_He honors him with the highest compliments; then treats copiously of
poetry, its origin, character, and excellence_.
Since you alone support so many and such weighty concerns, defend Italy
with your arms, adorn it by your virtue, reform it by your laws; I
should offend, O Caesar, against the public interests, if I were to
trespass upon your time with a long discourse.
Romulus, and father Bacchus, and Castor and Pollux, after great
achievements, received into the temples of the gods, while they were
improving the world and human nature, composing fierce dissensions,
settling property, building cities, lamented that the esteem which they
expected was not paid in proportion to their merits. He who crushed the
dire Hydra, and subdued the renowned monsters by his forefated labor,
found envy was to be tamed by death [alone]. For he burns by his very
splendor, whose superiority is oppressive to the arts beneath him: after
his decease, he shall be had in honor. On you, while present among us,
we confer mature honors, and rear altars where your name is to be sworn
by; confessing that nothing equal to you has hitherto risen, or will
hereafter rise. But this your people, wise and just in one point (for
preferring you to our own, you to the Grecian heroes), by no means
estimate other things with like proportion and measure: and disdain and
detest every thing, but what they see removed from earth and already
gone by; such favorers are they of antiquity, as to assert that the
Muses [themselves] upon Mount Alba, dictated the twelve tables,
forbidding to trangress, which the decemviri ratified; the leagues of
our kings concluded with the Gabii, or the rigid Sabines; the records of
the pontifices, and the ancient volumes of the augurs.
If, because the most ancient writings of the Greeks are also the best,
Roman authors are to be weighed in the same scale, there is no need we
should say much: there is nothing hard in the inside of an olive,
nothing [hard] in the outside of a nut. We are arrived at the highest
pitch of success [in arts]: we paint, and sing, and wrestle more
skillfully than the annointed Greeks. If length of time makes poems
better, as it does wine, I would fain know how many years will stamp a
value upon writings. A writer who died a hundred years ago, is he to be
reckoned among the perfect and ancient, or among the mean and modern
authors? Let some fixed period exclude all dispute. He is an old and
good writer who completes a hundred years. What! one that died a month
or a year later, among whom is he to be ranked? Among the old poets, or
among those whom both the present age and posterity will disdainfully
reject? He may fairly be placed among the ancients, who is younger
either by a short month only, or even by a whole year. I take the
advantage of this concession, and pull away by little and little, as [if
they were] the hairs of a horse's tail: and I take away a single one and
then again another single one; till, like a tumbling heap, [my
adversary], who has recourse to annals and estimates excellence by the
year, and admires nothing but what Libitina has made sacred, falls to
the ground.
Ennius the wise, the nervous, and (as our critics say) a second Homer,
seems lightly to regard what becomes of his promises and Pythagorean
dreams. Is not Naevius in people's hands, and sticking almost fresh in
their memory? So sacred is every ancient poem. As often as a debate
arises, whether this poet or the other be preferable; Pacuvius bears
away the character of a learned, Accius, of a lofty writer; Afranius'
gown is said to have fitted Menander; Plautus, to hurry after the
pattern of the Sicilian Epicharmus; Caecilius, to excel in gravity,
Terence in contrivance. These mighty Rome learns by heart, and these she
views crowded in her narrow theater; these she esteems and accounts her
poets from Livy the writer's age down to our time. Sometimes the
populace see right; sometimes they are wrong. If they admire and extol
the ancient poets so as to prefer nothing before, to compare nothing
with them, they err; if they think and allow that they express some
things in an obsolete, most in a stiff, many in a careless manner; they
both think sensibly, and agree with me, and determine with the assent of
Jove himself. Not that I bear an ill-will against Livy's epics, and
would doom them to destruction, which I remember the severe Orbilius
taught me when a boy; but they should seem correct, beautiful, and very
little short of perfect, this I wonder at: among which if by chance a
bright expression shines forth, and if one line or two [happen to be]
somewhat terse and musical, this unreasonably carries off and sells the
whole poem. I am disgusted that any thing should be found fault with,
not because it is a lumpish composition or inelegant, but because it is
modern; and that not a favorable allowance, but honor and rewards are
demanded for the old writers. Should I scruple, whether or not Atta's
drama trod the saffron and flowers in a proper manner, almost all the
fathers would cry out that modesty was lost; since I attempted to find
fault with those pieces which the pathetic Aesopus, which the skillful
Roscius acted: either because they esteem nothing right, but what has
pleased themselves; or because they think it disgraceful to submit to
their juniors, and to confess, now they are old, that what they learned
when young is deserving only to be destroyed. Now he who extols Numa's
Salian hymn, and would alone seem to understand that which, as well as
me, he is ignorant of, does not favor and applaud the buried geniuses,
but attacks ours, enviously hating us moderns and every thing of ours.
Whereas if novelty had been detested by the Greeks as much as by us,
what at this time would there have been ancient? Or what what would
there have been for common use to read and thumb, common to every body.
When first Greece, her wars being over, began to trifle, and through
prosperity to glide into folly; she glowed with the love, one while of
wrestlers, another while of horses; was fond of artificers in marble, or
in ivory, or in brass; hung her looks and attention upon a picture; was
delighted now with musicians, now with tragedians; as if an infant girl
she sported under the nurse; soon cloyed, she abandoned what [before]
she earnestly desired. What is there that pleases or is odious, which
you may not think mutable? This effect had happy times of peace, and
favorable gales [of fortune].
At Rome it was long pleasing and customary to be up early with open
doors, to expound the laws to clients; to lay out money cautiously upon
good securities: to hear the elder, and to tell the younger by what
means their fortunes might increase and pernicious luxury be diminished.
The inconstant people have changed their mind, and glow with a universal
ardor for learning: young men and grave fathers sup crowned with leaves,
and dictate poetry. I myself, who affirm that I write no verses, am
found more false than the Parthians: and, awake before the sun is risen,
I call for my pen and papers and desk. He that is ignorant of a ship is
afraid to work a ship; none but he who has learned, dares administer
[even] southern wood to the sick; physicians undertake what belongs to
physicians; mechanics handle tools; but we, unlearned and learned,
promiscuously write poems.
Yet how great advantages this error and this slight madness has, thus
compute: the poet's mind is not easily covetous; fond of verses, he
studies this alone; he laughs at losses, flights of slaves, fires; he
contrives no fraud against his partner, or his young ward; he lives on
husks, and brown bread; though dastardly and unfit for war, he is useful
at home, if you allow this, that great things may derive assistance from
small ones. The poet fashions the child's tender and lisping mouth, and
turns his ear even at this time from obscene language; afterward also he
forms his heart with friendly precepts, the corrector of his rudeness,
and envy, and passion; he records virtuous actions, he instructs the
rising age with approved examples, he comforts the indigent and the
sick. Whence should the virgin, stranger to a husband, with the chaste
boys, learn the solemn prayer, had not the muse given a poet? The chorus
entreats the divine aid, and finds the gods propitious; sweet in learned
prayer, they implore the waters of the heavens; avert diseases, drive
off impending dangers, obtain both peace and years enriched with fruits.
With song the gods above are appeased, with song the gods below.
Our ancient swains, stout and happy with a little, after the grain was
laid up, regaling in a festival season their bodies and even their
minds, patient of hardships through the hope of their ending, with their
slaves and faithful wife, the partners of their labors, atoned with a
hog [the goddess] Earth, with milk Silvanus, with flowers and wine the
genius that reminds us of our short life. Invented by this custom, the
Femminine licentiousness poured forth its rustic taunts in alternate
stanzas; and this liberty, received down through revolving years,
sported pleasingly; till at length the bitter raillery began to be
turned into open rage, and threatening with impunity to stalk through
reputable families. They, who suffered from its bloody tooth smarted
with the pain; the unhurt likewise were concerned for the common
condition: further also, a law and a penalty were enacted, which forbade
that any one should be stigmatized in lampoon. Through fear of the
bastinado, they were reduced to the necessity of changing their manner,
and of praising and delighting.
Captive Greece took captive her fierce conqueror, and introduced her
arts into rude Latium. Thus flowed off the rough Saturnian numbers, and
delicacy expelled the rank venom: but for a long time there remained,
and at this day remain traces of rusticity. For late [the Roman writer]
applied his genius to the Grecian pages; and enjoying rest after the
Punic wars, began to search what useful matter Sophocles, and Thespis,
and Aeschylus afforded: he tried, too, if he could with dignity
translate their works; and succeeded in pleasing himself, being by
nature [of a genius] sublime and strong; for he breathes a spirit tragic
enough, and dares successfully; but fears a blot, and thinks it
disgraceful in his writings.
Comedy is believed to require the least pains, because it fetches its
subjects from common life; but the less indulgence It meets with, the
more labor it requires. See how Plautus supports the character of a
lover under age, how that of a covetous father, how those of a cheating
pimp: how Dossennus exceeds all measure in his voracious parasites; with
how loose a sock he runs over the stage: for he is glad to put the money
in his pocket, after this regardless whether his play stand or fall.
Him, whom glory in her airy car has brought upon the stage, the careless
spectator dispirits, the attentive renders more diligent: so slight, so
small a matter it is, which overturns or raises a mind covetous of
praise! Adieu the ludicrous business [of dramatic writing], if applause
denied brings me back meagre, bestowed [makes me] full of flesh and
spirits.
This too frequently drives away and deters even an adventurous poet?
that they who are in number more, in worth and rank inferior, unlearned
and foolish, and (if the equestrian order dissents) ready to fall to
blows, in the midst of the play, call for either a bear or boxers; for
in these the mob delight. Nay, even all the pleasures of our knights is
now transferred from the ear to the uncertain eye, and their vain
amusements. The curtains are kept down for four hours or more, while
troops of horse and companies of foot flee over the stage: next is
dragged forward the fortune of kings, with their hands bound behind
them; chariots, litters, carriages, ships hurry on; captive ivory,
captive Corinth, is borne along. Democritus, if he were on earth, would
laugh; whether a panther a different genus confused with the camel, or a
white elephant attracted the eye of the crowd. He would view the people
more attentively than the sports themselves, as affording him more
strange sights than the actor: and for the writers, he would think they
told their story to a deaf ass. For what voices are able to overbear the
din with which our theatres resound? You would think the groves of
Garganus, or the Tuscan Sea, was roaring; with so great noise are viewed
the shows and contrivances, and foreign riches: with which the actor
being daubed over, as soon as he appears upon the stage, each right hand
encounters with the left. Has he said any thing yet? Nothing at all.
What then pleases? The cloth imitating [the color of] violets, with the
dye of Tarentum.
And, that you may not think I enviously praise those kinds of writing
which I decline undertaking, when others handle them well: that poet to
me seems able to walk upon an extended rope, who with his fictions
grieves my soul, enrages, soothes, fills it with false terrors, as an
enchanter; and sets me now in Thebes, now in Athens.
But of those too, who had rather trust themselves with a reader, than
bear the disdain of an haughty spectator, use a little care; if you
would fill with books [the library you have erected], an offering worthy
of Apollo, and add an incentive to the poets, that with greater
eagerness they may apply to verdant Helicon.
We poets, it is true (that I may hew down my own vineyards), often do
ourselves many mischiefs, when we present a work to you while thoughtful
or fatigued; when we are pained, if my friend has dared to find fault
with one line; when, unasked, we read over again passages already
repeated: when we lament that our labors do not appear, and war poems,
spun out in a fine thread: when we hope the thing will come to this,
that as soon as you are apprised we are penning verses, you will kindly
of yourself send for us and secure us from want, and oblige us to write.
But yet it is worth while to know, who shall be the priests of your
virtue signalized in war and at home, which is not to be trusted to an
unworthy poet. A favorite of king Alexander the Great was that
Choerilus, who to his uncouth and ill-formed verses owed the many pieces
he received of Philip's royal coin. But, as ink when touched leaves
behind it a mark and a blot, so writers as it were stain shining actions
with foul poetry. That same king, who prodigally bought so dear so
ridiculous a poem, by an edict forbade that any one beside Apelles
should paint him, or that any other than Lysippus should mold brass for
the likeness of the valiant Alexander. But should you call that faculty
of his, so delicate in discerning other arts, to [judge of] books and of
these gifts of the muses, you would swear he had been born in the gross
air of the Boeotians. Yet neither do Virgil and Varius, your beloved
poets, disgrace your judgment of them, and the presents which they have
received with great honor to the donor; nor do the features of
illustrious men appear more lively when expressed by statues of brass,
than their manners and minds expressed by the works of a poet. Nor would
I rather compose such tracts as these creeping on the ground, than
record deeds of arms, and the situations of countries, and rivers, and
forts reared upon mountains, and barbarous kingdoms, and wars brought to
a conclusion through the whole world under your auspices, and the
barriers that confine Janus the guardian of peace, and Rome treaded by
the Parthians under your government, if I were but able to do as much as
I could wish. But neither does your majesty admit of humble poetry, nor
dares my modesty attempt a subject which my strength is unable to
support. Yet officiousness foolishly disgusts the person whom it loves;
especially when it recommends itself by numbers, and the art [of
writing]. For one learns sooner, and more willingly remembers, that
which a man derides, than that which he approves and venerates. I value
not the zeal that gives me uneasiness; nor do I wish to be set out any
where in wax with a face formed for the worse, nor to be celebrated in
ill-composed verses; lest I blush, when presented with the gross gift;
and, exposed in an open box along with my author, be conveyed into the
street that sells frankincense, and spices, and pepper, and whatever is
wrapped up in impertinent writings.
* * * * *