ROME
The Roman Juvenal observed, “All Greece is a comedian.” But he could
not say the same of his own country.
Though there was Roman Comedy and Roman Satire, the real and
spontaneous spirit of fun was conspicuously lacking in the tastes and
tendencies of the Romans.
Glory is attributed to Greece and grandeur to Rome, and it may be the
“sudden glory” of humor was an integral part of the Grecian nature.
Yet we must not differentiate too carefully between the two, for the
literature of Greece and Rome is so fused and intermingled that only a
historian may take up the chronological tabulation.
For our purpose it is well to let the literature of the two countries
merge and continue the consideration of classic comedy without over
cautious regard for dates.
The Greek influence on literature of all ages will never disappear, but
the Greek spirit of pure joy and gaiety will, probably never reappear.
From the beginnings of Greece, on through the existence of Rome,
and down through the Mediæval Ages, the world of letters was
self-contained, a single proposition. From 500 B.C. to 1300
A.D. the traditions of primal Greece and Rome continued to be
the common possession of all Europe.
After that, literature became diverse and divergent among the
countries. It was independent as well as interdependent, but this
condition makes an inevitable division of time.
Greece, Rome, Mediæval Times,--these are the three sections of the
Middle portion of this book.
Rome, then, considered by herself, brought forth little quotable
humorous literature, and what we have to choose from is ponderous and
heavy.
Like Greece, the first germs of Roman comic literature may be traced to
the religious festivals, which were marked by an admixture of religious
rites and riotous Bacchanalian orgies, where as the crowds danced and
sang and feasted, they became first hilarious and then abusive and
indecent.
Like the Greeks, the Romans used grotesque masks, large enough to
represent face and hair, too, the duplicates of which we see decorating
our theater proscenium arches and drop curtains to this day.
It would seem these masks were universally made use of in their
dramatic performances, for all caricatures and grotesque drawings show
them.
In the burlesque entertainments there was a Buffoon, corresponding to
our clown, called a Sannio, from the Greek word meaning a fool.
Later, undoubtedly, the Court Fool and the King’s Jester were the
natural successors of this character.
In all these masks the features were exaggerated and made monstrous of
form and size. But one reason for the greatly enlarged mouth is that
it was so shaped in order to form a sort of speaking trumpet, that the
actors’ voices might be heard at greater distance.
In contrast to the grotesquerie of enlargement, there was also a branch
of caricature which depicted the pigmies.
The legend of the pigmies and cranes is as ancient, at least, as Homer,
and many examples are found in the buried cities of Herculaneum and
Pompeii.
Comic Literature was not plentiful in the days of Early Rome. Up to the
second century B.C. we can glean but the two names, Plautus
and Terence.
These two, nearly contemporary, founded their plays on the comedies of
Menander and a few other earlier dramatic writers.
Perhaps twenty plays are left us from the hands of these two Romans,
and these, though pronounced amusing by scholars who can read the
original text, are not what the modern layman deems very humorous.
A few examples of them will suffice.
PLAUTUS
_MILITARY SWAGGER_
PYRGOPOLINICES, ARTOTROGUS, _and_ SOLDIERS
_Pyrgopolinices._ Take care that the luster of my shield is more
bright than the rays of the sun when the sky is clear, that, when
occasion comes, the battle being joined, ’mid the fierce ranks right
opposite it may dazzle the eyesight of the enemy. But I must console
this saber of mine, that it may not lament nor be downcast in spirits,
because I have thus long been wearing it keeping holiday, though it so
dreadfully longs to make havoc of the enemy. But where is Artotrogus?
_Artotrogus._ Here he is; he stands close by the hero, valiant and
successful, and of princely form. Mars could not dare to style himself
so great a warrior, nor compare his prowess with yours.
_Pyrgopolinices._ Him you mean whom I spared on the Gorgonidonian
plains, where Bumbomachides Clytomestoridysarchides, the grandson of
Neptune, was the chief commander?
_Artotrogus._ I remember him; him, I suppose you mean, with the
golden armor, whose legions you puffed away with your breath, just as
the wind blows away leaves or the reed-thatched roof.
_Pyrgopolinices._ That, by my troth, was really nothing at all.
_Artotrogus._ Faith, that really was nothing at all in comparison
with other things I could mention (_aside_) which you never did.
If any person ever beheld a more perjured fellow than this, or one more
full in vain boasting, let him have me for himself: I’ll become his
slave.
_Pyrgopolinices._ What are you saying?
_Artotrogus._ Why, that I remember in what fashion you broke the
foreleg of an elephant, in India, with your fist.
_Pyrgopolinices._ How--the foreleg?
_Artotrogus._ I meant to say the thigh.
_Pyrgopolinices._ I struck the blow without an effort.
_Artotrogus._ Troth, if, indeed, you had put forth your strength,
your arm would have passed right through the hide, the entrails, and
the frontispiece of the elephant.
_Pyrgopolinices._ I don’t care to talk about these things just now.
_Artotrogus._ I’ faith, ’tis really not worth while for you to
tell me of it, who know your prowess well. (_Aside._) My appetite
creates all these tales. I must hear him right out with my ears, that
my teeth mayn’t have time to grow, and whatever lie he shall tell I
must agree to it.
_Pyrgopolinices._ What was it I was saying?
_Artotrogus._ Oh, I know what you were going to say just now. I’
faith ’twas bravely done; I remember its being done.
_Pyrgopolinices._ What was that?
_Artotrogus._ Whatever it was you were going to say.
_Pyrgopolinices._ Have you got your tablets?
_Artotrogus._ Are you intending to enlist some one? I have them,
and a pen as well.
_Pyrgopolinices._ How quickly you guess my thoughts!
_Artotrogus._ ’Tis fit that I should study your inclinations, so
that whatever you wish should first occur to me.
_Pyrgopolinices._ What do you remember?
_Artotrogus._ I do remember this: In Cilicia there were a hundred
and fifty men, a hundred in Cryphiolathronia, thirty at Sardis, sixty
men of Macedon, whom you slaughtered altogether in one day.
_Pyrgopolinices._ What is the sum total of those men?
_Artotrogus._ Seven thousand.
_Pyrgopolinices._ It must be as much; you keep the reckoning well.
_Artotrogus._ Yet I have none of them written down; still, I
remember it was so.
_Pyrgopolinices._ By my troth, you have a right good memory.
_Artotrogus_ (_aside_). ’Tis the flesh-pots give it a fillip.
_Pyrgopolinices._ So long as you shall do as you have done
hitherto, you shall always have something to eat; I will always make
you a partaker at my table.
_Artotrogus._ Besides, in Cappadocia you would have killed five
hundred men altogether at one blow, had not your saber been blunt.
_Pyrgopolinices._ I let them live, because I was quite sick of
fighting.
_Artotrogus._ Why should I tell you what all mortals know, that
you, Pyrgopolinices, live upon the earth with your valor, beauty, and
achievements unsurpassed? All the women are in love with you, and that
not without reason, since you are so handsome. Witness those girls that
pulled me by my mantle yesterday.
_Pyrgopolinices._ What was it they said to you?
_Artotrogus._ They questioned me about you. “Is Achilles here?”
says one to me. “No,” says I, “his brother is.” Then says the other to
me, “By my troth, but he is a handsome and a noble man. See how his
long hair becomes him! Certainly the women are lucky who share his
favors.”
_Pyrgopolinices._ And pray, did they really say so?
_Artotrogus._ They both entreated me to bring you past today, so
that they might see you.
_Pyrgopolinices._ ’Tis really a very great plague to a man to be
too handsome!
_Artotrogus._ They are quite a nuisance to me; they are praying,
entreating, beseeching me to let them see you; sending for me for that
purpose, so that I can’t give my attention to your business.
_Pyrgopolinices._ It seems that it is time for us to go to the
Forum, that I may count out their pay to those soldiers whom I lately
enlisted; for King Seleucus entreated me with most earnest suit that
I would raise and enlist recruits for him. To that business I have
resolved to devote my attention this day.
_Artotrogus._ Come, let’s be going, then.
_Pyrgopolinices._ Guards, follow me.
--_The Braggart Captain._
_THE SUSPICIOUS MISER_
MEGADORUS _and_ EUNOMIA
_Eunomia._ Tell me pray, who is she whom you would like to take
for a wife?
_Megadorus._ I’ll tell you. Do you know that Euclio, the poor old
man close by?
_Eunomia._ I know him; not a bad sort of man.
_Megadorus._ I’d like his maiden daughter to be promised me in
marriage. Don’t make any words about it, sister; I know what you are
going to say--that she’s poor. This poor girl pleases me.
_Eunomia._ May the gods prosper it!
_Megadorus._ I hope the same.
_Eunomia._ Do you wish me to stay for anything else?
_Megadorus._ No; farewell.
_Eunomia._ And to you the same, brother.
(_Goes into the house._)
_Megadorus._ I’ll go to see Euclio, if he’s at home. But, ah! here
comes the very man toward his own house!
_Enter_ EUCLIO
_Euclio_ (_to himself_). I had a presentiment that I was
going out to no purpose when I left my house, and therefore I went
unwillingly; for neither did any one of the wardsmen come, nor yet
the master of the ward, who ought to have distributed the money. Now
I’m making all haste to hasten home; for, though I myself am here, my
mind’s at home.
_Megadorus._ May you be well, and ever fortunate, Euclio!
_Euclio._ May the gods bless you, Megadorus!
_Megadorus._ How are you? Are you quite well and contented?
_Euclio_ (_aside_). It isn’t for nothing when a rich man
accosts a poor man courteously. Now, this fellow knows that I’ve got
some gold; for that reason he salutes me more courteously.
_Megadorus._ Do you say that you are well?
_Euclio._ Oh, I’m not very well in the money line.
_Megadorus._ But if you’ve a contented mind, you have enough for
passing a happy life with.
_Euclio_ (_aside_). By my faith, the old woman has made a
discovery to him about the gold; it is clear she has told him. I’ll cut
off her tongue, and tear out her eyes, when I get home.
_Megadorus._ Why are you talking to yourself?
_Euclio._ I’m lamenting my poverty. I’ve a grown-up girl without a
portion, and one that can’t be disposed of in marriage; nor am I able
to marry her to anybody.
_Megadorus._ Hold your peace; be of good courage, Euclio; she
shall have a husband; you shall be assisted by myself. If you have need
of help, command me.
_Euclio_ (_aside_). Now he is aiming at my property, while
he’s making promises. He’s gaping for my gold, that he may devour it;
in the one hand he is carrying a stone, while he shows the bread in the
other. I trust no person who, rich himself, is exceedingly courteous
to a poor man; when he extends his hand with a kind air, then is he
loading you with some damage. I know these polyps, who, when they’ve
touched a thing, hold it fast.
_Megadorus._ Give me your attention, Euclio, for a little while;
I wish to speak a few words to you about a common concern of yours and
mine.
_Euclio_ (_aside_). Alas! wo is me! My gold has been carried
off from my house. Now he’s wishing for this thing, I’m sure, to come
to a compromise with me; but I’ll look in my house first.
(_He goes toward his door._)
_Megadorus._ Where are you going?
_Euclio._ I’ll return to you directly, for there’s something I
must go and see to at home.
(_Goes into his house._)
_Megadorus._ I verily believe that when I make mention of his
daughter, for him to promise her to me, he’ll suppose that I am
laughing at him; for I do not know of any man poorer than he.
EUCLIO _returns from his house_
_Euclio_ (_aside_). The gods favor me; my property’s all
safe. If nothing’s lost, it’s safe. I was dreadfully afraid before I
went indoors. I was almost dead. (_Aloud._) I’m come back to you,
Megadorus, if you wish to say anything to me.
_Megadorus._ I thank you. I beg that as to what I shall inquire of
you, you’ll not hesitate to speak out boldly.
_Euclio._ So long, indeed, as you inquire nothing that I mayn’t
choose to speak out upon.
_Megadorus._ Tell me, of what sort of family do you consider me to
be sprung?
_Euclio._ Of a good one.
_Megadorus._ What do you think about my character?
_Euclio._ It’s a good one.
_Megadorus._ What of my conduct?
_Euclio._ Neither bad nor dishonest.
_Megadorus._ Do you know my age?
_Euclio._ I know that you are as rich in years as in pocket.
_Megadorus._ I surely did always take you to be a citizen without
evil guile, and now I am convinced.
Euclio (_aside_). He smells the gold. (_Aloud._) What do you
want with me now?
_Megadorus._ Since you know me, and I know you, what sort of
person you are, may it bring a blessing on myself, and you and your
daughter, if I now ask your daughter as my wife. Promise me that it
shall be so.
_Euclio._ Heyday! Megadorus, you are doing a deed that’s not
becoming to your usual actions, in laughing at me, a poor man, and
guiltless toward yourself and toward your family. For neither in act,
nor in words, have I ever deserved it of you that you should do what
you are doing now.
_Megadorus._ I vow that I neither came to laugh at you nor am I
laughing at you, nor do I think you deserving of it.
_Euclio._ Why, then, do you ask my daughter for yourself?
_Megadorus._ Because I believe that the match would be a good
thing for all of us.
_Euclio._ It suggests itself to my mind, Megadorus, that you are a
wealthy man, a man of rank, and that I am the poorest of the poor. Now,
if I should give my daughter in marriage to you, it suggests itself to
my mind that you are the ox, and that I am the ass; when I’m yoked to
you, and when I’m not able to bear the burden equally with yourself,
I, the ass, must lie down in the mire; you, the ox, would regard me no
more than if I had never been born. I should then feel aggrieved, and
my own class would laugh at me. In neither direction should I have a
fixed stall, if there should be a divorce; the asses would tear me with
their teeth, the oxen would butt at me with their horns. This is the
great risk, in my passing over from the asses to the oxen.
_Megadorus._ The nearer you can unite yourself in alliance with
honorable people the better. Do you receive this proposal, listen to
me, and promise her to me.
_Euclio._ But there is no marriage portion, I tell you.
_Megadorus._ You are to give none; so long as she comes with good
principles, she is sufficiently portioned.
_Euclio._ I say so for this reason, that you mayn’t be supposing
that I have found any treasures.
_Megadorus._ I know that; don’t enlarge upon it. Promise her to me.
_Euclio._ So be it. (_Starts and looks about._) But, oh,
Jupiter, am I not utterly undone?
_Megadorus._ What’s the matter with you?
_Euclio._ What was it sounded just now as though it were iron?
_Megadorus._ I ordered them to dig up the garden at my place. (EUCLIO
_runs off into his house._) But where has this man gone? He’s off, and
he hasn’t fully answered me; he treats me with contempt. Because he
sees that I wish for his friendship, he acts after the usual manner
of mankind. For if a wealthy person goes to ask a favor of a poorer
one, the poor man is afraid to treat with him; through suspicion he
hurts his own interest. The same person, when this opportunity is lost,
afterward wishes for it too late.
_Euclio_ (_coming out of the house, addressing servant within_). By
the powers, if I don’t give you up to have your tongue cut out by the
roots, I order and I authorize you to hand me over to any one you
please, to be mutilated.
_Megadorus._ By my troth, Euclio, I perceive that you consider me
a fit man for you to make sport of in my old age, for no fault of my
own.
_Euclio._ I’ faith, Megadorus, I am not doing so, nor should I
desire it were I able to.
_Megadorus._ Well, then, do you betroth your daughter to me?
_Euclio._ On those terms, and with that portion which I mentioned
to you.
_Megadorus._ Do you promise her, then?
_Euclio._ I do promise her.
_Megadorus._ May the gods bestow their blessings on it!
_Euclio._ May the gods do so! Observe and remember that we’ve
agreed, that my daughter is not to bring you any portion.
_Megadorus._ I remember it.
_Euclio._ But I understand in what fashion people are wont
to equivocate; an agreement is no agreement, no agreement is an
agreement--just as it pleases you.
_Megadorus._ I’ll have no misunderstanding with you. But what
reason is there why we shouldn’t have the nuptials this day?
_Euclio._ Why, by my troth, there is very good reason why we
should.
_Megadorus._ I’ll go, then, and prepare matters. Do you want me
for anything more?
_Euclio._ All is settled. Farewell.
_Megadorus_ (_going to the door of his house and calling
out_). Hullo! Strobilus, follow me quickly to the meat-market.
(_Exit_ MEGADORUS.)
_Euclio._ He has gone. Immortal gods, I do beseech you! How
powerful is gold! I do believe, now, that he has had some intimation
that I’ve got a treasure at home. He’s gaping for that; for the sake of
that has he persisted in this alliance!
--_The Pot of Gold._
TERENCE
_PARASITES AND GNATHONITES_
_Gnathonites_ (_soliloquizing_). Immortal gods! how far does one man
excel another! What a difference there is between a wise person and a
fool! This came strongly into my mind from the following circumstance.
As I was walking along to-day I met a certain individual of this place,
of my own rank and station--no mean fellow--one who, like myself, had
guttled away his paternal estate. I saw him, shabby, dirty, sickly,
beset with rags and years. “What’s the meaning of this garb?” said I.
He answered, “Wretch that I am, I’ve lost what I possessed; see to
what I am reduced; all my acquaintances and friends have forsaken me.”
On this I felt contempt for him as in comparison with myself. “What!”
said I, “you pitiful sluggard, have you so managed matters as to have
no hope left? Have you lost your wits together with your estate? Don’t
you see me, who have risen from the same condition? What a complexion
I have, how spruce and well dressed, what portliness of person? I have
everything, yet have nothing; and although I possess nothing, still I
am in want of nothing.” “But I,” said he, “unhappily, can no longer
find anybody who will feed me in exchange for making me the butt of
his jokes.” “What!” said I, “do you suppose it is managed by those
means? You are quite mistaken. Once upon a time, in the early ages,
there was a calling of that sort; but I will tell you a new mode of
coney-catching; I, in fact, have been the first to strike into this
path. There is a class of men who strive to be the first in everything,
but are not; to these I pay my court. I do not offer myself to them
to be laughed at, but I am the first to laugh with them, and at the
same time to admire their parts. Whatever they say, I commend; if
they contradict that selfsame thing, I commend again. Does any one
deny? I deny; does he affirm? I affirm. In fine, I have so trained
myself as to humor them in everything. This calling is now by far
the most productive.” While we were thus talking, we arrived at the
market-place. Overjoyed, all the confectioners ran at once to meet
me; fishmongers, butchers, cooks, sausage-makers, fishermen, whom,
both when my fortunes were flourishing and when they were ruined, I
had served, and often serve still; they complimented me, asked me to
dinner, and gave me a hearty welcome. When this poor hungry wretch
saw that I was in such great esteem, and that I obtained a living so
easily, then the fellow began to entreat me that I would allow him
to learn this method of me. So I bade him become my follower--if he
could. As the disciples of the philosophers take their names from the
philosophers themselves, so, too, the Parasites ought to be called
Gnathonites.--_Eunuchus._
At the beginning of the Christian Era, Roman Literature writers had
begun to come into their own, and the first century A.D. saw
many of the greatest Romans of them all in the paths of Literature.
Catullus, the blithe poet who left us some hundred or so of his poems,
frequently wrote lines more lyrical than chaste. Yet he himself bids
us remember that if a poet’s life be chaste, his lines need not
necessarily be so, too.
As Herrick later put it, “Jocund his muse was, but his life was chaste.”
But the self-revelations of Catullus are probably no more improper to
read than those of many later and lesser poets.
CATULLUS
_THE ROMAN COCKNEY_
_Stipends_ Anius even on opportunity _shtipends_,
_Ambush_ as _hambush_ still Anius used to declaim;
Then, hoped fondly the words were a marvel of articulation,
While with an _h_ immense _hambush_ arose from his heart.
So his mother of old, so e’en spoke Liber his uncle,
Credibly; so grandsire, grandam, alike did agree.
Syria took him away; all ears had rest for a moment;
Lightly the lips those words, slightly could utter again.
None was afraid any more of a sound so clumsy returning;
Sudden a solemn fright seized us: a message arrives.
“News from Sonia country; the sea, since Anius entered,
Changed; ’twas _Ionian_ once, now ’twas _Hionian_ all.”
_A FIXED SMILE_
Egnatius, spruce owner of superb white teeth,
Smiles sweetly, smiles forever. Is the bench in view,
Where stands the pleader just prepared to rouse our tears,
Egnatius smiles sweetly. Near the pyre they mourn,
Where weeps a mother o’er the lost, the kind, one son;
Egnatius smiles sweetly--what the time, or place,
Or thing soe’er, smiles sweetly. Such a rare complaint
Is his, not handsome, scarce to please the town, say I.
So take a warning for the nonce my friend; town-bred
Were you, a Sabine hale, a pearly Tiburtine,
A frugal Umbrian body, Tuscan, huge of paunch,
A grim Samnian, black of hue, prodigious-tooth’d,
A Transpadane, my country not to pass untaxed--
In short, whoever cleanly cares to rinse foul teeth;
Yet sweetly smiling ever I would have you not:
For silly laughter, it’s a silly thing indeed.
Of Horace it is difficult to say anything without saying too much.
In this Outline there is no space for discussion, informative or
discursive, of the writers, it is our province but to name them and to
give examples of their humor.
Horace was not a comedian but in his Satires, as well as in some of his
other works, the comic muse is discernible.
HORACE
_OBTRUSIVE COMPANY ON THE SACRED WAY_
Along the Sacred Road I strolled one day,
Deep in some bagatelle (you know my way),
When up comes one whose name I scarcely knew:
“Ah, dearest of dear fellows, how d’ye do?”
He grasped my hand: “Well, thanks; the same to you.”
Then, as he still kept walking by my side,
To cut things short, “You’ve no commands?” I cried.
“Nay, you should know me; I’m a man of lore.”
“Sir, I’m your humble servant all the more.”
All in a fret to make him let me go,
I now walk fast, now loiter and walk slow,
Now whisper to my servant, while the sweat
Ran down so fast my very feet were wet.
“Oh, had I but a temper worth the name,
Like yours, Bolanus!” inly I exclaim,
While he keeps running on at a hand-trot
About the town, the streets, I know not what.
Finding I made no answer, “Ah, I see
You’re at a strait to rid yourself of me;
But ’tis no use; I’m a tenacious friend,
And mean to hold you till your journey’s end.”
“No need to take you such a round; I go
To visit an acquaintance you don’t know.
Poor man, he’s ailing at his lodging, far
Beyond the bridge, where Cæsar’s gardens are.”
“Oh, never mind; I’ve nothing else to do,
And want a walk, so I’ll step on with you.”
Down go my ears in donkey-fashion, straight;
You’ve seen them do it, when their load’s too great.
“If I mistake not,” he begins, “you’ll find
Viscus not more, nor Varius, to your mind;
There’s not a man can turn a verse so soon,
Or dance so nimbly when he hears a tune;
While, as for singing--ah, my forte is there;
Tigellius’ self might envy me, I’ll swear.”
He paused for breath. I falteringly strike in:
“Have you a mother? Have you kith or kin
To whom your life is precious?” “Not a soul;
My line’s extinct; I have interred the whole.”
Oh, happy they! (so into thought I fell)
After life’s endless babble they sleep well.
My turn is next: despatch me, for the weird
Has come to pass which I so long have feared,
The fatal weird a Sabine beldame sung
All in my nursery days, when life was young:
“No sword nor poison e’er shall take him off,
Nor gout, nor pleurisy, nor racking cough;
A babbling tongue shall kill him; let him fly
All talkers, as he wishes not to die.”
We got to Vesta’s temple, and the sun
Told us a quarter of the day was done.
It chanced he had a suit, and was bound fast
Either to make appearance or be cast.
“Step here a moment, if you love me.” “Nay,
I know no law; ’twould hurt my health to stay.
And then, my call.” “I’m doubting what to do,
Whether to give my lawsuit up, or you.”
“Me, pray!” “I will not.” On he strides again.
I follow, unresisting, in his train.
“How stand you with Mæcenas?” he began;
“He picks his friends with care--a shrewd, wise man.
In fact, I take it, one could hardly name
A head so cool in life’s exciting game.
’Twould be a good deed done, if you could throw
Your servant in his way; I mean, you know.
Just to play second. In a month, I’ll swear,
You’d make an end of every rival there.”
“Oh, you mistake; we don’t live there in league;
I know no house more sacred from intrigue;
I’m never distanced in my friend’s good grace
By wealth or talent; each man finds his place.”
“A miracle! If ’twere not told by you,
I scarce should credit it.” “And yet ’tis true.”
“Ah, well, you double my desire to rise
To special favor with a man so wise.”
“You’ve but to wish it; ’twill be your own fault,
If, with your nerve, you win not by assault.
He can be won; that puts him on his guard,
And so the first approach is always hard.”
“No fear of me, sir. A judicious bribe
Will work a wonder with the menial tribe.
Say I’m refused admittance for to-day,
I’ll watch my time; I’ll meet him in the way,
Escort him, dog him. In this world of ours
The path to what we want ne’er runs on flowers.”
’Mid all this prating met me, as it fell,
Aristius, my good friend, who knew him well.
We stop. Inquiries and replies go round:
“Where do you hail from?” “Whither are you bound?”
There as he stood, impassive like a clod,
I pull at his limp arms, frown, wink, and nod,
To urge him to release me. With a smile
He feigns stupidity. I burn with bile.
“Something there was you said you wished to tell
To me in private.” “Aye, I mind it well;
But not just now. ’Tis a Jews’ fast to-day:
Affront a sect so touchy? Nay, friend, nay!”
“Faith, I’ve no scruples.” “Ah, but I’ve a few!
I’m weak, you know, and do as others do.
Some other time--excuse me.” Wretched me,
That ever man so black a sun should see!
Off goes the rogue, and leaves me in despair,
Tied to the altar, with the knife in air,
When, by rare chance, the plaintiff in the suit
Knocks up against us: “Whither now, you brute?”
He roars like thunder. Then to me: “You’ll stand
My witness, sir?” “My ear’s at your command.”
Off to the court he drags him; shouts succeed;
A mob collects--thank Phœbus, I am freed!
--_Satires._
The humorist feels a sense of personal grievance against the Roman
writers for that they wrote so wisely and so well, yet gave us so
little that can be used as Humor for Humor’s sake.
Petronius wrote engagingly, but with such indecency that he can scarce
be quoted for polite society.
His Trimalchio’s Dinner offers this:
_AN INGENIOUS COOK_
We little thought, as the saying is, that after so many dainties we had
another hill to climb; for the table being uncovered to a flourish of
music, three muzzled white hogs were brought in, with bells hanging on
their necks. The man leading them said one was two years old, the other
three, and the last full grown. For my part, I took them for acrobats,
and imagined the hogs were to perform some of the surprising feats
practised at the circus. But Trimalchio broke in upon our expectation
by asking us, “Which of these will you have dressed for supper? Cocks
and pheasants are country fare, but my cooks have pans in which a
calf can be roasted whole.” And immediately commanding a cook to be
called, Trimalchio, without waiting for our choice, bade him kill the
largest. He then inquired of the cook how he came by him saying, “Were
you bought, or were you born in my house?” “Neither,” replied the
cook, “but left you by Pansa’s testament.” “Then see to it,” answered
Trimalchio, “that this beast is prepared quickly, or I shall make you
serve my footmen.” ...
While our host was talking on, an overgrown hog was brought to table.
We all wondered at the expedition which had been used, swearing a
capon could not have been dressed in that time; and what increased
our surprise was that this hog seemed larger than the boar which
had been set before us. Trimalchio, after gazing steadfastly upon
him, exclaimed, “What! have his entrails not been taken out? No, by
Hercules, they have not! Bring in that rogue of a cook!” The cook,
being dragged in before us, hung his head, excusing himself that he
had forgotten. “Forgotten!” roared his master. “Strip the rascal!
Strip him!” The poor man was stripped forthwith, and placed between
two tormentors. We all interceded for him, alleging that such an error
might occasionally happen, and therefore desired his pardon, protesting
we would never speak for him if he repeated the same offense.
I thought he richly deserved his fate, and could not forbear whispering
to Agamemnon, “This must certainly be a most careless rascal. How could
any one forget to disembowel a hog? I would not have forgiven him,
by Hercules, had he thus served up a dish for me!” Our host, resuming
a pleasant look, said, “Come, now, you with the short memory, let us
see if you can disembowel the animal before us.” Upon which the cook,
having put his garments on again, took his knife, and with a trembling
hand slashed the hog on both sides of the belly, when out tumbled a
load of hog’s-puddings and sausages....
The dessert consisted of a blackbird pie, dried grapes, and candied
nuts. There were also quinces, stuck so full of spices that they looked
like so many hedgehogs. Yet all this might have been endured, had not
the next dish been so monstrous and disgusting that we would rather
have perished of hunger than touched it; for, it being placed upon
the table, and, as we imagined, a good fat goose, with fish and all
kinds of fowl round it, Trimalchio cried, “Whatever you see here is
all made out of one body!” I, being a cunning spark, took a guess at
what it might really be, and, turning to Agamemnon, “I wonder,” said
I, “whether all this is not made of loam? I once remember seeing such
an imaginary dish in the Saturnalia at Rome.” Scarce had I ended, when
Trimalchio began to praise his cook:
“There is no cleverer fellow in the world. Out of the belly he’ll make
you a dish of fish; a plover out of a piece of fat bacon; a turtle out
of leg of pork; and a hen out of the intestines. And therefore, in my
opinion, he has a very suitable name, for we call him Dædalus. Because
he is such an ingenious fellow, a friend of his brought him a present
of knives from Rome, of German steel; and immediately he called for
them, and, turning them over, gave us the liberty to try the edges on
his cheeks.”
Just then in rushed two servants in high dispute, as if they were
quarreling about a yoke, from which hung two earthen jars. And when
Trimalchio had judged between them, neither of them stood to the
sentence, but each fell to club law, and broke the other’s jar. Amazed
at the insolence of these drunken rascals, all our eyes were fixed on
their conflict, when we perceived oysters and other shell-fish to fall
from the broken jars, a boy collecting them in a charger and handing
them about among the guests.
Nor was the cook’s ingenuity in the least unworthy of this
extraordinary magnificence; for he brought us snails upon a silver
gridiron, and with a shrill, unpleasant voice sang us a song.... We
were almost pushed off our couches by the crowd of servants who rushed
into the hall; and who should be seated above me but the ingenious
cook, that had made a goose from a piece of pork, all reeking of
pickles and kitchen slops. Not content with being seated at table,
he began to act Thespis the Tragedian; and soon after he challenged
his master to contend with him for the laurel wreath at the next
chariot-races.
--_Trimalchio’s Banquet._
Persius, who died at twenty-eight, left us six satires. Though an
imperfect imitator of Horace, his work is characterized by earnestness
and a true sense of satire.
_POETIC FAME_
Immured within our studies, we compose;
Some, shackled meter; some, freefooted prose;
But all, bombast--stuff, which the breast may strain,
And the huge lungs puff forth with awkward pain.
’Tis done! And now the bard, elate and proud,
Prepares a grand rehearsal for the crowd.
Lo! he steps forth in birthday splendor bright,
Combed and perfumed, and robed in dazzling white,
And mounts the desk; his pliant throat he clears,
And deals, insidious, round his wanton leers;
While Rome’s first nobles, by the prelude wrought,
Watch, with indecent glee, each prurient thought,
And squeal with rapture, as the luscious line
Thrills through the marrow and inflames the chine.
Vile dotard! Canst thou thus consent to please,
To pander for such itching fools as these?
Fools, whose applause must shoot beyond thy aim,
And tinge thy cheek, bronzed as it is, with shame!
But wherefore have I learned, if, thus represt,
The leaven still must swell within my breast;
If the wild fig-tree, deeply rooted there,
Must never burst its bounds and shoot in air?
Are these the fruits of study, these of age?
Oh, times, oh, manners! Thou misjudging sage,
Is science only useful as ’tis shown,
And is thy knowledge nothing if not known?
But, sure, ’tis pleasant, as we walk, to see
The pointed finger, hear the loud “That’s he!”
On every side. And seems it, in your sight,
So poor a trifle, that whate’er we write
Is introduced to every school of note
And taught the youth of quality by rote?
Nay, more! Our nobles, gorged, and swilled with wine,
Call, o’er the banquet, for a lay divine.
Here one, on whom the princely purple glows.
Snuffles some musty legend through his nose,
Slowly distils Hypsipyle’s sad fate,
And love-lorn Phyllis dying for her mate,
With what of woful else is said or sung,
And trips up every word with lisping tongue.
The maudlin audience, from the couches round,
Hum their assent, responsive to the sound.
And are not now the poet’s ashes blest?
Now lies the turf not lightly on his breast?
They pause a moment, and again the room
Rings with his praise. Now will not roses bloom,
Now, from his relics, will not violets spring,
And o’er his hallowed urn their fragrance fling?
You laugh (’tis answered), and too freely here
Indulge that vile propensity to sneer.
Lives there, who would not at applause rejoice,
And merit, if he could the public voice?
Who would not leave posterity such rimes,
As cedar oil might keep to latest times--
Rimes which should fear no desperate grocer’s hand,
Nor fly with fish and spices through the land?
Thou, my kind monitor, whoe’er thou art,
Whom I suppose to play the opponent’s part,
Know, when I write, if chance some happier strain
(And chance it needs must be) rewards my pain,
Know, I can relish praise with genuine zest;
Not mine the torpid, mine the unfeeling breast.
But that I merely toil for this acclaim,
And make these eulogies my end and aim,
I must not, cannot grant. For--sift them all,
Mark well their value, and on what they fall--
Are they not showered (to pass these trifles o’er)
On Labeo’s Iliad, drunk with hellebore,
On princely love-lays driveled without thought,
And the crude trash on citron couches wrought?
You spread the table, ’tis a master-stroke,
And give the shivering guest a threadbare cloak;
Then, while his heart with gratitude dilates
At the glad vest and the delicious cates,
“Tell me,” you cry, “for truth is my delight,
What says the town of me, and what I write?”
He cannot; he has neither ears nor eyes.
But shall I tell you who your bribes despise?
Bald trifler! cease at once your thriftless trade;
That mountain paunch for verse was never made.
--_Satires._
In Martial we find a humorist after our own heart. As Homer was the
father of poetry and Herodotus the father of prose, so to Martial must
be ascribed the paternity of the epigram.
Epigrams, so-called, had been made before, but in Martial’s work they
rose to a new height, took on a new meaning.
Before Martial, epigram meant merely inscription,--any short poem that
might conveniently be cut on stone.
Martial’s epigrams have keen wit and sharp point, such as appeal to the
mind and appreciation of the reader.
Fourteen hundred and fifty is his legacy of epigrams to us, and most of
them properly short, as an epigram should be.
_TO SABIDIUS_
I love thee not, Sabidius. But why?
I love thee not--that’s all I can reply.
_PLAY’S THE THING_
Aper pierced his wife’s heart with an arrow:
While playing, friends say.
The wife was exceedingly wealthy:
He knows how to play.
_TO CATULLUS_
My name’s in your will as your heir,
So you’ve said.
I’ll continue to doubt till the day--
When it’s read.
_BETWEEN THE LINES_
The man who sends you presents, Gaurus,--
You so rich and gray--
Remarks, if you’ve got sense and insight,
“Kindly pass away.”
_TO AULUS_
Though my readers sincerely admire me,
A poet finds fault with my books.
What’s the odds? When I’m giving a dinner
I’d rather please guests than the cooks.
_TO POSTUMUS_
When you kiss me you use only half of your mouth.
I approve. Half that half, though, will do.
Will you grant me a greater, ineffable boon?
Keep the rest of that latter half, too.
_ROUNDED WITH A SLEEP_
Though he bathed with us yesterday, dined with us, too,
And was quite in the pink of condition,
Ancus died this A.M.--of a dream that he’d asked
Hermocrates to be his physician.
_VENDETTA_
Though it’s true, Theodorus, you frequently pray
For my book in a flattering tone,
No wonder I’m slow; I’ve good cause for delay
In my fear you’d then send me your own.
_A MERE SUGGESTION_
You read us your verse with your throat wrapped in wool.
The reason we’re anxious to know,
For to us it appears
That some wool in our ears
Would really be more apropos.
_WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN_
I hear that Lycoris has buried
Every friend that she’s had in her life.
I sincerely regret, Fabianus,
She’s not introduced to my wife.
_A TOTAL ABSTAINER_
Though you serve richest wines,
Paulus, Rumor opines
That they poisoned your four wives, I think.
It’s of course all a lie;
None believes less than I--
No, I really don’t care for a drink.
_MUTE MILLIONS_
In the verse Cinna writes
I am slandered, it’s said.
But the man doesn’t write
Whose verses aren’t read.
_MAN AND SUPERMAN_
“Quintus loves Thais.” What Thais is that?
“Why, Thais the one-eyed, who--” Who?
Well, I was aware
She’d lost one of her pair,
But I didn’t know he had lost two.
_TO LINUS_
You ask what I grow on my Sabine estate.
A reliable answer is due.
I grow on that soil--
Far from urban turmoil--
Very happy at not seeing you.
_CREDE EXPERTO_
Diaulus left his doctoring
To practise undertaking.
His training as a medic, though,
Has really been his making.
_NUMBERS SWEET_
Two of your teeth were blown out by a cough,
And a subsequent cough blew out two.
You can now cough away, Delia, all night and day--
There’s nothing a third cough can do.
_MILLIONS IN IT_
Just _give_ Linus half what he asks as a loan;
Then console
Yourself with the thought that you’d rather lose half
Than the whole.
_TO MAMERCUS_
Though you never have read us a line of your verse,
You insist on our thinking you write.
Yes, yes, be a poet; be anything else--
If you’ll only forbear to recite.
About the last of the great Latin Satirists is Juvenal, a contemporary
of Martial.
His lines in translation, have a modern ring, but that may be merely
because the fundamental sources and themes of wit are universal.
JUVENAL
_COSMETIC DISGUISE_
A woman stops at nothing when she wears
Rich emeralds round her neck, and in her ears
Pearls of enormous size; these justify
Her faults, and make all lawful in her eye.
Sure, of all ills with which mankind are cursed,
A wife who brings you money is the worst.
Behold! her face a spectacle appears,
Bloated, and foul, and plastered to the ears
With viscous paste. The husband looks askew,
And sticks his lips in this detested glue.
She meets the adulterer bathed, perfumed, and dressed,
But rots in filth at home, a very pest!
For him she breathes of nard; for him alone
She makes the sweets of Araby her own;
For him, at length, she ventures to uncase,
Scales the first layer of roughcast from her face,
And, while the maids to know her now begin,
Clears, with that precious milk, her muddy skin
For which, though exiled to the frozen main,
She’d lead a drove of asses in her train!
But tell me now: this thing, thus daubed and oiled,
Thus poulticed, plastered, baked by turns and boiled,
Thus with pomatums, ointments, lacquered o’er--
Is it a face, pray tell me, or a sore?
--_Satires._
_ON DOMINEERING WIVES_
Now tell me, if thou canst not love a wife,
Made thine by every tie, and thine for life,
Why wed at all? Why waste the wine and cakes
The queasy-stomached guest at parting takes,
And the rich present, which the bridal right
Claims for the favors of the happy night,
The charger, where, triumphantly inscrolled,
The Dacian Hero shines in current gold?
If thou canst love, and thy besotted mind
Is so uxoriously to _one_ inclined,
Then bow thy neck, and with submissive air
Receive the yoke thou must forever wear.
To a fond spouse a wife no mercy shows;
Though warmed with equal fires, she mocks his wos,
And triumphs in his spoils; her wayward will
Defeats his bliss, and turns his good to ill.
Naught must be given, if she opposes; naught,
If she opposes, must be sold or bought;
She tells him where to love, and where to hate;
Shuts out the ancient friend, whose beard his gate
Knew from its downy to its hoary state;
And when pimps, parasites, of all degrees,
Have power to will their fortunes as they please,
She dictates his, and impudently dares
To name his very rivals for his heirs.
“Go, crucify that slave!” “For what offense?
Who the accuser? Where the evidence?
For when the life of man is in debate,
No time can be too long, no care too great.
Hear all, weigh all with caution, I advise--”
“Thou sniveler! Is a slave a man?” she cries.
“He’s innocent!” “Be’t so; ’tis my command,
My will. Let that, sir, for a reason stand.”
Thus the virago triumphs, thus she reigns.
Anon she sickens of her first domains,
And seeks for new; husband on husband takes,
Till of her bridal veil one rent she makes.
Again she tires, again for change she burns,
And to the bed she lately left returns,
While the fresh garlands and unfaded boughs
Yet deck the portal of her wondering spouse.
“EIGHT HUSBANDS TO HERSELF SHE GAVE”--
A rare inscription for her grave!
--_Satires._
Apuleius was the skilful teller of a long and fantastic tale called
Metamorphoses, commonly known as the Golden Ass.
But a small extract may be given.
APULEIUS
_METAMORPHOSES_
Fotis came running to me one day in great excitement and trepidation,
and informed me that her mistress, having hitherto made no proficiency
by other means in her present amour, intended to assume feathers like
a bird, and so take flight to the object of her love, and that I must
prepare myself with all due care for the sight of such a wonderful
proceeding. And now, about the first watch of the night, she escorted
me, on tiptoe and with noiseless steps, to that same upper chamber, and
bade me peep through a chink in the door, which I did accordingly.
In the first place, Pamphile divested herself of all her garments,
and having unlocked a certain cabinet, took out of it several little
boxes. Taking the lid off one of them, and pouring some ointment
therefrom, she rubbed herself for a considerable time with her hands,
smearing herself all over from the tips of her toes to the crown of
her head. Then, after she had muttered a long while in a low voice
over a lamp, she shook her limbs with tremulous jerks, then gently
waved them to and fro, until soft feathers burst forth, strong wings
displayed themselves, the nose was hardened and curved into a beak,
the nails were compressed and made crooked. Thus did Pamphile become an
owl. Then, uttering a querulous scream, she made trial of her powers,
leaping little by little from the ground; and presently, raising
herself aloft, on full wing, she flew out-of-doors. And thus was she,
of her own will, changed, by her own magic arts.
But I, though not enchanted by any magic spell, still, riveted to
the spot by astonishment at this performance, seemed to myself to be
anything else rather than Lucius. Thus deprived of my senses, and
astounded even to insanity, I was in a waking dream, and rubbed my eyes
for some time to ascertain whether or not I was awake at all. At last,
however, returning to consciousness of the reality of things, I took
hold of the right hand of Fotis, and putting it to my eyes, “Suffer
me,” said I, “I beg of you, to enjoy a great and singular proof of your
affection, while the opportunity offers, and give me a little ointment
from the same box. Grant this, my sweetest, I entreat you by these
breasts of yours, and thus, by conferring on me an obligation that can
never be repaid, bind me to you forever as your slave. Be you my Venus,
and let me stand by you a winged Cupid.”
“And are you, then, sweetheart, for playing me a fox’s trick, and for
causing me, of my own accord, to let fall the ax upon my legs? Must
I run such risk of having my Lucius torn from me by the wolves of
Thessaly? Where am I to look for him when he is changed into a bird?
When shall I see him again?”
“May the celestial powers,” said I, “avert from me such a crime! Though
borne aloft on the wings of the eagle itself, soaring through the
midst of the heavens, as the trusty messenger, or joyous arm-bearer,
of supreme Jove, would I not, after I had obtained this dignity of
wing, still fly back every now and then to my nest? I swear to you,
by that lovely little knot of hair with which you have enchanted my
spirit, that I would prefer no other to my Fotis. And then, besides, I
bethink me that as soon as I am rubbed with that ointment, and shall
have been changed into a bird of this kind, I shall be bound to keep
at a distance from all human habitations; for what a beautiful and
agreeable lover will the ladies gain in an owl! Why, do we not see that
these birds of night, when they have got into any house, are eagerly
seized and nailed to the doors, in order that they may atone, by
their torments, for the evil destiny which they portend to the family
by their inauspicious flight? But one thing I had almost forgot to
inquire: what must I say, or do, in order to get rid of my wings and
return to my own form as Lucius?”
“Be in no anxiety,” she said, “about all that matter; for my mistress
has made me acquainted with everything that can again change such forms
into the human shape. But do not suppose that this was done through any
kind feeling toward me, but in order that I might assist her with the
requisite remedies when she returns home. Only think with what simple
and trifling herbs such a mighty result is brought about: for instance,
a little anise, with some leaves of laurel infused in spring water, and
used as a lotion and a draft.”
Having assured me of this over and over again, she stole into her
mistress’s chamber with the greatest trepidation, and took a little
box out of the casket. Having first hugged and kissed it, and offered
up a prayer that it would favor me with a prosperous flight, I hastily
divested myself of all my garments, then greedily dipping my fingers
into the box, and taking thence a considerable quantity of the
ointment, I rubbed it all over my body and limbs. And now, flapping my
arms up and down, I anxiously awaited my change into a bird. But no
down, no shooting wings appeared. Instead, my hairs became thickened
into bristles, and my tender skin was hardened into a hide; my hands
and feet, too, no longer furnished with distinct fingers and toes,
formed into massive hoofs, and a long tail projected from the extremity
of my spine. My face was now enormous, my mouth wide, my nostrils
gaping, and my lips hanging down. In like manner my ears grew hairy
and of immoderate length, and I found in every respect I had become
enlarged. Thus, hopelessly surveying all parts of my body, I beheld
myself changed--not into a bird, but an ass.
I wished to upbraid Fotis for the deed she had done; but, now deprived
both of the gesture and voice of man, I could only expostulate with her
silently with my under-lip hanging down, and looking sidewise at her
with tearful eyes. As for her, as soon as she beheld me thus changed
she beat her face with her hands, and cried aloud, “Wretch that I am,
I am undone! In my haste and flurry I mistook one box for the other,
deceived by their similarity. It is fortunate, however, that a remedy
for this transformation is easily to be obtained; for, by only chewing
roses, you will put off the form of an ass, and in an instant will
become my Lucius once again. I only wish that I had prepared as usual
some garlands of roses for us last evening; for then you would not have
had to suffer the delay even of a single night. But at the break of
dawn the remedy shall be provided for you.”
Thus did she lament; and as for me, though I was a perfect ass, and
instead of Lucius, a beast of burden, I still retained human sense.
Long and deeply, in fact, did I consider with myself whether I ought
not to bite and kick that most wicked woman to death. However, better
thoughts recalled me from such rash designs, lest, by inflicting on
Fotis the punishment of death, I should at once put an end to all
chances of efficient assistance. So, bending my head low, and shaking
my ears, I silently swallowed my wrongs for a time, and submitting
to my most dreadful misfortune, I betook myself to the stable to the
good horse which had carried me so well, and there I found another
ass also, which belonged to my former host, Milo. Now it occurred to
me that, if there are in dumb animals any silent and natural ties of
sympathy, this horse of mine, being influenced by a certain feeling
of recognition and compassion, would afford me room for a lodging and
the rights of hospitality. But, oh, Jupiter Hospitalis, and all you
the guardian divinities of Faith! this very excellent nag of mine and
the ass put their heads together and immediately plotted schemes for
my destruction; and as soon as they beheld me approaching the manger,
laying back their ears and quite frantic with rage, they furiously
attacked me with their heels, fearing I had design upon their food.
Consequently, I was driven away into the farthest corner from that
very barley which the evening before I had placed, with my own hands,
before that most grateful servant of mine.
Thus harshly treated and sent into banishment, I betook myself to a
corner of the stable. And while I reflected on the insolence of my
companions, and formed plans of vengeance against the perfidious steed,
for the next day, when I should have become Lucius once more by the
aid of the roses, I beheld against the central square pillar which
supported the beams of the stable, a statue of the goddess Hippona,
standing within a shrine, and nicely adorned with garlands of roses,
and those, too, recently gathered. Inspired with hope, the moment I
espied the salutary remedy I boldly mounted as far as ever my forelegs
could stretch; and then, with neck at full length, and extending my
lips as much as I possibly could, I endeavored to catch hold of the
garlands. But by a most unlucky chance, just as I was endeavoring to
accomplish this, my servant lad, who had the constant charge of my
horse, suddenly espied me, sprang to his feet in a great rage, and
exclaimed, “How long are we to put up with this vile hack, which but a
few moments ago was for making an attack upon the food of the cattle,
and is now doing the same even to the statues of the gods? But if I
don’t this very instant cause this sacrilegious beast to be both sore
and crippled”--and searching for something with which to strike me, he
stumbled upon a bundle of sticks that lay there, and, picking out a
knotted cudgel, the largest he could find among them all, he did not
cease to belabor my poor sides, until a loud thumping and banging at
the outer gates, and an uproar of the neighbors shouting “Thieves!”
struck him with terror, and he took to his heels.
--_The Golden Ass._
_VICISSITUDES OF A DONKEY_
When the keeper of the horses had taken me to the country, I found
there none of the pleasure or the liberty I expected; for his wife,
an avaricious, bad woman, immediately yoked me to the mill, and
frequently striking me with a green stick, prepared bread for herself
and her family at the expense of my hide. And not content to make me
drudge for her own food only, she also ground corn for her neighbors,
and so made money by my toil. Nor, after all my weary labors, did she
even afford me the food which had been ordered for me; for she sold my
barley to the neighboring husbandmen, after it had been bruised and
ground in that very mill by my own roundabout drudgery; but to me,
who had worked during the whole of the day at that laborious machine,
she only gave, toward evening, some dirty, unsifted, and very gritty
bran. I was brought low enough by these miseries; but cruel fortune
exposed me to fresh torments, in order, I suppose, that I might boast
of my brave deeds, both in peace and war, as the saying is. For that
excellent equerry, complying, rather late, indeed, with his master’s
orders, for a short time permitted me to associate with the herds of
horses.
At length a free ass, I capered for joy, and softly ambling up to
the mares, chose out such as I thought would be the fittest for my
concubines. But here my joyful hopes gave place to extreme danger. For
the stallions, who were terribly strong creatures, more than a match
for any ass, regarding me with suspicion, furiously pursued me as
their rival, without respect for the laws of hospitable Jupiter. One
of them, with his head and neck and ample chest aloft, struck at me
like a pugilist with his forefeet; another, turning his brawny back,
let fly at me with his hind feet; and another, with a vicious neigh,
his ears thrown back, and showing his white teeth, sharp as spears,
bit me all over. It was like what I have read in history of the King
of Thrace, who exposed his unhappy guests to be lacerated and devoured
by wild horses; for so sparing was that powerful tyrant of his barley,
that he appeased the hunger of his voracious horses by casting human
bodies to them for food. In fact, I was so worried and distracted by
the continual attacks of the horses, that I wished myself back again at
the mill-round.
Fortune, however, would not be satisfied with my torments, and soon
after visited me with another calamity; for I was employed to bring
home wood from a mountain, and a boy, the most villainous of all boys,
was appointed to drive me. It was not only that I was wearied by
toiling up and down the steep and lofty mountain, nor that I wore away
my hoofs by running on sharp stones, but I was cudgeled without end, so
that all my bones ached to the very marrow. Moreover, by continually
striking me on the off-haunch, and always in the same place, till
the skin was broken, he occasioned a great ulcerous cavity, gaping
like a trench or a window; yet he never ceased to hit me on the raw.
He likewise laid such a load of wood on my back that you might have
thought it was a burden prepared for an elephant, and not for a donkey.
And whenever the ill-balanced load inclined to one side, instead of
taking away some of the fagots from the heavier side, and thus easing
me by somewhat lightening, or at least equalizing the pressure, he
always remedied the inequality of the weight by the addition of stones.
Nor yet, after so many miseries which I had endured, was he content
with the immoderate weight of my burden; but when it happened that we
had to pass over a river, he would leap on my back in order to keep his
feet dry, as if his weight was but a trifling addition to the heavy
mass. And if by any accident I happened to fall, through the weight of
my burden and the slipperiness of the muddy bank, instead of giving
me a helping hand, as he ought to have done, and pulling me up by the
head-stall, or by my tail, or removing a part of my load, till at least
I had got up again, this paragon of ass-drivers gave me no help at all,
however weary I might be, but beginning from my head, or rather from my
ears, he thrashed all the hair off my hide with a huge stick.
Another piece of cruelty he practised on me was this: he twisted
together a bundle of the sharpest and most venomous thorns, and tied
them to my tail as a pendulous torment; so that, jerking against me
when I walked, they pricked and stabbed me intolerably. Hence, I
was in a sore dilemma; for when I ran away from him, to escape his
unmerciful drubbings, I was hurt by the more vehement pricking of
the thorns; and if I stood still for a short time, in order to avoid
that pain, I was compelled by blows to go on. In fact, the rascally
boy seemed to think of nothing else than how he might be the death
of me by some means or other; and that he sometimes threatened with
oaths to accomplish. And, indeed, there happened a thing by which his
detestable malice was stimulated to more baneful efforts. On a certain
day, when his excessive insolence had overcome my patience, I lifted
up my powerful heels against him; and for this he retaliated by the
following atrocity: he brought me into the road heavily laden with a
bundle of coarse flax, securely bound together with cords, and placed
in the middle of the burden a burning coal, which he had stolen from
the neighboring village. Presently the fire spread through the slender
fibers, flames burst forth, and I was ablaze all over. There appeared
no refuge from immediate destruction, no hope of safety, and such a
conflagration did not admit of delay or afford time for deliberation.
Fortune, however, shone upon me in these cruel circumstances--perhaps
for the purpose of reserving me for future dangers, but, at all events,
liberating me from present and decreed death. By chance perceiving a
neighboring pool muddy with the rain of the preceding day, I threw
myself headlong into it; and the flame being immediately extinguished,
I came out, lightened of my burden and liberated from destruction. But
that audacious young rascal cast the blame of this most wicked deed of
his on me, and affirmed to all the shepherds that as I was passing near
the neighbors’ fires, I stumbled on purpose, and threw my load into the
blaze. And he added, laughing at me, “How long shall we waste food on
this fiery monster?”
--_The Golden Ass._