was uncultivated and unstocked; upon which ensued such a famine and
insurrection, that Cæsar hardly escaped being stoned at Rome; his
ambition being looked upon by all parties as the principal occasion of
it. He set himself therefore with great industry to promote country
improvements; and Virgil was serviceable to his design, as the good
Keeper of the Bees, Georg. iv.
_Tinnitusque cie, et Matris quate cymbala circum,
Ipsæ consident._
That emperor afterwards thought it matter worthy a public inscription--
REDIIT CULTUS AGRIS--
which seems to be the motive that induced Mæcenas to put him upon
writing his Georgics, or books of husbandry: a design as new in Latin
verse, as pastorals, before Virgil, were in Italy: which work took up
seven of the most vigorous years of his life; for he was now, at least,
thirty-four years of age; and here Virgil shines in his meridian.
A great part of this work seems to have been rough-drawn before he
left Mantua; for an ancient writer has observed, that the rules of
husbandry, laid down in it, are better calculated for the soil of
Mantua, than for the more sunny climate of Naples; near which place,
and in Sicily, he finished it. But, lest his genius should be depressed
by apprehensions of want, he had a good estate settled upon him, and
a house in the pleasantest part of Rome; the principal furniture of
which was a well-chosen library, which stood open to all comers of
learning and merit: and what recommended the situation of it most, was
the neighbourhood of his Mæcenas; and thus he could either visit Rome,
or return to his privacy at Naples, through a pleasant road, adorned on
each side with pieces of antiquity, of which he was so great a lover,
and, in the intervals of them, seemed almost one continued street of
three days' journey.
Cæsar, having now vanquished Sextus Pompeius, (a spring-tide of
prosperities breaking in upon him, before he was ready to receive them
as he ought,) fell sick of the _imperial evil_, the desire of being
thought something more than man. Ambition is an infinite folly; when
it has attained to the utmost pitch of human greatness, it soon falls
to making pretensions upon heaven. The crafty Livia would needs be
drawn in the habit of a priestess by the shrine of the new god; and
this became a fashion not to be dispensed with amongst the ladies.
The devotion was wonderous great amongst the Romans; for it was their
interest, and, which sometimes avails more, it was the mode. Virgil,
though he despised the heathen superstitions, and is so bold as to
call Saturn and Janus by no better a name than that of _old men_, and
might deserve the title of subverter of superstitions, as well as
Varro, thought fit to follow the maxim of Plato his master, that every
one should serve the gods after the usage of his own country; and
therefore was not the last to present his incense, which was of too
rich a composition for such an altar; and, by his address to Cæsar on
this occasion, made an unhappy precedent to Lucan and other poets which
came after him.--_Georg. i._ and _iii._ And this poem being now in
great forwardness, Cæsar, who, in imitation of his predecessor Julius,
never intermitted his studies in the camp, and much less in other
places, refreshing himself by a short stay in a pleasant village of
Campania would needs be entertained with the rehearsal of some part of
it. Virgil recited with a marvellous grace, and sweet accent of voice,
but his lungs failing him, Mæcenas himself supplied his place for what
remained. Such a piece of condescension would now be very surprising;
but it was no more than customary amongst friends, when learning passed
for quality.[275] Lælius, the second man of Rome in his time, had done
as much for that poet, out of whose dross Virgil would sometimes pick
gold, as himself said, when one found him reading Ennius; (the like
he did by some verses of Varro, and Pacuvius, Lucretius, and Cicero,
which he inserted into his works.) But learned men then lived easy
and familiarly with the great: Augustus himself would sometimes sit
down betwixt Virgil and Horace, and say jestingly, that he sat betwixt
sighing and tears, alluding to the asthma of one, and rheumatic eyes of
the other. He would frequently correspond with them, and never leave
a letter of theirs unanswered; nor were they under the constraint of
formal superscriptions in the beginning, nor of violent superlatives
at the close, of their letter: the invention of these is a modern
refinement; in which this may be remarked, in passing, that "_humble
servant_" is respect, but "_friend_" an affront; which notwithstanding
implies the former, and a great deal more. Nor does true greatness lose
by such familiarity; and those who have it not, as Mæcenas and Pollio
had, are not to be accounted proud, but rather very discreet, in their
reserves. Some playhouse beauties do wisely to be seen at a distance,
and to have the lamps twinkle betwixt them and the spectators.
But now Cæsar, who, though he were none of the greatest soldiers, was
certainly the greatest traveller, of a prince, that had ever been, (for
which Virgil so dexterously compliments him, Æneid, vi.) takes a voyage
to Egypt, and, having happily finished the war, reduces that mighty
kingdom into the form of a province, over which he appointed Gallus
his lieutenant. This is the same person to whom Virgil addresses his
Tenth Pastoral; changing, in compliance to his request, his purpose
of limiting them to the number of the Muses. The praises of this
Gallus took up a considerable part of the Fourth Book of the Georgics,
according to the general consent of antiquity: but Cæsar would have it
put out; and yet the seam in the poem is still to be discerned; and the
matter of Aristæus's recovering his bees might have been dispatched
in less compass, without fetching the causes so far, or interesting
so many gods and goddesses in that affair. Perhaps some readers may
be inclined to think this, though very much laboured, not the most
entertaining part of that work; so hard it is for the greatest masters
to paint against their inclination. But Cæsar was contented, that he
should be mentioned in the last Pastoral, because it might be taken for
a satirical sort of commendation; and the character he there stands
under, might help to excuse his cruelty, in putting an old servant to
death for no very great crime.
And now having ended, as he begins his Georgics, with solemn mention
of Cæsar, (an argument of his devotion to him,) he begins his _Æneïs_,
according to the common account, being now turned of forty. But that
work had been, in truth, the subject of much earlier meditation.
Whilst he was working upon the first book of it, this passage, so very
remarkable in history, fell out, in which Virgil had a great share.
Cæsar, about this time, either cloyed with glory, or terrified by
the example of his predecessor, or to gain the credit of moderation
with the people, or possibly to feel the pulse of his friends,
deliberated whether he should retain the sovereign power, or restore
the commonwealth. Agrippa, who was a very honest man, but whose view
was of no great extent, advised him to the latter; but Mæcenas, who had
thoroughly studied his master's temper, in an eloquent oration gave
contrary advice. That emperor was too politic to commit the oversight
of Cromwell, in a deliberation something resembling this. Cromwell
had never been more desirous of the power, than he was afterwards
of the title, of king; and there was nothing in which the heads of
the parties, who were all his creatures, would not comply with him;
but, by too vehement allegation of arguments against it, he, who
had outwitted every body besides, at last outwitted himself by too
deep dissimulation; for his council, thinking to make their court
by assenting to his judgment, voted unanimously for him against his
inclination; which surprised and troubled him to such a degree, that,
as soon as he had got into his coach, he fell into a swoon.[276] But
Cæsar knew his people better; and, his council being thus divided,
he asked Virgil's advice. Thus a poet had the honour of determining
the greatest point that ever was in debate, betwixt the son-in-law
and favourite of Cæsar. Virgil delivered his opinion in words to this
effect:
"The change of a popular into an absolute government has generally been
of very ill consequence; for, betwixt the hatred of the people and
injustice of the prince, it, of necessity, comes to pass, that they
live in distrust, and mutual apprehensions. But, if the commons knew
a just person, whom they entirely confided in, it would be for the
advantage of all parties, that such a one should be their sovereign;
wherefore, if you shall continue to administer justice impartially, as
hitherto you have done, your power will prove safe to yourself, and
beneficial to mankind." This excellent sentence, which seems taken
out of Plato, (with whose writings the grammarians were not much
acquainted, and therefore cannot reasonably be suspected of forgery in
this matter,) contains the true state of affairs at that time: for the
commonwealth maxims were now no longer practicable; the Romans had
only the haughtiness of the old commonwealth left, without one of its
virtues. And this sentence we find, almost in the same words, in the
First Book of the "Æneïs," which at this time he was writing; and one
might wonder that none of his commentators have taken notice of it. He
compares a tempest to a popular insurrection, as Cicero had compared a
sedition to a storm, a little before:
_Ac veluti, magno in populo, cum sæpe coorta est
Seditio, sævitque animis ignobile vulgus,
Jamque faces, et saxa volant; furor arma ministrat:
Tum pietate gravem ac meritis si forte virum quem
Conspexere, silent, arrectisque auribus adstant:
Ille regit dictis animos, et pectora mulcet._
Piety and merit were the two great virtues which Virgil every where
attributes to Augustus, and in which that prince, at least politicly,
if not so truly, fixed his character, as appears by the _Marmor Ancyr._
and several of his medals. Franshemius, the learned supplementor of
Livy, has inserted this relation into his history; nor is there any
good reason, why Ruæus should account it fabulous. The title of a
poet in those days did not abate, but heighten, the character of the
gravest senator. Virgil was one of the best and wisest men of his time,
and in so popular esteem, that one hundred thousand Romans rose when
he came into the theatre, and paid him the same respect they used to
Cæsar himself, as Tacitus assures us. And, if Augustus invited Horace
to assist him in writing his letters, (and every body knows that the
"_Rescripta Imperatorum_" were the laws of the empire,) Virgil might
well deserve a place in the cabinet-council.
And now he prosecutes his "Æneïs," which had anciently the title of
the "Imperial Poem," or "Roman History," and deservedly: for, though
he were too artful a writer to set down events in exact historical
order, for which Lucan is justly blamed; yet are all the most
considerable affairs and persons of Rome comprised in this poem. He
deduces the history of Italy from before Saturn to the reign of King
Latinus; and reckons up the successors of Æneas, who reigned at Alba,
for the space of three hundred years, down to the birth of Romulus;
describes the persons and principal exploits of all the kings, to their
expulsion, and the settling of the commonwealth. After this, he touches
promiscuously the most remarkable occurrences at home and abroad, but
insists more particularly upon the exploits of Augustus; insomuch
that, though this assertion may appear at first a little surprising,
he has in his works deduced the history of a considerable part of
the world from its original, through the fabulous and heroic ages,
through the monarchy and commonwealth of Rome, for the space of four
thousand years, down to within less than forty of our Saviour's time,
of whom he has preserved a most illustrious prophecy. Besides this,
he points at many remarkable passages of history under feigned names:
the destruction of Alba and Veii, under that of Troy; the star Venus,
which, Varro says, guided Æneas in his voyage to Italy, in that verse,
_Matre deâ monstrante viam._
Romulus's lance taking root, and budding, is described in that passage
concerning Polydorus, Æneïd, iii.
----_Confixum ferrea texit
Telorum seges, et jaculis increvit acutis_--
The stratagem of the Trojans boring holes in their ships, and sinking
them, lest the Latins should burn them, under that fable of their
being transformed into sea-nymphs; and therefore the ancients had no
such reason to condemn that fable as groundless and absurd. Cocles
swimming the river Tyber, after the bridge was broken down behind him,
is exactly painted in the four last verses of the ninth book, under the
character of Turnus: Marius hiding himself in the morass of Minturnæ,
under the person of Sinon:
_Limosoque lacu per noctem obscurus in ulvâ
Delitui_.[277]
Those verses in the second book concerning Priam,
----_jacet ingens littore truncus, &c._
seem originally made upon Pompey the Great. He seems to touch the
imperious and intriguing humour of the Empress Livia, under the
character of Juno. The irresolute and weak Lepidus is well represented
under the person of King Latinus; Augustus with the character of _Pont.
Max._ under that of Æneas; and the rash courage (always unfortunate
in Virgil) of Marc Antony, in Turnus; the railing eloquence of Cicero
in his "Philippics" is well imitated in the oration of Drances; the
dull faithful Agrippa, under the person of Achates; accordingly this
character is flat: Achates kills but one man, and himself receives one
slight wound, but neither says nor does any thing very considerable
in the whole poem. Curio, who sold his country for about two hundred
thousand pounds, is stigmatized in that verse,--
_Vendidit hic auro patriam, dominumque potentem
Imposuit._
Livy relates, that, presently after the death of the two Scipios in
Spain, when Martius took upon him the command, a blazing meteor shone
around his head, to the astonishment of his soldiers. Virgil transfers
this to Æneas:
_Lætasque vomunt duo tempora flammas._
It is strange, that the commentators have not taken notice of this.
Thus the ill omen which happened a little before the battle of
Thrasymen, when some of the centurions' lances took fire miraculously,
is hinted in the like accident which befel Acestes, before the burning
of the Trojan fleet in Sicily. The reader will easily find many
more such instances. In other writers, there is often well-covered
ignorance; in Virgil, concealed learning.
His silence of some illustrious persons is no less worth observation.
He says nothing of Scævola, because he attempted to assassinate a king,
though a declared enemy; nor of the younger Brutus; for he effected
what the other endeavoured; nor of the younger Cato, because he was
an implacable enemy of Julius Cæsar; nor could the mention of him be
pleasing to Augustus; and that passage,
_His dantem jura Catonem_----
may relate to his office, as he was a very severe censor. Nor would he
name Cicero, when the occasion of mentioning him came full in his way,
when he speaks of Catiline; because he afterwards approved the murder
of Cæsar, though the plotters were too wary to trust the orator with
their design. Some other poets knew the art of speaking well; but
Virgil, beyond this, knew the admirable secret, of being eloquently
silent. Whatsoever was most curious in Fabius Pictor, Cato the elder,
Varro, in the Egyptian antiquities, in the form of sacrifice, in the
solemnities of making peace and war, is preserved in this poem. Rome is
still above ground, and flourishing in Virgil. And all this he performs
with admirable brevity. The "Æneïs" was once near twenty times bigger
than he left it; so that he spent as much time in blotting out, as some
moderns have done in writing whole volumes. But not one book has his
finishing strokes. The sixth seems one of the most perfect, the which,
after long entreaty, and sometimes threats, of Augustus, he was at last
prevailed upon to recite. This fell out about four years before his
own death: that of Marcellus, whom Cæsar designed for his successor,
happened a little before this recital: Virgil therefore, with his usual
dexterity, inserted his funeral panegyric in those admirable lines,
beginning,
_O nate, ingentem luctum ne quære tuorum, &c._
His mother, the excellent Octavia, the best wife of the worst husband
that ever was, to divert her grief, would be of the auditory. The poet
artificially deferred the naming Marcellus, till their passions were
raised to the highest; but the mention of it put both her and Augustus
into such a passion of weeping, that they commanded him to proceed
no further. Virgil answered, that he had already ended that passage.
Some relate, that Octavia fainted away; but afterwards she presented
the poet with two thousand one hundred pounds, odd money: a round
sum for twenty-seven verses; but they were Virgil's. Another writer
says, that, with a royal magnificence, she ordered him massy plate,
unweighed, to a great value.
And now he took up a resolution of travelling into Greece, there to set
the last hand to this work; proposing to devote the rest of his life
to philosophy, which had been always his principal passion. He justly
thought it a foolish figure for a grave man to be overtaken by death,
whilst he was weighing the cadence of words, and measuring verses,
unless necessity should constrain it, from which he was well secured
by the liberality of that learned age. But he was not aware, that,
whilst he allotted three years for the revising of his poem, he drew
bills upon a failing bank: for, unhappily meeting Augustus at Athens,
he thought himself obliged to wait upon him into Italy; but, being
desirous to see all he could of the Greek antiquities, he fell into
a languishing distemper at Megara. This, neglected at first, proved
mortal. The agitation of the vessel (for it was now autumn, near the
time of his birth,) brought him so low, that he could hardly reach
Brindisi. In his sickness, he frequently, and with great importunity,
called for his scrutoir, that he might burn his "Æneïs:" but, Augustus
interposing by his royal authority, he made his last will, (of which
something shall be said afterwards;) and, considering probably how much
Homer had been disfigured by the arbitrary compilers of his works,
obliged Tucca and Varius to add nothing, nor so much as fill up the
breaks he left in his poem. He ordered that his bones should be carried
to Naples, in which place he had passed the most agreeable part of his
life. Augustus, not only as executor and friend, but according to the
duty of the _Pontifex Maximus_, when a funeral happened in his family,
took care himself to see the will punctually executed. He went out
of the world with all that calmness of mind with which the ancient
writer of his life says he came into it; making the inscription of his
monument himself; for he began and ended his poetical compositions
with an epitaph. And this he made, exactly according to the law of his
master Plato on such occasions, without the least ostentation:
I sung flocks, tillage, heroes; Mantua gave
Me life, Brundusium death, Naples a grave.
A SHORT
ACCOUNT
OF HIS
PERSON, MANNERS, AND FORTUNE.
He was of a very swarthy complexion, which might proceed from the
southern extraction of his father; tall and wide-shouldered, so that he
may be thought to have described himself under the character of Musæus,
whom he calls the best of poets--
----_Medium nam plurima turba
Hunc habet, atque humeris extantem suspicit altis._
His sickliness, studies, and the troubles he met with, turned his
hair gray before the usual time. He had a hesitation in his speech,
as many other great men; it being rarely found that a very fluent
elocution, and depth of judgment, meet in the same person: his aspect
and behaviour rustic and ungraceful; and this defect was not likely to
be rectified in the place where he first lived, nor afterwards, because
the weakness of his stomach would not permit him to use his exercises.
He was frequently troubled with the head-ach, and spitting of blood;
spare of diet, and hardly drank any wine. Bashful to a fault; and,
when people crowded to see him, he would slip into the next shop, or
by-passage, to avoid them. As this character could not recommend him
to the fair sex, he seems to have as little consideration for them as
Euripides himself. There is hardly the character of one good woman to
be found in his poems: he uses the word _mulier_ but once in the whole
"Æneïs," then too by way of contempt, rendering literally a piece of
a verse out of Homer. In his "Pastorals," he is full of invectives
against love: in the "Georgics," he appropriates all the rage of it to
the females. He makes Dido, who never deserved that character, lustful
and revengeful to the utmost degree, so as to die devoting her lover
to destruction; so changeable, that the Destinies themselves could not
fix the time of her death; but Iris, the emblem of inconstancy, must
determine it. Her sister is something worse.[278] He is so far from
passing such a compliment upon Helen, as the grave old counsellor in
Homer does, after nine years' war, when, upon the sight of her, he
breaks out into this rapture, in the presence of king Priam:
None can the cause of these long wars despise;
The cost bears no proportion to the prize:
Majestic charms in every feature shine;
Her air, her port, her accent, is divine.
However, let the fatal beauty go, &c.
Virgil is so far from this complaisant humour, that his hero falls
into an unmanly and ill-timed deliberation, whether he should not kill
her in a church;[279] which directly contradicts what Deiphobus says
of her, Æneid vi., in that place where every body tells the truth. He
transfers the dogged silence of Ajax's ghost to that of Dido; though
that be no very natural character to an injured lover, or a woman.
He brings in the Trojan matrons setting their own fleet on fire, and
running afterwards, like witches on their _sabbat_, into the woods. He
bestows indeed some ornaments on the character of Camilla; but soon
abates his favour, by calling her _aspera_ and _horrenda virgo_: he
places her in the front of the line for an ill omen of the battle, as
one of the ancients has observed. We may observe, on this occasion, it
is an art peculiar to Virgil, to intimate the event by some preceding
accident. He hardly ever describes the rising of the sun, but with some
circumstance which fore-signifies the fortune of the day. For instance,
when Æneas leaves Africa and Queen Dido, he thus describes the fatal
morning:
_Tithoni croceum linquens Aurora cubile._