Fragments of Petronius had been printed by Bernardinus de Vitalibus at

Venice in 1499, and by Jacobus Thanner at Leipsig in 1508; but in the year

1632, Petrus Petitus, or as he styled himself, Marinus Statilius, a

literary Dalmatian, discovered at Traw a MS. containing a much more

considerable fragment, which was afterwards published at Padua and

Amsterdam, and ultimately purchased at Rome for the library of the King of

France in the year 1703. The eminent Mr. J. B. Gail, one of the curators

of this library, politely allowed M. Guérard, a young gentleman of

considerable learning employed in the MS. department, to afford us the

following circumstantial information respecting this valuable codex,

classed in the library as 7989:--"It is a small folio two fingers thick,

written on very substantial paper, and in a very legible hand. The titles

are in vermillion; the beginnings of the chapters, &c. are also in

vermillion or blue. It contains the poems of Tibullus, Propertius and

Catullus, as we have them in the ordinary printed editions; then appears

the date of the 20th Nov. 1423. After these comes the letter of Sappho,

and then the work of Petronius. The extracts are entitled 'Petronii

Arbitri satyri fragmenta et libro quinto decimo et sexto decimo,' and

begin thus: 'cum (not 'num,' as in the printed copies) in alio genere

furiarum declamatores inquietantur,' &c. After these fragments, which

occupy twenty-one pages of the MS. we have a piece without title or

mention of its author, which is _The Supper of Trimalcio_. It begins thus:

'Venerat iam tertius dies,' and ends with the words. 'tam plane quam ex

incendio fugimus.' This piece is complete by itself, and does not recur in

the other extracts. Then follows the _Moretum_, attributed to Virgil, and

afterwards the _Phoenix_ of Claudian. The latter piece is in the character

of the seventeenth century, while the rest of the MS. is in that of the

fifteenth." The publication of this fragment excited a great sensation

among the learned, to great numbers of whom the original was submitted,

and by far the majority of the judges decided in favour of its antiquity.

Strong as was this external evidence, the internal is yet more valuable;

since it is scarcely possible to conceive a forgery of this length, which

would not in some point or other betray itself. The difficulty of forging

a work like the _Satyricon_ will better appear, when it is considered that

such attempts have been actually made. A Frenchman, named Nodot, pretended

that the entire work of Petronius had been found at Belgrade in the siege

of that town in 1688. The forged MS. was published; but the contempt it

excited was no less universal than the consideration which was shown to

the MS. of Statilius. Another Frenchman, Lallemand, printed a pretended

fragment, with notes and a translation, in 1800, but no one was deceived

by it.

CHAPTER V.

THE REIGNS OP THE FLAVIAN EMPERORS (A.D. 69-96).

1. PROSE WRITERS.

With the extinction of the Claudian dynasty we enter on a new literary

epoch. The reigns of Vespasian, Titus, and Domitian produced a series of

writers who all show the same characteristics, though necessarily modified

by the tyranny of Domitian's reign as contrasted with the clemency of

those of his two predecessors. Under Vespasian and Titus authors might say

what they chose; both these princes disdained to curb freedom of speech or

to punish it even when it clamoured for martyrdom. Yet such was the

reaction from the excitement of the last epoch, that no writer of genius

appeared, and only one of the first eminence in learning. There now comes

into Roman literature an unmistakable evidence of reduced talent as well

as of decayed taste. Hitherto power at least has not been wanting; but for

the future all is on a weaker scale. Only the two great names of Juvenal

and Tacitus redeem the ninth century of Rome from total want of creative

genius. All other writers move in established grooves, and, as a rule,

imitate or feebly rival some of the giants of the past. Learning was still

cultivated with assiduity if not with enthusiasm; but the grand hopeful

spirit, sure of discovering truth, which animates the erudition of a

better age, has now given place to a querulous depreciation even of the

labour to which the authors have devoted their lives. This is conspicuous

from the first in the otherwise noble pages of the elder PLINY, and is the

secret of that want of critical insight which, in a mind so capaciously

stored, strikes us at first as inexplicable.

This laborious and interesting writer was born at Como [1] in the year 23

A.D. He came, it is not known exactly when, to Rome and studied under the

rhetorical grammarian Apion, whom Tiberius in mockery of his sounding

periods had called "the drum" (_tympanum_). Till his forty-sixth year

Pliny's genius remained unknown. An allusion in his work to Lollia Paulina

has given rise to the opinion that he was admitted to the court of

Caligula, but the grounds for this conclusion are manifestly insufficient.

His nephew states that he composed his treatise _On Doubtful Words_ [2] to

escape the jealousy of Nero, who suspected him of less unambitious

pursuits. But the evidence of the younger Pliny serves better to establish

facts than motives; he is always anxious to swell the importance of his

friends; and it is far more likely from Pliny's own silence that he

remained in comparative obscurity until Nero's death. At the age of

twenty-two he served his first campaign in Africa, and soon after in

Germany under Lucius Pomponius, who gave him a cavalry troop, and seems to

have befriended him in various other ways. His promotion was perhaps due

to the treatise _On Javelin-throwing_ [3] which be wrote about this time.

He showed his gratitude towards Pomponius at a later date by writing his

life.

Pliny had always felt a strong interest in science, and determined as soon

as opportunity offered to make its advancement the object of his life.

With this end in view he made careful observations of all the countries he

visited, and used his military position to secure information that

otherwise might have been hard to obtain. He inspected the source of the

Danube and travelled among the Chauci on the shores of the German Ocean.

He visited the mouths of the Eber and Weser, the North Sea and the

Cimbrian Chersonese, and spent some time among the Roman provinces west of

the Rhine. While in Germany he had a vision in which he saw or thought he

saw the shade of Drusus, which appeared to him by night and bade him tell

the history of all the German wars. Accordingly, he collected materials

with industry, and worked them up into a large volume, which is now

unfortunately lost. At twenty-nine he left the army and returned to Rome,

where he studied for the bar. But his talents were not suitable for

forensic display, and he found a more lucrative field in teaching grammar

and rhetoric. At what time he was sent out as procurator to Spain is

uncertain, but when he returned he found Vespasian on the throne. Pliny,

who had known him in Germany, and had been on intimate terms with his son

Titus, was now received with the greatest favour. Every morning before

day-break, when the busy Emperor rose to finish his correspondence before

the work of the day began, he called Pliny to his side, and the two

friends chatted awhile together in the plain, homely fashion that

Vespasian much preferred to the measured style of court etiquette. Nor was

his favour confined to familiar intercourse. He made him admiral of the

fleet stationed at Misenum and charged with guarding the Mediterranean

ports. It was while here that news was brought him of the eruption of

Vesuvius. He sailed to Resina determined to investigate the phenomenon,

and, as his nephew in a well-known letter tells us, paid the price of his

scientific curiosity with his life. The letter is so charming, and affords

so good an example of Pliny the younger's style, that we may be excused

for inserting: it here. [4]

"He was at Misenum in command of the fleet. On the 24th August (79

A.D.), about 1 P.M., my mother pointed out to him a cloud of unusual

size and shape. He had then sunned himself, had his cold bath, tasted

some food, and was lying down reading. He at once asked for his shoes,

and mounted a height from which the best view might be obtained. The

cloud was rising from a mountain afterwards ascertained to have been

Vesuvius; its form was more like a pine-tree than anything else. It

was raised into the air by what seemed its trunk, and then branched

out in different directions; the reason probably was that the blast,

at first irresistible, but afterwards losing strength or unable to

counteract gravity, spent itself by spreading out on either side. The

cloud was either bright, or dark and spotty, according as earth or

ashes were thrown up. As a man of science he determined to inspect the

phenomenon more closely. He ordered a light vessel to be prepared, and

offered to take me with him. I replied that I would rather study; as

it happened, he himself had set me something to write. He was just

starting, when a letter was brought from Rectina imploring aid for

Naseus who was in imminent danger; his villa lay below, and no escape

was possible except by sea. He now changed his plan, and what he had

begun, from scientific enthusiasm he carried out with self-sacrificing

courage. He launched some quadriremes, and embarked with the intention

of succouring not only Rectina but others who lived on that populous

and picturesque coast. Thus he hurried to the spot from which all

others were flying, and steered straight for the danger, so absolutely

devoid of fear that he dictated an account with full comments of all

the movements and changing shapes of the phenomenon, each as it

presented itself. Ashes were now falling on the decks, and became

hotter and denser as the vessel approached. Scorched and blackened

pumice-stones and bits of rock split by fire were mingled with them.

The sea suddenly became shallow, and fragments from the mountain

filled the coast seeming to bar all further progress. He hesitated

whether to return; but on the master strongly advising it, he cried,

'Fortune favours the brave: make for Pomponianus's house.' This was at

Stabiae, and was cut off from the coast near Vesuvius by an inlet,

which had been gradually scooped out by encroachments of the sea. The

owner was in sight, intending, should the danger (which was visible,

but not immediate) approach so near as to be urgent, to escape by

ship. For this purpose he had embarked all his effects and was waiting

for a change of wind. My uncle, whom the breeze favoured, soon reached

him, and, embracing him with much affection, tried to console his

fears. To show his own unconcern he caused himself to be carried to a

bath; and having washed, sat down to dinner with cheerfulness or (what

is equally creditable to him) with the appearance of it. Meanwhile

from many parts of the mountain broad flames burst forth; the blaze

shone back from the sky, and a dark night enhanced the lurid glare. To

soothe his friend's terror he declared that what they saw was only the

deserted villages which the inhabitants in their flight had set on

fire. Then he retired to rest, and there can be no doubt that he

slept, since the sound of his breathing (which a broad chest made deep

and resonant), was clearly heard by those watching at the door. Soon

the court which led to the chamber was so choked with cinders and

stones that longer delay would have made escape impossible. He was

aroused from sleep, and went to Pomponianus and the rest who had sat

up all night. They debated whether to stay indoors or to wander about

in the open. For on the one hand constant shocks of earthquake made

the houses rock to and fro, and loosened their foundations; while on

the other, the open air was rendered dangerous by the fall of pumice-

stones, though these were light and very porous. On the whole they

preferred the open air, but what to the rest had been a weighing of

fears had to him been a balancing of reasons. They tied cushions over

their heads to guard them from the falling stones. Though it was now

day elsewhere it was here darker than the darkest night, though the

gloom was broken by torches and other lights. They next walked to the

sea to try whether it would admit of vessels being launched, but it

was still a waste of raging waters. He then spread a linen cloth, and,

reclining on it, asked several times for water, which he drank; soon,

however, the flames and that sulphurous vapour which preceded them put

his companions to flight and compelled him to arise. He rose by the

help of two slaves, but immediately fell down dead. His death no doubt

arose from suffocation by the dense vapour, as well as from an

obstruction of his stomach, apart which had been always weak and

liable to inflammation and other discomforts. When daylight returned,

_i.e._ after three days, his body was found entire, just as it

was, covered with the clothes in which he had died; his appearance was

that of sleep rather than of death."

This interesting letter, which was sent to Tacitus for insertion in his

history, gives a fine description of the eruption. Another, still more

graphic, is given in a later letter of the same book. [5] A third [6]

informs us of the extraordinary studiousness and economy of time practised

by the philosopher, which enabled him in a life by no means long to

combine a very active business career with an amount of reading and

writing only second to that of Varro. Pliny's admiration for his uncle's

unwearied diligence makes him delight to dwell on these particulars:

"After the Vulcanalia (the 23d of August) he always began work at dead

of night, in winter at 1 A.M., never later than 2 A.M., often at

midnight. He was most sparing of sleep; at times it would catch him

unawares while studying. After his interview with Vespasian was over,

he went to business, then to study for the rest of the day. After a

light meal, which like our ancestors he ate by day, he would in

summer, if he had any leisure, lie in the sun, while some one read to

him and he made notes or extracts. He never read without making

extracts; no book, he said, was so bad but that something might be

gained from it. After sunning himself he would take a cold bath, then

a little food, then a short nap. Then, as if it were a new day, he

studied till supper. During this meal a book was read, he all the

while making notes. I remember once, when the reader mispronounced a

word, that one of our friends compelled him to repeat it. My uncle

asked him if he had not understood the word. On his replying, yes, my

uncle said sharply, 'Then why did you interrupt him? we have lost more

than ten lines;' so frugal was he of his time. He rose from supper

before dark in summer, before 7 P.M. in winter; and this habit was law

to him. Such was his life in town; but in the country his one and only

interruption from study was the bath. I mean the actual _bathing_; for

while he was being rubbed he always either dictated, or listened to

reading. On a journey, having nothing else to do, he gave himself

wholly to study; at his side was an amanuensis, who in winter wore

gloves, that his master's work might not be interrupted by the cold.

Even in Rome he always travelled in a sedan. I remember his chiding me

for taking a walk, saying, "you might have saved those hours"--for

every moment not given to study he thought lost time. By this

application he contrived to compose that vast array of volumes which

we possess, besides bequeathing to me 160 rolls of selected notes,

each roll written on both sides and in the smallest possible hand,

which practically doubles their number. To call myself studious with

his example before me is absurd; compared with him, I am an idle

vagabond."

In the earlier part of this letter, Pliny gives a list of his uncle's

works. Besides those mentioned in the text, we find a treatise on

eloquence called _Studiosus_, and a continuation of the history of

Aufidius Bassus in thirty books, dedicated to the emperor Titus. The

_Natural History_, in thirty-seven books, is the sole monument of Pliny's

industry that has descended to us. The fortunes of this portentous work

have greatly varied; while in the Middle Ages it was reverenced as a kind

of encyclopaedia of all secular knowledge, in our own day, except to

antiquarians, it is an unknown book. Many who know Virgil almost by heart

have never read through its tiresome and conceited preface. Yet there is

an immensity of interesting matter discussed in the work. Independently of

its vast learning, for it contains, according to its author's statement,

twenty thousand facts, and excerpts or redactions from two thousand books

or treatises, its range of subjects is such as to include something

attractive to every taste. Strictly speaking, many topics enter which do

not belong to natural history at all, _e.g._, the account of the use made

of natural substances in the applied sciences and the useful or fine arts;

but as these are decidedly the best-written parts of the work, and full of

chatty, pleasant anecdotes, we should be much worse off if they had been

omitted. The confused arrangement also, which mars its utility as a

compendium of knowledge, may be due in great measure to the indefinite

state of science at the time, to the gaps in its affinities which the

discovery of so many new sciences has helped to fill up, and the

consequent mingling together of branches which are separate and distinct.

It is questionable whether Pliny ever had any originality. If he had, it

was stamped out long before he began his book by the weight of his

cumbrous erudition. He cannot compare his materials, nor select them, nor

analyse them, nor make them explain themselves by lucid arrangement. Nor

has his review of human knowledge taught him the great truth that science

is progressive, that each age corrects the errors of the past, and

prepares the way for the improvements of the next. Seneca, with all his

affected contempt for science, learnt the lesson of it better than Pliny.

He has in the first place no fixed canon of truth. One thing does not seem

to him more probable than another. A statement has only to come forward

under the testimony of a respectable ancient, and it is at once put down

as a fact. Here, however, we must make a distinction, for fear of

invalidating Pliny's authority beyond what is just. It is only in strictly

scientific matters that this credulity and lack of penetration is found.

Where he deals with historical, biographical, or agricultural questions,

he is a competent, and for the most part trustworthy, compiler. His work

is a most valuable storehouse for the antiquarian or historian of ancient

literature or art, and generally for the current opinions on nearly every

topic. Though genuinely devoted to learning, he has still enough of the

"old Adam" of rhetoric about him to complain of the dryness of his

material, and its unsuitableness for ornamental treatment; but this cannot

surprise us, when we remember that even Tacitus with infinitely less

reason bewailed the monotony of the events he had taken upon him to

record.

What partly accounts for Pliny's uncritical credulity is the

unsatisfactory theory of the universe which he adopts, and with

commendable candour sets before us at the outset. [7] He is a

materialistic pantheist. The world is for him deity, self-created and

eternal, incomprehensible by man, moving ceaselessly without reference to

him. So far there is nothing unscientific, except the hypothesis of self-

creation; but he goes on to imply that the laws of its action, being

incomprehensible, need not be regular, at any rate, as we consider

regularity. The things which militate against our experience may be the

result of other laws, or of chance contingencies of which no account can

be given. Hence he never rejects a fact on the ground of its being

marvellous. The most ludicrous and inconceivable monstrosities find an

easy place in his system. He does not attach any superstitious meaning to

them; on the contrary, he ridicules the idea that omens or portents are

sent by the gods, but he has no touchstone by which to test the rare but

possible results of real experience as distinguished from the figments of

the imagination or ordinary travellers' stories. In the zoological part he

gives the reins to his love of the marvellous; all kinds of absurdities

are narrated with the utmost gravity; and his accounts descended through

the mediaeval period as the accredited authority on the subject. In the

literature of Prester John will be seen many a reflection from the

writings of Pliny; in the fables of the _Arabian Nights_ many more, with

characteristic additions equally creditable to human weakness or

ingenuity. It is truly lamentable to reflect that while the rational and

on the whole truthful descriptions of Aristotle and Theophrastus were

extant and accessible, Pliny's nonsense should in preference have gained

the ear of mankind.

As a stylist Pliny recalls two very different writers, Seneca and Cato. In

those parts where he speaks as a moralist (and they are extremely

numerous), he strives to reproduce the point of Seneca; in those where he

treats of husbandry, which are perhaps the most naturally written in the

work, his stern brevity often recalls the old censor. Like Seneca, he

considers physical science as food for edification; continually he deserts

his theme to preach a sermon on the folly or ignorance of mankind. And

like Cato he is never weary of extolling the wisdom and virtues of the

harsh infancy of the Republic, and blaming the degeneracy of its feeble

and luxurious descendants who refuse to till the soil, and add acre to

acre of their overgrown estates.

Pliny has a strong vein of satire, and its effect is increased by a

certain sententious quaintness which gives a racy flavour to many

otherwise dull enumerations of facts. But his satire is not of a pleasing

type; it is built too much on despair of his kind; his whole view of the

universe is querulous, and shows a mind unequal to cope with the knowledge

it has acquired.

He was considered the most learned man of his day, and with reason. He at

least knew the value of first-hand acquaintance with the original

authorities, instead of drawing a superficial culture from manuals and

abridgments, or worse still, the empty declamations of the rhetorical

schools. And after all it is his age which must bear the blame of his

failure rather than himself. For while he was not great enough to rise

above his surroundings and investigate, compare, and conclude on a method

planned by himself, he was just the man who would have profited to the

full by being trained in a sound public system of education, and perhaps,

had he lived in the Ciceronian period, would have risen to a much higher

place as a permanent contributor to the journal of human knowledge.

Among the younger contemporaries of Pliny, the most celebrated is M.

FABIUS QUINTILIANUS (35-95 A.D.), [8] a native of Calagurris in Spain, but

educated in Rome, and long established there as a popular and influential

public professor of eloquence. He was intrusted by Domitian with the

education of his two grand-nephews, an honour to which he owed his

subsequent elevation to the consulship. His time had been so fully

occupied with lecturing as to allow no leisure for publishing anything

until the closing years of his career. This gave him the great advantage

of being a ripe writer before he challenged the judgment of the world;

and, in truth, Quintilian's knowledge and love of his subject are thorough

in the highest degree. His first essay was a treatise on the causes of the

decay of eloquence, [9] and the last (which we still possess) a work in

twelve books on the complete training of an orator. [10] This celebrated

work, to which Quintilian devoted the assiduous labour of two whole years,

interrupted only by the lessons given to his royal pupils, represents the

maturest treatment of the subject which we possess. The author was modest

enough to express a strong unwillingness to write it, either fearing to

come forward as an author so late in life, or judging the ground

preoccupied already. However, it was produced at last, and no sooner known

than it at once assumed the high position that has been accorded to it

ever since. The treatment is exhaustive; as much more thorough than the

popular treatises of Cicero as it is more attractive than the purely

technical one of Cornificius. At the same time it has the defects

inseparable from the unreal age in which its author lived. While minutely

providing for all the future orator's formal requirements, it omits the

material one without which the finished rhetorician is but a tinkling

cymbal, how to _think_ as an orator. No one knew better than Quintilian

that this comes from zest in life, not from rules of art. There will be

more stimulus given to one who pants for distinction in the delightful

pages of Cicero's _Brutus_, than in all that Quintilian and such as he

ever wrote or ever will write. But this is not the fault of the man; as a

formal rhetorician of good principle, sound orthodoxy, and love for his

art, Quintilian stands high in the list of classical authors.

He begins his orator's training from the cradle. He rightly ascribes the

greatest importance to early impressions, even the very earliest;

illustrating his position by the influence of Cornelia who trained her

sons to eloquence from childhood, and other similar cases known to Roman

history. A good nurse must be selected; an _eloquent_ one would,

doubtless, be hard to find. The boy who is destined to greatness has now

outgrown the nursery, and the great question arises, Is he to be sent to

school? With the Romans as with us this difficulty admitted of two

solutions. The lad might be educated at home under tutors, or he might be

sent to learn the world at a public school. Those who at the present day

shrink from sending their children to school generally profess to base

their unwillingness on a fear lest the influence of bad example may

corrupt the purity of youth; Quintilian on the very same ground, strongly

recommends a parent to send his son to school. By this means, he says,

_his tender years will be saved from the daily contamination which the

scenes of home life afford_. A sad commentary on the state of Roman

society and the pernicious effects of slave-labour!

After school, the youth is to attend the lectures of a rhetorician. This

is of course a matter of great importance, and in the second book the

writer handles its various bearings with excellent judgment. Having

described the duties of the professor and his pupil, and the various tasks

which will be gone through, he proceeds in the next book to discuss the

different departments of oratory. In this great subject he follows

Aristotle, here, as always, going back to the most established

authorities, and adapting them with signal tact to the changed

requirements of a later age and a different nation. The points connected

with this, the central theme of the treatise, carry us through the five

next books. They are the most technical in the work, and not adapted for

general reading. The eighth begins the interesting topic of style, which

is continued in the ninth, where trope, metaphor, amplification, and other

_figurae orationis_ are illustrated at length. Throughout these books

there are a large number of quotations, and continual references to the

practice of celebrated masters in the art, besides frequent introduction

of passages from the poets and historians. But it is in the tenth book

that these are concentrated into one focus. To acquire a "firm facility"

(_exis_) of speech it is necessary to have read widely and with

discernment. This leads him to enumerate the Greek and Roman authors

likely to be most useful to an orator. The criticisms he offers on the

salient qualities of almost all the great classics may seem to us trite

and common-place. They certainly are not remarkable for brilliancy, but

they are just and sober, and have stood the test of ages, and perhaps

their apparent dulness results from their having been always familiar

words. Their utility to the student of literature is so considerable, that

we have thought it worth while to append a translation of them to the

present chapter. [11]

The eleventh book chiefly turns on memory, which the Romans cultivated

with extreme diligence, and several remarkable instances of which have

been noticed in the course of this work. It was to them a much more vital

excellence than to us, who have adopted the practice of using rough notes

or other assistance to it. Delivery, too, is in the eleventh book fully

discussed; and these chapters will be read with interest as showing the

extreme and minute care bestowed by the Romans on the smallest details of

action as means of producing effect. Generally, their oratory was of a

vehement type. Gesture was freely used, and the voice raised to its

fullest pitch. Trachalus had such a noisy organ that it drowned the

pleaders in the other courts. Even after the decay of freedom the fiery

gestures that had been once its language were not discarded; at the same

time perfect modulation and symmetry were aimed at, so that even in the

most _empressé_ passages decorum was not violated. The systematized

rhetorical training at present general in France, and practised by all who

aspire to arouse the feeling of an assembly, is probably the nearest,

though it may be but a faint, equivalent of the vigorous action of the

Roman courts. The twelfth book treats of the moral qualifications

necessary for a great speaker. Quintilian insists strongly on these. The

good orator must be a good man. The highest talents are nothing if

distorted by evil thoughts. We thus see that he took a worthy view of his

profession, and would never have degraded it to be the instrument of

tyranny or a means of saturating the ears of the idle with seductive and

complaisant theories of life, by which a spurious popularity is so cheaply

obtained. He was a high-minded man "_quantum licuit_;" _i.e._, as far as a

debased age allowed of high-mindedness. His domestic life was clouded by

sorrow. His first wife died at the early age of nineteen, leaving him two

sons, the younger of whom only lived to the age of seven, and the elder

(for whose instruction he wrote the book, and whose precocious talent and

goodness of disposition he recounts with pardonable pride) only survived

his brother about four years. His death was an irremediable blow, which

the orator bewails in the preface to his sixth book. The passage is

instructive as revealing the taste of the day. The paternal regret clothes

itself in such a profusion of antithesis, trope, and hyperbole, that, did

we not know from other sources the excellence of his heart, we might fancy

he was exercising his talents in the sphere of professional

_advertisement_. Before his endowment as professor, which appears to have

brought him about £800 a year, he had occasionally pleaded in the courts;

he appears to have written declamations in various styles, but those now

current under his name are improperly ascribed to him.

Among his pupils was the younger Pliny, who alludes to him with gratitude

in one of his letters; [12] he was well thought of during his life, and is

frequently mentioned by Statius, Martial, and Juvenal, both as the

cleverest of rhetoricians, and the best and most trusted of teachers; [13]

by Juvenal also as a bright instance of good fortune very rare among the

brethren of the craft. [14]

The style of Quintilian is modelled on that of Cicero, and is intended to

be a return to the usages of the best period. He had a warm love for the

writers of the republican age, above all for Cicero, whom he is never

tired of praising; and he preached a crusade against the tinsel ornaments

of the new school whose viciousness, he thought, consisted chiefly in a

corrupt following of Seneca. It was necessary, therefore, to impugn the

authority of his brilliant compatriot, and this he appears to have done

with such warmth as to give rise to the opinion that he had a personal

grudge against him. Some critics have noticed that Quintilian, even when

blaming, often falls into the pointed antithetical style of his time. This

is true. But it was unavoidable; for no man can detach himself from the

mode of speaking common to those with whom he lives. It is sufficient if

he be aware of its worse faults, point out their tendency, and strive to

avoid them. This undoubtedly Quintilian did.

Among prose writers of less note we may mention LICINIUS MUCIANUS, CLUVIUS

RUFUS, who both wrote histories; and VIPSTANUS MESSALA, an orator of the

reactionary school, who, like Quintilian, sought to restore a purer taste,

and devoted some of his time to historical essays on the events he had

witnessed. M. APER and JULIUS SECUNDUS are important as being two of the

speakers introduced into Tacitus's dialogue on oratory, the former taking

the part of the modern style, the latter mediating between the two extreme

views, but inclining towards the modern. All these belonged to the reigns

of Vespasian and Titus, and lived into the first years of Domitian.

An important writer for students of ancient applied science is SEX. JULIUS

FRONTINUS, whose career extends from about 40 A.D. to the end of the first

century. He was praetor urbanus 70 A.D., and was employed in responsible

military posts in Gaul and Britain. In the former country he reduced the

powerful tribe of the Lingones, in Britain, as successor to Petilius

Cerealis, he distinguished himself against the Silures, showing, says

Tacitus, qualities as great as it was safe to show at that time. He was

thrice consul, once under Domitian, again under Nerva (97 A.D.), and

lastly under Trajan (100 A.D.), when he had for colleague the emperor

himself. He died 103 A.D. or perhaps in the following year. Pliny the

younger knew him well, and has several notices of him in his letters.

Throughout his active life he was above all things a man of business:

literature and science, though he was a proficient in both, were made

strictly subservient to the ends of his profession. His character was

cautious but independent, and he is the only contemporary writer we

possess who does not flatter Domitian. The work on gromatics, which

originally contained two books, has descended to us only in a few short

excerpts, which treat _de agrorum gualitate, de controversiis, de

limitibus, de controversiis aquarum_. This was written early in the reign

of Domitian. Another work of the same period was a theoretical treatise on

tactics, alluded to in the more popular work which we possess, and quoted

by Vegetius who followed him. In this he examined Greek theories of

warfare as well as Roman, and apparently with discrimination; for Aelian,

in his account of the Greek strategical writers, assigns Frontinus a high

place. The comprehensive manual called _Strategematon_ (_sollertia ducum

facta_) is intended for general reading among those who are interested in

military matters. The books are arranged according to their subjects, but

in the distribution of these there is no definite plan followed. Many

interpolations have been inserted, especially in the fourth and last book

which is a kind of appendix, adding general examples of strategic sayings

and doings (_strategematica_) to the specifically-selected instances of

the strategic art which are treated in the first three. Its introduction,

as Teuffel remarks, is written in a boastful style quite foreign to

Frontinus, and the arrangement of anecdotes under various moral headings

reminds us of a rhetorician like Valerius Maximus, rather than of a man of

affairs. The entire fourth book appears to be an accretion, perhaps as

early as the fourth century. The last treatise by Frontinus which we

possess is that _De Aquis Urbis Romae_, or with a slightly different

title, _De Aquaeductu_, or _De Cura Aquarum_, published under Trajan soon

after the death of Nerva. In an admirable preface he explains that his

invariable custom when intrusted with any work was to make himself

thoroughly acquainted with the subject in all its bearings before

beginning to act; he could thus work with greater promptitude and

despatch, and besides gained a theoretical knowledge which might have

escaped him amid the multitude of practical details. Frontinus's account

of the water-supply of Rome is complete and valuable: recent explorers

have found it thoroughly trustworthy, and have been aided by it in

reconstructing the topography of the ancient city. [15] The architecture

of Rome has been reproached with some justice for bestowing its finest

achievements on buildings destined for amusement, or on mere private

dwellings. But if from the amphitheatres, the villas, the baths, we turn

to the roads, the sewers, and the aqueducts, we shall agree with Frontinus

in deeply admiring so grand a combination of the artistic with the useful.

A practical recognition of some of the great sanitary laws seem to have

early prevailed at Rome, and might well excite our wonder, if such things

had not been as a rule passed by in silence by historians. Recent

discoveries are tending to set the early civilisation of Rome on a far

higher level than it has hitherto been able to claim.

The style of Frontinus is not so devoid of ornament as might be expected

from one so much occupied in business; but the ornament it has is of the

best kind. He shuns the conceits of the period, and goes back to the

republican authors, of whom (and especially of Caesar's _Commentaries_)

his language strongly reminds us. We observe that the very simplicity

which Quintilian sought in vain from a lifelong rhetorical training is

present unsought in Frontinus; a clear proof that it is the occupation of

life and the nature of the man, not the varnish of artistic culture,

however elaborately laid on, that determines the main characteristics of

the writer.

No other prose authors of any name have come down to us from this epoch. A

vast number of persons are flatteringly saluted by Statius and Martial as

orators, historians, jurists, &c.; but these venal poets had a stock of

complimentary phrases always ready for any one powerful enough to command

them. When we read therefore that Tutilius, Regulus, Flavius Ursus,

Septimius Severus, were great writers, we must accept the statement only

with considerable reductions. Victorius Marcellus, the friend to whom

Quintilian dedicates his treatise, was probably a person of some real

eminence; his juridical knowledge is celebrated by Statius. The _Silvae_

of Statius and the letters of Pliny imply that there was a very active and

generally diffused interest in science and letters; but it is easy to be

somebody where no one is great. Among grammarians AEMILIUS ASPER deserves

notice. [16] He seems to have been living while Suetonius composed his

biography of grammarians, since he is not included in it. He continued the

studies of Cornutus and Probus of Berytus, and was best known for his

_Quaestiones Virgilianae_ (of which several fragments still remain), and

his commentaries on Terence and Sallust. LARGUS LICINIUS, the author of

_Ciceromastix_, may perhaps be referred to this time. The reiterated

commendation of Cicero occurring in Quintilian may have roused the

modernising party into active opposition, and drawn out this _brochure_.

History and philosophy both sunk to an extremely low ebb; no writers on

these subjects worthy of mention are preserved.

APPENDIX.

_Quintilian's Account of the Roman Authors._

We subjoin a translation of Quintilian's criticism of the chief Roman

authors as very important for the student of Latin literature, premising,

however, that he judged them solely as regards their utility to one who is

preparing to become an orator. The criticism, although thus special, has a

permanent value, as embracing the best opinion of the time, temperately

stated (Inst. Or. xi. 85-131):--"The same order will be observed in

treating the Roman writers. As Homer among the Greeks, so _Virgil_ among

our own authors will best head the list; he is beyond doubt the second

epic poet of either nation. I will use the words I heard Domitius Afer use

when I was a boy. When I asked him who he considered came nearest to

Homer, he replied, 'Virgil is the second, but he is nearer the first than

the third;' and in truth, while Rome cannot but yield to that celestial

and deathless genius, yet we can observe more care and diligence in

Virgil; for this very reason, perhaps, that he was obliged to labour more.

And so it is that we make up for the lack of occasional splendour by

consistent and equable excellence. All the other epicists will follow at a

respectful distance. _Macer_ and _Lucretius_ are indeed worth reading, but

are of no value for the phraseology, which is the main body of eloquence.

Each is good in his own subject; but the former is humble, the latter

difficult. _Varro Atacinus_, in those works which have gained him fame,

appears as a translator by no means contemptible, but is not rich enough

to add to the resources of eloquence. _Ennius_ let us reverence as we

should groves of holy antiquity, whose grand and venerable trees have more

sanctity than beauty. Others are nearer our own day, and more useful for

the matter in hand. _Ovid_ in his heroics is as usual wanton, and too fond

of his own talent, but in parts he deserves praise. _Cornelius Severus_,

though a better versifier than poet, would still claim the second place,

if only he had written all his _Sicilian War_ as well as the first book.

But his early death did not allow his genius to be matured. His boyish

works show a great and admirable talent, and a desire for the best style

rare at that time of life. We have lately lost much in _Valerius Flaccus_.

The inspiration of _Salcius Bassus_ was vigorous and poetical, but old age

never succeeded in ripening it. _Rabirius_ and _Pedo_ are worth reading,

if you have time. _Lucan_ is ardent, earnest, and full of admirably

expressed sentiments, and, to give my real opinion, should be classed with

orators rather than poets. We have named these because Germanicus Augustus

(Domitian) has been diverted from his favourite pursuit by the care of the

world, and the gods thought it too little for him to be the first of

poets. Yet what can be more sublime, learned, matchless in every way, than

the poems in which, giving up empire, he spent the privacy of his youth?

Who could sing of wars so well as he who has so successfully waged them?

To whom would the goddesses who watch over studies listen so propitiously?

To whom would Minerva, the patroness of his house, more willingly reveal

the mysteries of her art? Future ages will recount these things at greater

length. For now this glory is obscured by the splendour of his other

virtues. We, however, who worship at the shrine of letters will crave your

indulgence, Caesar, for not passing the subject by in silence, and will at

least bear witness, as Virgil says,

'That ivy wreathes the laurels of your crown.'

"In elegy, too, we challenge the Greeks. The tersest and most elegant

author of it is in my opinion _Tibullus_. Others prefer _Propertius_.

_Ovid_ is more luxuriant, _Gallus_ harsher, than either. Satire is all our

own. In this _Lucilius_ first gained great renown, and even now has many

admirers so wedded to him, as to prefer him not only to all other

satirists but to all other poets. I disagree with them as much as I

disagree with Horace, who thinks Lucilius flows in a muddy stream, and

that there is much that one would wish to remove. For there is wonderful

learning in him, freedom of speech with the bitterness that comes

therefrom, and an inexhaustible wit. _Horace_ is far terser and purer, and

without a rival in his sketches of character. _Persius_ has earned much

true glory by his single book. There are men now living who are renowned,

and others who will be so hereafter. That earlier sort of satire not

written exclusively in verse was founded by _Terentius Varro_, the most

learned of the Romans. He composed a vast number of extremely erudite

treatises, being well versed in the Latin tongue as well as in every kind

of antiquarian knowledge; he will, however, contribute much more to

science than to oratory.

"The iambus is not much in vogue among the Romans as a separate form of

poetry; it is more often interspersed with other rhythms. Its bitterness

is found in _Catullus_, _Bibaculus_, and _Horace_, though in the last the

epode breaks its monotony.

"Of lyricists _Horace_ is, I may say, the only one worth reading; for he

sometimes rises, and he is always full of sweetness and grace, and most

happily daring in figures and expressions. If any one else be added, it

must be Caesius Bassus, whom we have lately seen, but there are living

lyricists far greater than he.

"Of the ancient tragedians _Accius_ and _Pacuvius_ are the most renowned

for the gravity of their sentiments, the weight of their words, and the

dignity of their characters. But brilliancy of touch and the last polish

in completing their work seems to have been wanting, not so much to

themselves as to their times. Accius is held to be the more powerful

writer; Pacuvius (by those who wish to be thought learned) the more

learned. Next comes the _Thyestes_ of _Varius_, which may be compared with

any of the Greek plays. The _Medea_ of _Ovid_ shows what that poet might

have achieved if he had but controlled instead of indulging his

inspiration. Of those of my own day _Pomponius Secundus_ is by far the

greatest. The old critics, indeed, thought him wanting in tragic force,

but they confessed his learning and brilliancy.

"In comedy we halt most lamentably. It is true that Varro declares (after

Aelius Stilo) that the muses, had they been willing to talk Latin, would

have used the language of Plautus. It is true also that the ancients had a

high respect for Caecilius, and that they attributed the plays of Terence

to Scipio--plays that are of their kind most elegant, and would be even

more pleasing if they had kept within the iambic metre. We can scarcely

reproduce in comedy a faint shadow of our originals, so that I am

compelled to believe the language incapable of that grace, which even in

Greek is peculiar to the Attic, or at any rate has never been attained in

any other dialect. _Afranius_ excels in the national comedy, but I wish he

had not defiled his plots by licentious allusions.

"In history at all events, I would not yield the palm to Greece. I should

have no fear in matching _Sallust_ against Thucydides, nor would Herodotus

disdain to be compared with _Livy_--Livy, the most delightful in

narration, the most candid in judgment, the most eloquent in his speeches

that can be conceived. Everything is perfectly adapted both to the

circumstances and personages introduced. The affections, and, above all,

the softer ones, have never (to say the least) been more persuasively

introduced by any writer. Thus by a different kind of excellence he has

equalled the immortal rapidity of Sallust. _Servilius Nonianus_ well said

to me: 'They are not like, but they are equal.' I used often to listen to

his recitations; a man of lofty spirit and full of brilliant sentiments,

but less condensed than the majesty of history demands. This condition was

better fulfilled by _Aufidius Bassus_, who was a little his senior, at any

rate in his books on the German War, in which the author was admirable in

his general treatment, but now and then fell below himself. There still

survives and adorns the literary glory of our age a man worthy of an

immortal record, who will be named some day, but now is only alluded to.

He has many to admire, none to imitate him, as if freedom, though he clips

her wings, had injured him. But even in what he has allowed to remain you

can detect a spirit full lofty, and opinions courageously stated. There

are other good writers; but at present we are tasting, as it were, the

samples, not ransacking the libraries.

"It is the orators who more than any have made Latin eloquence a match for

that of Greece. For I could boldly pitch Cicero against any of their

champions. Nor am I ignorant how great a strife I should be stirring up

(especially as it is no part of my plan), were I to compare him with

Demosthenes. This is the less necessary, since I think Demosthenes should

be read (or rather learnt by heart) above every one else. Their

excellences seem to me to be very similar; there is the same plan, order

of division, method of preparation, proof, and all that belongs to

invention. In the oratorical style there is some difference. The one is

closer, the other more fluent; the one draws his conclusion with more

incisiveness, the other with greater breadth; the one always wields a

weapon with a sharp edge, the other frequently a heavy one as well; from

the one nothing can be taken, to the other nothing can be added; the one

shows more care, the other more natural gift. In wit and pathos, both

important points, Cicero is clearly first. Perhaps the custom of his state

did not allow Demosthenes to use the epilogue, but then neither does the

genius of Latin oratory allow us to employ ornaments which the Athenians

admire. In their letters, of which both have left several, there can be no

comparison; nor in their dialogues, of which Demosthenes has not left any.

In one point we must yield: Demosthenes came first, and of course had a

great share in making Cicero what he was. For to me Cicero seems in his

intense zeal for imitating the Greeks to have united the force of

Demosthenes, the copiousness of Plato, and the sweetness of Isocrates. Nor

has he only acquired by study all that was best in each, but has even

exalted the majority if not the whole of their excellences by the

inexpressible fertility of his glorious talent. For, as Pindar says, he

does not collect rain-water, but bursts forth in a living stream; born by

the gift of providence that eloquence might put forth and test all her

powers. For who can teach more earnestly or move more vehemently? to whom

was such sweetness ever given? The very concessions he extorts you think

he begs, and while by his swing he carries the judge right across the

course, the man seems all the while to be following of his own accord.

Then in everything he advances there is such strength of assertion that

one is ashamed to disagree; nor does he bring to bear the eagerness of an

advocate, but the moral confidence of a juryman or a witness; and

meanwhile all those graces, which separate individuals with the most

constant care can hardly obtain, flow from him without any premeditation;

and that eloquence which is so delicious to listen to seems to carry on

its surface the most perfect freedom from labour. Wherefore his

contemporaries did right to call him 'king of the courts;' and posterity

to give him such renown that Cicero stands for the name not of a man but

of eloquence itself. Let us then fix our eyes on him; let his be the

example we set before us; let him who loves Cicero well know that his own

progress has been great. In _Asinius Pollio_ there is much invention,

much, according to some, excessive, diligence; but he is so far from the

brilliancy and sweetness of Cicero that he might be a generation earlier.

But _Messala_ is polished and open, and in a way carries his noble birth

into his style of eloquence, but he lacks vigour. If _Julius Caesar_ had

only had leisure for the forum, he would be the one we should select as

the rival of Cicero. He has such force, point, and vehemence of style,

that it is clear he spoke with the same mind that he warred. Yet all is

covered with a wondrous elegance of expression, of which he was peculiarly

studious. There was much talent in _Caelius_, and in accusations chiefly

he showed a great urbanity; he was a man worthy of a better mind and a

longer life. I have found those who prefer _Calvus_ to any orator; I have

found others who thought with Cicero that by too strict criticism of

himself he lost real power; but his style is weighty and noble, guarded,

and often vehement. He was an enthusiastic atticist, and his early death

may be considered a misfortune, if we can believe that a longer life would

have added something to his over concise manner. _Servius Sulpicius_ has

earned considerable fame by his three speeches. _Cassius Severus_ will

give many points for imitation if he be read judiciously; if he had added

colour and weight to his other good qualities of style, he would be placed

extremely high. For he has great talent and wonderful power of satire. His

urbanity, too, is great, but he gave himself up to passion rather than

reason. And as his wit is always bitter, so the very bitterness of it

sometimes makes it ludicrous. I need not enumerate the rest of this long

list. Of my own contemporaries _Domitius Afer_ and _Julius Africanus_ are

far the greatest; the former in art and general style, the latter in

earnestness, and the sorting of words, which sorting, however, is perhaps

excessive, as his arrangements are lengthy and his metaphors immoderate.

There have been lately some great masters in this line. _Trachalus_ was

often sublime, and very open in his manner, a man to whom you gave credit

for good motives; but he was much greater heard than read. For he had a

beauty of voice such as I have never known in any other, an articulation

good enough for the stage, and grace of person and every other external

advantage were at their height in him. _Vibius Crispus_ was neat, elegant,

and pleasing, better for private than public causes. Had _Julius Secundus_

lived longer, his renown as an orator would be first-rate. For he would

have added, as indeed he had already began to add, all the desiderata for

the highest ideal. He would have been more combative, and more attentive

to the subject, even to an occasional neglect of the manner. Cut off as he

was, he nevertheless merits a high place; such is his facility of speech,

his charm in explaining what he has to say; his open, gentle, and specious

style, his perfect selection of words, even those which are adopted on the

spur of the moment; his vigorous application of analogies extemporaneously

suggested. My successors in rhetorical criticism will have a rich field

for praising those who are now living. For there are now great talents at

work who do credit to the bar, both finished patrons, worthy rivals of the

ancients, and industrious youths, following them in the path of

excellence.

"There remain the philosophers, few of whom have attained to eloquence.

_Cicero_, here as ever, is the rival of Plato. _Brutus_ stands in this

department much higher than as an orator; he suffices for the weight of

his matter; you can see he feels what he says. _Cornelius Celsus_,

following the _Sextii_, has written a good deal with point and elegance.

_Plancus_ among the Stoics is useful for his knowledge. Among Epicureans,

_Catius_ though a light is a pleasant writer. I have purposely deferred

_Seneca_ until the end, because of the false report current that I condemn

him, and even personally dislike him. This results from my endeavour to

recal to a severer standard a corrupt and effeminate taste. When I began

my crusade, Seneca was almost the only writer in the hands of the young.

Nor did I try to 'disestablish' him altogether, but only to prevent his

being placed above better men, whom he continually attacked, from a

consciousness that his special talents would never allow him to please in

the way they pleased. And then his pupils loved him better than they

imitated him, and in their imitations fell as much below him as he had

fallen below the ancients. I only wish they could have been equals or

seconds to such a man. But he pleased them solely through his faults; and

it was to reproduce these that they all strove with their utmost efforts,

and then, boasting that they spoke in his style, they greatly injured his

fame. He, indeed, had many and great excellences; an easy and fertile

talent, much study, much knowledge, though in this he was often led astray

by those he employed to 'research' for him. He treated nearly the whole

cycle of knowledge. For he has left speeches, poems, letters, and

dialogues. In philosophy he was not very accurate, but he was a notable

rebuker of vice. Many brilliant apophthegms are scattered through his

works; much, too, may be read with a moral purpose. But from the point of

view of eloquence his style is corrupt, and the more pernicious because he

abounds in pleasant faults. One could wish he had used his own talent and

another person's judgment. For had he despised some modes of effect, had

he not striven after others (_partem_), if he had not loved all that was

his own, if he had not broken the weight of his subjects by his short cut-

up sentences, he would be approved by the consent of the learned rather

than by the enthusiasm of boys. For all this, he should be read, but only

by those who are robust and well prepared by a course of stricter models;

and for this object, to exercise their judgment on both sides. For there

is much that is good in him, much to admire; only it requires picking out,

a thing he himself ought to have done. A nature which could always achieve

its object was worthy of having striven after a better object than it

did."

CHAPTER VI

THE REIGNS OF VESPASIAN, TITUS, AND DOMITIAN (A.D. 69-96).

2. POETS.

The poet is usually credited with a genius more independent of external

circumstances than any other of nature's favourites. His inspiration is

more creative, more unearthly, more constraining, more unattainable by

mere effort. He seems to forget the world in his own inner sources of

thought and feeling. As circumstances cannot produce him, so they do not

greatly affect his genius. He is the product of causes as yet unknown to

the student of human progress; he is a boon for which the age that has him

should be grateful, a sort of _aerii mellis caelestia dona_. Modern

literature is full of this conception. The poet "does but speak because he

must; he sings but as the linnets sing." Never has the sentiment been

expressed with deeper pathos than by Shelley's well-known lines:

"Like a poet hidden

In the light of thought,

Singing hymns unbidden,

Till the world is wrought

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not."

The idea that the poet can neither be made on the one hand, nor repressed

if he is there, on the other, has become deeply rooted in modern literary

thought. And yet if we look through the epochs that have been most fertile

of great poets, the instances of such self-sufficing hardiness are rare.

In Greek poetry we question whether there is one to be found. In Latin

poetry there is only Lucretius. In modern times, it is true, they are more

numerous, owing to the greater complexity of our social conditions, and

the greater difficulty for a strongly sensuous or deeply spiritual poetic

nature to be in harmony with them all. Putting aside these solitary voices

we should say on the whole that poetry, at least in ancient times, was the

tenderest and least hardy of all garden flowers. It needed, so to say, a

special soil, constant care, and shelter from the rude blast. It could

blossom only in the summer of patronage, popular or imperial; the storms

of war and revolution, and the chill frost of despotism, were equally

fatal to its tender life. Where its supports were strong its own strength

came out, and that with such luxuriance as to hide the props which lay

beneath; but when once the inspiring consciousness of sympathy and aid was

lost, its fair head drooped, its fragrance was forgotten, and its seeds

were scattered to the waste of air.

If Lucan's claim to the name of poet be disputed, what shall we say to the

so-called poets of the Flavian age? to Valerius Flaccus, Silius, Statius,

and Martial? In one sense they are poets certainly; they have a thorough

mastery over the form of their art, over the hackneyed themes of verse.

But in the inspiration that makes the bard, in the grace that should adorn

his mind, in the familiarity with noble thoughts which lends to the

_Pharsalia_ an undisputed greatness, they are one and all absolutely

wanting. None of them raise in the reader one thrill of pleasure, none of

them add one single idea to enrich the inheritance of mankind. The works

of Pliny and Quintilian cannot indeed be ranked among the masterpieces of

literature. But in elegant greatness they are immeasurably superior to the

works of their brethren of the lyre. Science can seek a refuge in the

contemplation of the material universe; if it can find no law there, no

justice, no wisdom, no comfort, it at least bows before unchallenged

greatness. Rhetoric can solace its aspirations in a noble though hopeless

effort to rekindle an extinct past. Poetry, that should point the way to

the ideal, that should bear witness if not to goodness at least to beauty

and to glory, grovels in a base contentment with all that is meanest and

shallowest in the present, and owns no source of inspiration but the

bidding of superior force, or the insulting bribe of a despot's minion

which derides in secret the very flattery it buys.

These poets need not detain us long. There is little to interest us in

them, and they are of little importance in the history of literature. The

first of them is C. VALERIUS FLACCUS SETINUS BALBUS. [1] He was born not,

as his name would indicate, at Setia, but at Patavium. [2] We gather from

a passage in his poem [3] that he filled the office of _Quindecimvir

sacris faciundis_, and from Quintilian [4] that he was cut off by an early

death. The date of this event may be fixed with probability to the year 88

A.D. [5] Dureau de la Malle has disputed this, and thinks it probable that

he lived until the reign of Trajan; but this is in itself unlikely, and

inconsistent with the obviously unfinished state of the poem. The legend

of the Argonauts which forms its subject was one that had already been

treated by Varro Atacinus apparently in the form of an imitation or

translation from the same writer, Appollonius Rhodius, whom Valerius also

chose as his model. But whereas Varro's poem was little more than a free

translation, that of Valerius is an amplification and study from the

original of a more ambitious character. It consists of eight books, of

which the last is incomplete, and in estimating its merits or demerits we

must not forget the immaturity of its author's talent.

The opening dedication to Vespasian fixes its composition under his reign.

Its profane flattery is in the usual style of the period, but lacks the

brilliancy, the audacity, and the satire of that of Lucan. From certain

allusions it is probable that the poem was written soon after the conquest

of Jerusalem by Titus [6] (A.D. 70). There is considerable learning shown,

but a desire to compress allusions into a small space and to suggest

trains of mythological recollection by passing hints, interfere with the

lucidity of the style. In other respects the diction is classical and

elegant, and both rhythm and language are closely modelled on those of

Virgil. Licences of versification are rare. The spondaic line, rarely used

by Ovid, almost discarded by Lucan, but which reappears in Statius, is

sparingly employed by Valerius. Hiatus is still rarer, but the shortening

of final _o_ occurs in verbs and nominatives, such as _Juno, Virgo_,

whenever it suits the metre. His speeches are rhetorical but not

extravagant, some, _e.g._, that of Helle to Jason, are very pretty. In

descriptive power he rises to his highest level; some of his subjects are

extremely vivid and might form subjects for a painting. [7] During the

time that he was writing the eruption of Vesuvius occurred, and he has

described it with the zeal of a witness. [8]

"Sic ubi prorupti tonuit cum forte Vesevi

Hesperiae letalis apex; vixdum ignea montem

Torsit hiems, iamque Eoas einis induit urbes."

But in this, as in all the descriptive pieces, however striking and

elaborate, of the period of the decline, are prominently visible the

strained endeavour to be emphatic, and the continual dependence upon book

reminiscence instead of first-hand observation. Valerius is no exception

to the rule. Nor is the next author who presents himself any better in

this respect, the voluptuary and poetaster C. SILIUS ITALICUS.

This laborious compiler and tasteless versifier was born 25 A.D., or

according to some 24 A.D., and died by his own act seventy-six years

later. He is known to us as a copyist of Virgil; to his contemporaries he

was at least as well known as a clever orator and luxurious virtuoso. His

early fondness for Virgil's poetry may be presumed from the dedication of

Cornutus's treatise on that subject to him, but he soon deserted

literature for public life, in which (68 A.D.) he attained the highest

success by being nominated consul. He had been a personal friend of

Vitellius and of Nero; but now, satisfied with his achievements, he

settled down on his estates, and composed his poem on the Punic Wars in

sixteen books. Most of the information we possess about him is gathered

from the letter [9] in which Pliny narrates his death. We translate the

most striking passages for the reader's benefit.

"I have just heard that Silius has closed his life in his Neapolitan

villa by voluntary abstinence. The cause of his preferring to die was

ill-health. He suffered from an incurable tumour, the trouble arising

from which determined him with singular resolution to seek death as a

relief. His whole life had been unvaryingly fortunate, except that he

had lost the younger of his two sons. On the other hand, he had lived

to see his elder and more promising son succeed in life and obtain the

consulship. He had injured his reputation under Nero. It was believed

he had acted as an informer. But afterwards, while enjoying

Vitellius's friendship, he had conducted himself with courtesy and

prudence. He had gained much credit by his proconsulship in Asia, and

had since by an honourable leisure wiped out the blot which stained

the activity of his former years. He ranked among the first men in the

state, but he neither retained power nor excited envy. He was saluted,

courted; he received levees often in his bed, always in his chamber,

which was crowded with visitors, who came attracted by no

considerations of his fortune. When not occupied with writing, he

passed his days in learned discourse. His poems evince more diligence

than talent: he now and then by reciting challenged men's opinions

upon them. Latterly, owing to advancing years, he retired from Rome

and remained in Campania, nor did even the accession of a new emperor

draw him forth. To allow this inactivity was most liberal on the

emperor's part, to have the courage to accept it was equally

honourable to Silius. He was a virtuoso, and was even blamed for his

propensities for collecting. He owned several country-houses in the

same district, and was always so taken with each new house he

purchased as to neglect the old for it. All of them were well stocked

with books, statues, and busts of great men. These last he not only

treasured but revered, above all, that of Virgil, whose birthday he

kept more religiously than his own. He preferred celebrating it at

Naples, where he visited the poet's tomb as if it had been a temple.

Amid such complete tranquillity he passed his seventy-fifth year, not

exactly weak in body, but delicate."

To this notice of Pliny's we might add several by Martial; but as these

refer to the same facts, adding beside only fulsome praises of the wealthy

and dignified littérateur, they need not be quoted here. Quintilian does

not mention him. But his silence is no token of disrespect; it is merely

an indication that Silius was still alive when the great critic wrote.

There is little that calls for remark in his long and tedious work. He is

a poet only by memory. Timid and nerveless, he lacks alike the vigorous

beauties of the earlier school, and the vigorous faults of the later. He

pieces together in the straggling mosaic of his poem hemistichs from his

contemporaries, fragments from Livy, words, thoughts, epithets, and

rhythms from Virgil; and he elaborates the whole with a pre-Raphaelite

fidelity to details which completely destroys whatever unity the subject

suggested.

This subject is not in itself a bad one, but the treatment he applies to

it is unreal and insipid in the highest degree. He cannot perceive, for

instance, that the divine interventions which are admissible in the

quarrel of Aeneas and Turnus are ludicrous when imported into the struggle

between Scipio and Hannibal. And this inconsistency is the more glaring,

since his extreme historical accuracy (an accuracy so strict as to make

Niebuhr declare a knowledge of him indispensable to the student of the

Punic Wars) gives to his chronicle a prosaic literalness from which

nothing is more alien than the caprices of an imaginary pantheon. Who can

help resenting the unreality, when at Saguntum Jupiter guides an arrow

into Hannibal's body, which Juno immediately withdraws? [10] or when, at

Cannae, Aeolus yields to the prayer of Juno and blinds the Romans by a

whirlwind of dust? [11] These are two out of innumerable similar

instances. Amid such incongruities it is no wonder if the heroes

themselves lose all body and consistency, so that Scipio turns into a kind

of Paladin, and Hannibal into a monster of cruelty, whom we should not be

surprised to see devouring children. Silius in poetry represents, on a

reduced scale, the same reactionary sentiments that in prose animated

Quintilian. So far he is to be commended. But if we must choose a

companion among the Flavian poets, let it be Statius with all his faults,

rather than this correct, only because completely talentless, compiler.

To him let us now turn. With filial pride he attributes his eminence to

the example and instruction of his father, P. PAPENIUS STATIUS, who was,

if we may believe his son, a distinguished and extremely successful poet.

[12] He was born either at Naples or at Selle; and the doubt hanging over

this point neither the father nor the son had any desire to clear up; for

did not the same ambiguity attach to the birthplace of Homer? At any rate

he established himself at Naples as a young man, and opened a school for

rhetoric and poetry, engaging in the quinquennial contests himself, and

training his pupils to do the same. It is not certain that he ever settled

at Rome; his modest ambition seems to have been content with provincial

celebrity. What the subjects of his prize poetry were we have no means of

ascertaining, but we know that he wrote a short epic on the wars between

Vespasian and Vitellius and contemplated writing another on the eruption

of Vesuvius. His more celebrated son, P. PAPINIUS STATIUS the younger, was

born at Naples 61 A.D., and before his father's death had carried off the

victory in the Neapolitan poetical games by a poem in honour of Ceres.

[13] Shortly after this he returned to Rome, where it is probable he had

been educated as a boy, and in his twenty-first year married a young widow

named Claudia (whose former husband seems to have been a singer or

harpist), [14] and their mutual attachment is a pleasing testimony to the

poet's goodness of heart, a quality which the habitual exaggeration of his

manner ineffectually tries to conceal.

Domitian had instituted a yearly poetical contest at the Quinquatria, in

honour of Minerva, held on the Alban Mount. Statius was fortunate enough

on three separate occasions to win the prize, his subject being in each

case the praises of Domitian himself. [15] But at the great quinquennial

Capitoline contest, in which apparently the subject was the praises of

Jupiter, [16] Statius was not equally successful. [17] This defeat, which

he bewails in more than one passage, was a disappointment he never quite

overcame, though some critics have inferred from another passage [18] that

on a subsequent occasion he came off victor; but this cannot be proved.

[19]

Statius had something of the true poet in him. He had the love of nature

and of those "cheap pleasures" of which Hume writes, the pleasures of

flowers, birds, trees, fresh air, a country landscape, a blue sky. These

could not be had at Rome for all the favours of the emperor. Statius pined

for a simpler life. He wished also to provide for his step-daughter, whom

he dearly loved, and whose engaging beauty while occupied in reciting her

father's poems, or singing them to the music of the harp, he finely

describes. Perhaps at Naples a husband could be found for her? So to

Naples he went, and there in quiet retirement passed the short remainder

of his days, finishing his _opus magnum_ the _Thebaid_, and writing the

fragment that remains of his still more ambitious _Achilleid_. The year of

his death is not certain, but it may be placed with some probability in 98

A.D.

Statius was not merely a brilliant poet. He was a still more brilliant

_improvisator_. Often he would pour forth to enthusiastic listeners, as

Ovid had done before him,

"His profuse strains of unpremeditated art."

Improvisation had long been cultivated among the Greeks. We know from

Cicero's oration on behalf of Archias that it was no rare accomplishment

among the wits of that nation. And it was not unknown among the Romans,

though with them also it was more commonly exercised in Greek than in

Latin. The technicalities of versification had, since Ovid, ceased to

involve any labour. Not an aspirant of any ambition but was familiar with

every page of the _Gradus ad Parnassum_, and could lay it under

contribution at a moment's notice. Hence to write fluent verses was no

merit at all; to write epigrammatic verses was worth doing; but to

extemporize a poem of from one to two hundred lines, of which every line

should display a neat turn or a _bon mot_, this was the most deeply

coveted gift of all; and it was the possession of this gift in its most

seductive form that gave Statius unquestioned, though not unenvied, pre-

eminence among the _beaux esprits_ of his day. His _Silvae_, which are

trifles, but very charming ones, were most of them written within twenty-

four hours after their subjects had been suggested to him. Their elegant

polish is undeniable; the worst feature about them is the base

complaisance with which this versatile flatterer wrote to order, without

asking any questions, whatever the eunuchs, pleasure-purveyors, or

freedmen of the emperor desired. They are full of interest also as

throwing light on the manners and fashions of the time and disclosing the

frivolities which in the minds of all the members o£ the court had quite

put out of sight the serious objects of life. They contain many notices of

the poet and his friends, and we learn that when they were composed he was

at work on the _Thebaid_. He excuses these short _jeux d'esprit_ by

alleging the example of Homer's _Battle of the Frogs and Mice_ and

Virgil's _Culex_. "I hardly know," he says, "of one illustrious poet who

has not prefaced his nobler triumphs of song by some prelude in a lighter

strain." [20] The short prose introductions in which he describes the

poems that compose each book are well worth reading. The first book is

addressed to his friend ARRUNTIUS STELLA, who was, if we may believe

Statius and Martial, himself no mean poet, and in his little _Columba_, an

ode addressed to his mistress's dove, rivalled, if he did not surpass, the

famous "sparrow-poem" of Catullus. He wrote also several other love poems,

and perhaps essayed a heroic flight in celebrating the Sarmatian victories

of Domitian. [21]

The _Silvae_ were for the most part read or recited in public. We saw in a

former chapter [22] that Asinius Pollio first introduced these readings.

His object in doing so is uncertain. It may have been to solace himself

for the loss of a political career, or it may have been a device for

ascertaining the value of new works before granting them a place in his

public library. The recitations thus served the purpose of the modern

reviews. They affixed to each new work the critic's verdict, and assigned

to it its place among the list of candidates for fame. No sooner was the

practice introduced than it became popular. Horace already complains of

it, and declares that he will not indulge it: [23]

"Non recito cuiquam nisi amicis, idque coactus,

Non ubivis coramve quibuslibet."

He with greater wisdom read his poems to some single friend whose judgment

and candour he could trust--some Quinctilius Varus, or Maecius Tarpa--and

he advised his friends the Pisos to do the same; but his advice was little

heeded. Even during his lifetime the vain thirst for applause tempted many

an author to submit his compositions to the hasty judgment of a

fashionable assembly, and (fond hope!) to promise himself an immortality

proportioned to their compliments. Ovid's muse drew her fullest

inspiration from the excitements of the hall, and the poet bitterly

complains in exile that now this stimulus to effort is withdrawn he has

lost the power and even the desire to write. [24] Nor was it only poetry

that was thus criticised; grave historians read their works before

publishing them, and it is related of Claudius that on hearing the

thunders of applause which were bestowed on the recitations of Servilius

Nonianus, he entered the building and seated himself uninvited among the

enthusiastic listeners. Under Nero, the readings, which had hitherto been

a custom, became a law, that is, were upheld by legal no less than social

obligations. The same is true of Domitian's reign. This ill-educated

prince wished to feign an interest in literature, the more so, since Nero,

whom he imitated, had really been its eager votary. Accordingly, he

patronised the readings of the principal poets, and above all, of Statius.

This was the golden time of recitations, or _ostentationes_, as they now

with sarcastic justice began to be called, and Statius was their chief

hero. As Juvenal tells us, he made the whole city glad when he promised a

day. [25] His recitations were often held at the houses of his great

friends, men like Abascantius or Glabrio, adventurers of yesterday, who

had come to Rome with "chalked feet," and now had been raised by Caesar to

a height whence they looked with scorn upon the scattered relics of

nobility. It is these men that Statius so adroitly flatters; it is to them

that he looks for countenance, for patronage, for more substantial

rewards; and yet so wretched is the recompense even of the highest

popularity, that Statius would have to beg his bread if he did not find a

better employer in the actor and manager, Paris, who pays him handsomely

for the tragedies that at each successive exhaustion of his exchequer he

is fain to write for the taste of a corrupt mob. [26] But at last Statius

began to see the folly of all this. He grew tired of hiring himself out to

amuse, of practising the affectation of a modesty, an inspiration, an

emotion he did not feel, of hearing the false plaudits of rivals who he

knew carped at his verses in his absence and libelled his character, of

running hither and thither over Parnassus dragging his poor muse at the

heels of some selfish freedman; he was man enough and poet enough to wish

to write something that would live, and so he left Rome to con over his

mythological erudition amid a less exciting environment, and woo the

genius of poesy where its last great master had been laid to rest.

After Statius had left Rome, the popularity of the recitations gradually

decreased. No poet of equal attractiveness was left to hold them. So the

ennui and disgust, which had perhaps long been smothered, now burst forth.

Many people refused to attend altogether. They sent their servants,

parasites, or hired applauders, while they themselves strolled in the

public squares or spent the hours in the bath, and only lounged into the

room at the close of the performance. Their indifference at last rejected

all disguise; absence became the rule. Even Trajan's assiduous attendance

could hardly bring a scanty and listless concourse to the once crowded

halls. Pliny the younger, who was a finished reciter, grievously complains

of the incivility shown to deserving poets. Instead of the loud cries, the

uneasy motions that had attested the excitement of the hearers, nothing is

heard but yawns or shuffling of the feet; a dead silence prevails. Even

Pliny's gay spirits and cheerful vanity were not proof against such a

reception. The "little grumblings" (_indignatiunculae_), of which his

letters are full, attest how sorely he felt the decline of a fashion in

which he was so eminently fitted to excel. And if a wealthy noble

patronised by the emperor thus complains, how intolerable must have been

the disappointment to the poet whose bread depended on his verses, the

poet depicted by Juvenal, to whom the patron graciously lends a house,

ricketty and barred up, lying at a distance from town, and lays on him the

ruinous expense of carriage for benches and stalls, which after all are

only half-filled!

The frenzy of public readings, then, was over; but Statius had learned his

style in their midst, and country retirement could not change it. The

whole of his brilliant epic savours of the lecture room. The verbal

conceits, the florid ornament, the sparkling but quite untranslatable

epigrams which enliven every description and give point to every speech,

need only be noted in passing; for no reader of a single book of the

_Thebaid_ can fail to mark them.

This poem, which is admitted by Merivale to be faultless in epic

execution, and has been glorified by the admiration of Dante, occupied the

author twelve years in the composing, [27] probably from 80 to 92 A.D. Its

elaborate finish bears testimony to the labour expended on it. Had Statius

been content with trifles such as are sketched in the _Silvae_ he might

have been to this day a favourite and widely-read poet. As it is, the

minute beauties of his epic lie buried in such a wilderness of

unattractive learning and second-hand mythological reminiscence, that few

care to seek them out. His mastery over the epic machinery is complete;

but he fails not only in the ardour of the bard, but in the vigour of the

mere narrator. His action drags heavily through the first ten books, and

then is summarily finished in the last two, the accession of Creon after

Oedipus's exile, his prohibition to bury Polynices, the interference of

Theseus, and the death of Creon being all dismissed in fifteen hundred

lines.

The two most striking features in the poem are the descriptions of battles

and the similes. The former are greatly superior to those of Lucan or

Silius. They have not the hideous combination of horrors of the one, nor

the shadowy unreality of the other. Though hatched in the closet and not

on the battle-field, a defect they share with all poets from Virgil

downwards, they have sufficient verisimilitude to interest, and not

sufficient reality to shock us. The similes merit still higher praise. The

genius of Latin poetry was fast tending towards the epigram, and these

similes are strictly _epigrammatic_. The artificial brevity which suggests

many different lines of reminiscence at the same time is exhibited with

marked success. As the simile was so assiduously cultivated by the Latin

epicists and forms a distinctive feature of their style, we shall give in

the appendix to this chapter a comparative table of the more important

similes of the three chief epic poets. At present we shall quote only two

from the _Thebaid_, both admirable in their way, and each exemplifying one

of Statius's prominent faults or virtues. The first compares an army

following its general across a river to a herd of cattle following the

leading bull: [28]

"Ac velut ignotum si quando armenta per amnem

Pastor agit, stat triste pecus, procul altera tellus [29]

Omnibus, et _late medius timor_: ast ubi ductor

Taurus init fecitque vadum, tune mollior unda,

Tunc faciles saltus, visaeque accedere ripae."

This is elegant in style but full of ambiguities, if not experiments, in

language. The words in italics are an exaggerated imitation of a mode of

expression to which Virgil is prone, _i.e._, a psychological indication of

an effect made to stand for a description of the thing. Then as to the

three forced expressions of the last two lines--to say nothing of _fecit

vadum_, which may be a pastoral term, as we say _made the ford_, _i.e._

struck it--we have the epithet _mollior_, which, here again in caricature

of Virgil, mixes feeling with description, used for _facilior_ in the

sense of "kinder," "more obliging" (for he can hardly mean that it feels

_softer_); _faciles saltus_, either the "leap across seems easier," or

perhaps "the woods on the other side look less frowning;" while to add to

the hyperbole, "the bank appears to come near and meet them." Three subtle

combinations are thus expended where Virgil would have used one simple

one.

The next simile exemplifies the use of hyperbole at its happiest, an

ornament, by the way, to which Statius is specially prone. It is a very

short one. [30] It compares an infant to the babe Apollo crawling on the

shore of Delos:

"Talis per litora reptans

Improbus Ortygiae latus inclinabat Apollo."

This is delightful. The mischievous little god crawls near the edge of the

island, and by his divine weight nearly overturns it! We should observe

the gross materialism of idea which underlies this pretty picture. Not one

of the Roman poets is free from this taint. To take a well-known instance

from Virgil; when Aeneas gets into Charon's boat

"Gemuit sub pondere cymba

Sutilis et multam accepit rimosa paludem." [31]

The effect of the "Ingens Aeneas" bursting Charon's crazy skiff is

decidedly grotesque. Lucan has not failed to seize and exaggerate this

peculiarity. To repeat the example we have already noticed in the first

book, [32] when asking Nero which part of heaven he is selecting for his

abode, he prays him not to choose one far removed from the centre, lest

his vast weight should disturb the balance of the universe!

"Aetheris immensi partem si presseris unam

Sentiet axis onus."

Statius, as we have seen, adds the one element that was wanting, namely

the abstraction of the heroic altogether; nevertheless, in small effects

of this kind, he must be pronounced superior to both Virgil and Lucan.

The _Achilleis_ is a mere fragment, no doubt left as such owing to the

author's early death. The design, of which it was the first instalment,

was even more ambitious than that of the _Thebaid_. It aimed at nothing

less than an exhaustive treatment of all the legends of which Achilles was

the hero, excepting those which form the subject of the _Iliad_. Its style

shows a slight advance on that of the earlier poem; it is equally long-

winded, but less bombastic, and consequently somewhat more natural. In one

or two passages Statius [33] promises Domitian an epic celebrating his

deeds, but probably he never had any serious intention of fulfilling his

word. Statius had a high opinion of his own merits, especially when he

compared himself with the poet fraternity of his day; but his careful

study of Homer and Virgil had shown him that there was a domain into which

he could not enter, and so even while vaunting his claims to immortality,

he is careful not to aspire to be ranked with the poet of the _Aeneid_:

[34]

"Nec tu divinam Aeneida tenta:

Sed longe sequere et vestigia semper adora."

VALERIUS MARTIALIS was born at Bilbilis, in Hispania Tarraconensis (March

1, 43 A.D.), and retained through life an affectionate admiration for the

place of his birth, which he celebrates in numerous poems. [35] At twenty-

two [36] years of age he came to Rome, Nero being then on the throne. He

does not appear to have been known to that emperor, but rose into great

favour with Titus, which was continued under Domitian, who conferred on

him the _Jus trium liberorum_ [37] and the tribunate, together with the

rank of a Roman knight, [38] and a pension from the imperial treasury,

[39] probably attached to the position of court poet. It is difficult to

ascertain the truth as to his circumstances. The facts above mentioned, as

well as his possession of a house in the city and a villa at Nomentum,

[40] would point to an easy competence; on the other hand the poet's

continual complaints of poverty [41] prove that he was either less wealthy

than his titles suggest, or else that he was hard to satisfy. On the

accession of Trajan he seems to have left Rome for Spain, it is said

because the emperor refused to recognise his genius; but as he had been a

prominent author for upwards of thirty years, it is likely that his

character, not his talent, was what Trajan looked coldly on. A poet who

had prostituted his pen in a way unexampled even among the needy and

immoral pickers-up of chance crumbs that crowded the avenues of the

palace, could hardly be acceptable to a prince of manly character. At the

same time there is this excuse for Martial, that he did not belong to the

old families of Rome. He and such as he owed everything to the emperor's

bounty, and if the emperor desired flattery in return, it cost them little

pains and still less loss of self-respect to give it. Politics had become

entirely a system of palace intrigue. Only when the army intervened was

any general interest awakened. The supremacy of the emperor's person was

the one great fact, rapidly becoming a great inherited idea, which formed

the point of union among the diverse non-political classes, and gave the

poets their chief theme of inspiration. It mattered not to them whether

their lord was good or bad. It is well-known that the people liked

Domitian, and it was only by the firmness of the senate that he was

prevented from being formally proclaimed as a god. Martial does not

pretend to be above the level of conduct which he saw practised by emperor

and people alike. Without strength of character, without independence of

thought, both of which indeed were almost extinct at this epoch, his one

object was to ingratiate himself with those who could fill his purse.

Hence the indifference he shows to the vices of Nero. Juvenal, Tacitus,

and Pliny use a very different language. But then they represented the

old-fashioned ideas of Rome. Martial, indeed, alludes to Nero as a well-

known type of crime: [42]

"Quid Nerone peius?

Quid thermis melius Neronianis?"

but he has no real passion. The only thing he really hates him for is his

having slain Lucan. [43]

Martial, then, is much on a level with the society in which he finds

himself; the society, that is, of those very freedmen, favourites, actors,

dancers, and needy bards, that Juvenal has made the objects of his satire.

And therefore we cannot expect him to rise into lofty enthusiasm or pure

views of conduct. His poems are a most valuable adjunct to those of

Juvenal; for perhaps, if we did not possess Martial, we might fancy that

the former's sardonic bitterness had over-coloured his picture. As it is,

these two friends illustrate and confirm each other's statements.

Little as his conduct agrees with the respectability of a married man,

Martial was married twice. His first wife was Cleopatra, [44] of whose

morose temper he complains, [45] and from whom he was divorced [46] soon

after obtaining the _Jus trium liberorum_. His second was Marcella, whom

he married after his return to Spain. [47] Of her he speaks with respect

and even admiration. [48] It is possible that his town house and country

estate were part of his first wife's dowry, so that on his divorce they

reverted to her family; this would account for the otherwise inexplicable

poverty in which he so often declares himself to be plunged. While at Rome

he had many patrons. Besides Domitian, he numbered Silius Italicus, Pliny,

Stella the friend of Statius, Regulus the famous pleader, Parthenius,

Crispinus, and Glabrio, among his influential friends. It is curious that

he never mentions Statius. The most probable reason for his silence is the

old one, given by Hesiod, but not yet obsolete:

_kai kerameus keramei koteei kai aoidos aoido._

He and Statius were indisputably the chief poets of the day. One or other

must hold the first place. We have no means of knowing how this quarrel,

if quarrel it was, arose. Among Martial's other friends were Quintilian,

Valerius Flaccus, and Juvenal. His intimacy with these men, two of whom at

least were eminently respectable, lends some support to his own statement,

advanced to palliate the impurity of his verses:

"Lasciva est nobis pagina: vita proba est."

The year of his death is not certain. But it must have occurred

soon after 100 A.D. Pliny in his grand way gives an obituary notice of him

in one of his letters, [49] which, interesting as all his letters are, we

cannot do better than translate:

"I hear with regret that Valerius Martial is dead. He was a man of

talent, acuteness, and spirit, with plenty of wit and gall, and as

sincere as he was witty. I gave him a parting present when he left

Rome, which was due both to our friendship and to some verses which he

wrote in my praise. It was an ancestral custom of ours to enrich with

honours or money those who had written the praises of individuals or

cities, but among other noble and seemly customs this has now become

obsolete. I suppose since we have ceased to do things worthy of

laudation, we think it in bad taste to receive it."

Pliny then quotes the verses, [50] and proceeds--

"Was I not justified in parting on the most friendly terms with one

who wrote so prettily of me, and am I not justified now in mourning

his loss as that of an intimate friend? What he could he gave me; if

he had had more he would have gladly given it. And yet what gift can

be greater than glory, praise, and immortality? It is possible,

indeed, as I think I hear you saying, that his poems may not last for

ever. Nevertheless, he wrote them in the belief that they would."

Martial is the most finished master of the epigram, as we understand it.

Epigram is with him condensed satire. The harmless plays on words, sudden

surprises, and neat turns of expression, which had satisfied the Greek and

earlier Latin epigrammatists, were by no means stimulating enough for the

_blasé_ taste of Martial's day. The age cried for _point_, and with point

Martial supplies it to the full extent of its demand. His pungency is

sometimes wonderful; the whole flavour of many a sparkling little poem is

pressed into one envenomed word, like the scorpion's tail whose last joint

is a sting. The marvel is that with that biting pen of his the poet could

find so many warm friends. But the truth is, he was far more than a mere

sharp-shooter of wit. He had a genuine love of good fellowship, a warm if

not a constant heart, and that happy power of graceful panegyric which was

so specially Roman a gift. Juvenal, indeed, complains that the Greeks were

hopelessly above his countryman in the art of praise. But this is not an

opinion in which we can agree. Their fulsome adulation may indeed have

been more acceptable to the vulgar objects of it than that of the Roman

panegyrist, who, even while flattering, could not shake off the fetters of

the great dialect in which he wrote; but the efforts in this department by

Cicero, Ovid, Horace, Pliny, and Martial, mast be allowed to be master-

achievements to which it would be hard to find an equal in the literature

of any other nation.

Martial is one of the most difficult of Roman authors. Scarce once or

twice does he relax his style sufficiently to let the reader _read_

instead of spelling through his poems. When he does this he is elegant and

pleasing. The epicedion on a little girl who died at the age of six, is a

lovely gem that may almost bear comparison with Catullus; but then it is

spoilt by the misplaced wit of the last few lines. [51] Few indeed are the

poems of Martial that are natural throughout. His constant effort to be

terse, to condense description into allusion, and allusion into

indication, and to indicate as many allusions as possible by a single

word, compels the reader to weigh each expression with scrupulous care

lest he may lose some of the points with which every line is weighted; and

yet even Martial is less perfect in this respect than Juvenal. But then

the shortness of his pieces takes away that relief which a longer satire

must have, not only for its author's sake, but for purposes of artistic

success. He must have read Juvenal with care, and sometimes seems to give

a _decoction_ of his satires. [52] It is probable that we do not possess

all Martial's poems. It is also possible that many of those we possess

under his name are not by him. The list embraces one book of _Spectacula_,

celebrating the shows in which emperor and people took such delight;

twelve of _Epigrams_, edited separately, and partially revised for each

edition; [53] two of _Xenia_ and _Apophoreta_, written before the tenth

book of Epigrams, and devoted to the flattery of Domitian. The obscenities

which defile almost every book make it impossible to read Martial with any

pleasure, but those who desire to make his acquaintance will find Book IV.

by far the least objectionable in this respect, as well as otherwise more

interesting.

At this time Rome teemed with poets; as Pliny in one of his letters tells

us, people reckoned the year by the abundance of its poetic harvest.

TURNUS seems to have been a satirist of some note; [54] among others he

satirised the poisoner Locusta. SCAEVIUS MEMOR was a tragedian; [55] a

_Hecuba_, a _Troades_, and perhaps a _Hercules_, are ascribed to him.

VERGINIUS RUFUS wrote erotic poems, and an epigram of his is quoted by

Pliny. [56] VESTRICIUS SPURINNA was a lyricist, and had been consul under

Domitian; a fine account of him is given by Pliny. [57] The only Roman

poetess of whom we possess any fragment, belongs to this epoch, the

highborn lady SULPICIA. She is celebrated by Martial for her chaste love-

elegies, [58] and for fidelity to her husband Calenus. We suspect,

however, that Martial is a little satiric here. For the epithets bestowed

by other writers on Sulpicia imply warmth, not to say wantonness of tone,

though her muse seems to have been constant to its legitimate flame. We

possess about seventy hexameters bearing the title _Sulpiciae Satira_,

supposed to have been written after the banishment of all philosophers by

Domitian (94 A.D.). It is a dialogue between the poetess and her muse: she

excuses herself for essaying so slight a subject in epic metre, and

implies that she is more at home in lighter rhythms. This may be believed

when we find that she makes the _i_ of iambus long! However, the poem is

corrupt, and the readings in many parts uncertain. Teuffel regards it as a

forgery of the fifteenth century, following Boot's opinion. It is full of

harsh constructions [59] and misplaced epithets, but on the other hand

contains some pretty lines. If it be genuine, its boldness is remarkable.

Great numbers of other poets appear in the pages of Martial, Statius, and

Pliny, but they need not be named. The fact that verse-writing was an

innocuous way of spending one's leisure doubtless drove many to it.

CODRUS, or Cordus, [60] was the author of an ambitious epic, the

_Theseid_, composed on the scale, but without the wit, of the _Thebaid_.

The stage, too, engaged many writers. Tragedy and comedy [61] were again

reviving, though their patrons seem to have preferred recitation to

acting; mimes still flourished, though they had taken the form of

pantomime. We hear of celebrated actors of them in Juvenal, as Paris,

Latinus, and Thymele.

APPENDIX.

_On the Similes of Virgil, Lucan, and Statius._

The Roman epicists bestowed great elaboration on their similes, and as a

rule imitated them from a certain limited number of Greek originals. In

Virgil but a few are original, _i.e._, taken from things he had himself

witnessed, or feelings he had known. Lucan is less imitative in form, and

he first used with any frequency the simile founded on a recollection of

some well-known passage of Greek literature or conception of Greek art. In

this Statius follows him; the simile of the infant Apollo noticed in this

chapter is a good instance.

We give a few examples of the treatment of a similar subject by the three

poets. We first take the simile of a storm, _described_ by Virgil in the

first Aeneid, and _alluded_ to by the other two poets (Lucan i. 493):

"Qualis cum turbidus auster

Repulit e Libycis immensum syrtibus aequor

Fractaque veliferi sonuerunt pondera mali,

Desilit in fluctus deserta puppe magister

Navitaque, et nondum sparsa compage carinae

_Naufragium sibi quisque facit_."

Here we have no great elaboration, but a good point at the finish. Statius

(Theb. i. 370) is more subtle but more commonplace:

"Ac velut hiberno deprensus navita ponto,

Cui neque Temo piger, nec amico sidere monstrat

Luna vias, medio caeli pelagique tumultu

Stat rationis inops; iam iamque aut saxa maliguis

Expectat submersa vadis, aut vertice acuto

Spumantes scopulos erectae incurrere prorae."

The next simile is that of a shepherd robbing a nest of wild bees. It

occurs in Virgil and Statius. Virgil's description is (Aen. xii. 587)--

"Inclusas ut cum latebroso in pumice pastor

Vestigavit apes, fumoque implevit amaro;

Illae intus trepidae rerum per cerea castra

Discurrunt, magnisque acuunt stridoribus iras;

Volvitur ater odor tectis; tum murmure caeco

Intus saxe sonant: vaeuas it fumus ad auras."

That of Statius (Th. x. 574) presents some characteristic refinements on

its original:

"Sic ubi pumiceo pastor rapturas ab antro

Armatas erexit apes, fremit aspera nubes:

Inque vicem sese stridere hortantur et omnes

Hostis in ora volant; mox deficientibus alis

Amplexae flavamque domum captivaque plangunt

Mella, laboratasque _premunt ad pectora ceras_."

The smoke which is the agent of destruction is _described_ by Virgil:

obscurely _hinted at_ in Statius by the single epithet "deficientibus."

The next example is the description of a landslip by the same two. Virg.

Aen. xii. 682.

"Ac velati montis saxum de vertice praeceps

Quum ruit avolsum vento, seu turbidus imber

Proluit, aut annis solvit sublapsa vetustas,

Fertur in abruptum vasto mons improbus actu,

Exsultatque solo, silvas armenta virosque

Involvens secum."

The copy is found Stat. Theb. vii. 744:

"Sic ubi _nubiferum_ montis latus aut nova ventis

Solvit hiems aut _victa situ_ non pertulit aetas;

Desilit horrendus campo timor, arma virosque

_Limite, non uno_ longaevaque robora secum

Praecipitans, tandemque _exhaustus_ turbine _fesso_

Aut vallum cavat, aut medios intercipit amnes."

The additions are here either exaggerations, trivialities, or ingenious

adaptations of other passages of Virgil.

The next is a thunderstorm from Virgil and Lucan, (Aen. xii. 451):

"Qualis ubi ad terras abrupto sidere nimbus

It mare per medium; miseris, heu, praescia longe

Horrescunt corda agricolis; dabit ille ruinas

Arboribus stragemque satis, ruet omnia late;

Antevolant somtumque ferunt ad litora venti."

The simile of Lucan, which describes one disastrous flash rather than a

storm (Phars. i. 150) refers to Caesar:

"Qualiter expressum ventis per nubila fulmen

Aetheris impulsi sonitu _mundi_ que fragore.

Emicuit, rupitque diem, populosque paventes

Terruit, obliqua praestringens lumina flamma:

In _sua templa_ furit, nullaque exire vetante

Materia, magnamque cadens, magnamque revertens

Dat stragem late, sparsosque recolligitignes."

No comparison is more common in Latin poetry than that of a warrior to a

bull. All the three poets have introduced this, some of them several

times. The instances we select will be Virg. Aen. xii. 714:

"Ac velut ingenti Sila summove Taburno

Cum duo conversis inimica in proelia tauri

Frontibus incurrunt, pavidi cessere magistri,

Stat pecus omne metu mutum mussantque iuvencae,

Quis nemori imperitet, quem tota armenta sequantur."

Lucan's simile is borrowed largely from the _Georgics_. It is, however, a

fine one (Phars. ii. 601):

"Pulsus ut armentis primo cerramine taurus

Silvarum secreta petit, vacuosque per agros

Exul in adversis explorat cornua truncis;

Nec redit in pastus nisi quum cervice recepta

Excussi placuere tori; mox reddita victor

_Quoslibet_ in saltus comitantibus agmina tauris

_Invito pastore trahit_."

That of Statius is in a similar strain (Theb. xi. 251):

"Sic ubi regnator post exulis otia tauri

Mugitum hostilem summa tulit aure iuvencus,

Agnovitque minas, magna stat fervidus ira

Ante gregem, spumisque animos ardentibus effert,

Nunc pede torvus humum nunc cornibus aera lindens,

_Horret ager, trepidaeque expectant proelia valles_."

How immeasurably does Virgil's description in its unambitious truth exceed

these two fine but bombastic imitations!

These examples will suffice to show that each poet kept his predecessors

in his eye, and tried to vie with them in drawing a similar picture. But

the similes are not always taken from the common-place book. Virgil, who

reserves nearly all his similes for the last six books, occasionally

strikes an original key. Such are (or appear) the similes of the sedition

quelled by an orator (i. 148), the top (vii. 378), the labyrinth (v, 588),

the housewife (viii. 407), and the fall of the pier at Baiae (ix. 707);

perhaps also of the swallow (xii. 473); mythological similes are common in

him, but not so much, so as in Lucan and Statius. We have those of the

Amazons (xi. 659), of Mars' shield in Thrace (xii. 331), condensed by

Statius (_Theb._ vi. 665), of Orestes (iv. 471), copied by Lucan (_Ph._

vii. 777).

The lion, as may be supposed, furnishes many. We subjoin a further list

which may be useful to the reader.

_The Lion_--Aen. xii. 4; x. 722; ix. 548(?). Phars. i. 206. Theb. ii. 675;

iv. 494; v. 598; vii. 670; viii. 124; ix. 739, and perhaps v. 231.

_The Serpent, dragon, &c._--Aen. xi, 751; v. 273. Theb. v. 599; xi. 310.

_Mythological_--Phars. ii. 715; iv. 549; vii. 144. Theb. ii. 81; iv. 140;

xii. 224, 270.

_The Sea_--Aen. xi. 624; vii. 586 (?). Theb. i. 370; iii. 255; vi. 777;

vii. 864.

_The Winds_--Aen. x. 856. Phars. i. 498. Theb. i. 194; iii. 432; v. 704.

_The Boar_--Aen. x. 707. Theb. viii. 533.

_Trees_--Aen. ix. 675. Phars. i. 136. Theb. viii. 545.

_Birds_--Aen. v. 213; xii. 473; xi. 721; vii. 699. Theb. ix. 858; xii. 15.

We may note detached similes like that of the light reflected in water,

Aen. viii. 15, imitated in Theb. vi. 578; that of the horse from Homer,

Aen. xi. 491, which Statius has not dared to imitate; and others not

referable to any of the above groups may easily be found. It is clear that

Virgil and Statius attached more importance to this ornament than Lucan.

Their verbal elaboration was greater, and thus they both excel him. A

careful study of all the similes in Latin poetry would bring to light some

interesting facts of literary criticism. That descriptive power in which

all the Romans excelled is nowhere more striking than in these short and

pleasing cameos.

CHAPTER VII.

THE REIGNS OF NERVA AND TRAJAN (96-117 A.D.).

The death of Domitian was the end of tyranny in Rome. Under Nerva a new

régime was inaugurated. Liberty of speech and action was allowed, and

authors were not slow to profit by it. The forced repression of so many

years had matured, not quenched, the talent of the greatest writers.

Virtuous men had pondered in gloomy silence over the wickedness of the

time, and they now gave to the world the condensed result of their bitter

reflections. Amid the numerous talents of the period three have sent down

to us a large portion of their works. These three are all writers of the

highest mark, and two of them of commanding genius. For grace, urbanity,

and polish, Pliny yields only to Cicero; for realistic intensity directed

to a satiric purpose, Juvenal yields to no writer whatever; for piercing

insight into the human heart and an imagination which casts its characters

as in a white-hot furnace, Tacitus well deserves the name of Rome's

greatest historian. Chronologically speaking, Pliny is posterior to the

other two. But he is so good a type of this comparatively happy age that

he may well come before us first. The other two, occupied with past

regrets, reflect in their tone of mind an earlier time.

C. PLINIUS CAECILIUS SECUNDUS, the nephew of Pliny the elder, was born at

Novocomum [1] 62 A.D. When he was eight years old his father died, and two

years after his uncle adopted him. In the interim he was assigned to the

care of his guardian, that Virginius Rufus of whom Tacitus deigned to be

the panegyrist. He was brought early to Rome, and placed under Quintilian

and other celebrated teachers, among whom was Nicetes of Smyrna, one of

the foremost rhetoricians of the day. He served his first campaign in

Syria, but seems to have given his time to philosophy more than

soldiering. He was even more emphatically a man of peace than Cicero, and

it is not easy to fancy him wielding the sword, though we can well picture

him to ourselves resplendent in full dress uniform, well satisfied with

his appearance, and trying his best to assume the martial air. While in

Asia he spent much time with the old philosopher Euphrates, of whose daily

life he has given a pleasing description in the tenth letter of his first

book.

On his return he studied for the bar, and pleaded with success. He passed

through the several offices of state, and prided himself not a little on

the fact that he attained the consulate and pontificate at an earlier age

than Cicero. Somewhat later he was elected to the college of augurs, an

honour which prompts him to remind the world that Cicero had been augur

too! In 98 A.D., when Trajan had been two years emperor, Pliny was raised

for the second time to the consulate, and was admitted to some share of

his sovereign's confidence. The points, it is true, on which he was

consulted were not of the most important, but he was extremely pleased,

and has recorded his pleasure in more than one of his charming letters. In

103 he was sent to fill the office of proconsul in Pontus and Bithynia;

and while there, he kept up the interesting correspondence with Trajan, to

which the tenth book of his letters is devoted.

Though eloquence was not what it had been, it still remained the highest

career that an ambitious man could adopt. Even under the tyrants it had

served as the keenest weapon of attack, the surest buckler of defence. The

_public accusation_, which had once been the stepping-stone to fame, had

changed its name, and become _delation_. And he who hoped to parry its

blows must needs have been able to defend himself by the same means. Pliny

was ahead of all his rivals in both departments of eloquence. He was the

most telling pleader before the centumviral tribunal, and he was the

boldest orator in the revived debates of the senate. His best forensic

speech, his _De Corona_, as he loved to style it, was that on behalf of

Accia Variola, a lady unjustly disinherited by her father, whom Pliny's

eloquence reinstated in her rights. In the senate Pliny rose to even

higher efforts. He rejoiced to plead the cause of injured provinces

against the extortion of rapacious governors, who (as Juvenal tells us)

pillaged the already exhausted wealth of their helpless victims. On more

than one occasion Pliny's boldness was crowned with success. Caecilius

Classicus, who had ground down the Baeticenses, was so powerfully

impeached by him that, to avoid conviction, he sought a voluntary death,

and what was better, the confiscated property was returned to its owners.

The still worse criminal, Marius Priscus, who in exile "enjoyed the anger

of the gods," [2] was compelled by Pliny and Tacitus to disgorge no small

portion of his plunder. When carried away by his subject Pliny spoke with

such vehemence as to endanger his delicate lungs, and he tells us with no

small complacency that the emperor sent him a special message "to be

careful of his health." But his greatest triumph was the accusation of

Publicius Certus, a senator, and expectant of the consulship. The fathers,

long used to servitude, could not understand the freedom with which Pliny

attacked one of their own body, and at first they tried to chill him into

silence. But he was not to be daunted. He compelled them to listen, and at

last so roused them by his fervour that he gained his point. It is true

that he risked neither life nor fortune by his boldness; but none the less

does he deserve honour for having recalled the senate to a tardy sense of

its position and responsibilities.

Roman eloquence was now split into two schools or factions, one of which

favoured the ancient style, the other the modern. Pliny was the champion

of reaction: Tacitus the chief representative of the modern tendency.

Unfortunately, Pliny's best oratory has perished, but we can hardly doubt

that its brilliant wit and courtly finish would have impressed us less

than they did the ears of those who heard him. One specimen only of his

oratorical talent remains, the panegyric addressed to Trajan. This was

admitted to be in his happiest vein, and it is replete with point and

elegance. The impression given on a first reading is, that it is full also

of flattery. This, however, is not in reality the case. Allowing for a

certain conventionality of tone, there is no flattery in it; that is,

there is nothing that goes beyond truth. But Pliny has the unhappy talent

of speaking truth in the accents of falsehood. Like Seneca, he strikes us

in this speech as _too clever_ for his audience. Still, with all its

faults, his oratory must have made an epoch, and helped to arrest the

decline for at least some years. It is on his letters that Pliny's fame

now rests, and both in tone and style they are a monument that does him

honour. They show him to have been a gentleman and a man of feeling, as

well as a wit and courtier. They were deliberately written with a view to

publication, and thus can never have the unique and surpassing interest

that belongs to those of Cicero. But they throw so much light on the

contemporary history, society, and literature, that no student of the age

can afford to neglect them. They are arranged neither according to time

nor subject, but on an aesthetic plan of their author's, after the fashion

of a literary nosegay. As extracts from several have already been given,

we need not enlarge on them here. Their language is extremely pure, and

almost entirely free from that poetical colouring which is so conspicuous

in contemporary and subsequent prose-writing.

The tenth book possesses a special interest, as containing the

correspondence between Pliny while governor of Bithynia and the emperor

Trajan, to whose judgment almost every question that arose, however

insignificant, was referred. [3] As he says in his frank way: "Solemne est

mihi, Domine, omnia de quibus dubito ad te referre." [4] The letter which

opens with these words is the celebrated one on the subject of the

Christians. Perhaps it may not be out of place to translate it, as a

highly significant witness of the relations between the emperors and their

confidential servants. It runs thus:--

"I had never attended at the trial of a Christian; hence I knew not

what were the usual questions asked them, or what the punishments

inflicted. I doubted also whether to make a distinction of ages, or to

treat young and old alike; whether to allow space for recantation, or

to refuse all pardon whatever to one who had been a Christian;

whether, finally, to make the name penal, though no crime should be

proved, or to reserve the penalty for the combination of both.

Meanwhile, when any were reported to me as Christians, I followed this

plan. I asked them whether they were Christians. If they said yes, I

repeated the question twice, adding threats of punishment; if they

persisted, I ordered punishment to be inflicted. For I felt sure that

whatever it was they confessed, their inflexible obstinacy well

deserved to be chastised. There were even some Roman citizens who

showed this strange persistence; those I determined to send to Rome.

As often happens in cases of interference, charges were now lodged

more generally than before, and several forms of guilt came before me.

An anonymous letter was sent, containing the names of many persons,

who, however, denied that they were or had been Christians. As they

invoked the gods and worshipped with wine and frankincense before your

image, at the same time cursing Christ, I released them the more

readily, as those who are really Christians cannot be got to do any of

these things. Others, who were named to me, admitted that they were

Christians, but immediately afterwards denied it; some said they had

been so three years ago, others at still more distant dates, one or

two as long ago as twenty years. All these worshipped your image and

those of the gods, and abjured Christ. But they declared that all

their guilt or error had amounted to was this: they met on certain

mornings before daybreak, and sang one after another a hymn to Christ

as God, at the same time binding themselves by an oath not to commit

any crime, but to abstain from theft, robbery, adultery, perjury, or

repudiation of trust; after this was done, the meeting broke up; they,

however, came together again to eat their meal in common, being quite

guiltless of any improper conduct. [5] But since my edict forbidding

(as you ordered) all secret societies, they had given this practice

up. However, I thought it necessary to apply the torture to some young

women who were called _ministrae_, [6] in order, if possible, to

find out the truth. But I could elicit nothing from them except

evidence of some debased and immoderate superstition; so I deferred

the trial, and determined to ask your advice. For the matter seemed

important, especially since the number of those who run into danger

increases daily. All ages, all ranks, and both sexes are among the

accused, and the taint of the superstition is not confined to the

towns; it has actually made its way into the villages. But I believe

it possible to cheek and repress it. At all events it is certain that

temples which were lately almost empty are now well attended, and

sacred festivals long disused are being revived. Victims too are

flowing in, whereas a few years ago such things could scarcely find a

purchaser. From this I infer that vast numbers might be reformed if an

opportunity of recantation were allowed them."

Trajan's reply, brief, clear, and to the point, as all his letters are, is

as follows:--

"I entirely approve of your conduct with regard to those Christians of

whom you had received information. We can never lay down a universal

rule, as if circumstances were always the same. They are not to be

searched for; but if they are reported and convicted, they must be

punished. But if any denies his Christianity and proves his words by

sacrificing to our divinity, even though his former conduct may have

laid him under suspicion, he must be allowed the benefit of his

recantation. No weight whatever should be attached to anonymous

communications; they are no Roman way of dealing, and are altogether

reprehensible."

Pliny died in 113. He shone in nearly every department of literature, and

thought himself no inelegant poet. His vanity has led him to record some

of his verses, but they only show that he had little or no talent in this

direction. His long and prosperous life was marked by no reverse. Popular

among his equals, splendid in his political successes, in his vast wealth,

and his friendship wife, the emperor, Pliny is almost a perfect type of a

refined pagan gentleman. In some ways he reminds us of Xenophon. He was in

complete harmony with his age; he had neither the harassing thoughts of

Seneca, nor the querulousness of his uncle, nor the settled gloom of

Tacitus, to overcast his bright and happy disposition. Few works in all

antiquity are more pleasing than his friendly correspondence. We learn

from it the names of a large number of orators and other distinguished

literary men, of whom, indeed, Rome was full. VOCONIUS ROMANUS, [7]

SALVIUS LIBERALIS, [8] C. FANNIUS, [9] and CLAUDIUS POLLIO, [10] were

among the most renowned. They are mentioned as possessing every gift that

could contribute to the highest eloquence; but as Pliny's good nature

leads him to praise all his friends indiscriminately, we cannot lay much

stress on his opinion. In jurisprudence we meet with PRISCUS NERATIUS,

JUVENTIUS CELSUS, and JAVOLENUS PRISCUS. The two former were men of mark,

and obtained the consulate. The last was less distinguished, and had the

misfortune to offend Pliny by an ill-timed jest. [11] Once, when Statius

had given a reading, and had just left the hall, the audience asked

Passienus Paulus, who had a manuscript ready, to take his place. Paulus

was somewhat diffident, but finally consented, and began his poem with the

words, "You bid me, Priscus...," on which Javolenus, who was sitting near,

called out, "You mistake! I do not bid you!" The audience greeted this

sally with a laugh, and so put an end to the unlucky Paulus's recitation.

Pliny contemptuously remarks that it is doubtful whether Javolenus was

quite sane, but admits that there are people imprudent enough to trust

their business to him. [12] We may think a single jest is somewhat scanty

evidence of _dementia_.

Grammar was in this reign actively pursued. FLAVIUS CAPER was the author

of a treatise on orthography, and another "on doubtful words," both of

which we possess. He seems to have been a learned man, and is often quoted

by the grammarians of the fourth and fifth centuries. VELIUS LONGUS also

wrote on orthography, and, as we learn from Gellius, a treatise _De Usu

Antiquae Lectionis_. All the chief grammarians now exercised themselves on

the interpretation of Virgil, who was fast rising into the position of an

oracle in nearly every department of learning, an elevation which, in the

time of Macrobius, he had completely attained. Of scientific writers we

possess in part the works of three; that of HYGINUS on munitions, and

another on boundaries (if indeed this last be his), which are based on

good authorities; that of BALBUS _On the Elementary Notions of Geometry_;

and perhaps that of SICULUS FLACCUS, _De Condidonibus Agrorum_, all of

which are of importance towards a knowledge of Roman surveying. It is

doubtful whether Flaccus lived under Trajan, but in any case he cannot be

placed later than the beginning of Hadrian's reign.

The only poet of the time of Trajan who has reached us, but one of the

greatest in Roman literature, is D. JUNIUS JUVENALIS (46-130? A.D.). He

was born during the reign of Claudius, and thus spent the best years of

his life under the régime of the worst emperors. His parentage is

uncertain, but he is said to have been either the son or the adopted son

of a rich freedman, and a passage in the third Satire [13] seems to point

to Aquinum as his birth-place. We have unfortunately scarcely any

knowledge of his life, a point to be the more regretted, as we might then

have pronounced with confidence on his character, which in the _Satires_

is completely veiled. An inscription placed by him in the temple of Ceres

Helvina, at Aquinum (probably in the reign of Domitian), has been

published by Mommsen. It contains one or two biographical notices, which

show that he held positions of considerable importance. [14] We have also

a memoir of him, attributed to Suetonius by some, but to Probus by Valla,

which tells us that until middle life he practised declamation as an

amateur, neither pleading at the bar nor opening a rhetorical school. We

are informed also that under Domitian he wrote a satire on the pantomime

Paris, which was so highly approved by his friends that he determined to

give himself to poetry. He did not, however, publish until the reign of

Trajan. It was in the time of Hadrian that some of his verses on an actor

[15] were recited, probably, by the populace in a theatre, in consequence

of which the poet, now eighty years of age, was exiled under the specious

pretext of a military command, the emperor's favourite player having taken

offence at the allusion. From a reference to Egypt in one of his later

satires, [16] the scholiast came to the conclusion that this was the place

of his exile. But it is more likely to have been Britain, though in this

case the relegation would have taken place under Trajan. [17] He appears

to have died soon after from disgust, though here the two accounts differ,

one bringing him back to Rome, and making him survive until the time of

Antoninus Pius. The obvious inference from all this is that we know very

little about the matter. In default of external evidence we might turn to

the _Satires_ themselves, but here the most careful sifting can find

nothing of importance. The great vigour of style, however, which is

conspicuous in the seventh Satire makes it clear that it was not the work

of the poet's old age. Hence the Caesar referred to cannot be Hadrian. He

must, therefore, be some earlier emperor, and there can be little doubt it

is Trajan. Under Trajan, then, we place the maturity of Juvenal's genius

as it is displayed in the first ten Satires. The four following ones show

a falling off in concentration and dramatic power, and are no doubt later

productions, when years of good government had softened his asperity of

mind. The fifteenth, sixteenth, and to a certain extent the twelfth, show

unmistakable signs of senility. The fifteenth contains evidence of its

date. The consulship of Juncus (127 A.D.) is mentioned as recent. [18] We

may therefore safely place the Satire within the two following years. The

sixteenth, which treats of the privileges of military service, a very

promising subject, has often been thought spurious, but without sufficient

reason. The poet speaks of himself as a civilian, appearing to have no

goodwill towards the camp, and as Juvenal had been in the army, it is

argued that he would scarcely have written so. But to this it may be

replied that Juvenal chose the subject for its literary capabilities, not

from any personal feeling. As an expert rhetorician, he could not fail to

see the humorous side of the relations between militaire and civilian. The

feebleness of the style, and certain differences from the diction usual

with the author, are not sufficient to found an argument upon, and have

besides been much exaggerated. They would apply equally, and even with

greater force, to the fifteenth.

The words "_ad mediam fere aetatem declamavit_," as Martha has justly

remarked, form the key to Juvenal's literary position. He is the very

quintessence of a declaimer, but a declaimer of a most masculine sort.

Boileau characterises him in two epigrammatic lines:

"Juvénal élevé dans les cris de l'école

Poussa jusqu'à l'excès son mordant hyperbole."