Such an author comes before us in M. VELLEIUS PATERCULUS, the court

historian of Tiberius. This well-intentioned but loquacious writer gained

his loyalty from an experience of eight years' warfare under Tiberius in

various parts of Europe, and the flattery of which he is so lavish was

probably sincere. His birth may perhaps be referred to 18 B.C., since his

first campaign, under M. Vinicius, to whose son he dedicated his work,

took place in the year 1 B.C. Tiberius's sterling qualities as a soldier

gained him the friendship of many of his legati, and Velleius was

fortunate enough to secure that of Tiberius in return. By his influence he

rose through the minor offices to the praetorship (14 A.D.), and soon

after set himself to repair the deficiencies of a purely military

education by systematic study. The fruit of this labour is the _Abridgment

of Roman History_, in two books, a mere rapid survey of the early period,

becoming more diffuse as it nears his own time, and treating the life of

Tiberius and the events of which he was the centre with considerable

fulness. The latter part is preserved entire; of the first book, which

closes with the destruction of Carthage, a considerable portion has been

lost. As, however, he is not likely to have followed in it any authorities

inaccessible to us, the loss is unimportant. For his work generally the

authorities he quotes are good--Cato's _Origines_, the _Annales_ of

Hortensius, and probably Atticus's abridgment; Cornelius Nepos, and Trogus

for foreign, Livy and Sallust (of whom he was a great admirer) for

national, history. As a recipient and expectant of court favour, he

naturally echoed the language of the day. Brutus and Cassius are for him

parricides; Caesar, the divine founder of an era which culminates in the

divine Tiberius. [9] So full was he of his master's praises that he

intended to write a separate book on the subject, but was prevented by his

untimely death. This took place in 31 A.D., when the discovery of

Sejanus's conspiracy caused many suspected to be put to death, and it

seems that Velleius was among the number.

His blind partisanship naturally obscures his judgment; but, making

allowance for a defect which he does not attempt to conceal, the reader

may generally trust him for all matters of fact. His studies were not as a

rule deep; but an exception must be made in the case of his account of the

Greek colonies in Italy, the dates at which they were founded, and their

early relations with Rome. These had never been so clearly treated by any

writer, at least among those with whom we are familiar. His mind is not of

a high order; he can neither sift evidence nor penetrate to causes; his

talents lie in the biographical department, and he has considerable

insight into character. His style is not unclassical so far as the

vocabulary goes, but the equable moderation of the Golden Age is replaced

by exaggeration, and like all who cultivate artificial brilliancy, he

cannot maintain his ambitious level of poetical and pretentious ornament.

The last year referred to in the book is 30 A.D. The dearth of other

material gives him additional value. As a historian he takes a low rank;

as an abridger he is better, but best of all as a rhetorical anecdotist

and painter of character in action.

A better known writer (especially during the Middle Ages) is VALERIUS

MAXIMUS, author of the _Facta et Dicta Memorabilia_, in nine books,

addressed to Tiberius in a dedication of unexampled servility, [10] and

compiled from few though good sources. The object of the work is stated in

the preface. It was to save labour for those who desired to fortify their

minds with examples of excellence, or increase their knowledge of things

worth knowing. The methodical arrangement by subjects, _e.g._, religion,

which is divided into religion observed and religion neglected, and

instances of both given, first from Roman, then from foreign, history, and

so on with all the other subjects, makes Teuffel's suggestion extremely

probable, namely, that it was intended for the use of young declaimers,

who were thus furnished with instances for all sorts of themes. The

constant tendency in the imperial literature to exhaust a subject by a

catalogue of every known instance may be traced to these pernicious

rhetorical handbooks. If a writer praises temperance, he supplements it by

a list of temperate Romans; if he describes a storm, he _puts down_ all he

knows about the winds. Uncritical as Valerius is, and void of all thought,

he is nevertheless pleasant enough reading for a vacant hour, and if we

were not obliged to rate him by a lofty standard, would pass muster very

well. But he is no fit company for men of genius; our only wonder is he

should have so long survived. His work was a favourite school-book for

junior classes, and was epitomised or abridged by Julius Paris in the

fourth or fifth century. At the time of this abridgment the so-called

tenth book must have been added. Julius Paris's words in his preface to it

are, _Liber decimus de praenominibus et similibus_: but various

considerations make it certain that Valerius was not the author. [11] Many

interesting details were given in it, taken chiefly from Varro; and it is

much to be regretted that the entire treatise is not preserved. Besides

Paris one Titius Probus retouched the work in a still later age, and a

third abstract by Januarius Nepotianus is mentioned. This last writer cut

out all the padding which Valerius had so largely used ("_dum se ostentat

sententiis, locis iactat, fundit excessibus_"), and reduced the work to a

bare skeleton of facts.

A much more important writer, one of whose treatises only has reached us,

was A. CORNELIUS CELSUS. He stood in the first rank of Roman scientists,

was quite encyclopaedic in his learning, and wrote, like Cato, on

eloquence, law, farming, medicine, and tactics. There is no doubt that the

work on medicine (extending over Books VI.-XIII. of his Encyclopaedia)

which we possess, was the best of his writings, but the chapters on

agriculture also are highly praised by Columella.

At this time, as Des Etangs remarks, nearly all the knowledge and practice

of medicine was in the hands of Greek physicians, and these either

freedmen or slaves. Roman practitioners seem to have inspired less

confidence even when they were willing to study. Habits of scientific

observation are hereditary; and for centuries the Greeks had studied the

conditions of health and the theory of disease, as well as practised the

empirical side of the art, and most Romans were well content to leave the

whole in their hands.

Celsus tried to attract his countrymen to the pursuit of medicine by

pointing out its value and dignity. He commences his work with a history

of medical science since its first importation into Greece, and devotes

the rest of Book I. to a consideration of dietetics and other

prophylactics of disease; the second book treats of general pathology, the

third and fourth of special illnesses, the fifth gives remedies and

prescriptions, the sixth, seventh, and eighth--the most valuable part of

the book--apply themselves chiefly to surgical questions. The value of his

work consists in the clear, comprehensive grasp of his subject, and the

systematic way in which he expounds its principles. The main points of his

theory are still valid; very few essentials need to be rejected; it might

still be taken as a popular handbook on the subject. He writes for Roman

citizens, and is therefore careful to avoid abstruse terms where plain

ones will do, and Greek words where Latin are to be had. The style is

bare, but pure and classical. An excellent critic says [12]--"Quo saepius

eum perlegebam, eo magis me detinuit cum dicendi nitor et brevitas tum

perspicacitas iudicii sensusque vorax et ad agendum accommodatus, quibus

omnibus genuinam repraesentat nobis civis Romani imaginem." The text as we

have it depends on a single MS. and sadly needs a careful revision; it is

interpolated with numerous glosses, both Greek and Latin, which a skilful

editor would detect and remove. Among the other treatises in his

_Encyclopaedia_, next to that on farming, those on rhetoric and tactics

were most popular. The former, however, was superseded by Quintilian, the

latter by Vegetius. In philosophy he did not so much criticise other

schools as detail his own views with concise eloquence. These views were

almost certainly Eclectic, though we know on Quintilian's authority that

he followed the two Sextii in many important points. [13]

The other branches of prose composition were almost neglected in this

reign. Even rhetoric sank to a low level; the splendid displays of men

like Latro, Arellius, and Ovid gave place to the flimsy ostentation of

REMMIUS PALAEMON. This dissolute man, who combined the professions of

grammarian and rhetorician, possessed an extraordinary aptitude for fluent

harangue, but soon confined his attention to grammatical studies, in which

he rose to the position of an authority. Suetonius says he was born a

slave, and that while conducting his young master to school he learnt

something of literature, was liberated, and set up a school in Rome, where

he rose to the top of his profession. Although infamous for his abandoned

profligacy, and stigmatized by Tiberius and Claudius as utterly unfit to

have charge of the young, he managed to secure a very large number of

pupils by his persuasive manner, and the excellence of his tutorial

method. His memory was prodigious, his eloquence seductive, and a power of

extempore versification in the most difficult metres enhanced the charm of

his conversation. He is referred to by Pliny, Quintilian, and Juvenal, and

for a time superintended the studies of the young satirist Persius.

Oratory, as may easily be supposed, had well nigh ceased. VOTIENUS

MONTANUS, MAMERCUS SCAURUS, and P. VITELLIUS, all held high positions in

the state. Scaurus, in particular, was also of noble lineage, being the

great-grandson of the celebrated chief of the senate. His oratory was

almost confined to declamation, but was far above the general level of the

time. Careless, and often full of faults, it yet carried his hearers away

by its native power and dignity. [14] ASINIUS GALLUS, the son of Pollio,

so far followed his father as to take a strong interest in politics, and

with filial enthusiasm compared him favourably with Cicero. DOMITIUS AFER

also is mentioned by Tacitus as an able but dissolute man, who under a

better system might have been a good speaker. A writer of some mark was

CREMUTIUS CORDUS, whose eloquent account of the rise of the Empire cost

him his life: in direct defiance of the fashionable cant of the day he had

called Cassius "the last of the Romans." The higher spirits seemed to take

a gloomy pleasure in speaking out before the tyrant, even if it were only

with their last breath; more than one striking instance of this is

recorded by Tacitus; and though he questions the wisdom of relieving

personal indignation by a vain invective, which must bring death and ruin

on the speaker and all his family, and in the end only tighten the yoke it

tries to shake, yet the intractable pride of these representatives of the

old families has something about it to which, human as we are, we cannot

refuse our sympathy. The only other prose-writer we need mention is

AUFIDIUS BASSUS, who described the Civil Wars and the German expeditions,

and is mentioned with great respect by Tacitus.

Poetry is represented by the fifth book of Manilius, by Phaedrus's

_Fables_, and perhaps by the translation of Aratus ascribed to GERMANICUS,

the nephew and adopted son of Tiberius. This translation, which is both

elegant and faithful, and superior to Cicero's in poetical inspiration,

has been claimed, but with less probability, for Domitian, who, as is well

known, affected the title of Germanicus. [15] But the consent of the most

ancient critics tends to restore Germanicus Drusus as the author, the

title _genitor_ applied to Tiberius not being proof positive the other

way.

The only writer who mentions PHAEDRUS is Martial, [16] and he only in a

single passage. The Aesopian beast-fable was a humble form of art

peculiarly suited to a period of political and literary depression. Seneca

in his _Consolatio ad Polybium_ implies that that imperial favourite had

cultivated it with success. Apparently he did not know of Phaedrus; and

this fact agrees with the frequent complaints that Phaedrus makes to the

effect that he is not appreciated. Of his life we know only what we can

gather from his own book. He was born in Pieria, and became the slave of

Augustus, who set him free, and seems to have given him his patronage. The

poet was proud of his Greek birth, but was brought to Rome at so early an

age as to belong almost equally to both nationalities. His poverty [17]

did not secure him from persecution, Sejanus, ever suspicious and

watchful, detected the political allusions veiled beneath the disguise of

fable, and made the poet feel his auger. The duration of Phaedrus's career

is uncertain. The first two books were all that he published in Tiberius's

reign; the third, dedicated to Eutychus, and the fourth to Particulo,

Claudius's favourite, clearly show that he continued to write over a

considerable time. The date of Book V. is not mentioned, but it can hardly

be earlier than the close of Claudius's reign. Thus we have a period of

nearly thirty years during which these five short books were produced.

Like all who con over their own compositions, Phaedrus had an unreasonably

high opinion of their merit. Literary reputation was his chief desire, and

he thought himself secure of it. He echoes the boast so many greater men

have made before him, that he is the first to import a form of Greek art;

but he limits his imitation to the general scope, reserving to himself the

right to vary the particular form in each fable as he thinks fit. [18] The

careful way in which he defines at what point his obligations to Aesop

cease and his own invention begins, shows him to have had something of the

trifler and a great deal of the egotist. His love of condensation is

natural, for a fabulist should be short, trenchant, and almost proverbial

in his style; but Phaedrus carries these to the point of obscurity and

enigma. It seems as if at times he did not see his drift himself. To this

fault is akin the constant moralising tone which reflects rather than

paints, enforces rather than elicits its lesson. He is himself a small

sage, and all his animals are small sages too. They have not the life-like

reality of those of Aesop; they are mere lay figures. His technical skill

is very considerable; the iambic senarius becomes in his hands an

extremely pleasing rhythm, though the occurrence of spondees in the second

and fourth place savours of archaic usage. His diction is hardly varied

enough to admit of clear reference to a standard, but on the whole it may

be pronounced nearer to the silver than the golden Latinity, especially in

the frequent use of abstract words. His confident predictions of

immortality were nearly being falsified by the burning, by certain

zealots, of an abbey in France, where alone the MS. existed (1561 A.D.);

but Phaedrus, in common with many others, was rescued from the worthy

Calvinists, and has since held a quiet corner to himself in the temple of

fame.

A poet whose misfortunes were of service to his talent, was POMPONIUS

SECUNDUS. His friendship with Aelius Gallus, son to Sejanus, caused him to

be imprisoned during several years. While in this condition he devoted

himself to literature, and wrote many tragedies which are spoken well of

by Quintilian: "Eorum (tragic poets) quos viderim longe princeps Pomponius

Secundus." [19] He was an acute rhetorician, and a purist in language. The

extant names of his plays are _Aeneas_, and perhaps _Armorum Judicium_ and

_Atreus_, but these last two are uncertain. Tragedy was much cultivated

during the imperial times; for it formed an outlet for feeling not

otherwise safe to express, and it admitted all the ornaments of rhetoric.

Those who regard the tragedies of Seneca as the work of the father, would

refer them to this reign, to the end of which the old man's activity

lasted, though his energies were more taken up with watching and guiding

the careers of his children than with original composition. When Tiberius

died (37 A.D.) literature could hardly have been at a lower ebb; but even

then there were young men forming their minds and imbibing new canons of

taste, who were destined before long--for almost all wrote early--to

redeem the age from the charge of dulness, perhaps at too great a

sacrifice.

CHAPTER II.

THE REIGNS OF CALIGULA, CLAUDIUS, AND NERO (37-68 A.D.).

1. POETS.

We have grouped these three emperors under a single heading because the

shortness of the reigns of the two former prevented the formation of any

special school of literature. It is otherwise with the reign of Nero. To

this belongs a constellation of some of the most brilliant authors that

Rome ever produced. And they are characterised by some very special

traits. Instead of the depression we noticed under Tiberius we now observe

a forced vivacity and sprightliness, even in dealing with the most awful

or serious subjects, which is unlike anything we have hitherto met with in

Roman literature. It is quite different from the natural gaiety of

Catullus; equally so from the witty frivolity of Ovid. It is not in the

least meant to be frivolous; on the contrary it arises from an

overstrained earnestness, and a desire to say everything in the most

pointed and emphatic form in which it can be said. To whatever school the

writers belong, this characteristic is always present. Persius shows it as

much as Seneca; the historians as much as the rhetors. The only one who is

not imbued with it is the professed wit Petronius. Probably he had

exhausted it in conversation; perhaps he disapproved of it as a corrupt

importation of the Senecas.

The emperors themselves were all _literati_. CALIGULA, it is true, did not

publish, but he gave great attention to eloquence, and was even more

vigorous as an extempore speaker than as a writer. His mental derangement

affected his criticism. He thought at one time of burning all the copies

of Homer that could be got at; at another of removing all the statues of

Livy and Virgil, the one as unlearned and uncritical, the other as verbose

and negligent. One is puzzled to know to which respectively these

criticisms refer. We do not venture to assign them, but translate

literally from Suetonius. [1]

CLAUDIUS had a brain as sluggish as Caligula's was over-excitable;

nevertheless he prosecuted literature with care, and published several

works. Among these was a history, beginning with the death of Julius

Caesar, in forty-three volumes, [2] an autobiography in eight, [3] "magis

inepte quam ineleganter scriptum;" a learned defence of Cicero against

Asinius Gallus's invective, besides several Greek writings. His

philological studies and the innovations he tried to introduce have been

referred to in a former chapter. [4]

NERO, while a young man before his accession, tried his powers in nearly

every department of letters. He approached philosophy, but his prudent

mother deterred him from a study which might lead him to views "above his

station as a prince." He next turned to the old orators, but here his

preceptor Seneca intervened, Tacitus insinuates, with the motive of

turning him from the best models to an admiration of his own more

seductive style. Nero declaimed frequently in public, and his poetical

effusions seem to have possessed some real merit. At the first celebration

of the festival called _Neroniana_ he was crowned with the wreath of

victory. His most celebrated poem, the one that drew down on him the irony

of Juvenal, was the _Troica_, in which perhaps occurred the _Troiae

Halosis_ which this madman recited in state over the burning ruins of

Rome, and which is parodied with subtle mockery in Petronius. Other poems

were of a lighter cast and intended to be sung to the accompaniment of the

harp. These were the crowning scandal of his imperial vagaries in the eyes

of patriotic Romans. "With our prince a fiddler," cries Juvenal, "what

further disgrace remains?" King Lewis of Bavaria and some other great

personages of our era would perhaps object to Juvenal's conclusion. With

all these accomplishments, however, Nero either could not or would not

speak. He had not the vigour of mind necessary for eloquence. Hence he

usually employed Seneca to dress up speeches for him, a task which that

polite minister was not sorry to undertake.

The earliest poet who comes before us is the unknown author of the

panegyric on Calpurnius Piso. It is an elegant piece of versification with

no particular merit or demerit. It takes pains to justify Piso for flute-

playing in public, and as Nero's example is not alleged, the inference is

natural that it was written before his time. There is no independence of

style, merely a graceful reflection from that of the Augustan poets.

We must now examine the circumstances which surrounded or produced the

splendid literature of Nero's reign. Such persons as from political

hostility to the government, or from disgust at the flagitious conduct by

which alone success was to be purchased, lived apart in a select circle,

stern and defiant, unsullied by the degradation round them, though

helpless to influence it for good. They consisted for the most part of

virtuous noblemen such as Paetus Thrasea, Barea, Rubellius Plautus, above

all, Helvidius Priscus, on whose uncompromising independence Tacitus loves

to dwell; and of philosophers, moral teachers and literati, who sought

after real excellence, not contemporary applause. The members of this

society lived in intimate companionship, and many ladies contributed their

share to its culture and virtuous aspirations. Such were Arria, the heroic

wife of Paetus, Fannia, the wife of Helvidius, and Fulvia Sisenna, the

mother of Persius. These held _réunions_ for literary or philosophical

discussions which were no mere conversational displays, but a serious

preparation for the terrible issues which at any time they might be called

upon to meet. It had long been the custom for wealthy Romans of liberal

tastes to maintain a philosopher as part of their establishment. Laelius

had shown hospitality both to Panaetius and Polybius; Cicero had offered a

home to Diodotus for more than twenty years, and Catulus and Lucullus had

both recognised the temporal needs of philosophy. Under the Empire the

practice was still continued, and though liable to the abuse of

charlatanism or pedantry, was certainly instrumental in familiarising

patrician families (and especially their lady members) with the great

thoughts and pure morality of the best thinkers of Greece. From scattered

notices in Seneca and Quintilian, we should infer that the philosopher was

employed as a repository of spiritual confidences--almost a father-

confessor--at least as much as an intellectual teacher. When Kanus Julius

was condemned to death, his philosopher went with him to the scaffold and

uttered consoling words about the destiny of the soul; [5] and Seneca's

own correspondence shows that he regarded this relation as the noblest

philosophy could hold. Of such moral directors the most influential was

ANNAEUS CORNUTUS, both from his varied learning and his consistent

rectitude of life. Like all the higher spirits he was a Stoic, but a

genial and wise one. He neither affected austerity nor encouraged rash

attacks on power. His advice to his noble friends generally inclined

towards the side of prudence. Nevertheless he could not so far control his

own language as to avoid the jealousy of Nero. [6] He was banished, it is

not certain in what year, and apparently ended his days in exile. He left

several works, mostly written in Greek; some on philosophy, of which that

on the nature of the gods has come down to us in an abridged form, some on

rhetoric and grammar; besides these he is said to have composed satires,

tragedies, [7] and a commentary on Virgil. But his most important work was

his formation of the character of one of the three Roman satirists whose

works have come down to us.

Few poets have been so differently treated by different critics as A.

PERSIUS FLACCUS, for while some have pronounced him to be an excellent

satirist and true poet, others have declared that his fame is solely owing

to the trouble he gives us to read him. He was born at Volaterrae, 34

A.D., of noble parentage, brought to Rome as a child, and educated with

the greatest care. His first preceptor was the grammarian Virginius

Flavus, an eloquent man endued with strength of character, whose earnest

moral lectures drew down the displeasure of Caligula. He next seems to

have attended a course under Remmius Palaemon; but as soon as he put on

the manly gown he attached himself to Cornutus, whose intimate friend he

became, and of whose ideas he was the faithful exponent. The love of the

pupil for his guide in philosophy is beautiful and touching; the verses in

which it is expressed are the best in Persius: [8]

"Secreti loquimur: tibi nunc hortante Camena

Excutienda damus praecordia: quantaque nostrae

Pars tua sit Cornute animae, tibi, dulcis amice,

Ostendisse iuvat ... Teneros tu suscipis annos

Socratico Cornute sino. Tune fallere sollers

Apposita intortos extendit regula mores,

Et premitur ratione animus vincique laborat,

Artificemque tuo ducit sub pollice vultum."

Moulded by the counsels of this good "doctor," Persius adopted philosophy

with enthusiasm. In an age of licentiousness he preserved a maiden purity.

Though possessing in a pre-eminent degree that gift of beauty which

Juvenal declares to be fatal to innocence, Persius retained until his

death a moral character without a stain. But he had a nobler example even

than Cornutus by his side. He was tenderly loved by the great Thrasea, [9]

whose righteous life and glorious death form perhaps the richest lesson

that the whole imperial history affords. Thrasea was a Cato in justice,

but more than a Cato in goodness, inasmuch as his lot was harder, and his

spirit gentler and more human. Men like these clenched the theories of

philosophy by that rare consistency which puts them into practice; and

Persius, with all his literary faults, is the sole instance among Roman

writers of a philosopher whose life was in accordance with the doctrines

he professed.

Yet on opening his short book of satires, one is strongly tempted to ask,

What made the boy write them? He neither knew nor cared to know anything

of the world, and, we fear, cannot he credited with a philanthropic desire

to reform it. The answer is given partly by himself, that he was full of

petulant spleen, [10]--an honest confession,--partly is to be found in the

custom then becoming general for those who wished to live well to write

essays on serious subjects for private circulation among their friends,

pointing out the dangers that lay around, and encouraging them to

persevere in the right path. Of this kind are several of Seneca's

treatises, and we have notices of many others in the biographers and

historians. And though Persius may have intended to publish his book to

the world, as is rendered probable by the prologue, this is not absolutely

certain. At any rate it did not appear until after his death, when his

friend Caesius Bassus [11] undertook to bring it out; so that we may

fairly regard it as a collection of youthful reflections as to the

advisability of publishing which the poet had not yet made up his mind,

and perhaps had he lived would have suppressed.

Crabbed and loaded with obscure allusions as they are to a degree which

makes most of them extremely unpleasant reading, they obtained a

considerable and immediate reputation. Lucan is reported to have declared

that his own works were bagatelles in comparison. [12] Quintilian says

that he has gained much true glory in his single book; [13] Martial, that

he is oftener quoted than Domitius Marsus in all his long _Amazonis_. [14]

He is affirmed by his biographer to have written seldom and with

difficulty. All his earlier attempts were, by the advice of Cornutus,

destroyed. They consisted of a _Praetexta_, named _Vescia_, of one book of

travels, and a few lines to the elder Arria. Among his predecessors his

chief admiration was reserved for Horace, whom he imitates with

exaggerated fidelity, recalling, but generally distorting, nearly a

hundred well-known lines. The six poems we possess are not all, strictly

speaking, satires. The first, with the prologue, may be so considered. It

is devoted to an attack upon the literary style of the day. Persius sees

that the decay of taste is intimately joined with the decay of morals, and

the subtle connections he draws between the two constitute the chief merit

of the effusion. Like Horace, but with even better reason, he bewails the

antiquarian predilections of the majority of readers. Accius and Pacuvius

still hold their ground, while Virgil and Horace are considered rough and

lacking delicacy! [15] If this last be a true statement, it testifies to

the depraved criticism of a luxurious age which alternates between

meretricious softness and uncouth disproportion, just as in life the idle

and effeminate, who shrink from manly labour, take pleasure in wild

adventure and useless fatigue. In this satire, which is the most condensed

of all, the literary defects of the author are at their height. His moral

taste is not irreproachable; in his desire not to mince matters he offends

needlessly against propriety. [16] The picture he draws of the fashionable

rhetorician with languishing eyes and throat mellowed by a luscious

gargle, warbling his drivelling ditties to an excited audience, is

powerful and lifelike. From assemblies like these he did well to keep

himself. We can imagine the effect upon their used-up emotions of a fresh

and fiery spirit like that of Lucan, whose splendid presence and rich

enthusiasm threw to the winds these tricks of the reciter's art.

The second, third, and fourth poems are declamatory exercises on the

dogmas of stoicism, interspersed with dramatic scenes. The second has for

its subject the proper use of prayer. The majority, says Persius, utter

_buying_ petitions (_prece emaci_), and by no means as a rule innocent

ones. Few dare to acknowledge their prayers (_aperto vivere voto_). After

sixty lines of indignant remonstrance, he closes with a noble apostrophe,

in which some of the thoughts rise almost to a Christian height--"O souls

bent to earth, empty of divine things! What boots it to import these

morals of ours into the temples, and to imagine what is good in God's

sight from the analogies of this sinful flesh?... Why do we not offer Him

something which Messala's blear-eyed progeny with all his wealth cannot

offer, a spirit at one with justice and right, holy in its inmost depths,

and a heart steeped in nobleness and virtue? Let me but bring these to the

altar, and a sacrifice of meal will be accepted!" In the third and fourth

Satires he complains of the universal ignorance of our true interests, the

ridicule which the world heaps on philosophy, and the hap-hazard way in

which men prepare for hazardous duties. The contemptuous disgust of the

brawny centurion at the (to him) unmeaning problems which philosophy

starts, is vigorously delineated; [17] but some of his _tableaux_ border

on the ridiculous from their stilted concision and over-drawn sharpness of

outline. The undeniable virtue of the poet irritates as much as it

attracts, from its pert precocity and obtrusiveness. What he means for

pathos mostly chills instead of warming: "Ut nemo in se curat descendere,

nemo!" [18] The poet who penned this line must surely have been tiresome

company. Persius is at his best when he forgets for a moment the icy peak

to which as a philosopher he has climbed, and suns himself in the valley

of natural human affections--a reason why the fifth and sixth Satires,

which are more personal than the rest, have always been considered greatly

superior to them. The last in particular runs for more than half its

length in a smooth and tolerably graceful stream of verse, which shows

that Persius had much of the poetic gift, had his warped taste allowed him

to give it play.

We conclude with one or two instances of his language to justify our

strictures upon it. Horace had used the expression _naso suspendis

adunco_, a legitimate and intelligible metaphor; Persius imitates it,

_excusso populum suspendere naso_, [19] thereby rendering it frigid and

weak. Horace had said _clament periisse pudorem Cuncti paene patres_; [20]

Persius caricatures him, _exclamet_ Melicerta _perisse_ Frontem _de

rebus_. [21] Horace had said _si vis me flere, dolendum est Primum ipsi

tibi_; [22] Persius distorts this into _plorabit qui me volet_ incurvasse

_querela_. [23] Other expressions more remotely modelled on him are

_iratum Eupoliden praegrandi cum sene palles_, [24] and perhaps the very

harsh use of the accusative, _linguae quantum sitiat canis_, [25] "as long

a tongue as a thirsty dog hangs out."

Common sense is not to be looked for in the precepts of so immature a

mind. Accordingly, we find the foolish maxim that a man not endowed with

reason (_i.e._ stoicism) cannot do anything aright: [26] that every one

should live up to his yearly income regardless of the risk arising from a

bad season; [27] extravagant paradoxes reminding us of some of the less

educated religious sects of the present day; with this difference, that in

Rome it was the most educated who indulged in them. A good deal of the

obscurity of these Satires was forced upon the poet by the necessity of

avoiding everything that could be twisted into treason. We read in

Suetonius that Nero is attacked in them; but so well is the battery masked

that it is impossible to find it. Some have detected it in the prologue,

others in the opening lines of the first Satire, others, relying on a

story that Cornutus made him alter the line--

"Auriculas asini Mida rex habet,"

to _quis non habet_? have supposed that the satire lies there. But satire

so veiled is worthless. The poems of Persius are valuable chiefly as

showing a good _naturel_ amid corrupt surroundings, and forming a striking

comment on the change which had come over Latin letters.

Another Stoic philosopher, probably known to Persius, was C. MUSONIUS

RUFUS, like him an Etruscan by birth, and a successful teacher of the

young. Like almost all independent thinkers he was exiled, but recalled by

Titus in his old age. The influence of such men must have extended far

beyond their personal acquaintance; but they kept aloof from the court.

This probably explains the conspicuous absence of any allusion to Seneca

in Persius's writings. It is probable that his stern friends, Thrasea and

Soranus disapproved of a courtier like Seneca professing stoicism, and

would show him no countenance. He was not yet great enough to compel their

notice, and at this time confined his influence to the circle of Nero,

whose tutor he was, and to those young men, doubtless numerous enough,

whom his position and seductive eloquence attracted by a double charm. Of

these by far the most illustrious was his nephew Lucan.

M. ANNAEUS LUCANUS, the son of Annaeus Mela and Acilia, a Spanish lady of

high birth, was born at Corduba, 39 A.D. His grandfather, therefore, was

Seneca the elder, whose rhetorical bent he inherited. Legend tells of him,

as of Hesiod, that in his infancy a swarm of bees settled upon the cradle

in which he lay, giving an omen of his future poetic glory. Brought to

Rome, and placed under the greatest masters, he soon surpassed all his

young competitors in powers of declamation. He is said, while a boy, to

have attracted large audiences, who listened with admiration to the

ingenious eloquence that expressed itself with equal ease in Greek or

Latin. His uncle soon introduced him to Nero; and he at once recognised in

him a congenial spirit. They became friendly rivals. Lucan had the address

to conceal his superior talent behind artful flattery, which Nero for a

time believed sincere. But men, and especially young men of genius, cannot

be always prudent. And if Lucan had not vaunted his success, Rome at least

was sure to be less reticent. Nero saw that public opinion preferred the

young Spaniard to himself. The mutual ill-feeling that had already long

smouldered was kindled into flame by the result of a poetical contest, at

which Lucan was declared victorious. [28] Nero, who was present, could not

conceal his mortification. He left the hall in a rage, and forbade the

poet to recite in public, or even to plead in his profession. Thus

debarred from the successes which had so long flattered his self-love,

Lucan gave his mind to worthier subjects. He composed, or at least

finished, the _Pharsalia_ in the following year (65 B.C.); but with the

haste and want of secrecy which characterised him, not only libelled the

emperor, but joined the conspiracy against him, of which Piso was the

head. This gave Nero the opportunity he desired. In vain the unhappy young

man abased himself to humble flattery, to piteous entreaty, even to the

incrimination of his own mother, a base proceeding which he hoped might

gain him the indulgence of a matricide prince. All was useless. Nero was

determined that he should die, and he accordingly had his veins opened,

and expired amid applauding friends, while reciting those verses of his

epic which described the death of a brave centurion. [29]

The genius and sentiments of Lucan were formed under two different

influences. Among the adherents of Caesarism, none were so devoted as

those provincials or freedmen who owed to it their wealth and position.

Lucan, as Seneca's nephew, naturally attached himself from the first to

the court party. He knew of the Republic only as a name, and, like Ovid,

had no reason to be dissatisfied with his own time. Fame, wealth, honours,

all were open to him. We can imagine the feverish delight with which a

youth of three and twenty found himself recognised as prince of Roman

poets. But Lucan had a spirit of truthfulness in him that pined after

better things. At the lectures of Cornutus, in the company of Persius, he

caught a glimpse of this higher life. And so behind the showy splendours

of his rhetoric there lurks a sadness which tells of a mind not altogether

content, a brooding over man's life and its apparent uselessness, which

makes us believe that had he lived till middle life he would have struck a

lofty vein of noble and earnest song. At other times, at the banquet or in

the courts, he must have met young men who lived in an altogether

different world from his, a world not of intoxicating pleasures but of

gloomy indignation and sullen regret; to whom the Empire, grounded on

usurpation and maintained by injustice, was the quintessence of all that

was odious; to whom Nero was an upstart tyrant, and Brutus and Cassius the

watchwords of justice and right. Sentiments like these could not but be

remembered by one so impressionable. As soon as the sunshine of favour was

withdrawn, Lucan's ardent mind turned with enthusiasm towards them. The

_Pharsalia_, and especially the closing books of it, show us Lucan as the

poet of liberty, the mourner for the lost Republic. The expression of

feeling may be exaggerated, and little consistent with the flattery with

which the poem opens; yet even this flattery, when carefully read, seems

fuller of satire than of praise: [30]

"Quod si non aliam venturo fata Neroni

Invenere viam, magnoque aeterna parantur

Regna deis, caelumque suo servire Tonanti

Non nisi saevorum potuit post bella Gigantum;

Iam nihil O superi querimur! Scelera ipsa nefasque

Hac mercede placent!"

The _Pharsalia_, then, is the outcome of a prosperous rhetorical career on

the one hand, and of a bitter disappointment which finds its solace in

patriotic feeling on the other. It is difficult to see how such a poem

could have failed to ruin him, even if he had not been doomed before. The

loss of freedom is bewailed in words, which, if declamatory, are fatally

courageous, and reflect perilous honour on him that used them: [31]

"Fugiens civile nefas redituraque nunquam

Libertas ultra Tigrim Rhenumque [32] recessit,

Ac toties nobis iugulo quaesita, vagatur,

Germanum Scythicumque bonum, nec respicit ultra

Ausoniam."

It is true that his love for freedom, like that of Virgil, was based on an

idea, not a reality. But it none the less required a great soul to utter

these stirring sentiments before the very face of Nero, the "vultus

instantis tyranni" of which Horace had dreamed.

On the fitness or unfitness of his theme for epic treatment no more need

be added here than was said in the chapter on Virgil. It is, however,

difficult to see what subject was open to the epicist after Virgil except

to narrate the actual account of what Virgil had painted in ideal colours.

The calm march of government under divine guidance from Aeneas to Augustus

was one side of the picture. The fierce struggles and remorseless ambition

of the Civil Wars is the other. Which is the more true? It would be fairer

to ask, which is the more poetical? It was Lucan's misfortune that the

ideal side was already occupied; he had no power to choose. Few who have

read the _Pharsalia_ would wish it unwritten. Some critics have denied

that it is poetry at all. [33] Poetry of the first order it certainly is

not, but those who will forgive artistic defects for energy of thought and

strength of feeling must always retain a strong admiration for its noble

imperfections.

We shall offer a few critical remarks on the _Pharsalia_, referring our

readers for an exhaustive catalogue of its defects to M. Nisard's second

volume of the _Poètes de la Décadence_, and confining ourselves

principally to such points as he has not dwelt upon. In the first place we

observe a most unfortunate attitude towards the greatest problem that can

exercise man's mind, his relation to the Superior Power. Lucan has neither

the reverence of Virgil, the antagonism of Lucretius, nor the awful doubt

of Greek tragedy. His attitude is one of pretentious rebellion and

flippant accusation, except when Stoic doctrines raise him for a time

above himself. He goes on every occasion quite out of his way to assail

the popular ideas of providence. To Lucretius this is a necessity entailed

upon him by his subject; to Lucan it is nothing but petulant rhetorical

outburst. For instance, he calls Ptolemy _Fortunae pudor crimenque

deorum_; [34] he arraigns the gods as caring more for vengeance than

liberty; [35] he calls Septimius a disgrace to the gods, [36] the death of

Pompey a tale at which heaven ought to blush; [37] he speaks of the

expression on Pompey's venerable face as one of anger against the gods,

[38] of the stone that marks his tomb as an indictment against heaven,

[39] and hopes that it may soon be considered as false a witness of his

death as Crete is to that of Jove; [40] he makes young Pompey, speaking of

his father's death, say: "Whatever insult of fate has scattered his limbs

to the winds, I forgive the gods that wrong, it is of what they have left

that I complain;" [41] saddest of all, he gives us that tremendous

epigram: [42]

"Victrix causa deis placuit, sed victa Catoni."

We recognise here a noble but misguided spirit, fretting at the

dispensations it cannot approve, because it cannot understand them.

Bitterly disgusted at the failure of the Empire to fulfil all its promise,

the writers of this period waste their strength in unavailing upbraidings

of the gods. There is a retrograde movement of thought since the Augustan

age. Virgil and Horace take substantially the same view of the Empire as

that which the philosophy of history has taught us is the true one; they

call it a necessity, and express that belief by deifying its

representative. Contrast the spirit of Horace in the third Ode of the

third book:

"Hac arte Pollux hac vagus Hercules

Enisus arces attigit igneas;

Quos inter Augustus recumbens

Purpureo bibit ore nectar,"

with the fierce irony of Lucan: [43]

"Mortalis nulli

Sunt curata deo; cladis tamen huius habemus

_Vindictam_, quantam terris dare numina fas est.

Bella pares superis faciunt civilia divos;

Fulminibus manes radiisque ornabit et astris,

Inque Deum templis iurabit Roma per _umbras_."

Here is the satire of Cicero's second Philippic reappearing, but with

added bitterness. [44] Being thus without belief in a divine providence,

how does Lucan govern the world? By blind fate, or blinder caprice!

_Fortuna_, whom Juvenal ridicules, [45] is the true deity of Lucan. As

such she is directly mentioned ninety-one times, besides countless others

where her agency is implied. A useful belief for a man like Caesar who

fought his way to empire; a most unfortunate conception for an epic poet

to build a great poem on.

Lucan's scepticism has this further disadvantage that it precludes him

from the use of the supernatural. To introduce the council of Olympus as

Virgil does would in him be sheer mockery, and he is far too honest to

attempt it. But as no great poet can dispense with some reference to the

unseen, Lucan is driven to its lower and less poetic spheres. Ghosts,

witches, dreams, visions, and portents, fill with their grisly catalogue a

disproportionate space of the poem. The sibyl is introduced as in Virgil,

but instead of giving her oracle with solemn dignity, she first refuses to

speak at all, then under threats of cruel punishment she submits to the

influence of the god, but in the midst of the prophetic impulse, Apollo,

for some unexplained reason, compels her to stop short and conceal the

gist of her message. [46] Even more unpleasant is the description of

Sextus Pompeius's consultation of the witch Erichtho; [47] horror upon

horror is piled up until the blood curdles at the sickening details, which

even Southey's _Thalaba_ does not approach--and, after all, the feeling

produced is not horror but disgust.

It is pleasant to turn from his irreligion to his philosophy. Here he

appears as an uncertain but yet ardent disciple of the Porch. His

uncertainty is shown by his inability to answer many grave doubts, as: Why

is the future revealed by presages? [48] why are the oracles, once so

vocal, now silent? [49] his enthusiasm by his portraiture of Cato, who was

regarded by the Stoics as coming nearest of all men to their ideal Wise

Man. Cato is to him a peg on which to hang the virtues and paradoxes of

the school. But none the less is the sketch he gives a truly noble one:

[50]

"Hi mores, haec duri immota Catonis

Secta fuit, servare modum finemque tenere,

Naturamque sequi, patriaeque impendere vitam,

Nec sibi sed toti genitum se credere mundo."

Nothing in all Latin poetry reaches a higher pitch of ethical sublimity

than Cato's reply to Labienus when entreated to consult the oracle of

Jupiter Ammon: [51] "What would you have me ask? whether I ought to die

rather than become a slave? whether life begins here or after death?

whether evil can hurt the good man? whether it be enough to will what is

good? whether virtue is made greater by success? All this I know already,

and Hammon's voice will not make it more sure. We all depend on Heaven,

and though oracles be silent we cannot act without the will of God. Deity

needs no witness: once for all at our birth he has given us all needful

knowledge, nor has he chosen barren sands accessible to few, or buried

truth in a desert. Where earth, sea, sky, and virtue exist, there is God.

Why seek we Heaven outside?" These, and similar other sentiments scattered

throughout the poem, redeem it from the charge of wanton disbelief, and

show a largeness of soul that only needed experience to make it truly

great.

In discussing political and social questions Lucan shows considerable

insight. He could not, any more than his contemporaries, understand that

the old oligarchy was an anachronism; that the stubborn pride of its

votaries needed the sword to break it. But the influence of individual

genius is well pourtrayed by him, and he seizes character with a vigorous

grasp. As a partisan of the senate, he felt bound to exalt Pompey; but if

we judge by his own actions and his own words, not by the encomiums heaped

on him by the poet, Lucan's Pompey comes very near the genuine historical

man. So the Caesar sketched by Lucan, though meant to be a villain of the

blackest dye--if we except some blood-thirsty speeches--stands out as a

true giant of energy, neither meaner nor more unscrupulous than the Caesar

of history. Domitius, Curio, and Lentulus, are vigorous though somewhat

defective portraits. Cornelia is the only female character that calls for

notice. She is drawn with breadth and sympathy, and bears all the traits

of a great Roman matron. The degradation of the people is a constant theme

of lamentation. It is wealth, luxury, and the effeminacy that comes with

them that have softened the fibre of Rome, and made her willing to bear a

master. This is indeed a common-place of the schools, but it is none the

less a gloomy truth, and Lucan would have been no Roman had he omitted to

complain of it. Equally characteristic is his contempt for the lower

orders [52] and the influx of foreigners, of whom Rome had become the

common sink. Juvenal, who evidently studied Lucan, drew from him the

picture of the Tiber soiled by Orontes's foul stream, and of the

Bithynian, Galatian, and Cappadocian knights. [53]

With regard to the artistic side of the poem the first and most obvious

criticism is that it has no hero. But if this be a fault, it is one which

it shares with the _Divina Commedia_ and _Paradise Lost_. As Satan has

been called the hero of the latter poem, so Caesar, if not the hero, is

the protagonist of the _Pharsalia_. But Cato, Pompey, and the senate as a

body, have all competed for this honour. The fact is this: that while the

primitive epic is altogether personal, the poem whose interest is national

or human cannot always find a single hero. It is after all a narrow

criticism that confines the poet's art within such strict limits. A great

poet can hardly avoid changing or at least modifying the existing canons

of art, and Lucan should at least be judged with the same liberality as

the old annalists who celebrated the wars of the Republic.

In description Lucan is excellent, both in action and still life, but more

in brilliancy of detail than in broad effects. His defect lies in the tone

of exaggeration which he has acquired in the schools, and thinks it right

to employ in order not to fall below his subject. He has a true opinion of

the importance of the Civil War, which he judges to be the final crisis of

Rome's history, and its issues fraught with superhuman grandeur. The

innate materialism of his mind, however, leads him to attach _outward_

magnitude to all that is connected with it. Thus Nero, the offspring of

its throes, is entreated by the poet to be careful, when he leaves earth

to take his place among the immortals, not to seat himself in a quarter

where his weight may disturb the just equilibrium of the globe! [54] And,

similarly, all the incidents of the Civil War exceed the parallel

incidents of every other war in terror and vastness. Do portents presage a

combat? they are such as defy all power to conceive. Pindus mounts upon

Olympus, [55] and others of a more ordinary but still amazing character

follow. [56] Does a naval conflict take place? the horrors of all the

elements combine to make it the most hideous that the mind can imagine.

Fire and water vie with each other in devising new modes of death, and

where these are inactive, it is only because a land-battle with all its

carnage is being enacted on the closely-wedged ships. [57] Has the army to

march across a desert? the entire race of venomous serpents conspires to

torture and if possible extirpate the host! [58] This is a very inartistic

mode of heightening effect, and, indeed, borders closely on that pursued

in the modern _sensation_ novel. It is beyond question the worst defect of

the _Pharsalia_, and the extraordinary ingenuity with which it is done

only intensifies the misconduct of the poet.

Over and above this habitual exaggeration, Lucan has a decided love for

the ghastly and revolting. The instances to which allusion has already

been made, viz. the Thessalian sorceress and the dreadful casualties of

the sea-fight, show it very strikingly, but the account of the serpents in

the Libyan desert, if possible, still more. The episode is of great

length, over three hundred lines, and contains much mythological

knowledge, as well as an appalling power of description. It begins with a

discussion of the question, Why is Africa so full of these plagues? After

giving various hypotheses he adopts the one which assigns their origin to

Medusa's hairs which fell from Perseus's hand as he sailed through the

air. In order not to lure people to certain death by appearing in an

inhabited country, he chose the trackless wastes of Africa over which to

wing his flight. The mythological disquisition ended, one on natural

history follows. The peculiar properties of the venom of each species are

minutely catalogued, first in abstract terms, then in the concrete by a

description of their effects on some of Cato's soldiers. The first bitten

was the standard-bearer Aulus, by a dipsas, which afflicted him with

intolerable thirst; next Sabellus by a seps, a minute creature whose bite

was followed by an instantaneous corruption of the whole body; [59] then

Nasidius by a prester which caused his form to swell to an unrecognisable

size, and so on through the list of serpents, each episode closing with a

brilliant epigram which clenches the effect. [60] Trivialities like these

would spoil the greatest poem ever penned. It need not be said that they

spoil the _Pharsalia_.

Another subject on which Lucan rings the changes is death. The word _mors_

has an unwholesome attraction to his ear. Death is to him the greatest

gift of heaven; the only one it cannot take away. It is sad indeed to hear

the young poet uttering sentiments like this: [61]

"Scire mori sors prima viris, sed proxima cogi,"

and again [62]--

"Victurosque dei celant, ut vivere durent,

Felix esse mori."

So in cursing Crastinus, Caesar's fierce centurion, he wishes him not to

die, but to retain sensibility after death, in other words to be immortal.

The sentiment occurs, not once but a hundred times, that of all pleasures

death is the greatest. He even plays upon the word, using it in senses

which it will hardly bear. _Libycae mortes_ are serpents; _Accessit morti

Libye_, "Libya added to the mortality of the army;" _nulla cruentae tantum

mortis habet_; "no other reptile causes a death so bloody." To one so

unhealthily familiar with the idea, the reality, when it came, seems to

have brought unusual terrors.

The learning of Lucan has been much extolled, and in some respects not

without reason. It is complex, varied, and allusive, but its extreme

obscurity makes us suspect even when we cannot prove, inaccuracy. He is

proud of his manifold acquirements. Nothing pleases him more than to have

an excuse for showing his information on some abstruse subject. The causes

of the climate of Africa, the meteorological conditions of Spain, the

theory of the globes, the geography of the southern part of our

hemisphere, the wonders of Egypt and the views about the source of the

Nile, are descanted on with diffuse erudition. But it is evidently

impossible that so mere a youth could have had a deep knowledge of so many

subjects, especially as his literary productiveness had already been very

great. He had written an _Iliacon_ according to Statius, [63] a book of

_Saturnalia_, ten books of _Silvae_, a _Catachthonion_, an unfinished

tragedy called _Medea_, fourteen _Salticae fabulae_ (no doubt out of

compliment to Nero), a prose essay against Octavius Sagitta, another in

favour of him, a poem _De Incendio Urbis_, in which Nero was satirised, a

_katakausmos_ (which is perhaps different from the latter, but may be only

the same under another title), a series of letters from Campania, and an

address to his wife, Polla Argentaria.

A peculiar, and to us offensive, exhibition of learning consists in those

tirades on common-place themes, embodying all the stock current of

instances, of which the earliest example is found in the catalogue of the

dead in Virgil's _Culex_. Lucan, as may be supposed, delights in dressing

up these well-worn themes, painting them with novel splendour if they are

descriptive, thundering in fiery epigrams, if they are moral. Of the

former class are two of the most effective scenes in the poem. The first

is Caesar's night voyage in a skiff over a stormy sea. The fisherman to

whom he applies is unwilling to set sail. The night, he says, shows many

threatening signs, and, by way of deterring Caesar, he enumerates the

entire list of prognostics to be found in Aratus, Hesiod, and Virgil, with

great piquancy of touch, but without the least reference to the propriety

of the situation. [64] Nothing can be more amusing, or more out of place,

than the old man's sudden erudition. The second is the death of Scaeva,

who for a time defended Caesar's camp single-handed. The poet first

remarks that valour in a bad cause is a crime, and then depicts that of

Scaeva in such colossal proportions as almost pass the limits of

burlesque. After describing him as pierced with so many spears that they

served him _as armour_, he adds: [65]

"Nec quicquam nudis vitalibus obstat

Iam, praeter stantes in _summis ossibus_ hastas."

This is grotesque enough; the banquet of birds and beasts who feed on the

skin of Pharsalia is even worse. [66] The details are too loathsome to

quote. Suffice it to say that the list includes every carrion-feeder among

flesh and fowl who assemble in immense flocks:

"Nunquam tanto se vulture caelum

_Induit_, aut plures _presserunt_ aethere pennae."

We have, however, dwelt too long on points like these. We must now notice

a few features of his style which mark him as the representative of an

epoch. First, his extreme cleverness. In splendid extravagance of

expression no Latin author comes near him. The miniature painting of

Statius, the point of Martial, are both feeble in comparison; for Lucan's

language, though often tasteless, is always strong. Some of his lines

embody a condensed trenchant vigour which has made them proverbs. Phrases

like _Trahimur sub nomine pacis--Momentumque fuit mutatus Curio rerum_,

recall the pen of Tacitus. Others are finer still Caesar's energy is

rivalled by the line--

"Nil actum credens dum quid superesset agendum."

The duty of securing liberty, even at the cost of blood, was never more

finely expressed than by the noble words:

"Ignoratque datos ne quisquam serviat enses."

Curio's treachery is pilloried in the epigram,

"Emere omnes, hic vendidit Urbem." [67]

The mingled cowardice and folly of servile obedience is nobly expressed by

his reproach to the people:

"Usque adeone times, quem tu facis ipse timendum?" [68]

An author who could write like this had studied rhetoric to some purpose.

Unhappily he is oftener diffuse than brief, and sometimes he becomes

tedious to the last degree. His poetical art is totally deficient in

variety. He knows of but one method of gaining effect, the use of strong

language and plenty of it. If Persius was inflated with the vain desire to

surpass Horace, Lucan seems to have been equally ambitious of excelling

Virgil. He rarely imitates, but he frequently competes with him. Over and

over again, he approaches the same or similar subjects. Virgil had

described the victory of Hercules over Cacus, Lucan must celebrate his

conflict with Antaeus; Virgil had mentioned the portents that followed

Caesar's death, Lucan must repeat them with added improbabilities in a

fresh context; his sibyl is but a tasteless counterpart of Virgil's; his

catalogues of forces have Virgil's constantly in view; his deification of

Nero is an exaggeration of that of Augustus, and even the celebrated

simile in which Virgil admits his obligations to the Greek stage has its

parallel in the _Pharsalia_. [69]

Nevertheless Lucan is of all Latin poets the most independent in relation

to his predecessors. It needs a careful criticism to detect his knowledge

and imitation of Virgil. As far as other poets go he might never have read

their works. The impetuous course of the _Pharsalia_ is interrupted by no

literary reminiscences, no elaborate setting of antique gems. He was a

stranger to that fond pleasure with which Virgil entwined his poetry round

the spreading branches of the past, and wove himself a wreath out of

flowers new and old. This lack of delicate feeling is no less evident in

his rhythm. Instead of the inextricable harmonies of Virgil's cadence, we

have a succession of rich, forcible, and polished monotonous lines,

rushing on without a thought of change until the period closes. In formal

skill Lucan was a proficient, but his ear was dull. The same caesuras

recur again and again, [70] and the only merit of his rhythm is its

undeniable originality. [71] The composition of the _Pharsalia_ must,

however, have been extremely hurried, judging both from the fact that

three books only were finished the year before the poet's death, and from

various indications of haste in the work itself. The tenth book is

obviously unfinished, and in style is far more careless than the rest.

Lucan's diction is tolerably classical, but he is lax in the employment of

certain words, _e.g. mors, fatum, pati_ (in the sense of _vivere_), and

affects forced combinations from the desire to be terse, _e.g., degener

toga_, [72] _stimulis negare_, [73] _nutare regna_, "to portend the advent

of despotism;" [74] _meditari Leucada_, "to intend to bring about the

catastrophe of Actium," [75] and so on. We observe also several

innovations in syntax, especially the freer use of the infinitive (_vivere

durent_) after verbs, or as a substantive, a defect he shares with Persius

(_scire tuum_); and the employment of the future participle to state a

possibility or a condition that might have been fulfilled, _e.g., unumque

caput tam magna iuventus Privatum_ factura _timet velut ensibus ipse

Imperet invito_ moturus _milite bellum_. [76] A strong depreciation of

Lucan's genius has been for some time the rule of criticism. And in an age

when little time is allowed for reading any but the best authors, it is

perhaps undesirable that he should be rehabilitated. Yet throughout the

Middle Ages and during more than one great epoch in French history, he was

ranked among the highest epic poets. Even now there are many scholars who

greatly admire him. The false metaphor and exaggerated tone may be

condoned to a youth of twenty-six; the lofty pride and bold devotion to

liberty could not have been acquired by an ignoble spirit. He is of value

to science as a moderately accurate historian who supplements Caesar's

narrative, and gives a faithful picture of the feeling general among the

nobility of his day. He is also a prominent representative of that gifted

Spanish family who, in various ways, exercised so immense an influence on

subsequent Roman letters. His wife is said to have assisted in the

composition of the poem, but in what part of it her talents fitted her to

succeed we cannot even conjecture.

To Nero's reign are probably to be referred the seven eclogues of T.

CALPURNIUS SICULUS, and the poem on Aetna, long attributed to Virgil.

These may bear comparison in respect of their want of originality with the

_Satires_ of Persius, though both fall far short of them in talent and

interest. The MSS. of Calpurnius contain, besides the seven genuine poems,

four others by a later and much inferior writer, probably Nemesianus, the

same who wrote a poem on the chase in the reign of Numerian. These are

imitated from Calpurnius much as he imitates Virgil, except that the

decline in metrical treatment is greater. The first eclogue of Calpurnius

is devoted to the praises of a young emperor who is to regenerate the

world, and exercise a wisdom, a clemency, and a patronage of the arts long

unknown. He is celebrated again in Eclogue IV., the most pretentious of

the series, and, in general, critics are agreed that Nero is intended. The

second poem is the most successful of all, and a short account of it may

be given here. Astacus and Idas, two beauteous youths, enter into a

poetical contest at which Thyrsis acts as judge. Faunus, the satyrs, and

nymphs, "Sicco Dryades pede Naides udo," are present. The rivers stay

their course; the winds are hushed; the oxen forget their pasture; the bee

steadies itself on poised wing to listen. An amoebean contest ensues, in

which the rivals closely imitate those of Virgil's seventh eclogue,

singing against one another in stanzas of four lines. Thyrsis declines to

pronounce either conqueror:

"Este pares: et ab hoc concordes vivite: nam vos

Et decor et cantus et amor sociavit et aetas."

The rhythm is pleasing; the style simple and flowing; and if we did not

possess the model we might admire the copy. The tone of exaggeration which

characterises all the poetry of Nero's time mars the reality of these

pastoral scenes. The author professes great reverence for Virgil, but does

not despair of being coupled with him (vi. 64):

"Magna petis Corydon, si Tityrus esse laboras."

And he begs his wealthy friend Meliboeus (perhaps Seneca) to introduce his

poems to the emperor (Ecl. iv. 157), and so fulfil for him the office that

he who led Tityrus to Rome did for the Mantuan bard. If his vanity is

somewhat excessive we must allow him the merits of a correct and pretty

versifier.

The didactic poem on Aetna is now generally attributed to LUCILIUS JUNIOR,

the friend and correspondent of Seneca. Scaliger printed it with Virgil's

works, and others have assigned Cornelius Severus as the author, but

several considerations tend to fix our choice on Lucilius. First, the poem

is beyond doubt much later than the Augustan age; the constant

reproduction, often unconscious, of Virgil's form of expression, implies

an interval of at least a generation; allusions to Manilius [77] may be

detected, and perhaps to Petronius Arbiter, [78] but at the same time it

seems to have been written before the great eruption of Vesuvius (69

A.D.), in which Pliny lost his life, since no mention is made of that

event. All these conditions are fulfilled by Lucilius. Moreover, he is

described by Seneca as a man who by severe and conscientious study had

raised his position in life (which is quite what we should imagine from

reading the poem), and whose literary attainments were greatly due to

Seneca's advice and care. "Assero te mihi: meum opus es," he says in one

of his epistles, [79] and in another he asks him for the long promised

account of a voyage round Sicily which Lucilius had made. He goes on to

say, "I hope you will describe Aetna, the theme of so many poets' song.

Ovid was not deterred from attempting it though Virgil had occupied the

ground, nor did the success of both of these deter Cornel. Severus. If I

know you Aetna excites in you the desire to write; you wish to try some

great work which shall equal the fame of your predecessors." [80] As the

poem further shows some resemblances to an essay on Aetna, published by

Seneca himself, the conclusion is almost irresistible that Lucilius is its

author.

Though by no means equal to the reputation it once had, the poem is not

without merit. The diction is much less stilted than Seneca's or

Persius's; the thoughts mostly correct, though rather tame; and the

descriptions accurate even to tediousness. The arrangement of his subject

betrays a somewhat weak hand, though in this he is superior to Gratius

Faliscus; but he has an earnest desire to make truth known, and a warm

interest in his theme. The opening invocation is addressed to Apollo and

the Muses, asking their aid along an unwonted road.

He denies that eruptions are the work of gods or Cyclopes, and laments

over the errors that the genius of poetry has spread (74-92)--

"Plurima pars scaenae fallacia."

The scenes that poets paint are rarely true, and often very hurtful, but

he is moved only with the desire to discover and communicate truth. He

then begins to discuss the power of confined air when striving to force a

passage, and the porous nature of the interior of the earth; and (after a

fine digression on the thirst for knowledge), he examines the properties

of fire, and specially its effect on the different minerals composing the

soil of Aetna. A disproportionate amount (nearly 150 lines) is given to

describing lava, after which his theory is thus concisely summarised--

"Haec operis forma est: sic nobilis uritur Aetna:

Terra foraminibus vires trahit, urget in artum,

Spiritus incendit: vivit per maxima saxa."

The poem concludes with an account of a former eruption, signalised by the

miraculous preservation of two pious youths who ventured into the burning

shower to carry their parents into a place of safety. The poem is

throughout a model of propriety, but deficient in poetic inspiration; the

technical parts, elaborate as they are, impress the reader less favourably

than the digressions, where subjects of human interest are treated, and

the Roman character comes out. Lucilius called himself an Epicurean, and

is so far consistent as to condemn the "fallacia vatum" and the

superstition that will not recognise the sufficiency of physical causes;

but he (v. 537) accepts Heraclitus's doctrine about the universality of

fire, and in other places shows Stoic leanings. He imitates Lucretius's

transitions, and his appeals to the reader, _e.g._ 160: _Falleris et

nondum certo tibi lumine res est_, and inserts many archaisms as _ulli_

for _ullius_, _opus_ governing an accus., _cremant_ for _cremantur_,

_auras_ (gen. sing.) _iubar_ (masc.) _aureus_. [81] His rhythm resembles

Virgil, but even more that of Manilius.

We cannot conclude this chapter without some notice of the tragedies of

Seneca. There can be no reasonable doubt that they are the work of the

philosopher, nor is the testimony of antiquity really ambiguous on the

point. [82] When he wrote them is uncertain; but they bear every mark of

being an early exercise of his pen. Perhaps they were begun during his

exile in Corsica, when enforced idleness must have tasked the resources of

his busy mind, and continued after his return to Rome, when he found that

Nero was addicted to the same pursuit. There are eight complete tragedies

and one praetexta, the _Octavia_, which is generally supposed to be by a

later hand, as well as considerable fragments from the _Thebais_ and

_Phoenissae_. The subjects are all from the well-worn repository of Greek

legend, and are mostly drawn from Euripides. The titles of _Medea_,

_Hercules furens_, _Hippolytus_ and _Troades_ at once proclaim their

origin, but the _Hercules Oetaeus_, _Oedipus Thyestes_, and _Agamemnon_,

are probably based on a comparison of the treatment by the several Attic

masters. The tragedies of Seneca have as a rule been strongly censured for

their rhetorical colouring, their false passion, and their total want of

dramatic interest. They are to the Greek plays as gaslight to sunlight.

But in estimating their poetic value it is fair to remember that the Roman

ideas of art were neither so accurate nor so profound as ours. The deep

analysis of Aristotle, which grouped all poets who wrote on a _theme_

under the title _rhetorical_, and refused to Empedocles the name of poet

at all, would not have been appreciated by the Romans. To them the _form_

was what constituted a work poetical, not the creative idea that underlay

it. To utilise fictitious situations as a vehicle for individual

conviction or lofty declamation on ethical commonplace, was considered

quite legitimate even in the Augustan age. And Seneca did but follow the

example of Varius and Ovid in the tragedies now before us. It is to the

genius of German criticism, so wonderfully similar in many ways to that of

Greece, that we owe the re-establishment of the profound ideal canons of

art over the artificial technical maxims which from Horace to Voltaire had

been accepted in their stead. The present low estimate of Seneca is due to

the reaction (a most healthy one it is true) that has replaced the

extravagant admiration in which his poems were for more than two centuries

held.

The worst technical fault in these tragedies is their violation of the

decencies of the stage. Manto, the daughter of Tiresias and a great

prophetess, investigates the entrails in public. Medea kills her children

_coram populo_ in defiance of Horace's maxim. These are inexcusable

blemishes in a composition which is made according to a prescribed

_recipe_. His "tragic mixture," as it may be called, is compounded of

equal proportions of description, declamation, and philosophical

aphorisms. Thus taken at intervals it formed an excellent tonic to assist

towards an oratorical training. It was not an end in itself, but was a

means for producing a finished rhetor. This is a degradation of the

loftiest kind of poetry known to art, no doubt; but Seneca is not to blame

for having begun it. He merely used the material which lay before him;

nevertheless, he deserves censure for not having brought into it some of

the purer thoughts which philosophy had, or ought to have, taught him.

Instead of this, his moral conceptions fall far below those of his models.

In the _Phaedra_ of Greek tragedy we have that chastened and pathetic

thought, which hangs like a burden on the Greek mind, a thought laden with

sadness, but a sadness big with rich fruit of reflection; the thought of

guilt unnatural, involuntary, imposed on the sufferer for some inscrutable

reason by the mysterious dispensation of heaven. Helen, the queen of

ancient song, is the offspring of this thought; Phaedra in another way is

its offspring too. But as Virgil had degraded Helen, so Seneca degrades

Phaedra. Her love for Hippolytus is the coarse sensual craving of a

common-place adulteress. The language in which it is painted, stripped of

its ornament, is revolting. As Dido dwells on the broad chest and

shoulders of Aeneas, [83] so Phaedra dwells on the healthy glow of

Hippolytus's cheek, his massive neck, his sinewy arms. The Roman ladies

who bestowed their caresses on gladiators and slaves are here speaking

through their courtly mouthpiece. The gross, the animal--it is scarcely

even sensuous--predominates all through these tragedies. Truly the Greeks

in teaching Rome to desire beauty had little conception of the fierceness

of that robust passion for self-indulgence which they had taught to speak

the language of aesthetic love!

A feature worth noticing in these dramas is the descriptive power and

brilliant philosophy of the choruses. They are quite unconnected with the

plot, and generally either celebrate the praises of some god, _e.g._,

Bacchus in the _Oedipus_, or descant on some moral theme, as the advantage

of an obscure lot, in the same play. The _éclat_ of their style, and the

pungency of their epigrams is startling. In sentiment and language they

are the very counterpart of his other works. The doctrine of fate,

preached by Lucan as well as by Seneca in other places, is here inculcated

with every variety of point. [84] We quote a few lines from the _Oedipus_:

Fatis agimur: cedite fatis.

Non sollicitae possunt curae

Mutare rati stamina fusi

Quicquid patimur, mortale genus,

Quicquid facimus venit ex alto;

Servatque suae decreta colus

Lachesis, dura revoluta manu.

Omnia certo tramite vadunt,

Primusque dies dedit extremum.

Non illa deo vertisse licet

Quae nexa suis currunt causis.

It cuique ratus, prece non ulla

Mobilis, ordo.

Here we have in all its naked repulsiveness the Stoic theory of

predestination. Prayer is useless; God is unable to influence events;

Lachesis the wrinkled beldame, or fate, her blind symbol, has once for all

settled the inevitable nexus of cause and effect.

The rhythm of these plays is extremely monotonous. The greater part of

each is in the iambic trimeter; the choruses generally in anapaests, of

which, however, he does not understand the structure. The _synaphea_

peculiar to this metre is neglected by him, and the rule that each system

should close with a _paroemiac_ or _dimeter catalectic_ is constantly

violated.

With regard to the _Octavia_, it has been thought to be a product of some

mediaeval imitator; but this is hardly likely. It cannot be Seneca's,

since it alludes to the death of Nero. Besides its style is simpler and

less bombastic and shows a much tenderer feeling; it is also infinitely

less clever. Altogether it seems best to assign it to the conclusion of

the first century.

The only other work of Seneca's which shows a poetical form is the

_Apokolokyntosis_ or "Pumpkinification" of the emperor Claudius, a bitter

satire on the apotheosis of that heavy prince. Seneca had been compelled,

much against the grain, to offer him the incense of flattery while he

lived. He therefore revenged himself after Claudius's death by this sorry

would-be satire. The only thing witty in it is the title; it is a mixture

of prose and verse, and possesses just this interest for us, that it is

the only example we possess of the Menippean satire, unless we refer the

work of Petronius to this head.

CHAPTER III.

THE REIGNS OF CALIGULA, CLAUDIUS, AND NERO.

2. PROSE WRITERS--SENECA.

Of all the imperial writers except Tacitus, Seneca is beyond comparison

the most important. His position, talents, and influence make him a

perfect representative of the age in which he lived. His career was long

and chequered: his experience brought him into contact with nearly every

phase of life. He was born at Cordova 3 A.D. and brought by his indulgent

father as a boy to Rome. His early studies were devoted to rhetoric, of

which he tells us he was an ardent learner. Every day he was the first at

school, and generally the last to leave it. While still a young man he

made so brilliant a name at the bar as to awaken Caligula's jealousy. By

his father's advice he retired for a time, and, having nothing better to

do, spent his days in philosophy. Seneca was one of those ardent natures

the virgin soil of whose talent shows a luxurious richness unknown to the

harassed brains of an old civilisation. His enthusiasm for philosophy

exceeded all bounds. He first became a Stoic. But stoicism was not severe

enough for his taste. He therefore turned Pythagorean, and abstained for

several years from everything but herbs. His father, an old man of the

world, saw that self-denial like this was no less perilous than his former

triumphs. "Why do you not, my son," he said, "why do you not live as

others live? There is a provocation in success, but there is a worse

provocation in ostentatious abstinence. You might be taken for a Jew (he

meant a Christian). Do not draw down the wrath of Jove." The young

enthusiast was wise enough to take the hint. He at once dressed himself

_en mode_, resumed a moderate diet, only indulging in the luxury of

abstinence from wine, perfumes, warm baths, and made dishes! He was now 35

years of age; in due time Caligula died, and he resumed his pleadings at

the bar. He was appointed Quaestor by Claudius, and soon opened a school

for youths of quality, which was very numerously attended. His social

successes were striking, and brought him into trouble. He was suspected of

improper intimacy with Julia, the daughter of Germanicus, and in 41 A.D.

was exiled to Corsica. This was the second blow to his career. But it was

a most fortunate one for his genius. In the lonely solitudes of a

barbarous island he meditated deeply over the truth of that philosophy to

which his first devotion had been given, and no doubt struck out the germs

of that mild and catholic form of it which has made his teaching, with all

its imperfections, the purest and noblest of antiquity. While there he

wrote many of the treatises that have come down to us, besides others that

are lost. The earliest in all probability is the _Consolatio ad Marciam_,

addressed to the daughter of Cremutius Cordus, which seems to have been

written even before his exile. Next come two other _Consolationes_. The

first is addressed to Polybius, the powerful freedman of Claudius. It is

full of the most abject flattery, uttered in the hope of procuring his

recall from banishment. That Seneca did not object to write to order is

unhappily manifest from his panegyric on Claudius, delivered by Nero,

which was so fulsome that, even while the emperor recited it, those who

heard could not control their laughter. The second _Consolation_ is to his

mother Helvia, whom he tenderly loved; and this is one of the most

pleasing of his works. Already he is beginning to assume the tone of a

philosopher. His work _De Ira_ must be referred to the commencement of

this period, shortly after Caligula's death. It bears all the marks of

inexperience, though its eloquence and brilliancy are remarkable. He

enforces the Stoic thesis that anger is not an emotion, just in itself and

often righteously indulged, but an evil passion which must be eradicated.

This view which, if supported on grounds of mere expediency, has much to

recommend it, is here defended on _a priori_ principles without much real

reflection, and was quite outgrown by him when taught by the experience of

riper years. In the _Constantio Sapientis_ he praises and holds up to

imitation the absurd apathy recommended by Stilpo. In the _De Animi

Tranquillitate_, addressed to Annaeus Serenus, the captain of Nero's body-

guard, [1] he adopts the same line of thought, but shows signs of limiting

its application by the necessities of circumstances. The person to whom

this dialogue is addressed, though praised by Seneca, seems to have been

but a poor philosopher. In complaisance to the emperor he went so far as

to attract to himself the infamy which Nero incurred by his amours with a

courtesan named Acte; and his end was that of a glutton rather than a

sage. At a large banquet he and many of his guests were poisoned by eating

toadstools! [2]

It was Messalina who had procured Seneca's exile. When Agrippina succeeded

to her influence he was recalled. This ambitious woman, aware of his

talents and pliant disposition, and perhaps, as Dio insinuates, captivated

by his engaging person, contrived to get him appointed tutor to her son,

the young Nero, now heir-apparent to the throne. This was a post of which

he was not slow to appropriate the advantages. He rose to the praetorship

(50 A.D.) and soon after to the consulship, and in the short space of four

years amassed an enormous fortune. [3] This damaging circumstance gave

occasion to his numerous enemies to accuse him before Nero; and though

Seneca in his defence [4] attributed all his wealth to the unsought bounty

of his prince, yet it is difficult to believe it was honestly come by,

especially as he must have been well paid for the numerous violations of

his conscience to which out of regard to Nero he submitted. Seneca is a

lamentable instance of variance between precept and example. [5] The

authentic bust which is preserved of him bears in its harassed expression

unmistakable evidence of a mind ill at ease. And those who study his works

cannot fail to find many indications of the same thing, though the very

energy which results from such unhappiness gives his writings a deeper

power.

The works written after his recall show a marked advance in his

conceptions of life. He is no longer the abstract dogmatist, but the

supple thinker who finds that there is room for the philosopher in the

world, at court, even in the inner chamber of the palace. To this period

are to be referred his three books _De Clementia_, which are addressed to

Nero, and contain many beautiful and wholesome precepts; his _De Vita

Beata_, addressed to his brother Novatus (the Gallio of the Acts of the

Apostles), and perhaps the admirable essay _De Beneficiis_. This, however,

more probably dates a few years later (60-62 A.D.). It is full of

digressions and repetitions, a common fault of his style, but contains

some very powerful thought. The animus that dictates it is thought by

Charpentier to be the desire to release himself from all sense of

obligation to Nero. It breathes protest throughout; it proves that a

tyrant's benefits are not kindnesses. It gives what we may call _a

casuistry of gratitude_. Other philosophical works now lost are the

_Exhortationes_, the _De Officiis_, an essay on premature death, one on

superstition, in which he derided the popular faith, one on friendship,

some books on moral philosophy, on remedies for chance casualties, on

poverty and compassion. He wrote also a biography of his father, many

political speeches delivered by Nero, a panegyric on Messalina, and a

collection of letters to Novatus.

The Stoics affected to despise physical studies, or at any rate to

postpone them to morals. Seneca shared this edifying but far from

scientific persuasion. But after his final withdrawal from court, as the

wonders of nature forced themselves on his notice, he reconsidered his old

prejudice, and entered with ardour on the contemplation of physical

phenomena. Besides the _Naturales Quaestiones_, a great part of which

still remain, he wrote a treatise _De Motu Terrarum_, begun in his youth

but revised in his old age, and essays on the properties of stones and

fishes, besides monographs on India and Egypt, and a short fragment on

"the form of the universe." These, however, only occupied a portion of his

time, the chief part was given to self-improvement and those beautiful

letters to Lucilius which are the most important remains of his works.

Since the death of Burrus, who had helped him to influence Nero for good,

or at least to mitigate the atrocious tendencies of his disposition,

Seneca had known that his position was insecure. A prince who had killed

first his cousin and then his mother, would not be likely to spare his

preceptor. Seneca determined to forestall the danger. He presented himself

at the palace, and entreated Nero to receive back the wealth he had so

generously bestowed. Instead of complying, Nero, in a speech full of

specious respect, but instinct with latent malignity, refused to accept

the proffered gift. The ex-minister knew that his doom was sealed. He at

once relinquished all the state in which he had lived, gave no more

banquets, held no more levees, but abandoned himself to a voluntary

poverty, writing and reading, and practising the asceticism of his school.

But this submission did not at all satisfy Nero's vengeance. He made an

insidious attempt to poison his old friend. This was revealed to Seneca,

who henceforth ate nothing but herbs which he gathered with his own hand,

and drank only from a spring that rose in his garden. Soon afterwards

occurred the conspiracy of Piso, and this gave his enemies a convenient

excuse for accusing him. It is impossible to believe that he was guilty.

Nero's thirst for his blood is a sufficient motive for his condemnation.

He was bidden to prepare for death, which he accordingly did with alacrity

and firmness. In the fifteenth book of the Annals of Tacitus is related

with that wondrous power which is peculiar to its author, the dramatic

scene which closed the sage's life. The best testimony to his domestic

virtue is the deep affection of his young wife Paulina. Refusing all

entreaty, she resolutely determined to die with her husband. They opened

their veins together; she fainted away, and was removed by her friends and

with difficulty restored to life; he, after suffering excruciating agony,

which he endured with cheerfulness, discoursing to his friends on the

glorious realities to which he was about to pass, was at length suffocated

by the vapour of a stove. Thus perished one of the weakest and one of the

most amiable of men; one who, had he had the courage to abjure public

life, would have been reverenced by posterity in the same degree that his

talent has been admired. As it is, he has always found severe judges. Dio

Cassius soon after his death wrote a biography, in which all his acts

received a malignant interpretation. Quintilian disliked him, and harshly

criticised his literary defects. The pedant Fronto did the same. Tacitus,

with a larger heart, made allowance for his temptations, and while never

glossing over his unworthy actions, has yet shown his love for the man in

spite of all by the splendid tribute he pays to the constancy of his

death.

The position of Seneca, both as a philosopher and as a man of letters, is

extremely important, and claims attentive consideration in both these

relations. As a philosopher he is usually called a Stoic. In one sense

this appellation is correct. When he places himself under any banner it is

always that of Zeno. Nevertheless it would be a great error to regard him

as a Stoic in the sense in which Brutus, Cato, and Thrasea, were Stoics.

Like all the greatest Roman thinkers he was an Eclectic; he belonged in

reality to no school. He was the successor of such men as Scipio, Ennius,

and Cicero, far more than of the rigid thinkers of the Porch. He himself

says, "Nullius nomen fero." [6] The systematic teachers of the Roman

school, as distinct from those who were rather patriots than philosophers,

had become more and more liberal in their speculative tenets, more and

more at one upon the great questions of practice. Since the time of Cicero

philosophic thought had been flowing steadily in one direction. It had

learnt the necessity of appealing to men's hearts rather than convincing

their intellects. It had become a system of persuasion. Fabianus was the

first who clearly proposed to himself, as an end, to gain over the

affections or to arouse the conscience. He was succeeded, under Tiberius,

by Sotion the Pythagorean and Attalus the Stoic, [7] of both of whom

Seneca had been an ardent pupil. Demetrius the Cynic, in a ruder way, had

worked for the same object. [8] In this gradual convergence of diverse

schools metaphysics were necessarily put aside, and ethics occupied the

first and only place. Each school claimed for itself the best men of all

schools. "He is a Stoic," [9] says Seneca, "even though he denies it." The

great conclusions of abstract thought brought to light in Greece were now

to be tested in their application to life. "The remedies of the soul have

been discovered long ago; it is for us to learn how to apply them." Such

is the grand text on which the system of Seneca is a comment. This system

demands, above all things, a knowledge of the human heart. And it is

astonishing how penetrating is the knowledge that Seneca displays. His

varied experience opened to him many avenues of observation closed to the

majority. His very position, as at once a great statesman and a great

moralist, naturally attracted men to him. And he used his opportunities

with signal adroitness. But his ability was not the only reason of this

peculiar insight. Cicero was as able; but Cicero had it not. His thoughts

were occupied with other questions, and do not penetrate into the recesses

of the soul. The reason is to be found in the circumstances of the time.

For a man to succeed in life under a _régime_ of mutual distrust, which he

himself bitterly compares to the forced friendship of the gladiatorial

school, a deep study of character was indispensable. Wealth could no

longer be imported: [10] it could only be redistributed. To gain wealth

was to despoil one's neighbour. And the secret of despoiling one's

neighbour was to understand his weakness: if possible, to detect his

hidden guilt. Not Seneca only but all the great writers of the Empire show

a marked familiarity with the _pathology_ of mind.

Seneca tells us that he loves teaching above all things else; that if he

loves knowledge it is that he may impart it. [11] For teaching there is

one indispensable prerequisite, and two possible domains. The prerequisite

is certainty of one's self, the domains are those of popular instruction

and of private direction. Seneca tries first of all to ensure his own

conviction. "Not only," he says, "do I believe all I say, but I love it."

[12] He tries to make his published teachings as real as possible by

assuming a conversational tone. [13] They have the piquancy, the

discursiveness, the brilliant flavour of the salon. They recall the

converse of those gifted men who pass from theme to theme, throwing light

on all, but not exhausting any. But Seneca is the last man to assume the

sage. Except pedantry, nothing is so alien from him as the assumption of

goodness. "When I praise virtue do not suppose I am praising myself, but

when I blame vice, then believe that it is myself I blame." [14]

Thus confident but unassuming, he proceeds to the communication of wisdom.

And of the two domains, while he acknowledges both to be legitimate, [15]

he himself prefers the second. He is no writer for the crowd; his chosen

audience is a few selected spirits. To such as these he wished to be

director of conscience, guide, and adviser in all matters, bodily as well

as spiritual. This was the calling for which, like Fénélon, he felt the

keenest desire, the fullest aptitude. We see his power in it when we read

his _Consolations_; we see the intimate sympathy which dives into the

heart of his friend. In the letters to Lucilius, and in the _Tranquillity

of the Soul_, this is most conspicuous. Serenus had written complaining of

a secret unhappiness or malady, he knew not which, that preyed upon his

mind and frame, and would not let him enjoy a moment's peace. Seneca

analyses his complaint, and expounds it with a vivid clearness which

betrays a first-hand acquaintance with its symptoms. If to that anguish of

a spirit that preys on itself could be added the pains of a yearning

unknown to antiquity, we might say that Seneca was enlightening or

comforting a Werther or a René. [16]

Seneca's object, therefore, was remedial; to discover the malady and apply

the restorative. The good teacher is _artifex vivendi_. [17] He does not

state principles, he gives minute precepts for every circumstance of life.

Here we see casuistry entering into morals, but it is casuistry of a noble

sort. To be effective precepts must be repeated, and with every variety of

statement. "To knock once at the door when you come at night is never

enough; the blow must be hard, and it must be seconded. [18] Repetition is

not a fault, it is a necessity." Here we see the lecturer emphasising by

reiteration what he has to say.

And what has he to say? His system taken in its main outlines is rigid

enough; the quenching of all emotion, the indifference to all things

external, the prosecution of virtue alone, the mortification of the body

and its desires, the adoption of voluntary poverty. These are views not

only severe in themselves, but views which we are surprised to see a man

like Seneca inculcate. The truth is he does not really inculcate them. In

theory rigid, his system _practises_ easily. It is more full of

concessions than any other system that was ever broached. It is the

inevitable result of an ambitious creed that when applied to life it

should teem with inconsistencies. Seneca deserves praise for the

conspicuous cleverness with which he steers over such dangerous shoals.

The rigours of "virtue unencumbered" might be preached to a patrician

whose honoured name made obscurity impossible; but as for the freedmen,

capitalists, and _nouveaux riches_ [19] of all kinds, who were Seneca's

friends, if poverty was necessary for virtue, where would they be? Their

greatness was owing solely to their wealth. Thus he wisely offered them a

more accommodating doctrine, viz., that riches being indifferent need not

be given up, that the good rich man differs from the bad in spirit, not in

externals, &c., palliatives with which we are all familiar. To take

another instance. The Stoic system forbade all emotion. Yet we find the

philosopher weeping for his wife, for his child, for his slave. But he was

far too sensible not to recognise the nobleness of such expressions of

feeling; so he contents himself with saying "_indulgeantur non

imperentur_." [20]

In reading the letters we are struck by the continual reference to the

insecurity of riches, the folly of fearing death, torture, or infamy, and

are tempted to regard these as mere commonplaces of the schools. They had,

however, a melancholy fitness at the time they were uttered, which we,

fortunately, cannot realise. A French gentleman, quoted by Boissier, [21]

declared that he found the moral letters tedious until the reign of terror

came; that then, being in daily peril of his life, he understood their

searching power. At the same time this power is not consistent; the

vacillation of the author's mind communicates itself to the person

addressed, and the clear grasp of a definite principle which lent such

strength to Zeno and the early Stoics is indefinitely diluted in the far

more eloquent and persuasive reflections of his Roman representative.

Connected with the name of Seneca is a question of surpassing interest,

which it would be unjust to our readers to pass entirely by. We allude to

the belief universal in the Church from the time of Jerome until the

sixteenth century, and in spite of strong disproof, not yet by any means

altogether given up, that Seneca was personally acquainted with St. Paul,

[22] and borrowed some of his noblest thoughts from the Apostle's

teaching. The first testimony to this belief is given by Jerome, [23] who

assigns, as his sole and convincing reason for naming Seneca among the

worthies of the Church that his correspondence with Paul was extant. This

correspondence, which will be found in Haase's edition of the philosopher,

is now admitted on all hands to be a forgery. But we might naturally ask;

Does it not point to an actual correspondence which is lost, the

traditional remembrance of which gave rise to its later fictitious

reproduction? To this the answer must be: Jerome knew of no such early

tradition. All he knew was that the letters existed, and on their

existence, which he did not critically investigate, he founded his claim

to admit Seneca within the Church's pale.

The problem is by no means so simple as it appears. It involves two

separate questions: first, a historical one which has only an antiquarian

interest, Did the philosopher know the Apostle? secondly, a more important

one for the history of religious thought, Do Seneca's writings contain

matter which could have come from no source but the teaching of the first

Christians.

As regards the first question, the arguments on both sides are as

follows:--On the one hand, Gallio, who saw Paul at Corinth, was Seneca's

brother, and Burrus, the captain of the praetorian cohort, before whom he

was brought at Rome, was Seneca's most intimate friend. What so likely as

that these men should have introduced their prisoner to one whose chief

object was to find out truth? Again, there is a well authenticated

tradition that Acte, once the concubine of Nero, [24] and the only person

who was found to bury him, was a convert to the Christian faith; and if

converted, who so likely to have been her converter as the great Apostle?

Moreover, in the Epistle to the Philippians, St. Paul salutes "them that

are of Caesar's household," and it is thought that Seneca may here be

specially intended. On the other side it is argued that the phrase,

"Caesar's household," can only refer to slaves and freedmen: to apply it

to a great magistrate at a time when as yet noblemen had not become body-

servants or grooms of the chamber to the monarch, would have been nothing

short of an insult; that Seneca, if he had heard of Paul or of Paul's

Master, would naturally have mentioned the fact, communicative as he

always is; that fear of persecution certainly need not have restrained

him, especially since he rather liked shocking people's ideas than

otherwise; that everywhere he shows contempt and nothing but contempt for

the Jews, among whom as yet the Christians were reckoned; in short, that

he appears to know nothing whatever of Christians or their doctrines.

As to this latter point there is room for difference of opinion. It is by

no means clear that Christianity was unknown to the court in Nero's reign.

We find in Suetonius [25] a notice to the effect that Claudius banished

the Jews from Rome for a sedition headed by _Chrestus_. How Suetonius knew

well enough that Christus, not Chrestus, was the name of the Founder of

the new religion; it is therefore reasonable to suppose that in this

passage he is quoting from a police-magistrate's report dating from the

time of Claudius. Again, it is certain that under Nero the Christians were

known as an unpopular sect, on whom he might safely wreak his mock

vengeance for the burning of the city; and it is equally certain that his

abominable cruelty excited a warm sympathy among the people for the

persecuted. [26] The Jews were well known; hundreds practised their

ceremonies in secret; even as early as Horace [27] we know that Sabbaths

were kept, and the Mosaic doctrines taught to noble men and women. The

penalties inflicted on these innocent victims must have been at least

talked of in Rome, and it is more than probable that Seneca must have been

familiar with the name of the despised sect. [28] So far, therefore, we

must leave the question open, only stating that while the balance of

probability is decidedly against Seneca's having had any personal

knowledge of the Apostle, it is in favour of his having at least heard of

the religion he represented.

With regard to the second question, whether Seneca's teaching owes

anything to Christianity, we must first observe, that philosophy to him

was altogether a question of practice. Like all the other thinkers of the

time he cared nothing for consistency of opinion, everything for

impressiveness of application. He was Stoic, Platonist, Epicurean, as

often as it suited him to employ their principles to enforce a moral

lesson. Thus in his _Naturales Quaestiones_, [29] where he has no moral

object in view, he speaks of the Deity as _Mens Universi_, or _Natura

ipsa_, quite in accordance with Stoic pantheism. But in the letters to

Lucilius, which are wholly moral, he uses the language of religion: "The

great soul is that which yields itself up to God;" [30] "All that pleases

Him is good;" [31] "He is a friend never far off;" [32] "He is our

Father;" [33] "It is from Him that great and good resolutions come;" [34]

"He is worshipped and loved;" [35] "Prayer is a witness to His care for

us." [36] There is no doubt in these passages a strong resemblance to the

teaching of the New Testament. There are other points of contact hardly

less striking. The Stoic doctrine of the soul affirms the cessation of

existence after death. So Zeno taught; but Chrysippus allowed the souls of

the good an existence until the end of the world, and Cleanthes extended

this privilege to all souls alike. Seneca sometimes speaks as a Stoic,

[37] and denies immortality: sometimes he admits it as an ennobling

belief; [38] sometimes he declares it to be his own conviction, [39] and

uses the beautiful expression, so common in Christian literature, that the

day of death is the birth-day of eternity. [40] The coincidence, if it is

nothing more than a coincidence, is marvellous. But before assuming any

closer connection we must take these passages with their respective

contexts, and with the principles which, whether consistently maintained

or not, undoubtedly underlie his whole teaching. We must remember that if

Seneca had known the Gospel, the day he first heard of it must have been

an epoch in his life. [41] And yet we meet with no allusion which could be

construed into an admission of such a debt. And besides, the expressions

in question do not all belong to one period of the philosopher's life;

they occur in his earliest as well as in his latest compositions, though

doubtless far more frequently in the latter. Hence we may explain them

partly by the natural progress in enlightenment and gentleness during the

century from Cicero to Seneca, and partly also by the moral development of

the philosopher himself. [42] Resemblances of terms, however striking,

must not count for more than they are worth. It is more important to ask

whether the _spirit_ of Seneca's teaching is at all like that of the

Gospel. Are his ideas Christian? We meet with strong recommendations to

charity, kindness, benevolence. To a splenetic acquaintance, out of humour

with the world, he cries out, _ecquando amabis_? "When will you learn to

love?" [43] But with him charity is not an end; it is but a means to

fortify the sage, to render him absolutely self-sufficient. _Egoism_ is at

the bottom of this high precept; [44] and this at once removes it from the

Christian category. And the same is true of his account of the wise man's

relations to God. They are based on _pride_, not humility; they make him

an equal, not a servant, of the Deity: _Sapiem cum dis ex pari trivit_;

[45] and again, _Deo socius non supplex_. [46] Nothing could be further

from the New Testament than this. If therefore Seneca borrowed anything

from Christianity, it was the morality, not the doctrines, that he

borrowed. But this is no sooner stated than it is seen to be altogether

inconceivable. To suppose that he took from it precepts of life and

neglected the higher truths it announced, is to regard him as foolish or

blind. With his intense yearning to penetrate to the mysteries of our

being, it is impossible that the only solution of them offered as certain

to the world should have been neglected by him as not worth a thought.

[47]

We therefore conclude that Seneca received no assistance from the

preachers of the new religion, that his philosophy was the natural

development of the thoughts of his predecessors in a mind at once

capacious and smitten with the love of virtue. He cannot be regarded as an

isolated phenomenon; he was made by the ages, as he in his turn helped to

make the ages that followed; and if we possessed the writings of those

intermediate thinkers who busily wrought among the citizens of Rome,

striving by persuasion, precept, and example, to wean them from their

sensuality and violence, we should probably see in Seneca's thoughts a

less astounding individuality than we do.

It has often been said that he prepared the way for Christianity. But even

this is hard to defend. In his enunciation of the brotherhood of man, [48]

of the unholiness of war, [49] of the sanctity of human life, [50] of the

rights of slaves, [51] and their claims to our affection, [52] in his

reprobation of gladiatorial shows, he holds the place of a moral pioneer,

the more honourable, since none of those before him, except Cicero, had

had largeness of heart enough to recognise these truths. By his fierce

attacks on paganism, [53] for which (not being a born Roman) he has no

sympathy and no mercy, he did good service to the pure creed that was to

follow. By his contempt of science, [54] in which he asserts we can never

be more than children, he paved the way for a recognition of the supremacy

of the moral end; but at the same time his own mind is sceptical quite as

much as it is religious. He resembles Cicero far more than Virgil. The

current after Augustus ran towards belief and even credulity. Seneca

arrests rather than forwards it. His philosophy was the proudest that ever

boasted of its claims, "Promittit ut parem Deo faciat." [55] His

popularity was excessive, especially with the young and wealthy members of

the new nobility of freedmen. The old Romans avoided him, and his great

successors in philosophy, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, never even

mention his name.

As a man of letters Seneca wielded an incalculable influence. What Lucan

did for poetry, he did for prose, or rather, he did far more; while Lucan

never superseded Virgil as a model except for expression, Seneca not only

superseded Cicero, but set the style in which every succeeding author

either wrote, tried to write, or tried _not_ to write. To this there is

one exception--the younger Pliny. But Florus, Tacitus, Pliny the elder,

and Curtius, are deeply imbued with his manner and style. Quintilian,

though anxiously eschewing all imitation of him, continually falls into

it; there was a charm about those short, incisive sentences which none who

had read them could resist; as Tacitus well says, there was in him

_ingenium amoenum et temporis eius auribus accommodatum_. It is in vain

that Quintilian goes out of his way to bewail his broken periods, his

wasted force, his sweet vices. The words of Seneca are like those

described in Ecclesiastes, "they are as goads or as nails driven in."

There is no possibility of missing their point, no fear of the attention

not being arrested. If he repeats over and over again, that is after all a

fault that can be pardoned, especially when each repetition is more

brilliant than its predecessor. And considering the end he proposed to

himself, viz., to teach those who as yet were "novices in wisdom," we can

hardly regard such a mode of procedure as beside the mark. Where it fails

is in what touches Seneca himself, not in what touches the reader. It is a

style which does injustice to its author's heart. Its glitter strikes us

as false because too brilliant to be true; a man in earnest would not stop

to trick his thoughts in the finery of rhetoric; here as ever, the showy

stands for the bad. We do not intend to defend the character of the man;

if style be the true reflex of the soul, as in all great writers without

doubt it is, we allow that Seneca's style shows a mind wanting in gravity,

that is, in the highest Roman excellence. His is the bright enthusiasm of

display, not the steady one of duty; but though it be lower it need not be

less real. There are warriors who meet their death with a song and a gay

smile; there are others who meet it with stern and sober resolve. But

courage calls both her children. Christian Europe has been kinder and

juster to Seneca than was pagan Rome. Rome while she copied, abused him.

Neither as Spaniard nor as Roman can he claim the name of sage. The higher

philosophy is denied to both these nations. But in brilliancy of touch, in

delicious _abandon_ of sparkling chat, all the more delightful because it

does us good in genial human feeling, none the less warm, because it is

masked by quaint apophthegms and startling paradoxes, Seneca stands

_facile princeps_ among the writers of the Empire. His works are a mine of

quotation, of anecdote, of caustic observations on life. In no other

writer shall we see so speaking a picture of the struggle between duty and

pleasure, between virtue and ambition; from no other writer shall we gain

so clear an insight into the hopes, fears, doubts, and deep, abiding

dissatisfaction which preyed upon the better spirits of the age.

CHAPTER IV.

THE REIGNS OF CALIGULA, CLAUDIUS, AND NERO.

3. OTHER PROSE WRITERS.

We have dwelt fully on Seneca because he is of all the Claudian writers

the one best fitted to appear as a type of the time. There were, however,

several others of more or less note who deserve a short notice. There is

the historian DOMITIUS CORBULO, [1] who wrote under Caligula (39 A.D.) a

history of his campaigns in Asia, and to whom Pliny refers as an authority

on topographical and ethnographical questions. He was executed by Nero (67

A.D.) and his wealth confiscated to the crown.

Another historian is QUINTUS CURTIUS, whose date has been disputed, some

placing him as early as Augustus, in direct contradiction to the evidence

of his style, which is moulded on that of Seneca, and of his political

ideas, which are those of hereditary monarchy. Others again place him as

late as the time of Severus, an opinion to which Niebuhr inclined. But it

is more probable that he lived in the time of Claudius and the early years

of Nero. [2] His work is entitled _Historiae Alexandri Magni_, and is

drawn from Clitarchus, Timagenes, and Ptolomaeus. It consisted of ten

books, of which all but the first two have come down to us. He paid more

attention to style than matter, showing neither historical criticism nor

original research, but putting down everything that looked well in the

relating, even though he himself did not believe it.

Spain was at this time very rich in authors. For more than half a century

she gave the Empire most of its greatest names. The entire epoch has been

called that of Spanish Latinity. L. JUNIUS MODERATUS COLUMELLA was born at

Gades, probably [3] near the beginning of our era. His grandfather was a

man of substance in that part of the province, and a most successful

farmer; it was from him that he imbibed that love of agricultural pursuits

which led him to write his learned and elegant treatise. This treatise,

which has come down to us entire, and consists of twelve books, was

intended to form part of an exhaustive treatment of the subject of

agriculture, including the incidental questions (_e.g._ those of religion)

[4] connected with it. It was expanded and improved from a smaller essay,

of which we still possess certain fragments. The work is written in a

clear, comprehensive way, drawn not only from the best authorities, but

from the author's personal experience. Like a true Roman (it is

astonishing how fully these provincials entered into the mind of Rome) he

descants on the dignity of the subject, on the lapse from old virtue, on

the idleness of men who will not labour on their land and draw forth its

riches, and on the necessity of taking up husbandry in a practical

business-like way. The tenth book, which treats of gardens, is written in

smooth verse, closely imitated from the _Georgics_. It is in fact intended

as a fifth _Georgic. Virgil had said [5] with reference to gardens:

"Verum haec ipse equidem spatiis exclusus iniqnis

Praetereo, atque aliis post me memoranda relinquo."

These words are an oracle to Columella. "I should have written my tenth

book in prose," he says, "had not your frequent requests that I would fill

up what was wanting to the _Georgics_ got the better of my resolution.

Even so, I should not have ventured on poetry if Virgil had not indicated

that he wished it to be done. Inspired, therefore, by his divine

influence, I have approached my slender theme." The verses are good,

though their poetical merit is somewhat on the level of a university prize

poem. They conclude thus:

"Hactenus arvorum cultus Silvine docebam

Siderei referens vatis praecepta Maronis."

Among scientific writers we possess a treatise by SCRIBONIUS LARGUS (47

A.D.) on _Compositiones Medicae_, which is characterised by Teuffel as

"not altogether nonsensical, and in tolerable style, although tinged with

the general superstition of the period." The critic Q. ASCONIUS PEDIANUS

(3-88 A.D.) is more important. He devoted his life to an elaborate

exegesis of the great Latin classics, more particularly Cicero. His

commentary on the _Orations_, of which we possess considerable fragments,

[6] is written with sound sense, and in a clear pointed style. Some

commentaries on the _Verrine Speeches_ which bear his name, are the work

of a much later hand, though perhaps drawn in great part from him. Another

series of notes, extending to a considerable number of orations, was

discovered by Mai, [7] but these also have been retouched by a later hand.

An interesting treatise on primitive geography, manners and customs

(_Chronographia_) which we still possess, was written by POMPONIUS MELA,

of Tingentera in Spain. Like Curtius he has obviously imitated Seneca; his

account is too concise, but he intended and perhaps carried out elsewhere

a fuller treatment of the subject.

The two studies which despotism had done so much to destroy, oratory and

jurisprudence, still found a few votaries. The chief field for speaking

was the senate, where men like Crispus, Eprius Marcellus, and Suillius the

accuser of Seneca, exercised their genius in adroit flattery. Thrasea,

Helvidius, and the opposition, were compelled to study repression rather

than fulness. As jurists we hear of few eminent names: Proculus and

Cassius Longinus are the most prominent.

Grammar was successfully cultivated by VALERIUS PROBUS, who undertook the

critical revision of the texts of the Latin classics, much as the

Alexandrine grammarians had done for those of Greece. He was originally

destined for public life, but through want of success betook himself to

study. After his arrival at Rome he gave public lectures on philology,

which were numerously attended, and he seems to have retained the

affection of all his pupils. His oral notes were afterwards edited in an

epistolary form. The work _De Notis Antiquis_, or at least a portion of

it, _De Iuris Notis_, has come down to us in a slightly abridged form;

also a short treatise called _Catholica_, treating of the noun and verb,

though it is uncertain whether this is authentic. [8] Another work on

grammar is attributed to him, but as it is evidently at least three

centuries later than this date, several critics have supposed it to be by

a second Probus, also a grammarian, who lived at that period.

We shall conclude the chapter with a notice of an extraordinary book, the

_Satires_, which pass under the name of PETRONIUS ARBITER. Who he was is

not certainly known; but there was a Petronius in the time of Nero, whose

death (66 A.D.), is recorded by Tacitus, [9] and who is generally

identified with him. This account has often been quoted; nevertheless we

may insert it here: "His days were passed in sleep, his nights in business

and enjoyment. As others rise to fame by industry, so he by idleness; and

he gained the reputation, not like most spendthrifts of a profligate or

glutton, but of a cultured epicure. His words and deeds were welcomed as

models of graceful simplicity in proportion as they were morally lax and

ostentatiously indifferent to appearances. While proconsul, however, in

Bithynia he showed himself vigorous and equal to affairs. Then turning to

vice, or perhaps simulating it, he became a chosen intimate of Nero, and

his prime authority (_arbiter_) in all matters of taste, so that he

thought nothing delicate or charming except what Petronius had approved.

This raised the envy of Tigellinus, who regarded him as a rival purveyor

of pleasure preferred to himself. Consequently he traded on the cruelty of

Nero, a vice to which all others gave place, by accusing Petronius of

being a friend to Scaevinus, having bribed a slave to give the

information, and removed the means of defence by hurrying almost all

Petronius's slaves into prison. Caesar was then in Campania, and

Petronius, who had gone to Cumae, was arrested there. He determined not to

endure the suspense of hope and fear. But he did not hurry out of life; he

opened his veins gently, and binding them up from time to time, chatted

with his friends, not on serious topics or such as might procure him the

fame of constancy, nor did he listen to any conversation on immortality or

the doctrines of philosophers, but only to light verses on easy themes. He

pensioned some of his slaves, chastised others. He feasted and lay down to

rest, that his compulsory death might seem a natural one. In his will he

did not, like most of the condemned, flatter Nero, or Tigellinus, or any

of the powerful, but satirized the emperor's vices under the names of

effeminate youths and women, giving a description of each new kind of

debauchery. These he sealed and sent to Nero." Many have thought that in

the _Satires_ we possess the very writing to which Tacitus refers. But to

this it is a sufficient answer that they consisted of sixteen books, far

too many to have been written in two days. They must have been prepared

before, and perhaps the most caustic of them were selected for the

emperor's perusal. The fragment that remains is from the fifteenth and

sixteenth books, and is a mixture of verse and prose in excellent

Latinity, but deplorably and offensively obscene. Nothing can give a

meaner idea of the social culture of Rome than this production of one of

her most accomplished masters of self-indulgence. As, however, it is

important from a literary, and still more from an antiquarian point of

view, we add a short analysis of its contents.

The hero is one Encolpius, who begins by bewailing to a rhetor named

Agamemnon the decline of native eloquence, which his friend admits, and

ascribes to the general laxity of education. While the question is under

discussion Encolpius is interrupted and carried off through a variety of

adventures, of which suffice it to say that they are best left in

obscurity, being neither humorous nor moral. Another day, he is invited to

dine with the rich freedman Trimalchio, under whom, doubtless, some court

favourite of Nero is shadowed forth. The banquet and conversation are

described with great vividness. After some preliminary compliments, the

host, eager to display his learning, turns the discourse upon philology;

but he is suddenly called away, and topics of more general interest are

introduced, the guests giving their opinions on each in a sufficiently

interesting way. The remarks of one Ganymedes on the sufferings of the

lower classes, the insufficiency of food, and the lack of healthy

industries, are pathetic and true. Meanwhile, Trimalchio returns, orders a

boar to be killed and cooked, and while this is in preparation entertains

his friends with discussions on rhetoric, medicine, history, art, &c. The

scene becomes animated as the wine flows; various ludicrous incidents

ensue, which are greeted with extemporaneous epigrams in verse, some

rather amusing, others flat and diffuse. The conversation thus turns to

the subject of poetry. Cicero and Syrus are compared with some ability of

illustration. Jests are freely bandied; ghost stories are proposed, and

two marvellous fables related, one on the power of owls to predict events,

the other on a soldier who was changed into a wolf. The supernatural is

then about to be discussed, when a gentleman named Habinnas and his portly

wife Scintilla come in. This lady exhibits her jewels with much

complacency, and Trimalchio's wife Fortunata, roused to competition, does

the same. Trimalchio has now arrived at that stage of the evening's

entertainment when mournful views of life begin to present themselves. He

calls for the necessary documents, and forthwith proceeds to make his

will. His kind provision for his relatives and dependants, combined with

his after-dinner pathos, bring out the softer side of the company's

feelings; every one weeps, and for a time festivities are suspended. The

terrible insecurity of life under Nero is here pointedly hinted at.

The will read, Trimalchio takes a bath, and soon returns in excellent

spirits, ready to dine again. At this his good lady takes umbrage, and

something very like a quarrel ensues, on which Trimalchio bids the

musicians strike up a dead march. The tumult with which this is greeted is

too much for many of the guests. Encolpius, the narrator, leaves the room,

and the party breaks up.

Encolpius on leaving Trimalchio's meets a poet, Eumolpus, who complains

bitterly of poverty and neglect. A debate ensues on the causes of the

decline in painting and the arts; it is attributed to the love of money. A

picture representing the sack of Troy gives occasion for a mock-tragic

poem of some length, doubtless aimed at Nero's effusions. The poet is

pelted as a bore, and has to decamp in haste. But he is incorrigible. He

returns, and this time brings a still longer and more pretentious poem.

Some applaud; others disapprove. Encolpius, seized with a fit of

melancholy, thinks of hanging himself, but is persuaded to live by the

artless caresses of a fair boy whom he has loved. Several adventures of a

similar kind follow, and the book, which towards the end becomes very

fragmentary, ends without any regular conclusion. Enough has been given to

show its general character. It is something between a Menippean satire and

a _Milesian fable_, such as had been translated from the Greek long before

by Sisenna, and were to be so successfully imitated in a later age by

Apuleius. The narrative goes on from incident to incident without any

particular connexion, and allows all kinds of digressions. Poetical

insertions are very frequent, some original, others quoted, many of

considerable elegance. From its central and by many degrees most

entertaining incident the whole satire has been called _The Supper of

Trimalchio_. We have a few short passages remaining from the lost books,

and some allusions in these we possess enable us to reconstruct to some

extent their argument. It does not seem to have contained anything

specially attractive. If only the book were less offensive, its varied

literary scope and polished conversational style would make it truly

interesting. As it is, the student of ancient manners finds it a mine of

important and out-of-the-way information.

APPENDIX.

NOTE I.--_The Testamentum Porcelli._

Connected with the Milesian fables were the Testamentum Porcelli, short

_jeux d'esprit_, generally in the form of comic anecdotes, as a rule

licentious, but sometimes harmless, and intended for children. A specimen

of the unobjectionable sort is here given. St Jerome, who quotes it, says

(contra Rufinum, i. 17, p. 473) "_Quasi non cirratorum turba Milesiarum in

scholis figmenta decantet et testamentum suis Bessorum cachinno membra

concutiat, atque inter scurrarum epulas nugae istiusmodi frequententur._"

"_Testamentum Porcelli._

"Incipit testamentum porcelli.

"M. Grunnius Corocotta porcellus testamentum fecit; quoniam manu mea

scribere non potui, scribendum dictavi. Magirus cocus dixit 'veni huc,

eversor domi, solivertiator, fugitive porcelle, et hodie tibi dirimo

vitam.' Corocotta porcellus dixit 'si qua feci, si qua peccavi, si qua

vascella pedibus meis confregi, rogo, domine coce, vitam peto, concede

roganti.' Magirus cocus dixit 'transi, puer affer mihi de cocina cultrum,

ut hunc porcellum faciam cruentum.' Porcellus comprehenditur a famulis,

ductas sub die xvi. kal. luceminas, ubi abundant cymae, Clibanato et

Piperato consulibus, et ut vidit se moriturum esse, horae spatium petiit

et cocum rogavit ut testamentum facere posset, clamavit ad se suos

parentes, ut de cibariis suis aliquid dimitteret eis. Quid ait:

"'Patri meo Verrino Lardino do lego dari glandis modios xxx. et matri meae

Veturinae Scrofae do lego dari Laeonicae siliginis modios xl. et sorori

meae Quirinae, in euius votum interesse non potui, do lego dari hordei

modios xxx. et de meis visceribus dabo donabo sutoribus saetas, rixoribus

capitinas, surdis auriculas, causidicis et verbosis linguam, bubulariis

intestina, isiciariis femora, mulieribus lumbulos, pueris vesicam, puellis

caudam, cinaedis musculos, cursoribus et venatoribus talos, latronibus

ungulas, et nec nominando coco legato dimitto popiam et pistillum, quae

mecum attuleram: de Tebeste usque ad Tergeste liget sibi collo de reste,

et volo mihi fieri monumentum aureis litteris scriptum:' M. Grunnius

Corocotta porcellus vixit annis DCCCC.XC.VIIII.S. quod si semissem

vixisset, mille annos implesset, 'optimi amatores mei vel consules vitae,

rogo vos ut cam corpore meo bene faciatis, bene condiatis de bonis

condimentis nuclei, piperis et mellis, ut nomen meum in sempiternum

nominetur, mei domini vel consobrini mei, qui in medio testamento

interfuistis, iubete signari.'

"Lardio signavit, Ofellicus signavit, Cyminatus signavit, Tergillus

signavit, Celsinus signavit, Nuptialisus signavit.

"Explicit testamentum porcelli sub die xvi. kal. lucerninas Clibanato et

Piperato consulibus feliciter."

Such ridiculous compositions were extremely popular in court circles

during the corrupter periods of the Empire. Suetonius (Tib. 42) tells us

that Tiberius gave one Asellius Sabinus £1400 for a dialogue in which the

mushroom, the beccaficoe, the oyster, and the thrush advanced their

respective claims to be considered the prince of delicacies. To this age

also belong the collection of epigrams on Priapus called _Priapea_, and

including many poems attributed to Virgil, Tibullus, and Ovid. They are

mostly of an obscene character, but some few, especially those by Tibullus

and Catullus which close the series, are simple and pretty. It is almost

inconceivable to us how so disgusting a cultus could have been joined with

innocence of life; but as Priapus long maintained his place as a rustic

deity we must suppose that the hideous literalism of his surroundings must

have been got over by ingenious allegorising, or forgotten by rustic

veneration.

NOTE 2.--_On the MS. of Petronius._

From Thomson's Essay on the Post-Augustan Latin Poets, from the

_Encyclopaedia Metropolitana_ (_Roman Literature_).