wage, what legions array, What fell carnage kindle, if e'er they reach to the day! Father 1 descending from Alpine snows and Monoe- cus's 2 height, Husband ranging against him an Eastern 3 host for the fight ! 8 Teach not your hearts, my children, to learn these lessons of strife ; Turn not a country's valor against her veriest life. Thou be the first to forgive, great child of a heavenly birth, Fling down, son of my loins, thy weapons and sword to the earth ! " See, who 4 rides from a vanquished Corinth in con- queror's car 845 Home to the Capitol, decked with Achaean spoils from the war ! Argos and proud Mycenae a second 6 comes to de- throne, Ay, and the Aeacus-born, 6 whose race of Achilles is sown, 1 Caesar, whose daughter was Pompey's wife. 2 The modern Monaco. It is not certain that Caesar entered Italy by this route. 8 Pompey had a large number of Eastern allies. 4 The poet reverts to earlier Republican celebrities with a reference to M mi i mi us. 6 Aemilius Paulus. 9 Perseus, king of Macedonia. AENEAS 1 DESCENT INTO HADES 269 Venging his Trojan sires and Minerva's outraged fane! Who would leave thee, Cato, untold ? thee, Cossus, unknown ? aao Gracchus's clan, or the Scipio pair, war's thunder- bolts twain, Libya's ruin ; forget Fabricius, prince in his need ; Pass unsung Serranus, his furrows sowing with seed ? Give me but breath, ye Fabians, to follow ! Yonder the great Fabius thou, whose timely delays gave strength to the state. %s Others will mould their bronzes to breathe with a tenderer grace, Draw, I doubt not, from marble a vivid life to the face, Plead at the bar more deftly, with sapient wands of the wise Trace heaven's courses and changes, predict us stars to arise, a>9 Thine, O Roman, remember, to reign over every race ! These be thine arts, thy glories, the ways of peace to proclaim, Mercy to show to the fallen, the proud with battle to tame ! " Thus Anchises, and then as they marvelled fur- ther anon : " Lo, where decked in a conqueror's spoils Marcellus, 1 my son, Strides from the war ! How he towers o'er all of the warrior train ! ses When Rome reels with the shock of the wild in- vaders' alarm, 1 One of the chief Roman generals in the Second Punic War. 270 VIRGIL He shall sustain her state. From his war-steed's sad- dle, his arm Carthage and rebel Gaul shall destroy, and the arms of the slain Victor a third time hang in his father Quirinus' fane." Then Aeneas, for near him a youth l seemed ever to pace, 870 Fair, of an aspect princely, with armor of glittering grace, Yet was his forehead joyless, his eye cast down as in grief : " Who can it be, my father, that walks at the side of the chief? Is it his son, or perchance some child of his glorious race Born from remote generations ? And hark, how ring- ing a cheer 875 Breaks from his comrades round ! What a noble presence is here ! Though dark night with her shadow of woe floats over his face ! " Answer again Anchises began with a gathering tear : "Ask me. not, O my son, of thy children's infinite pain ! Fate one glimpse of the boy to the world will grant, and again no Take him from life. Too puissant methinks to im- mortals on high Rome's great children had seemed, if a gift like this from the sky 1 Yonng Marcellus, the nephew of Augnstus, probably intended by the Emperor to be his successor. He died at the age of twenty. AENEAS' DESCENT INTO HADES 271 Longer had been vouchsafed ! What wailing of warriors bold Shall from the funeral plain to the War-god's city be rolled ! What sad pomp thine eyes will discern, what pageant Of WOe, 885 When by his new-made tomb thy waters, Tiber, shall flow! Never again such hopes shall a youth of thy lineage, Troy, Rouse in his great forefathers of Latium ! Never a boy Nobler pride shall inspire in the ancient Romulus land! Ah, for his filial love ! for his old world faith ! for his hand 390 Matchless in battle! Unharmed what foeman had offered to stand Forth in his path, when charging on foot for the en- emy's ranks, Or when plunging the spur in his foam-flecked courser's flanks ! Child of a nation's sorrow ! if thou canst baffle the Fates' Bitter decrees, and break for a while their barrier gates, 895 Thine to become Marcellus ! I pray thee, bring me anon Handfuls of lilies, that I bright flowers may strew on my son, Heap on the shade of the boy unborn these gifts at the least, Doing the dead, though vainly, the last sad service." He ceased. 272 VIRGIL So from region to region they roam with curious eyes, Traverse the spacious plains where shadowy darkness lies. 901 One by one Anchises unfolds each scene to his son, Kindling his soul with a passion for glories yet to be won. Speaks of the wars that await him beneath the Ital- ian skies, Rude Laurentian l clans and the haughty Latinus' walls, 905 How to avoid each peril, or bear its brunt, as befalls. Sleep has his portals twain ; one fashioned of horn, it is said, Whence come true apparitions by exit smooth from the dead ; One with the polished splendor of shining ivory bright, False are the only visions that issue thence from the night. 910 Thither Anchises leads them, exchanging talk by the way, There speeds Sibyl and son by the ivory gate to the day. Straight to his vessels and mates Aeneas journeyed, and bore Thence for Caieta's harbor along the Italian shore. SIB CHABLES BOWBN. 1 Laurcntum was the chief seat of Latinus, king of Latiuiu. HORACE BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH WHAT Virgil did for epic poetry, Horace did for lyric. Disregarding everything that Roman precursors in the same field had attempted, he looked to Greek poetry for his models. He even went so far as to speak slightingly of Catullus, whose lyrical gift far surpassed his own. His position in literature is unique. Without any very special inspiration, intensity of feeling, or profundity of thought, he produced a body of verse that not only succeeded in winning the interest of his own generation, but has held the attention of all subsequent ages. The real basis of this success is probably the character of the man, with his wide human sympathy, his practical wisdom and knowledge of the world, and his fund of humor and good fellowship, qualities which find their expression through a medium to which felicity of phrase, unusual skill in handling metrical forms, and the fine sense of appropriateness in figure, word, and theme, which is an attribute of the artist only, give a rare distinction. He was a freedman's son, born at Venusia, a town on the confines of Apulia, in 65 B. c. Of his education at Rome, which he owed to his father's foresight and self-sacrifice, he himself tells us something in his Satires. If pure and innocent I live, and dear To those I love (self-praise is venial here), All this I owe my father, who, though poor, Lord of some few lean acres, and no more, Was loath to send me to the village school, Whereto the sons of men of mark and role 274 HORACE Centurions and the like were wont to swarm, With slate and satchel on sinister arm, And the poor dole of scanty pence to pay The starveling teacher monthly to the day ; But boldly took me when a boy to Rome, There to be taught all arts, that grace the home Of knight and senator. He afterwards went to Athens to continue his studies, and he was there at the time of the assassination of Caesar. His sympathies at this period of his life seem to have been strongly Republican, for he joined the forces of Brutus and Cassius, and fought as a military tribune at Philippi. The seventh ode of the second book has a humorous reference to his experience as a soldier. When the war was over he was pardoned, and returned to Rome, where he became one of that coterie of literary men which was known as the Maecenas circle, enjoying the patronage of Augustus' prime minister, and of Augustus himself. Here or at his villa in the Sabine country, which he owed to the generosity of Maecenas, he spent his life, perfectly content with a modest competence and the fame which his writings won him. His works consist of four books of Odes, the Carmen Saeculare, composed for the celebration of the Secular Games under Augustus, a number of Epodes, two books of Satires, and two books of Epistles. The collection of Odes shows a great variety of subjects. Some of them are love poems written in the mock serious tone which is peculiarly Horatian : for example, the thirteenth of the first book, ad- dressed to Lydia, the sixteenth, to Tyndaris, the nineteenth, to Glycera, the twenty-third, to Chloe, the eighth of the second book, to Barine, the tenth of the third, to Lyce. The length of the list will serve to show that our poet's affec- tions had a wider range than is altogether consistent with even a moderate standard of constancy. A much more serious vein appears in the odes devoted to questions of politics and morals, as the fourteenth of the first book, To the Ship of State, and the noble series at the beginning HORACE 275 of the third book. Another class consists of those in which we see the poet in relation to his friends. As examples may be cited from the first book the third, in which he gives Godspeed to the ship on which Virgil sailed for Greece, the twentieth, an invitation to Maecenas to visit him at his Sa- bine farm, and the twenty-ninth, in which he rallies Iccius on his military ambition. The Odes are arranged within the different books with regard to variety of theme and metre. In the Epodes, which stand first, in order of com- position, of all the poet's works, and which are written in the iambic metre, there is a strong element of invective, several of them being directed against individuals who in one way or another had aroused the poet's ire, e. g., the parvenu whose ambition was to attract attention on the Sacra Via by his elaborate dress (IV.), the alleged sorceress Cani- dia (V.), and the writer who made better men than himself the objects of his libellous attacks (VI.). The tone of the Satires is much more moderate. These are in hexameters, and are delightful sketches of different phases of Roman lit- erary and social conditions. Among the most famous is the fifth of the first book, which describes the various incidents of a journey from Rome to Brundisium which Horace took with Maecenas, Virgil, and other well-known men. The ninth of the same book is a delightfully humorous account of Horace's encounter with a bore on the Sacra Via. The tenth deals with literary subjects. In the second book the sixth contrasts life in the country and life in the town, the eighth gives a picture of a parvenu's dinner party. In the first book of the Epistles we have perhaps the poet's best work. Some of the themes are not unlike those treated in the Satires, but the style, informal and easy as ever, has a still subtler charm that comes from greater maturity. The second book is confined to literary topics, the third epistle being the famous Art of Poetry, Horace's most pre- tentious essay in the field of literary criticism. 276 HORACE TO LYDIA (Odes, L, 8.) WHY, Lydia, why, I pray, by all the gods above, Art so resolved that Sybaris should die, And all for love ? Why doth he shun 5 The Campus Martins' * sultry glare ? He that once recked of neither dust nor sun, Why rides he there, First of the brave, Taming the Gallic steed no more ? 10 Why doth he shrink from Tiber's yellow wave ? Why thus abhor The wrestler's oil, As 't were from viper's tongue distilled ? Why do his arms no livid bruises soil, is He, once so skilled, The disc or dart Far, far beyond the mark to hurl, And tell me, tell me, in what nook apart, Like baby-girl, 20 Lurks the poor boy, Veiling his manhood, as did Thetis' son, 2 To 'scape war's bloody clang, while fated Troy Was yet undone ? Sm THEODORE MARTIN. 1 The plain by the Tiber, where the Roman youth exercised. 2 Achilles, who was disguised as a girl by his mother to prevent his being taken to the Trojan war. WINTER 277 WINTER (Odes, L, 9.) SEE, Thaliarch, see, across the plain Soracte l white with snow ! Scarce may the laboring woods sustain Their load, and locked in icy chain The streams have ceased to flow. 5 Logs on the fire, your biggest, fling, To thaw the pinching cold, And from the time to take its sting A pipkin forth of Sabine bring, Four mellowing summers old. 10 All else unto the Gods leave we ; When they have stilled the roar Of winds that with the yeasty sea Conflict and brawl, the cypress-tree, The old ash shake no more. is What with to-morrow comes forbear To ask, and count as gain Each day fate grants, ere time and care Have chilled thy blood, and thinned thy hair, Love's sweets do not disdain ; 20 Nor, boy, disdain the dance ! For, mark, Now is thy time to take Joy in the play, the crowded park, And those low whispers in the dark, Which trysting lovers make. 25 1 Mt. Soracte, about twenty-five miles north of Rome. 278 HORACE In the sweet laugh, that marks the spot Where hid the fair one lies, The token from the wrist besought, Or from the finger wrung, that not Too cruelly denies. 30 SIB THEODORE MARTIN. TO LEUCONOE (Odes, L, 11.) ASK not ('t is forbidden knowledge) what our destined term of year, Mine and yours ; nor scan the tables of your Baby- lonish seers. Better far to bear the future, my Leuconoe, like the past, Whether Jove has many winters yet to give, or this our last ; This, that makes the Tyrrhene billows spend their strength against the shore ; 5 Strain your wine, and prove your wisdom ; life is short ; should hope be more ? In the moment of our talking, envious time has ebb'd away. Seize the present : trust to-morrow e'en as little as you may. JOHN CONINGTON. TO THE SHIP OF STATE 1 (Odes, L, 14.) O SHIP of state, Shall new winds bear you back upon the sea ? 1 This ode was written at a time when there seemed to be some possibility of civil war breaking out again. TO THE SHIP OF STATE 279 What are you doing ? Seek the harbor's lee Ere 't is too late ! Do you bemoan 5 Your side was stripped of oarage in the blast ? Swift Africus has weakened, too, your mast ; The sailyards groan. i Of cables 1 bare, Your keel can scarce endure the lordly wave. 10 Your sails are rent ; you have no gods 2 to save, Or answer pray'r. Though Pontic pine, The noble daughter of a far-famed wood, You boast your lineage and title good, M A useless line ! The sailor there In painted sterns no reassurance finds ; Unless you owe derision to the winds, Beware beware ! 20 My grief erewhile, But now my care my longing ! shun the seas That flow between the gleaming Cyclades, 3 Each shining isle. ROSWKLL MARTIN FIELD. 1 The ancients girded their vessels with cables in rough -weather to prevent the planks from springing asunder. 2 Images of gods were carried in the sterns of Roman ships. Here they are represented as having been washed overboard. 8 The Aegean Sea in the neighborhood of the Cyclades was pro- verbially dangerous. 280 HORACE INNOCENCE (Odes, L, 22.) Fuscus, the man of life upright and pure, Needeth nor javelin, nor bow of Moor, Nor arrows tipped with venom deadly-sure, Loading his quiver : Whether o'er Afric's burning sands he rides, 5 Or frosty Caucasus' bleak mountain-sides, Or wanders lonely, where Hydaspes l glides, That storied river. For as I strayed along the Sabine wood, Singing my Lalage in careless mood, 10 Lo, all at once a wolf before me stood, Then turned and fled : Creature so huge did warlike Daunia 2 ne'er Engender in her forests' wildest lair, Not Juba's 3 land, parched nurse of lions, e'er is Such monster bred. Place me, where no life-laden summer breeze Freshens the meads, or murmurs 'mongst the trees, Where clouds oppress, and withering tempests freeze From shore to shore ; 20 Place me beneath the sunbeams' fiercest glare, On arid sands, no dwelling anywhere ; 1 In India. 3 Apulia, Horace's native province. 8 King of Mauritania in northern Africa. ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND 281 Still Lalage's sweet smile, sweet voice even there I will adore. Sot THEODORE MARTIN. TO CHLOE (Odes, I., 23.) You fly me, Chloe ! like a vagrant fawn, Tracing the footprints of its parent deer Through each sequestered path and mazy lawn, While woods and winds excite a causeless fear. For should the aspen quiver to the breeze, s Or the green lizards rustle in the brake, It bounds in vague alarm among the trees, Its heart-pulse flutters, and its fibres quake. Yet not as tigers do I follow you, Or Libyan lion, to destroy your charms ; 10 Then cease to linger in a mother's view, And learn the rapture of a lover's arms. LORD RAVENSWORTH. ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND 1 (Odes, I., 24.) WHY should we stem the tears that needs must flow, Why blush, that they should freely flow and long, To think of that dear head in death laid low ? Do thou inspire my melancholy song, 1 Quintilins Varus, an intimate friend of Horace and Virgil. The ode is addressed to the latter. 282 HORACE Melpomene, 1 in whom the Muses' sire 5 Joined with a liquid voice the mastery of the lyre ! And hath the sleep that knows no waking morn Closed o'er Quintilius, our Quintilius dear ? Where shall be found the man of woman born That in desert might be esteemed his peer, 10 Sincere as he, and resolutely just, So high of heart, and all so absolute of trust ? He sinks into his rest, bewept of many, And but the good and noble weep for him, But dearer cause thou, Virgil, hast than any, is With friendship's tears thy friendless eyes to dim ! Alas, alas ! Not to such woeful end Didst thou unto the gods thy prayers unceasing send ! What though thou modulate the tuneful shell With defter skill than Orpheus of old Thrace, 20 When deftliest he played, and with its spell Moved all the listening forest from its place ? Yet never, never can thy art avail To bring life's glowing tide back to the phantom pale, Whom with his black inexorable wand, as Hermes, 2 austere and pitiless as fate, Hath forced to join the dark and spectral band In their sad journey to the Stygian gate. 'T is hard, great heavens, how hard ! But to endure Alleviates the pang we may nor crush nor cure ! so Sot THEODOHE MARTIN. 1 The muse of tragedy. 2 It was one of the functions of Hermes to conduct the souk of tin- dead to the lower world. TO LYDIA 283 TO LYDIA (Odes, L, 25.) SWAINS in numbers Break your slumbers, Saucy Lydia, now but seldom, Ay, though at your casement nightly, Tapping loudly, tapping lightly, 5 By the dozen once ye held them. Ever turning, Night and morning, Swung your door upon its hinges ; Now, from dawn till evening's closing, 10 Lone and desolate reposing, Not a soul its rest infringes. Serenaders, Sweet invaders, Scanter grow, and daily scanter, is Singing, " Lydia, art thou sleeping ? Lonely watch thy love is keeping ! Wake, oh wake, thou dear enchanter ! " Lorn and faded, You, as they did, 20 Woo, and in your turn are slighted ; Worn and torn by passion's fret, You, the pitiless coquette, Waste by fires yourself have lighted, Late relenting, 25 Half lamenting 284 HORACE " Withered leaves strew wintry brooks ! Ivy garlands greenly darkling, Myrtles brown with dewdrops sparkling, Best beseem youth's glowing looks ! " 30 SIB THEODOKE MAHTIN. SIMPLICITY (Odes, I., 38.) OFF with Persian gear, I hate it, Hate the wreaths with limebark bound, Care not where the latest roses Linger on the ground. Bring me myrtle, naught but myrtle I Myrtle, boy, will well combine Thee attending, me carousing, 'Neath the trellised vine. W. E. GLADSTONE. A WOMAN'S WORD (Odes, IL, 8.) BABINE ! if some vengeance dread Fell on your trebly perjured head, Did but a single tooth or nail Turn black, I might believe your tale ! But still the oftener that you dare To outrage heaven with oaths, more fair That face becomes", and, still the more, Admirers thicken and adore. THE GOLDEN MEAN 285 It answers then to treat with scorn l A parent's ashes, and suborn 10 The silent stars and heavenly powers, To favor falsehood such as yours. For Venus laughs at woman's wiles ; The Graces laugh, and Cupid smiles, All as he barbs his glowing darts 15 On whetstone red with bleeding hearts. Besides, each day augments your train, Each hour new charms your slaves enchain ; Nay, even those who late forswore Your roof still linger round the door. 20 The mothers for their striplings dread, Old men, and virgins lately wed, Lest thine alluring air delay The bridegroom on his homeward way. LORD RAVBNSWOBTH. THE GOLDEN MEAN (Odes, IL, 10.) LICINIUS, wouldst thou steer life's wiser voyage, Neither launch always into deep mid-waters, Nor hug the shores, and, shrinking from the tempest, Hazard the quicksand. He who elects the golden mean of fortune, s Nor where dull squalor rots the time-worn hovel, Nor where fierce envy storms the new-built palace, Makes his safe dwelling. 1 To swear falsely by them. 286 HORACE The wildest winds rock most the loftiest pine-trees, The heaviest crash is that of falling towers, 10 The spots on earth most stricken by the lightning Are its high places. The mind well-trained to cope with either fortune, Takes hope in adverse things and fear in prosperous ; Deforming winters are restored or banished is By the same Father. If to-day frown, not therefore frowns to-morrow ; His deadly bow not always bends Apollo, His hand at times the silent muse awakens With the sweet harpstring. 20 In life's sore straits brace and display thy courage ; Boldness is wisdom then : as wisely timid When thy sails swell with winds too strongly f av'ring, Heed, and contract them. LORD LYTTOK. A RECONCILIATION (Odes, IH., 9.) HORACE WHEN thy fair neck had never felt Caress more dear than mine, I happier lived than Persia's King, For I was thine. LTDIA When thy hot heart had never burned 5 For Chloe, and was mine, I lived more famed than Ilia, 1 For I was thine. 1 The mother of Romulus and Remus. TO THE SPRING OF BANDUSIA 287 HORACE To me my Thracian Chloe's rule A joy most sweet doth give. 10 With songs and lute she charms ; I 'd die That she might live. LYDIA To me my Thurian * Calais A burning love doth give ; A mutual love, for I 'd twice die w That he might live. HORACE What if I ope the door to thee, And auburn Chloe spurn ; If with a lasting yoke we 're joined, And love return ? 20 LYDIA Though fickle thou as cork, and rough As Hadria, 2 while he Is fairer than a star, I 'd live, I 'd die with thee. NOBMA ROSE WATERBUBT. TO THE SPRING OF BANDUSIA (Odes, IH., 13.) BANDUSIA'S fount, in clearness crystalline, O worthy of the wine, the flowers we vow ! To-morrow shall be thine A kid, whose crescent brow 1 Of Thurii, a city in Lucania. 2 The Adriatic Sea. 288 HORACE Is sprouting all for love and victory 5 In vain : his warm red blood, so easily stirred, Thy gelid stream shall dye, Child of the wanton herd. Thee the fierce Sirian star, 1 to madness fired, 9 Forbears to touch : sweet cool thy waters yield, To ox with ploughing tired, And lazy sheep a-field. Thou, too, one day shalt win proud eminence 'Mid honored founts, while I the ilex sing Crowning the cavern whence is Thy babbling wavelets spring. JOHN CONINGTON. TO MAECENAS (Odes, IIL, 29.) MAECENAS, thou whose lineage springs From old Etruria's Kings, Come to my humble dwelling. 2 Haste ; A cask unbroached of mellow wine Awaits thee, roses interlaced, 5 And perfumes pressed from nard divine. Leave Tibur 3 sparkling with its hundred rills ; Forget the sunny slopes of Aesulae, 4 And rugged peaks of Telegonian hills 6 That frown defiance on the Tuscan sea. 10 1 The dog-star. His Sabine villa. 8 The modern Tivoli, about sixteen miles northeast of Rome. 4 Properly Aesula, a Latin town between Tibur and Praeneste. 6 It was on a ridge of these mountains that Tusculum, said to have been founded by Telegonus, son of Ulysses, was situated, about ten miles southeast of Rome. TO MAECENAS 289 Forego vain pomps, nor gaze around From the tall turret of thy palace home On crowded marts, and summits temple-crowned, The smoke, the tumult, and the wealth of Rome. Come, loved Maecenas, come ! 15 How oft in lowly cot Uncurtained, nor with Tyrian purple spread, Has weary state pillowed its aching head, And smoothed its wrinkled brow, all cares forgot ? Come to my frugal feast, and share my humble lot. For now returning Cepheus l shoots again 21 His fires long hid ; now Procyon and the star Of the untamed Lion blaze amain : Now the light vapors in the heated air Hang quivering : now the shepherd leads 25 His panting flock to willow bordered meads By river banks, or to those dells Remote, profound, where rough Sylvanus 2 dwells, Where by mute margins voiceless waters creep, And the hushed Zephyrs sleep. 30 Too long by civil cares opprest Snatch one short interval of rest, Nor fear lest from the frozen north Don's arrowed thousands issue forth, Or hordes from realms by Cyrus won, 35 Or Scythians from the rising sun. Around the future Jove has cast A veil like night : he gives us power 1 The constellation of which Cepheus formed a part, rggg on the 9th ofjnly, Procyon on the 15th of July, and Regulus, the brightest star of the Lion, on the 30th of July. a The deity who presided over fields and forests. 290 HORACE To see the present and the past, But kindly hides the future hour, w And smiles when man with daring eye Would pierce that dread futurity. Wisely and justly guide thy present state, Life's daily duty : the dark future flows Like some broad river, now in calm repose, 45 Gliding untroubled to the Tyrrhene Shore, Now by fierce floods precipitate, And on its frantic bosom bearing Homes, herds, and flocks, Drowned men, and loosened rocks ; so Uprooted trees from groaning forests tearing ; Tossing from peak to peak the sullen waters' roar. Blest is the man who dares to say, " Lord of myself, I 've lived to-day : To-morrow let the Thunderer roll 55 Storm and thick darkness round the pole, Or purest sunshine : what is past Unchanged for evermore shall last. Nor man, nor Jove's resistless sway Can blot the record of one vanished day." eo Fortune, capricious, faithless, blind, With cruel joy her pastime plays, Exalts, enriches, and betrays, One day to me, anon to others kind. I praise her while she stays ; 65 But when she shakes her wanton wing And soars away, her gifts to earth 1 fling, And wrapped in Virtue's mantle live and die Content with dowerless poverty. When the tall ship with bending mast COUNTRY LIFE 291 Reels to the fury of the blast, The merchant trembles, and deplores Not his own fate, but buried stores From Cyprian or Phoenician shores ; He with sad vows and unavailing prayer 75 Rich ransom proffers to the angry Gods : I stand erect : no groans of mine shall e'er Affront the quiet of those blest abodes : My light unburthened skiff shall sail Safe to the shore before the gale, so While the twin sons 1 of Leda point the way, And smooth the billows with benignant ray. SIB STEPHEN DE VERB. COUNTRY LIFE (Epodes, IL) " How happy in his low degree, How rich in humble poverty, is he Who leads a quiet country life ; Discharg'd of business, void of strife, And from the griping scrivener free ! 5 Thus ere the seeds of vice were sown, Liv'd men in better ages born, Who plough'd, with oxen of their own, Their small paternal field of corn. Nor trumpets summon him to war, 10 Nor drums disturb his morning sleep, Nor knows he merchants' gainful care, Nor fears the dangers of the deep. The clamors of contentious law, And court and state, he wisely shuns, w 1 Castor and Pollux, who watched over mariners. 292 HORACE Nor brib'd with hopes, nor dar'd with awe, To servile salutations runs ; But either to the clasping vine Does the supporting poplar wed, Or with his pruning-hook disjoin 20 Unbearing branches from their head, And grafts more happy in their stead : Or, climbing to a hilly steep, He views his herds in vales afar, Or shears his overburden'd sheep, Or mead for cooling drink prepares, Of virgin honey in the jars. Or, in the now declining year, When bounteous Autumn rears his head, He joys to pull the ripen'd pear, 30 And clust'ring grapes with purple spread. The fairest of his fruit he serves, Priapus, 1 thy rewards : Sylvanus too his part deserves, Wlwse care the fences guards. Sometimes beneath an ancient oak, Or on the matted grass, he lies : No god of Sleep he need invoke ; The stream, that o'er the pebbles flies, With gentle slumber crowns his eyes. 40 The wind, that whistles through the sprays, Maintains the consort of the song ; And hidden birds, with native lays, The golden sleep prolong. But when the blast of winter blows, 45 And hoary frost inverts the year, Into the naked woods he goes, And seeks the tusky boar to rear, 1 A god of the fruitfulness of fields and of cattle. COUNTRY LIFE 293 With well-mouth'd hounds and pointed spear ! Or spreads his subtle nets from sight, so With twinkling glasses, to betray The larks that in the meshes light, Or makes the fearful hare his prey. Amidst his harmless easy joys No anxious care invades his health, 55 Nor love his peace of mind destroys, Nor wicked avarice of wealth. But if a chaste and pleasing wife, To ease the business of his life, Divides with him his household care, eo Such as the Sabine matrons were, Such as the swift Apulian's bride, Sun-burnt and swarthy though she be, Will fire for winter nights provide, And without noise will oversee es His children and his family ; And order all things till he come, Sweaty and overlabor'd home ; If she in pens his flocks will fold, And then produce her dairy store, 70 With wine to drive away the cold, And unbought dainties of the poor ; Not oysters of the Lucrine lake l My sober appetite would wish, Nor turbot, or the foreign fish 75 That rolling tempests overtake, And hither waft the costly dish. Not heathpout, or the rarer bird, Which Phasis 2 or Ionia yields, 1 Properly an inner recess of the Bay of Comae on the coast of Campania, famous for its oyster beds. 2 A river of Colchis, an Asiatic province east of the Black Sea. 294 HORACE More pleasing morsels would afford so Than the fat olives of my fields ; Than shards or mallows for the pot, That keep the loosen 'd body sound, Or than the lamb that falls by lot To the just guardian 1 of my ground. ss Amidst these feasts of happy swains, The jolly shepherd smiles to see His flock returning from the plains ; The farmer is as pleas'd as he, To view his oxen, sweating smoke, 90 Bear on their necks the loosen'd yoke : To look upon his menial crew, That sit around his cheerful hearth, And bodies spent in toil renew With wholesome food and country mirth." 95 This Morecraft 2 said within himself ; Resolv'd to leave the wicked town, And live retir'd upon his own, He call'd his money in ; But the prevailing love of pelf too Soon split him on the former shelf, He put it out again. JOHN DKTDEN. A CHALLENGE (Epodes, VI.) WHY snap at the guests who do nobody harm, Turning tail at the sight of a wolf ? 1 Terminus, the god of boundaries. 3 Here at the end of the poem comes the surprise that the en- thusiastic description of rural life is bat the idle dream of a city money-lender. A BORE 295 cur ! thy vain threats why not venture on me, Who can give back a bite for a bite ? Like mastiff Molossian l or Sparta's dun hound, 5 Kindly friend to the shepherd am I, But I prick up my ears and away through the snows, If a wild beast of prey run before ; But thou, if thou fillest the woods with thy bark, Art struck dumb at the sniff of a bone. 10 Ah, beware ! I am rough when I come upon knaves, Ah, beware of a toss from my horns ! 1 'm as sharp as the wit 2 whom Lycambes deceived, Or the bitter foe 3 Bupalus roused ; Dost thou think, when a cur shows the grin of his teeth, 15 That I '11 weep, unavenged, like a child ? LORD LTTTON. A BORE (Satires, I, 9.) ALONG the Sacred Road 4 I strolled one day, Deep in some bagatelle (you know my way), When up comes one whose name I scarcely knew " The dearest of dear fellows ! how d' ye do ? " He grasped my hand "Well, thanks : the same to you." 5 Then, as he still kept walking by my side, To cut things short, " You 've no commands ? " I cried. 1 From the country of the Molossi in the north of Greece. 2 The poet Archilochus (about 640 B. c.), whose satirical attacks drove Lycambes to suicide. 8 Hipponax, a poet of Ephesns (about 540 B. c.), whose satire had a similar result in the case of the sculptor Bnpalus. * It ran through the Forum. 296 HORACE " Nay, you should know me : I 'm a man of lore." " Sir, I 'm your humble servant all the more." All in a fret to make him let me go, 10 I now walk fast, now loiter and walk slow, Now whisper to my servant, while the sweat Ran down so fast, my very feet were wet. " O had I but a temper worth the name, Like yours, Bolanus ! " 1 inly I exclaim, is While he keeps running on at a hand-trot, About the town, the streets, I know not what. Finding I made no answer, " Ah ! I see, You 're at a strait to rid yourself of me ; But 't is no use : I 'm a tenacious friend, 20 And mean to hold you till your journey's end." " No need to take you such a round : I go To visit an acquaintance you don't know : Poor man ! he 's ailing at his lodging, far Beyond the bridge where Caesar's gardens are." 25 " Oh, never mind : I 've nothing else to do, And want a walk, so I '11 step on with you." Down go my ears, in donkey-fashion, straight ; You 've seen them do it, when their load 's too great. " If I mistake not," he begins, " you '11 find so Viscus 2 not more, nor Varius, to your mind : There 's not a man can turn a verse so soon, Or dance so nimbly when he hears a tune : While, as for singing ah ! my forte is there : Tigellius' 3 self might envy me, I '11 swear." 35 He paused for breath : I falteringly strike in : " Have you a mother ? have you kith or kin 1 Some hot-headed friend of the poet. 2 Viscus and Varius were members of the Maecenas circle, into which the speaker was so anxious to be introduced. 8 A well-known musician to whom Julius Caesar and afterwards Augustus showed favor. A BORE 297 To whom your life is precious ? " " Not a soul : My line 's extinct : I have interred the whole." happy they ! (so into thought I fell) 40 After life's endless babble they sleep well : My turn is next : dispatch me : for the weird Has come to pass which I so long have feared, The fatal weird a Sabine beldame sung, All in my nursery days, when life was young : 45 " No sword nor poison e'er shall take him off, Nor gout, nor pleurisy, nor racking cough : A babbling tongue shall kill him : let him fly All talkers, as he wishes not to die." We got to Vesta's temple, and the sun so Told us a quarter of the day was done. It chanced he had a suit, and was bound fast Either to make appearance or be cast. " Step here a moment, if you love me." " Nay ; 1 know no law : 't would hurt my health to stay, 55 And then, my call." " I 'm doubting what to do, Whether to give my lawsuit up or you." " Me, pray ! " "I will not." On he strides again : I follow, unresisting, in his train. " How stand you with Maecenas ? " he began : eo " He picks his friends with care ; a shrewd wise man : In fact, I take it, one could hardly name A head so cool in life's exciting game. 'T would be a good deed done, if you could throw Your servant in his way ; I mean, you know, Just to play second : in a month, I '11 swear, You 'd make an end of every rival there." " Oh, you mistake : we don't live there in league : I know no house more sacred from intrigue : I 'm never distanced in my friend's good grace TO By wealth or talent : each man finds his place." 298 HORACE " A miracle ! if 't were not told by you, I scarce should credit it." " And yet 't is true." " Ah, well, you double my desire to rise To special favor with a man so wise." 75 " You 've but to wish it : 't will be your own fault, If, with your nerve, you win not by assault : He can be won : that puts him on his guard, And so the first approach is always hard." " No fear of me, sir : a judicious bribe so Will work a wonder with a menial tribe : Say, I 'm refused admittance for to-day ; I '11 watch my time ; I '11 meet him in the way, Escort him, dog him. In this world of ours The path to what we want ne'er runs on flowers." 85 'Mid all this prate there met us, as it fell, Aristius, my good friend, who knew him well. We stop : inquiries and replies go round : "Where do you hail from?" "Whither are you bound?" There as he stood, impassive as a clod, 90 I pull at his limp arms, frown, wink, and nod, To urge him to release me. With a smile He feigns stupidity : I burn with bile. " Something there was you said you wished to tell To me in private." " Ay, I mind it well ; 95 But not just now : 'tis a Jews' fast to-day : Affront a sect so touchy ! nay, friend, nay." " Faith, I 've no scruples." " Ah ! but I 've a few : I 'm weak, you know, and do as others do : Some other time : excuse me." Wretched me ! 100 That ever man so black a sun should see ! Off goes the rogue, and leaves me in despair, Tied to the altar with the knife in air : When, by rare chance, the plaintiff in the suit A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION 299 Knocks up against us : " Whither now, you brute ? " 105 He roars like thunder : then to me : " You '11 stand My witness, sir ? " " My ear 's at your command." 1 Off to the court he drags him : shouts succeed : A mob collects : thank Phoebus, I am freed. JOHN CONINGTON. A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION (Epistles, I., 9.) SEPTIMIUS 2 only understands, 't would seem, How high I stand in, Claudius, 3 your esteem ; For when he begs and prays me, day by day, Before you his good qualities to lay, As not unfit to share the heart and hearth s Of Nero, who selects his staff for worth ; When he supposes you to me extend The rights and place of a familiar friend, Much better than myself he sees and knows, How far with you my commendation goes. 10 Plea upon plea, believe me, I have used, In hope he 'd hold me from the task excused, Yet feared the while, it might be thought I feigned Too low what influence I perchance have gained ; Dissembling it as nothing with my friends, is To keep it for my own peculiar ends. So to escape such dread reproach, I put 1 It was customary, on calling a person to witness, to touch his ear, apparently as an intimation that he was not to forget what he then heard. 2 It is to this Septimius that Horace addresses the sixth ode of the second book. 8 Afterwards the Emperor Tiberius. H' full iiame was Tiberius Claudius Nero. 300 HORACE My blushes by, and boldly urge my suit. If, then, you hold it as a grace, though small, To doff one's bashfulness at friendship's call, 20 Enroll him in your suite, assured you '11 find A man of heart in him, as well as mind. SIR THEODORE MARTIN. TO HIS BOOK (Epistles, I., 20.) I READ the meaning of that wistful look Towards Janus 2 and Vertumnus, O my book ! Upon the Sosii's 3 shelves you long to stand, Rubbed smooth with pumice by their skilful hand. You chafe at lock and modest seal; you groan, 5 That you should only to a few be shown, And sigh by all the public to be read, You in far other notions trained and bred. Well, go your way, whereso you please and when, But once sent forth, you come not back again. : " Fool that I was ! why did I change my lot ? " You '11 cry, when wounded in some tender spot, And, out of fashion and of favor grown, You 're crumpled up, and into corners thrown. Unless my ill-divining spirit be is Warped by chagrin at your perversity, Thus with sure presage I forecast your doom ; You will be liked by Rome, while in your bloom, But soon as e'er the thumbing and the soil 1 An epilogue to the first book of the Epistles. 3 There were bookshops in the neighborhood of the temple of Janus and of Yi-rt miiiiiiH. * A prominent firm of booksellers and publishers. TO HIS BOOK 301 Of vulgar hands shall your first freshness spoil, 20 You will be left to nibbling worms a prey, Or sent as wrappers to lands far away. Then one, whose warnings on your ears fell dead, With a grim smile will note how you have sped, Like him who, driven past patience by his mule, 25 Pushed o'er a precipice the restive fool, " Oho ! so you 're determined to destroy Yourself ? Well, do it, and I wish you joy ! " Yet one thing more awaits your failing age ; That in suburban schools your well-thumbed page so Will be employed by pedagogues to teach Young boys with painful pangs the parts of speech. But if, perchance, some sunny afternoon To hear your voice shall eager ears attune, Say, that though born a freedman's son, possessed 35 Of slender means, beyond the parent nest I soared on ampler wing ; thus what in birth I lack, let that be added to my worth. Say, that in war, and also here at home, I stood well with the foremost men of Home ; 40 That small in stature, prematurely grey, Sunshine was life to me and gladness ; say Besides, though hasty in my temper, I Was just as quick to put my anger by. Then, should my age be asked you, add that four 45 And forty years I 'd flourished, and no more, In the December of that year, which fame Will join with Lepidus' l and Lollius' name. SIR THEODORE MARTIN. 1 Lepidus and Lollius were the consuls in B. c. 21. TIBULLUS BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH FOUR books of Elegies have come down to us under the name of Tibullus, but of these only the first two and a part of the fourth are the work of that poet. Delia, whose real name is said to have been Plania, and Nemesis, whose identity has not been determined, are the central figures of the first and second book respectively. Most of the poems in the fourth book written by him relate to a love affair other than his own, i. e., that of Sulpicia and Cerinthus. He was born about 54 B. o., probably at Pedum, a town in Latium, where his family, which belonged to the eques- trian order, had an estate, apparently of considerable extent. Some part of this, if not all, escaped the confiscations of 41 B. < '.. and it was throughout his life the poet's favorite re- treat. In Rome he was on terms of the greatest intimacy with Valerius Messala, who like Maecenas had surrounded himself with a group of literary men. Yet, while Messala's name occurs frequently in the Elegies, Tibullus' position does not at any time seem to have been one of dependence. Of the friendly relations which existed between him and Horace we know from the latter's works, one of the Odes (I. 33) and one of the Epistles (I. 4) being addressed to him. His death, which took place in 19 B. c., is the subject of the ninth elegy of the third book of Ovid's Amores. Although of somewhat limited range, and not in any Wciy the work of a poet of the first rank, Tibullus' elegies have an undeniable grace and charm of their own. Free from THE POET'S IDEAL 303 the frigid mythological pedantries that disfigure so large a part of elegiac literature, they reflect, probably faithfully enough, the character of the man, a conservative of conser- vatives, attached to old rites and customs simply because they were old, shrinking from the strenuous life of war and politics, gentle, sensitive, and, where women were concerned, of even more than elegiac susceptibility, a dreamer of dreams, eternally weaving vague fantasies of love and of the peace and quiet of rural seclusion. THE POET'S IDEAL (I. i.) THE glittering ore let others vainly heap, O'er fertile vales extend th' enclosing mound ; With dread of neighboring foes forsake their sleep, And start aghast at every trumpet's sound. Me humbler scenes delight, and calmer days ; 5 A tranquil life fair poverty secure; Then boast, my hearth, a small but cheerful blaze, And, riches grasp who will, let me be poor. Nor yet be hope a stranger to my door, But o'e'r my roof, bright goddess, still preside ! 10 With many a bounteous autumn heap my floor, And swell my vats with must, a purple tide. My tender vines I '11 plant with early care, And choicest apples with a skilful hand ; Nor blush, a rustic, oft to guide the share, w Or goad the sturdy ox along the land. 304 TIBULLUS Let me, a simple swain, with honest pride, If chance a lambkin from its dam should roam, Or sportful kid, the little wanderer chide, And in my bosom bear exulting home. 20 Here Pales l I bedew with milky showers, Lustrations yearly for my shepherd pay, Revere 2 each antique stone bedeck'd with flowers That bounds the field, or points the doubtful way. My grateful fruits, the earliest of the year, 25 Before the rural god 3 shall duly wait. From Ceres' gifts I '11 cull each browner ear, And hang a wheaten wreath before her gate. The ruddy god 4 shall save my fruit from stealth, And far away each little plunderer scare ; so And you, the guardians once of ampler wealth, My household gods, shall still my off'rings share. My numerous herds that wanton'd o'er the mead The choicest fatling then could richly yield ; Now scarce I spare a little lamb to bleed A mighty victim for my scanty field. And yet a lamb shall bleed, while, ranged around, The village youths shall stand in order meet, With rustic hymns, ye gods, your praise resound, And future crops and future wines entreat. 40 1 The tutelary deity of shepherds and cattle. 2 In honor of Terminus, the god of boundaries. 8 Silvanus, who presided over woods and fields. 4 Statues of Priapus, colored red, were frequently placed in gar- dens. THE POET'S IDEAL 305 Then come, ye powers, nor scorn my frugal board, Nor yet the gifts clean earthen bowls convey ; With these the first of men the gods adored, And form'd their simple shape of ductile clay. My little flock, ye wolves, ye robbers, spare, 45 Too mean a plunder to deserve your toil ; For wealthier herds the nightly theft prepare ; There seek a nobler prey, and richer spoil. For treasured wealth, nor stores of golden wheat, The hoard of frugal sires, I vainly call ; so A little farm be mine, a cottage neat, And wonted couch where balmy sleep may fall. What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain, And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast ; Or lull'd to slumber by the beating rain, 55 Secure and happy sink at last to rest. These joys be mine ! O grant me only these, And give to others bags of shining gold, Whose steely heart can brave the boist'rous seas, The storm wide-wasting, or the stiff 'ning cold, so Content with little, I would rather stay Than spend long months amid the wat'ry waste ; In cooling shades elude the scorching ray, Beside some fountain's gliding waters placed. Oh perish rather all that 's rich and rare, w The diamond quarry, and the golden vein, Than that my absence cost one precious tear, Or give some gentle maid a moment's pain. 306 TIBULLUS With glittering spoils, Messala, 1 gild thy dome, Be thine the noble task to lead the brave ; 7 A lovely foe me captive holds at home, Chain'd to her scornful gate, a watchful slave. Inglorious post ! and yet I heed not fame : Th' applause of crowds for Delia I 'd resign : To live with thee I 'd bear the coward's name, 75 Nor 'midst the scorn of nations once repine. With thee to live I 'd mock the ploughman's toil, Or on some lonely mountain tend my sheep ; At night I 'd lay me on the flinty soil, And happy 'midst thy dear embraces sleep. so What drooping lover heeds the Tyrian 2 bed, While the long night is pass'd with many a sigh ; Nor softest down with richest carpets spread, Nor whisp'ring rills can close the weeping eye. Of threefold iron were his rugged frame, ss Who, when he might thy yielding heart obtain, Could yet attend the calls of empty fame, Or follow arms in quest of sordid gain. Unenvied let him drive the vanquished host, Through captive lands his conquering armies lead ; Unenvied wear the robe with gold emboss'd, 91 And guide with solemn state his foaming steed. Oh may I view thee with life's parting ray, And thy dear hand with dying ardor press : 1 His patron, who was in Asia. Tibnllus had been induced to accompany him, bnt falling ill at Corcyra had returned to Rome. 3 Luxurious as those of the people of Tyre. THE POET'S IDEAL 307 Sure thou wilt weep and on thy lover's clay, 95 With breaking heart, print many a tender kiss ! Sure thou wilt weep and woes unutter'd feel, When on the pile thou seest thy lover laid ! For well I know, nor flint, nor ruthless steel Can arm the breast of such a gentle maid. 100 From the sad pomp, what youth, what pitying fair, Returning slow, can tender tears refrain ? O Delia, spare thy cheeks, thy tresses spare, Nor give my ling'ring shade a world of pain. But now while smiling hours the Fates bestow, 105 Let love, dear maid, our gentle hearts unite ! Soon death will come and strike the fatal blow ; Unseen his head, and veil'd in shades of night. Soon creeping age will bow the lover's frame, And tear the myrtle chaplet from his brow : 110 With hoary locks ill suits the youthful flame, The soft persuasion, or the ardent vow. Now the fair queen of gay desire is ours, And lends our follies an indulgent smile : 'T is lavish youth's t' enjoy the frolic hours, us The wanton revel and the midnight broil. Your chief, my friends and fellow-soldiers, I To these light wars will lead you boldly on : Far hence, ye trumpets, sound, and banners fly ; To those who covet wounds and fame begone. 120 And bear them fame and wounds ; and riches bear ; There* are that fame and wounds and riches prize. 308 TIBULLUS For me, while I possess one plenteous year, I '11 wealth and meagre want alike despise. JAMES GRAINGER. A RURAL FESTIVAL 1 (II. l.) ATTEND ! and favor ! as our sires ordain, The fields we lustrate, and the rising grain : Come, Bacchus, and thy horns with grapes surround ; Come, Ceres, with thy wheaten garland crowned ; This hallow'd day suspend each swain his toil, 5 Rest let the plough, and rest th' uncultured soil : Unyoke the steer, his racks heap high with hay, And deck with wreaths his honest front to-day. Be all your thoughts to this grand work applied ! And lay, ye thrifty fair, your wool aside ! 10 Hence I command you mortals from the rite, Who spent in amorous blandishment the night, The vernal powers in chastity delight. But come, ye pure, in spotless garbs array'd ! For you the solemn festival is made ; is Come ! follow thrice the victim round the lands ! In running water purify your hands ! See to the flames the willing victim come ! Ye swains with olive crown'd, be dumb ! be dumb ! " From ills, O sylvan gods, our limits shield, 20 To-day we purge the farmer and the field ; Oh let no weeds destroy the rising grain ; By no fell prowler be the lambkin slain ; 1 The central theme of this elegy is the celebration of the Ambar- valia, which took place annually in April. Its purpose was the purification of the fields. A RURAL FESTIVAL 309 So shall the hind dread penury no more, But gayly smiling o'er his plenteous store, 25 With liberal hand shall larger billets bring, Heap the broad hearth, and hail the genial spring. His numerous bond-slaves all in goodly rows, With wicker huts your altars shall enclose. That done, they '11 cheerly laugh, and dance, and play, And praise your goodness in their uncouth lay." si The gods assent ! see ! see I those entrails show That heaven approves of what is done below ! Now quaff Falernian, let my Chian wine, Poured from the cask in massy goblets shine ! 35 Drink deep, my friends ; all, all, be madly gay, 'T were irreligion not to reel to-day ! Health to Messala, every peasant toast, And not a letter of his name be lost ! come, my friend, whom Gallic triumphs a grace, Thou noblest splendor of an ancient race ; a. Thou whom the arts all emulously crown, Sword of the state, and honor of the gown ; My theme is gratitude, inspire my lays ! Oh be my genius ! while I strive to praise 45 The rural deities, the rural plain. The use of foodful corn they taught the swain. They taught man first the social hut to raise, And thatch it o'er with turf, or leafy sprays ; They first to tame the furious bull essay'd, so And on rude wheels the rolling carriage laid. Man left his savage ways ; the garden glow'd Fruits not their own admiring trees bestow'd, 1 Messala was given a triumph in 27 B. c. for his victory over the Aquitanians in the battle of Ataz. 310 TIBULLUS While through the thirsty ground meandering run- nels flowed. There bees of sweets despoil the breathing spring, 55 And to their cells the dulcet plunder bring. The ploughman first to soothe the toilsome day Chanted in measur'd feet his sylvan lay : And, seed-time o'er, he first in blithesome vein Piped to his household gods the hymning strain. eo Then first the press with purple wine o'erran, And cooling water made it fit for man. The village lad first made a wreath of flowers To deck in spring the tutelary powers : Blest be the country, yearly there the plain K Yields, when the dog-star burns, the golden grain : Thence too thy chorus, Bacchus, first began, The painted clown first laid the tragic plan. A goat, the leader of the shaggy throng, The village sent it, recompensed the song. TO There too the sheep his woolly treasure wears ; There too the swain his woolly treasure shears ; This to the thrifty dame long work supplies ; The distaff hence, and basket took their rise. Hence too the various labors of the loom, 75 Thy praise, Minerva, 1 and Arachne's 2 doom ! 'Mid mountain herds, Love first drew vital air, Unknown to man, and man had nought to fear ; 'Gainst herds, his bow th' unskilful archer drew ; Ah, my pierced heart, an archer now too true ! so Now herds may roam untouch'd, 't is Cupid's joy, The brave to vanquish, and to fix the coy. 1 Spinning, weaving, and similar feminine activities were under the patronage of Minerva. 2 The story is that Arachne was changed into a spider through the machinations of Athene, who was jealous of her skill in weaving. A RURAL FESTIVAL 311 The youth whose heart the soft emotion feels, Nor sighs for wealth, nor waits at grandeur's heels ; Age fired by Love is touch'd by shame no more, 85 But blabs its follies at the fair one's door ! Led by soft Love, the tender, trembling fair Steals to her swain, and cheats suspicion's care, With outstretched arms she wins her darkling way, And tiptoe listens that no noise betray ! 90 Ah, wretched those on whom dread Cupid frowns ! How happy they whose mutual choice he crowns ! Will Love partake the banquet of the day ? O come but throw thy burning shafts away. % Ye swains, begin to mighty Love the song, 95 Your songs, ye swains, to mighty Love belong ! Breathe out aloud your wishes for my fold, Your own soft vows in whispers may be told. But hark ! loud mirth and music fire the crowd Ye now may venture to request aloud ! 100 Pursue your sports; night mounts her curtain'd wain ; The dancing stars compose her filial train ; Black muffled sleep steals on with silent pace, And dreams flit last, imagination's race ! JAMBS GRAINGEK. PROPERTIUS BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF the life of Propertius, unquestionably the greatest of Roman elegiac poets, very little is known in addition to the few facts that he himself relates. He was an Umbrian, and of the various places which have claimed him, Assisi probably has the strongest case. The year 50 B. c. may be given as an approximate date for his birth. He was a member of the Maecenas circle in Rome, but of all his lit- erary contemporaries Ovid alone mentions him. In none of his poems do we find a reference to any event later than 16 B. c., and with some show of reason his death is gener- ally placed about that time. Five books of Elegies bear witness to his unusual powers. The first, commonly known as the Cynthia, from the name of the woman who constitutes its principal theme, was published when he was only twenty. It shows extraordi- nary precocity on the technical as well as on the emotional side. In the second and third books the erotic element is still prominent, but Cynthia is no longer the poet's only thought. In the fourth and fifth books there is greater variety. National themes are introduced, and some poems dealing with the origins of Roman customs and institutions mark the first attempts by a Roman poet in the field of the aetiological elegy. It is a somewhat disagreeable personality that Proper- tius' poems reveal. He seems to have been strangely self' centred, gloomy, and morbid. No matter what his theme BEAUTY UNADORNED 313 may be, it is his own relation to it that interests him most, and to himself he almost invariably returns. If his suffer- ings were great, the contemplation of them afforded him a pleasure that was, in part at least, a recompense. His hap- piness would seem to have reached its highest point in brooding over his own death and burial. Unlike that of his contemporary Tibullus his work shows strong Alexandrian influence. His models were Callimachus and Philetas, and it is to his imitation of them that the undue preponderance of mythological lore and the tendency to recondite and abstruse allusion are largely due. To the same source must be ascribed the excessive elaboration of detail and superabundance of ornament that characterize some of his elegies. Yet in spite of these faults we find everywhere traces of a genius of rare brilliancy : imagina- tion of great range and vividness, deftness in word and phrase, and a fine ear for rhythmical effects. BEAUTY UNADORNED (I., 2.) DEAR girl, 1 what boots it thus to dress thy hair, Or flaunt in silken garment rich and rare, To reek of perfume from a foreign mart, And pass thyself for other than thou art Thus Nature's gift of beauty to deface s And rob thy own fair form of half its grace ? Trust me, no skill can greater charms impart ; Love is a naked boy and scorns all art. Bears not the sod unbidden blossoms rare ? The untrained ivy, is it not most fair ? 10 Greenest the shrub on rocks untended grows, Brightest the rill in unhewn channel flows. 1 Cynthia. 314 PROPERTIUS The beach is with unpolished pebbles gay, And birds untutored trill the sweetest lay. Not thus the damsels of the golden age is Were wont the hearts of heroes to engage : Their loveliness was to no jewels due, But to such tints as once Apelles * drew. From vain coquettish arts they all were free, Content to charm with simple modesty. 20 By thee despite to me will ne'er be done ; The woman pleases well who pleases one. GOLDWIN SMITH. TO MAECENAS 8 (n., i.) You ask, why thus my loves I still rehearse, Whence the soft strain and ever-melting verse ? From Cynthia all that in my numbers shines ; She is my genius, she inspires the lines ; No Phoebus else, no other Muse I know, 5 She tunes my easy rhyme, and gives the lay to flow. If the loose curls around her forehead play, Or lawless, o'er their ivory margin stray : If the thin Coan web 3 her shape reveal, And half disclose those limbs it should conceal ; 10 Of those loose curls, that ivory front I write ; Of the dear web whole volumes I indite : Or if to music she the lyre awake, That the soft subject of my song I make, And sing with what a careless grace she flings is Her artful hand across the sounding strings. 1 A Greek painter of the Alexandrian period. 2 The publication of the first book of hia Elegies had won for the poet the favor of Maecenas. 8 Of silk from the island of Coos. TO MAECENAS 315 If sinking into sleep she seem to close Her languid lids, I favor her repose With lulling notes, and thousand beauties see That slumber brings to aid my poetry. 20 When, less averse, and yielding to desires, She half accepts, and half rejects, my fires, While to retain the envious lawn she tries, And struggles to elude my longing eyes, The fruitful Muse from that auspicious night 25 Dates the long Iliad of the amorous fight. In brief, whate'er she do, or say, or look, 'T is ample matter for a lover's book ; And many a copious narrative you '11 see Big with the important nothing's history. so Yet would the tyrant love permit me raise My feeble voice, to sound the victor's praise, To paint the hero's toil, the ranks of war, The laurell'd triumph and the sculptured car ; No giant race, no tumult of the skies, 35 No mountain-structures * in my verse should rise, Nor tale of Thebes, nor Ilium there should be, Nor how the Persian trod th' indignant sea ; 2 Not Marius' Cimbrian 3 wreaths would I relate, Nor lofty Carthage struggling with her fate. 40 Here should Augustus great in arms appear, And thou, Maecenas, be my second care ; Here Mutina 4 from flames and famine free, 1 In their attempt to storm heaven, the giants, according to the old story, piled mountain upon mountain. 2 On the occasion of the Persian invasion of Greece in 480 B. c., Xerxes' host crossed the Hellespont by means of two bridges of boats. 8 Marius won a decisive victory over the invading forces of the Cimbri, near Verona, in 101 B. 0. * A town in Cisalpine Gaul, where the consuls Ilirtius and Pansa were killed in battle in 43 B. C. 316 PROPERTIUS And there th' ensanguined wave of Sicily, 1 And sceptred Alexandria's 2 captive shore, 46 And sad Philippi, 3 red with Roman gore : Then, while the vaulted skies loud los * rend, In golden chains should loaded inonarchs bend, And hoary Nile with pensive aspect seem To mourn the glories of his sevenfold stream, so While prows, 5 that late in fierce encounter met, Move through the Sacred Way and vainly threat, Thee too the Muse should consecrate to fame, And with her garlands weave thy ever-faithful name. But nor Callimachus' 6 enervate strain 55 May tell of Jove, and Phlegra's 7 blasted plain ; Nor I with unaccustom'd vigor trace Back to its source divine the Julian race. Sailors to tell of winds and seas delight, The shepherd of his flocks, the soldier of the fight, eo A milder warfare I in verse display ; Each in his proper art should waste the day : Nor thou my gentle calling disapprove, To die is glorious in the bonds of love. Happy the youth, and not unknown to fame, , W r hose heart has never felt a second flame. Oh, might that envied happiness be mine ! 1 Sextos Pompeius had been defeated in a number of naval battles near Sicily. 2 Alexandria was taken in B. c. 30. 8 In Macedonia, the scene of the victory of Antony and Octavian over Brutus and Cassins in 42 B. 0. * " lo 1 " was a cry of triumph. 6 When a naval victory was celebrated, the beaks of ships were sometimes borne in the triumphal procession. 8 The famous Alexandrian poet who flourished about 200 B. c. 7 Perhaps the volcanic plain along the coast of Campania in the neighborhood of Cnmae. It was said to have been the battleground of the gods and the giants. TO MAECENAS 317 To Cynthia all ray wishes I confine ; Or if, alas ! it be my fate to try Another love, the quicker let me die : 70 But she, the mistress of my faithful breast, Has oft the charms of constancy confessed, Condemns her fickle sex's fond mistake, And hates the tale of Troy for Helen's sake. Me from myself the soft enchantress stole ; 75 Ah ! let her ever my desires control, Or if I fall the victim of her scorn, From her loved door may my pale corse be borne. The power of herbs can other harms remove, And find a cure for every ill but love. so The Malian's * hurt Machaon could repair, Heal the slow chief, and send again to war ; To Chiron 2 Phoenix 3 owed his long-lost sight, And Phoebus' son 4 recall'd Androgeos to the light. Here arts are vain, e'en magic here must fail, K The powerful mixture and the midnight spell ; The hand that can my captive heart release, And to this bosom give its wonted peace, May the long thirst of Tantalus 6 allay, Or drive th' infernal vulture from his prey. 6 90 1 Philoctetea of Malis, a district in the south of Thessaly. Bitten by a snake on the way to Troy, he had been abandoned at Lemuos, but in the tenth year of the war he was healed by Machaon, son of Aesculapius, and joined the Greeks once more at Troy. It was he who killed Paris. 2 The centaur who was entrusted with the education of Achilles. 8 The friend of Achilles. 4 Aesculapius, who brought back to life Androgeos, son of Minos of Crete. 6 Afflicted with perpetnal thirst in the lower world for revealing the secrets of Jove. 6 Prometheus, who for stealing fire from heaven was fastened to one of the cliffs of Mt. Caucasus, where a vulture preyed upon his liver. 318 PROPERTIUS For ills unseen what remedy is found ? Or who can probe the undiscovered wound ? The bed avails not, nor the leech's care, Nor changing skies can hurt, nor sultry air. 'T is hard th' elusive symptoms to explore ; 9s To-day the lover walks, to-morrow is no more ; A train of mourning friends attend his pall, And wonder at the sudden funeral. When then my fates that breath they gave shall claim, And the short marble but preserve a name, 100 A little verse my all that shall remain, Thy passing courser's slacken 'd speed restrain, (Thou envied honor of thy poet's days, Of all our youth th' ambition and the praise !) Then to my quiet urn awhile draw near, 105 And say, while o'er the place you drop a tear, " Love and the fair were of his life the pride ; He lived, while she was kind ; and when she frown'd, he died." THOMAS GBAY. A CHANGE OF VIEW (HI., 6, 19 seq.) LONG as of youth the joyous hours remain, Me may Castalia's l sweet recess detain, Fast by th' umbrageous vale lull'd to repose, Where Aganippe 2 warbles as it flows ; Or roused by sprightly sounds from out the trance, s I 'd in the ring knit hands, and join the Muses' dance. 1 A spring on Mt. Parnassus sacred to Apollo and the Muses. * A spring on Mt. Helicon in Boeotia. A CHANGE OF VIEW 319 Give me to send the laughing bowl around, My soul in Bacchus' pleasing fetters bound ; Let on this head unfading flowers reside, There bloom the vernal rose's earliest pride ; 10 And when, our flames commission 'd to destroy, Age step 'twixt love and me, and intercept the joy ; When my changed head these locks no more shall know, And all its jetty honors turn to snow ; Then let me rightly tell of nature's ways ; is To Providence, to Him my thoughts I 'd raise, Who taught this vast machine its steadfast laws, That first, eternal, universal cause ; Search to what region yonder star retires, That monthly waning hides her paly fires, 20 And whence, anew revived, with silver light Relumes her crescent orb to cheer the dreary night : How rising winds the face of ocean sweep, Where lie th' eternal fountains of the deep, And whence the cloudy magazines maintain 25 Their wintry war, or pour th' autumnal rain ; How flames, perhaps, with dire confusion hurl'd, Shall sink this beauteous fabric of the world ; What colors paint the vivid arch l of Jove ; What wondrous force the solid earth can move, so When Pindus' 2 self approaching ruin dreads, Shakes all his pines, and bows his hundred heads ; Why does yon orb, so exquisitely bright, Obscure his radiance in a short-lived night ; Whence the seven Sisters' 3 congregated fires, 35 And what Bootes' 4 lazy wagon tires ; How the rude surge its sandy bounds control ; 1 The rainbow. 2 A mountain in Thessaly. 8 The Pleiades. * The Little Bear. 320 PROPERTIUS Who measured out the year and bade the seasons roll; If realms beneath those fabled torments know, Pangs without respite, fires that ever glow, Earth's monster brood l stretch'd on their iron bed, The hissing terrors round Alecto's 2 head, Scarce to nine acres Tityus' bulk confined, The triple dog that scares the shadowy kind, All angry heaven inflicts, or hell can feel, 45 The pendent rock, Ixion's whirling wheel, Famine at feasts, and thirst amid the stream ; Or are our fears th' enthusiast's empty dream, And all the scenes, that hurt the grave's repose, But pictured horror and poetic woes. so These soft inglorious joys my hours engage ; Be love my youth's pursuit, and science crown my age. You, whose young bosoms feel a nobler flame, Redeem what Crassus 3 lost, and vindicate his name. THOMAS GRAY. A ROMAN MATRON TO HER HUSBAND 4 (V, 11.) WEEP no more, Paullus, where thy wife is laid : At the dark gate thy prayer will beat in vain ; 1 The giants, sons of Earth, who rebelled against Jove. 2 One of the Furies. 8 Crassus had been defeated by the Parthians in a disastrous battle in 55 B. c. 4 One of the most famous of Propertius's elegies. Cornelia is repre- sented as addressing her husband from the tomb. She was the daugh- ter of Pnblins Cornelius Scipio by Scribonia, who was afterwards the wife of Augustus. Her husband was Paullus Aemilins Lepidus, con- sul in B. c. 34. A ROMAN MATRON TO HER HUSBAND 321 Once let the nether realm receive the shade, The adamantine bar turns not again. Prayer may move heaven, but, the sad river passed, 5 The grave relentless gives not back its dead : Such sentence spake the funeral trumpet's blast, As sank in funeral flames thy loved one's head. No honors that on Paullus' consort wait, No pride of ancestry or storied bust, 10 Could save Cornelia from her cruel fate : Now one small hand may hold her grandeur's dust. Shades of the Dead and sluggish fens that gloom Around Hell's murky shores my steps to bind, Before my hour, but pure in soul, I come, is Then let the Judge of all the Dead be kind. Call the dread court : let silence reign in Hell ; Set for an hour the damned from torture free, And still the Guardian Hound. If aught I tell But truth, fall Hell's worst penalty on me. 20 Is honor to a glorious lineage due ? What my sires were, Af ric and Spain proclaim ; Nor poor the blood I from my mother drew, For well may Libo's match with Scipio's name. And when, my virgin vesture laid aside, 25 They placed the matron's wreath upon my head, Thine, Paullus, I became, till death thy bride : " Wedded to one " shall on my tomb be read. By glory's shrine I swear, great Scipio's tomb, Where sculptured Afric sits a captive maid, so 322 PROPERTIUS By him l that led the Macedonian home In chains and all his pride in ruin laid, Never for me was bent the censor's law ; Never by me wrong to your honor done ; Your scutcheon to Cornelia owes no flaw, 35 To her your roll of worthy names owes one. Nor failed my virtue ; faithful still I stood, And stainless from the bridal to the bier. No law I needed save my noble blood ; The basely born are innocent through fear. 40 Judge strictly as ye will, within the bound Of Death's wide realm not one, matron or maid, Howe'er renowned in story, will be found To shun communion with Cornelia's shade. Not she, the wife of purity unstained, 45 At touch of whose pure hand Cybele moved, 2 When hands less pure in vain the cable strained, Not she, 3 the virgin of the gods beloved, For whom, when Vesta's sacred fire was lost, It from her votary's robe rekindled sprang. so And thou, dear mother, did thy child e'er cost Thee, save by her untimely fate, a pang? Short was my span, yet children three I bore, And in their arms I drew my latest breath ; 1 Aerailius Paullus, who conquered Perseus in 168 B. c. His son became a Scipio by adoption. 2 The ship that was bearing the image of Cybele to Rome ran aground in the Tiber, and it was only when the vestal Claudia laid her hand upon the cable that it could be moved. * The vestal Aemilia. A ROMAN MATRON TO HER HUSBAND 323 In these I live although my life is o'er ; 55 Their dear embraces took the sting from death. Twice did my brother fill the curule chair, 1 There sat he when I parted. Daughter, thou Wast born a censor's child ; be it thy care Like me, by wedded troth, his rule to show. eo Now I bequeath our children to thy heart, Husband, though I am dust, that care is mine ; Father and mother too henceforth thou art ; Around one neck now all those arms must twine. Kiss for thyself and then for her that 's gone ; es Thy love alone the whole dear burden bears ; If e'er for me thou weepest, weep alone, And see, to cheat their lips, thou driest thy tears. Be it enough by night thy grief to pour, By night to commune with Cornelia's shade ; TO If to my likeness in thy secret bower Thou speakest, speak as though I answer made. Should time bring on another wedding day, And set a stepdame in your mother's place, My children, let your looks no gloom betray ; 75 Kind ways and loving words will win her grace. Nor speak too much of me ; the jealous ear Of the new wife perchance offence may take ; But ah ! if my poor ashes are so dear That he will live un wedded for my sake, so 1 Its use was confined to the chief state officials. 324 PROPERTIUS Learn, children, to forestall your sire's decline, And let no lonesome thought come near his life ; Add to your years what Fate has reft from mine ; Blest in my children let him bless his wife. Though brief my day, I have not lived in vain ; w Mourning for child of mine I never wore ; When from my home went forth my funeral train, Not one was missing there of all I bore. My cause is pleaded. Now, ye mourners rise And witness bear till earth my meed decree ; 90 If worth may claim its guerdon in the skies, My glorious ancestors may welcome me. GOLDWIN SMITH. OVID BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH AT the end of the fourth book of the Tristia, Ovid, fol- lowing a custom of Roman elegiac poets, has given a sketch of his life. He was born in 43 B. c., at Sulmo, a town of the Pelignians, about seventy miles east of Rome. His father, who belonged to the equestrian order, destined him for a legal and political career, and with this end in view sent him to Rome and afterwards to Athens to study under some of the distinguished rhetoricians of the day. His own inclinations, however, were towards literature rather than law, and when he was about twenty-four he abandoned his legal pursuits to devote himself entirely to poetry. The Amores made him famous as a writer of erotic elegies, and this success was followed up by the publication of the Heroides, a series of imaginary letters in elegiac verse from deserted women to their erring lovers, and the pseudo- didactic poem on the Art of Love. Later came the Meta- morphoses, a collection of mythological stories in fifteen books, written in hexameters, and the Fasti, a poetical cal- endar of the first six months of the year. He was at the height of prosperity when in 8 A. D. he was struck down by a decree of Augustus which banished him to Tomi, a deso- late place on the shores of the Black Sea. The cause of his banishment has never been accurately determined, but the conjecture that he had been in some way implicated in the intrigue of Julia, the notorious granddaughter of Augustus, with Decimus Silanus, has a fair degree of probability. The sentence was never remitted, and he died at Tomi in 326 OVID 18 A. D. To the period of his exile belong the Epistolae ex Ponto, the Tristia, and other miscellaneous poems. While Propertius puzzles us by his curious self-absorp- tion, Ovid amazes us by his cleverness, his quickness, his versatility, and his astounding facility in metrical composi- tion. The Metamorphoses constitute one of the most re- markable tours de force in literary history. They show, successfully combined in one whole, a bewildering array of myths that have as their only common theme some kind of change of form. Fable is linked to fable, myth to myth, with a nicety of juncture that never fails, a variety of device that seems to be inexhaustible. In the stories them- selves we find all the qualities of the literary artist whose natural gifts have been supplemented by training and prac- tice: verve in narration, picturesqueness in description, skill in the elaboration of simile or metaphor, and the faculty of writing in smoothly flowing verse that knows no pause. Swift, vivid, brilliant, never wearying us except by the infinity of his surprises, coercing our admiration of his story- teller's art, he carries us along through his strange world of ever changing forms that begin with Deucalion and end with Julius Caesar. In the fasti, with their explanations of the festivals of the different months, we see the same characteristics, but added to them something more serious, an aetiological spirit that makes them the most substantial of all the poet's works. His erotic elegies and his Art of Love, written to amuse himself and others as flippant as himself, show him to have been, in some moods at least, frivolous to the last degree of frivolity, careless of himself and of the society in which he moved, such a man as could only have been produced by an age in which the old repub- lican virtue and simplicity had given way to luxury and even immorality. DIDO TO AENEAS 327 DIDO TO AENEAS 1 (Heroides, VII.) So, on Maeander's 2 banks, when death is nigh, The mournful swan sings her own elegy. Not that I hope (for oh, that hope were vain !) By words your lost affection to regain ; But, having lost whate'er was worth my care, s Why should I fear to lose a dying prayer ? 'T is then resolved poor Dido must be left, Of life, of honor, and of love bereft ! While you, with loosened sails, and vows, prepare To seek a land that flies the searcher's care ; 10 Nor can my rising towers your flight restrain, Nor my new empire, offered you in vain. Built walls you shun, unbuilt you seek ; that land Is yet to conquer, but you this command. Suppose you landed where your wish designed, is Think what reception foreigners would find, What people is so void of common sense, To vote succession from a native prince ? Yet there new sceptres and new loves you seek, New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break. -9 When will your towers the height of Carthage know ? Or when your eyes discern such crowds below ? 1 The visit to Carthage was one of the most important episodes in the long voyage of Aeneas and his Trojans from Troy to Italy. Driven by a storm on the coast of Africa, they had been hospitably entertained by Queen Dido. When, after some time, Aeneas an- nounced his intention to depart, the qneen, loving him, urged him to remain and share her kingdom with her. He, however, refused, and was making his final preparations to leave the country, when she sent him this letter as a hist appeal. 2 A river in Asia Minor. 328 OVID If such a town and subjects you could see, Still would you want a wife who loved like me. For oh ! I burn, like fires with incense bright ; 25 Not holy tapers flame with purer light. Aeneas is my thoughts' perpetual theme, Their daily longing, and their nightly dream. Yet he 's ungrateful and obdurate still ; Fool that I am to place my heart so ill ! so Myself I cannot to myself restore ; Still I complain, and still I love him more. Have pity, Cupid, on my bleeding heart, And pierce thy brother's 1 with an equal dart. I rave, nor canst thou Venus' offspring be, 35 Love's mother could not bear a son like thee. From hardened oak, or from a rock's cold womb, At least thou art from some fierce tigress come ; Or on rough seas, from their foundation torn, Got by the winds, and in a tempest born : 40 Like that, which now thy trembling sailors fear ; Like that, whose rage should still detain thee here. Behold how high the foamy billows ride ! The winds and waves are on the juster side. To winter weather, and a stormy sea, 45 I '11 owe what rather I would owe to thee. Death thou deserv'st from heaven's avenging laws ; But I 'm unwilling to become the cause. To shun my love, if thou wilt seek thy fate, 'T is a dear purchase, and a costly hate. so Stay but a little, till the tempest cease, And the loud winds are lulled into a peace. May all thy rage, like theirs, inconstant prove I And so it will if there be power in love. Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships sustain ? 55 1 Aeneas was a son of Venus and so is called a brother of Cupid. DIDO TO AENEAS 329 So often wrecked, how darest thou tempt the main ? Which were it smooth, were every wave asleep, Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep. In that abyss the gods their vengeance store, For broken vows of those who falsely swore ; eo There winged storms on sea-born Venus wait, To vindicate the justice of her state. Thus I to thee the means of safety show ; And, lost myself, would still preserve my foe. False as thou art, I not thy death design ; K O rather live, to be the cause of mine ! Should some avenging storm thy vessel tear, (But heaven forbid my words should omen bear !) Then in thy face thy perjured vows would fly, And my wronged ghost be present to thy eye ; TO With threatening looks think thou behold'st me stare, Gasping my mouth, and clotted all my hair. Then, should forked lightning and red thunder fall, What couldst thou say, but, " I deserved them all " ? Lest this should happen, make not haste away ; 75 To shun the danger will be worth thy stay. Have pity on thy son, 1 if not on me ; My death alone is guilt enough for thee. What has his youth, what have thy gods deserved, To sink in seas, who were from fires preserved ? so But neither gods nor parent didst thou bear ; Smooth stories all, to please a woman's ear, False as the tale of thy romantic life. Nor yet am I thy first-deluded wife ; Left to pursuing foes Creiisa 2 stayed, ss By thee, base man, forsaken and betrayed. 1 Ascanius, who accompanied his father from Troy. 2 Aeneas's Trojan wife. Dido accuses him of having left her he- hind intentionally when he fled from Troy. 330 OVID This, when thou told'st me, struck iny tender heart, That such requital followed such desert. Nor doubt I but the Gods, for crimes like these, Seven winters * kept thee wandering on the seas, 90 Thy starved companions, cast ashore, I fed, Thyself admitted to my crown and bed. To harbor strangers, succor the distressed Was kind enough ; but, oh, too kind the rest ! Curst be the cave which first my ruin brought, 95 Where, from the storm, we common shelter sought ! A dreadful howling echoed round the place ; The mountain nymphs, thought I, my nuptial grace. I thought so then, but now too late I know The furies yelled my funerals from below. 100 O chastity and violated fame, Exact your dues to my dead husband's 2 name ! By death redeem my reputation lost, And to his arms restore my guilty ghost 1 Close by my palace, in a gloomy grove, 105 Is raised a chapel to my murdered love ; There, wreathed with boughs and wool, his statue stands, The pious monument of artful hands. Last night, methought, he called me from the dome, And thrice, with hollow voice, cried, " Dido, come ! " She comes ; thy wife thy lawful summons hears, m But comes more slowly, clogged with conscious fears. Forgive the wrong I offered to thy bed ; Strong were his charms, who my weak faith misled. His goddess mother, and his aged sire 3 iw Borne on his back, did to my fall conspire. 1 Seven years had passed since the fall of Troy. 2 Sychaeus, after whose murder by her brother Pygmalion, king of Tyre, Dido had fled to Africa and founded Carthage. 8 Aeneas had told her how he saved his father Anchiscs on the night of the sack of Troy. DIDO TO AENEAS 331 Oh ! such he was, and is, that, were he true, Without a blush I might his love pursue ; But cruel stars my birthday did attend, And, as my fortune opened, it must end. 120 My plighted lord was at the altar slain, Whose wealth was made my bloody brother's gain ; Friendless, and followed by the murderer's hate, To foreign countries I removed my fate ; And here, a suppliant, from the natives' hands 125 I bought the ground on which my city stands, With all the coast that stretches to the sea, E'en to the friendly port that sheltered thee ; Then raised these walls, which mount into the air, At once my neighbors' wonder, and their fear. iso For now they arm ; and round me leagues are made, My scarce established empire to invade. To man my new-built walls I must prepare, A helpless woman, and unskilled in war. Yet thousand rivals to my love pretend, IK And for my person would my crown defend ; Whose jarring notes in one complaint agree, That each unjustly is disdained for thee. To proud larbas 1 give me up a prey, For that must follow, if thou goest away ; MO Or to my husband's murderer leave my life, That to the husband he may add the wife. Go then, since no complaints can move thy mind ; Go, perjured man, but leave thy gods 2 behind. Touch not those gods, by whom thou art forsworn, 145 Who will in impious hands no more be borne ; Thy sacrilegious worship they disdain, And rather would the Grecian fires sustain. 1 A local prince, one of Dido's suitors. 2 Aeneas had borne the images of his gods from Troy. 332 OVID Some god, thou sayest, thy voyage does command ; Would the same god had barred thee from my land ! The same, I doubt not, thy departure steers, 155 Who kept thee out at sea so many years ; While thy long labors were a price so great, As thou, to purchase Troy, wouldst not repeat. But Tiber 1 now thou seek'st, to be at best, When there arrived, a poor precarious guest. ieo Yet it deludes thy search ; perhaps it will To thy old age lie undiscovered still. A ready crown and wealth in dower I bring, And, without conquering, here thou art a king. Here thou to Carthage may'st transfer thy Troy ; iw Here young Ascanius may his arms employ ; And, while we live secure in soft repose, Bring many laurels home from conquered foes. By Cupid's arrows, I adjure thee stay ! By all the gods, companions of thy way ! no So may the Trojans, who are yet alive, Live still, and with no future fortune strive ; So may thy youthful son old age attain, And thy dead father's bones in peace remain ; As thou hast pity on unhappy me, 175 Who knew no crime, but too much love of thee. I am not born from fierce Achilles' line, Nor did my parents against Troy combine. To be thy wife if I unworthy prove, By some inferior name admit my love. iso To be secured of still possessing thee, What would I do, and what would I not be ! Our Libyan coasts their certain seasons know, When, free from tempests, passengers may go ; 1 Latium was the Trojans' promised land. DIDO TO AENEAS 333 But now with northern blasts the billows roar, IK And drive the floating sea-weed to the shore. Leave to iny care the time to sail away ; When safe, I will not suffer thee to stay. Thy weary men would be with ease content ; Their sails are tattered, and their masts are spent. 190 If by no merit I thy mind can move, What thou deniest my merit, give my love. Stay, till I learn my loss to undergo, And give me time to struggle with my woe : If not, know this, I will not suffer long ; 195 My life 's too loathsome, and my love too strong. Death holds my pen, and dictates what I say, While cross my lap the Trojan sword I lay. My tears flow down ; the sharp edge cuts their flood, And drinks my sorrows, that must drink my blood. 200 How well thy gift 1 does with my fate agree ! My funeral pomp is cheaply made by thee. To no new wounds my bosom I display ; The sword but enters where love made the way. But thou, dear sister, 2 and yet dearer friend, 205 Shalt my cold ashes to their urn attend. Sychaeus' wife let not the marble boast ; I lost that title, when my fame I lost. This short inscription only let it bear ; " Unhappy Dido lies in quiet here. 210 The cause of death, and sword by which she died, Aeneas gave ; the rest her arm supplied." ALEXANDER POPE. 1 The sword. According to Virgil's story (Aeneid, IV.), Dido had given it as a present to Aeneas, and he had accidentally left it be- hind. 2 Anna, who had been her confidante throughout the affair with Aeneas. 334 OVID PHAETHON (Metamorphoses II., 1-366.) SUBLIME on lofty columns, bright with gold And fiery carbuncle, its roof inlaid With ivory, rose the Palace of the Sun, Approached by folding gates with silver sheen Radiant ; material priceless, yet less prized 5 For its own worth than what the cunning hand Of Mulciber 1 thereon had wrought, the globe Of Earth, the Seas that wash it round, the Skies That overhang it. 'Mid the waters played Their Gods caerulean. Triton 2 with his horn 10 Was there, and Proteus 3 of the shifting shape, And old Aegeon, 4 curbing with firm hand The monsters of the deep. Her Nereids there Round Doris 5 sported, seeming, some to swim, Some on the rocks their tresses green to dry, 15 Some dolphin-borne to ride ; nor all in face The same, nor different ; so should sisters be. Earth showed her men, and towns, and woods, and beasts, And streams, and Nymphs, and rural Deities : And over all the mimic Heaven was bright 20 With the twelve Zodiac signs, on either valve Of the great portal figured, six on each. 1 Vulcan in his function as a smith. 2 A son of Neptune, generally represented as bloving on a twisted sea-shell to raise or calm the waves. 8 The keeper of Neptune's flocks (the seals). He had the power of changing his shape at will. * Here represented as a god of the sea. 6 A daughter of ocean, wife of Nereus, and mother of the Nereides, nymphs of the sea. PHAETHON 335 And now the child 1 of Clymene the steep Ascending, passed the threshold of his Sire Yet unassured, and toward the Godhead bent 25 His steps, yet far off stood, nor nearer bore The dazzling radiance. Clad in flowing robe Of purple, on a throne of state, that shone Crusted with beryl, Phoebus sate. To right And left were ranged the Days, and Months, and Years, so And Ages, and the Hours, with each its space Allotted equal. Spring, with flowery crown Round his young brows, and Summer, lightly clad, With wreath of odorous spices, Autumn, stained With juice of trodden wine-press, and the head 35 Of Winter, white with frost and age, were there. Himself sits midmost : nor escapes his eye All-seeing long the youth, with wondering awe Such marvels viewing : and " What brings thee here, My offspring, for I recognize thee such,