It is an interesting circumstance in the habits of the ancient Romans,
that their journeys were pursued very much in the night-time, and by
torchlight. Cicero, in one of his letters, speaks of passing through
the towns of Italy by night, as a serviceable scheme for some
political purpose, either of avoiding too much to publish his motions,
or of evading the necessity (else perhaps not avoidable) of drawing
out the party sentiments of the magistrates in the circumstances of
honour or neglect with which they might choose to receive him. His
words, however, imply that the practice was by no means an uncommon
one. And, indeed, from some passages in writers of the Augustan era,
it would seem that this custom was not confined to people of
distinction, but was familiar to a class of travellers so low in rank
as to be capable of abusing their opportunities of concealment for the
infliction of wanton injury upon the woods and fences which bounded
the margin of the high-road. Under the cloud of night and solitude,
the mischief-loving traveller was often in the habit of applying his
torch to the withered boughs of wood, or to artificial hedges: and
extensive ravages by fire, such as now happen not unfrequently in the
American woods (but generally from carelessness in scattering the
glowing embers of a fire, or even the ashes of a pipe), were then
occasionally the result of mere wantonness of mischief. Ovid
accordingly notices, as one amongst the familiar images of daybreak,
the half-burnt torch of the traveller; and, apparently, from the
position which it holds in his description, where it is ranked with
the most familiar of all circumstances in all countries--that of the
rural labourer going out to his morning tasks it must have been common
indeed:
"Semiustamque facem vigilatâ nocte viator
Ponet; et ad solitum rusticus ibit opus."
This occurs in the _Fasti_: elsewhere he notices it for its danger.
"Ut facibus sepes ardent, cum forte viator
Vel nimis admovit, vel jam sub luce reliquit."
He, however, we see, good-naturedly ascribes the danger to mere
carelessness, in bringing the torch too near to the hedge, or tossing
it away at daybreak. But Varro, a more matter-of-fact observer, does
not disguise the plain truth--that these disasters were often the
product of pure malicious frolic. For instance, in recommending a
certain kind of quickset fence, he insists upon it as one of its
advantages--that it will not readily ignite under the torch of the
mischievous wayfarer: "Naturale sepimentum," says he, "quod obseri
solet virgultis aut spinis, _praetereuntis lascivi non metuet facem_."
It is not easy to see the origin or advantage of this practice of
nocturnal travelling, (which must have considerably increased the
hazards of a journey,) excepting only in the heats of summer. It is
probable, however, that men of high rank and public station may have
introduced the practice by way of releasing corporate bodies in large
towns from the burdensome ceremonies of public receptions; thus making
a compromise between their own dignity and the convenience of the
provincial public. Once introduced, and the arrangements upon the road
for meeting the wants of travellers once adapted to such a practice,
it would easily become universal. It is, however, very possible that
mere horror of the heats of daytime may have been the original ground
for it. The ancients appear to have shrunk from no hardship as so
trying and insufferable as that of heat. And in relation to that
subject, it is interesting to observe the way in which the ordinary
use of language has accommodated itself to that feeling. Our northern
way of expressing effeminacy, is derived chiefly from the hardships of
cold. He that shrinks from the trials and rough experience of real
life in any department, is described by the contemptuous prefix of
_chimney-corner_, as if shrinking from the cold which he would meet on
coming out into the open air amongst his fellow men. Thus, a
_chimney-corner_ politician for a mere speculator or unpractical
dreamer. But the very same indolent habit of aerial speculation, which
courts no test of real life and practice, is described by the ancients
under the term _umbraticus_, or seeking the cool shade, and shrinking
from the heat. Thus an _umbraticus doctor_ is one who has no practical
solidity in his teaching. The fatigue and hardship of real life, in
short, is represented by the ancients under the uniform image of heat,
and by the moderns under that of cold.
_Blackwood's Magazine._
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