I have neither steeped[1168] my lips in the fountain of the Horse;[1169] nor do I remember to have dreamt on the double-peaked[1170] Parnassus, that so I might on a sudden come forth a poet. The nymphs of Helicon, and pale Pirene,[1171] I resign to those around whose statues[1172] the clinging ivy twines.[1173] I myself, half a clown,[1174] bring[1175] my verses as a contribution to the inspired effusions of the poets. Who made[1176] the parrot[1177] so ready with his salutation, and taught magpies to emulate our words?—That which is the master of all art,[1178] the bounteous giver of genius—the belly: that artist that trains them to copy sounds that nature has denied[1179] them. But if the hope of deceitful money shall have shone forth, you may believe that ravens turned poets, and magpies poetesses, give vent to strains of Pegaseian nectar.[1180] SATIRE I. ARGUMENT. Under the color of declaring his purpose of writing Satire and the plan he intends to adopt, and of defending himself against the idle criticism of an imaginary and nameless adversary, Persius lashes the miserable poets of his own day, and in no very obscure terms, their CoryphÆus himself, Nero. The subject of the Satire is not very unlike the first of the second book of Horace's Satires, and comes very near in some points to the first Satire of Juvenal. But the manner of treatment is distinct in each, and quite characteristic of the three great Satirists. Horace's is more full of personality, one might say, of egotism, and his own dislike and contempt of the authors of his time, more lively and brilliant, more pungent and witty, than either of the others; more pregnant with jokes, and yet rising to a higher tone than the Satire of Persius. That of Juvenal is in a more majestic strain, as befits the stern censor of the depraved morals of his day; full of commanding dignity and grave rebuke, of fiery indignation and fierce invective; and is therefore more declamatory and oratorical in its style, more elevated in its sentiment, more refined in its diction. While in that of Persius we trace the workings of a young and ardent mind, devoted to literature and intellectual pleasures, of a philosophical turn, and a chastened though somewhat fastidious taste. We see the student and devotee of literature quite as much as the censor of morals, and can see that he grieves over the corruption of the public taste almost as deeply as over the general depravity of public morals. Still there breathes through the whole a tone of high and right feeling, of just and stringent criticism, of keen and pungent sarcasm, which deservedly places this Satire very high in the rank of intellectual productions. The Satire opens with a dialogue between the poet himself and some one who breaks in upon his meditations. This person is usually described as his "Monitor;" some well-meaning acquaintance, who endeavors to dissuade the poet from his purpose of writing Satire. But D'Achaintre's notion, that he is rather an ill-natured critic than a good-natured adviser, seems the more tenable one, and the divisions of the first few lines have been ingeniously made to support that view. After expressing supreme contempt for the poet's opening line, he advises him, if he must needs give vent to verse, to write something more suited to the taste and spirit of the age he lives in. Persius acknowledges that this would be the more likely way to gain applause, but maintains that such approbation is not the end at which a true poet ought to aim. And this leads him to expose the miserable and corrupt taste of the poetasters of his day, and to express supreme contempt for the mania for recitation then prevalent, which had already provoked the sneers of Horace, and afterward drew down the more majestic condemnation of Juvenal. He draws a vivid picture of these depraved poets, who pander to the gross lusts of their hearers by their lascivious strains. Their affectation of speech and manner, their costly and effeminate dress, the vanity of their exalted seat, and the degraded character of their compositions; and on the other hand, the excessive and counterfeited applause of their hearers, expressed by extravagance of language and lasciviousness of gesture corresponding to the nature of the compositions, are touched with a masterly hand. He then ridicules the pretensions of these courtly votaries of the Muses, whose vanity is fostered by the interested praise of dependents and sycophants, who are the first to ridicule them behind their backs. He then makes a digression to the bar; and shows that the manly and vigorous eloquence of Cicero and Hortensius and Cato, as well as the masculine energy and dignity of Virgil, is frittered away, and diluted by the introduction of redundant and misplaced metaphor, labored antitheses, trifling conceits, accumulated epithets, and bombastic and obsolete words, and a substitution of rhetorical subtleties for that energetic simplicity which speaks from and to the heart. Returning to the poets, he brings in a passage of Nero's own composition as a most glaring example of these defects. This excites his friend's alarm, and elicits some cautious advice respecting the risk he encounters; which serves to draw forth a more daring avowal of his bold purpose, and an animated description of the persons whom he would wish to have for his readers. Persius. "Oh the cares of men![1181] Oh how much vanity is there in human affairs!"— Adversarius.[1182] Who will read this?[1183] P. Is it to me you say this? A. Nobody, by Hercules! P. Nobody! Say two perhaps, or— A. Nobody. It is mean and pitiful stuff! P. Wherefore? No doubt "Polydamas[1184] and Trojan dames" will prefer Labeo to me— A. It is all stuff! P. Whatever turbid Rome[1185] may disparage, do not thou join their number; nor by that scale of theirs seek to correct thy own false balance, nor seek[1186] thyself out of thyself. For who is there at Rome that is not[1187]—Ah! if I might but speak![1188] But I may,[1189] when I look at our gray hairs,[1190] and our severe way of life, and all that we commit since we abandoned our childhood's nuts.[1191] When we savor of uncles,[1192] then—then forgive! A. I will not! P. What must I do?[1193] For I am a hearty laugher with a saucy spleen. We write, having shut ourselves in,[1194] one man verses, another free from the trammels of metre, something grandiloquent, which the lungs widely distended with breath may give vent to. And this, of course, some day, with your hair combed and a new toga,[1195] all in white with your birthday Sardonyx,[1196] you will read out from your lofty seat,[1197] to the people, when you have rinsed[1198] your throat, made flexible by the liquid gargle; languidly leering with lascivious eye! Here you may see the tall Titi[1199] in trembling excitement, with lewdness of manner and agitation of voice, when the verses enter their loins,[1200] and their inmost parts are titillated with the lascivious strain. P. And dost thou, in thy old age,[1201] collect dainty bits for the ears of others? Ears to which even thou, bursting[1202] with vanity, wouldst say, "Hold, enough!" A. To what purpose is your learning, unless this leaven, and this wild fig-tree[1203] which has once taken life within, shall burst through your liver and shoot forth? P. See that pallor and premature old age![1204] Oh Morals![1205] Is then your knowledge so absolutely naught, unless another know you have that knowledge?[1206] A. But it is a fine thing to be pointed at with the finger,[1207] and that it should be said, "That's he!" Do you value it at nothing, that your works should form the studies[1208] of a hundred curly-headed[1209] youths? P. See![1210] over their cups,[1211] the well-filled Romans[1212] inquire of what the divine poems tell. Here some one, who has a hyacinthine robe round his shoulders, snuffling through his nose[1213] some stale ditty, distills and from his dainty palate lisps trippingly[1214] his Phyllises,[1215] Hypsipyles, and all the deplorable strains of the poets. The heroes hum assent![1216] Now are not the ashes[1217] of the poet blest? Does not a tomb-stone press with lighter weight[1218] upon his bones? The guests applaud. Now from those Manes of his, now from his tomb and favored ashes, will not violets spring?[1219] A. You are mocking and indulging in too scornful a sneer.[1220] Lives there the man who would disown the wish to deserve the people's praise,[1221] and having uttered words worthy of the cedar,[1222] to leave behind him verses that dread neither herrings[1223] nor frankincense? P. Whoever thou art that hast just spoken, and that hast a fair right[1224] to plead on the opposite side, I, for my part, when I write, if any thing perchance comes forth[1225] aptly expressed (though this is, I own, a rare bird[1226]), yet if any thing does come forth, I would not shrink from being praised: for indeed my heart is not of horn. But I deny that that "excellently!" and "beautifully!"[1227] of yours is the end and object of what is right. For sift thoroughly all this "beautifully!" and what does it not comprise within it! Is there not to be found in it the Iliad of Accius,[1228] intoxicated with hellebore? are there not all the paltry sonnets our crude[1229] nobles have dictated? in fine, is there not all that is composed on couches of citron?[1230] You know how to set before your guests the hot paunch;[1231] and how to make a present of your threadbare cloak to your companion shivering with cold,[1232] and then you say, "I do love the truth![1233] tell me the truth about myself!" How is that possible? Would you like me to tell it you? Thou drivelest,[1234] Bald-pate, while thy bloated paunch projects a good foot and a half hanging in front! O Janus! whom no stork[1235] pecks at from behind, no hand that with rapid motion imitates the white ass's ears, no tongue mocks, projecting as far as that of the thirsting hound of Apulia! Ye, O patrician blood![1236] whose privilege[1237] it is to live with no eyes at the back of your head, prevent[1238] the scoffs[1239] that are made behind your back! What is the people's verdict? What should it be, but that now at length verses flow in harmonious numbers, and the skillful joining[1240] allows the critical nails to glide over its polished surface: he knows how to carry on his verse as if he were drawing a ruddle line with one eye[1241] closed. Whether he has occasion to write against public morals, against luxury, or the banquets of the great, the Muses vouchsafe to our Poet[1242] the saying brilliant things. And see! now we see those introducing heroic[1243] sentiments, that were wont to trifle in Greek: that have not even skill enough to describe a grove. Nor praise the bountiful country, where are baskets,[1244] and the hearth, and porkers, and the smoky palilia with the hay: whence Remus sprung, and thou, O Quintius,[1245] wearing away the plow-boards in the furrow, when thy wife with trembling haste invested thee with the dictatorship in front of thy team, and the lictor bore thy plow home—Bravo, poet! Some even now delight in the turgid book of BrisÆan Accius,[1246] and in Pacuvius, and warty[1247] Antiopa, "her dolorific heart propped up with woe." When you see purblind sires instilling these precepts into their sons, do you inquire whence came this gallimaufry[1248] of speech into our language? Whence that disgrace,[1249] in which the effeminate Trossulus[1250] leaps up in ecstasy at you, from his bench. Are you not ashamed[1251] that you can not ward off danger from a hoary head, without longing to hear the lukewarm "Decently[1252] said!" "You are a thief!" says the accuser to Pedius. What says Pedius?[1253] He balances the charge in polished antitheses. He gets the praise of introducing learned figures. "That is fine!" Fine, is it?[1254] O Romulus, dost thou wag thy tail?[1255] Were the shipwrecked man to sing, would he move my pity, forsooth, or should I bring forth my penny? Do you sing, while you are carrying about a picture[1256] of yourself on a fragment of wood, hanging from your shoulders. He that aims at bowing me down by his piteous complaint, must whine out what is real,[1257] and not studied and got up of a night. A. But the numbers have grace, and crude as you call them, there is a judicious combination. P. He has learned thus to close his line. "Berecynthean Atys;"[1258] and, "The Dolphin that clave the azure Nereus." So again, "We filched away a chine from long-extending Apennine." A. "Arms and the man."[1259] Is not this frothy, with a pithless rind? P. Like a huge branch, well seasoned, with gigantic bark! A. What then is a tender strain, and that should be read with neck relaxed?[1260] P. "With Mimallonean[1261] hums they filled their savage horns; and Bassaris, from the proud steer about to rive the ravished head, and MÆnas, that would guide the lynx with ivy-clusters, re-echoes Evion; and reproductive Echo reverberates the sound!" Could such verses be written, did one spark of our fathers' vigor still exist in us? This nerveless stuff dribbles on the lips, on the topmost spittle. In drivel vests this MÆnas and Attis. It neither beats the desk,[1262] nor savors of bitten nails. A. But what need is there to grate on delicate ears with biting truth? Take care, I pray, lest haply the thresholds of the great[1263] grow cold to you. Here the dog's letter[1264] sounds from the nostril. For me[1265] then, henceforth, let all be white. I'll not oppose it. Bravo! For you shall all be very wonderful productions! Does that please you? "Here, you say, I forbid any one's committing a nuisance." Then paint up two snakes. Boys, go farther away: the place is sacred! I go away. P. Yet Lucilius lashed[1266] the city, and thee, O Lupus,[1267] and thee too, Mucius,[1268] and broke his jaw-bone[1269] on them. Sly Flaccus touches every failing of his smiling friend, and, once admitted, sports around his heart; well skilled in sneering[1270] at the people with well-dissembled[1271] sarcasm. And is it then a crime for me to mutter, secretly, or in a hole? A. You must do it nowhere. P. Yet here I will bury it! I saw, I saw with my own[1272] eyes, my little book! Who has not asses' ears?[1273] This my buried secret, this my sneer, so valueless, I would not sell you for any Iliad.[1274] Whoever thou art, that art inspired[1275] by the bold Cratinus, and growest pale over the wrathful Eupolis and the old man sublime, turn thine eyes on these verses also, if haply thou hearest any thing more refined.[1276] Let my reader glow with ears warmed by their strains. Not he that delights, like a mean fellow as he is, in ridiculing the sandals of the Greeks, and can say to a blind man, Ho! you blind fellow! Fancying himself to be somebody, because vain[1277] of his rustic honors, as Ædile[1278] of Arretium,[1279] he breaks up the false measures[1280] there. Nor again, one who has just wit enough to sneer at the arithmetic boards,[1281] and the lines in the divided dust; quite ready to be highly delighted, if a saucy wench[1282] plucks[1283] a Cynic's[1284] beard. To such as these I recommend[1285] the prÆtor's edict[1286] in the morning, and after dinner—Callirhoe. ARGUMENT. This Satire, as well as the tenth Satire of Juvenal, is based upon the Second Alcibiades of Plato, which it closely resembles in arrangement as well as sentiment. The object is the same in all three; to set before as the real opinion which all good and worthy men entertained, even in the days of Pagan blindness, of the manner and spirit in which the deity is to be approached by prayer and sacrifice, and holds up to reprobation and ridicule the groveling and low-minded notions which the vulgar herd, besotted by ignorance and blinded by self-interest, hold on the subject. While we admire the logical subtlety with which Plato leads us to a necessary acknowledgment of the justice of his view, and the thoroughly practical philosophy by which Juvenal would divert men from indulging in prayers dictated by mere self-interest, we must allow Persius the high praise of having compressed the whole subject with a masterly hand into a few vivid and comprehensive sentences. The Satire consists of three parts. The first is merely an introduction to the subject. Taking advantage of the custom prevalent among the Romans of offering prayers and victims, and receiving presents and congratulatory addresses from their friends, on their birthday, Persius sends a poetical present to his friend Plotius Macrinus, with some hints on the true nature of prayer. He at the same time compliments him on his superiority to the mass of mankind, and especially to those of his own rank, in the view he took of the subject. In the second part he exposes the vulgar errors and prejudices respecting prayer and sacrifice, and shows that prayers usually offered are wrong, 1st, as to their matter, and 2dly, as to their manner: that they originate in low and sordid views of self-interest and avarice, in ignorant superstition, or the cravings of an inordinate vanity. At the same time he holds up to scorn the folly of those who offer up costly prayers, the fulfillment of which they themselves render impossible, by indulging in vicious and depraved habits, utterly incompatible with the requests they prefer. Lastly, he explains the origin of these sordid and worse than useless prayers. They arise from the impious and mistaken notions formed by men who, vainly imagining that the Deity is even such a one as themselves, endeavor to propitiate his favor in the same groveling spirit, and with the same unworthy offerings with which they would bribe the goodwill of one weak and depraved as themselves; as though, in Plato's words, an ?p????? t???? had been established between themselves and heaven. The whole concludes with a sublime passage, describing in language almost approaching the dignity of inspired wisdom, the state of heart and moral feeling necessary to insure a favorable answer to prayers preferred at the throne of heaven. "Mark this day, Macrinus,[1287] with a whiter stone,[1288] which, with auspicious omen, augments[1289] thy fleeting years.[1290] Pour out the wine to thy Genius![1291] Thou at least dost not with mercenary prayer ask for what thou couldst not intrust to the gods unless taken aside. But a great proportion of our nobles will make libations with a silent censer. It is not easy for every one to remove from the temples his murmur and low whispers, and live with undisguised prayers.[1292] A sound mind,[1293] a good name, integrity"—for these he prays aloud, and so that his neighbor may hear. But in his inmost breast, and beneath his breath, he murmurs thus, "Oh that my uncle would evaporate![1294] what a splendid funeral! and oh that by Hercules'[1295] good favor a jar[1296] of silver would ring beneath my rake! or, would that I could wipe out[1297] my ward, whose heels I tread on as next heir! For he is scrofulous, and swollen with acrid bile. This is the third wife that Nerius is now taking[1298] home!"—That you may pray for these things with due holiness, you plunge your head twice or thrice of a morning[1299] in Tiber's eddies,[1300] and purge away the defilements of night in the running stream. Come now! answer me! It is but a little trifle that I wish to know! What think you of Jupiter?[1301] Would you care to prefer him to some man! To whom? Well, say to Staius.[1302] Are you at a loss indeed? Which were the better judge, or better suited to the charge of orphan children! Come then, say to Staius that wherewith you would attempt to influence the ear of Jupiter. "O Jupiter!"[1303] he would exclaim, "O good Jupiter!" But would not Jove himself call out, "O Jove!" Thinkest thou he has forgiven thee,[1304] because, when he thunders, the holm-oak[1305] is rather riven with his sacred bolt than thou and all thy house?[1306] Or because thou dost not, at the bidding of the entrails of the sheep,[1307] and Ergenna, lie in the sacred grove a dread bidental to be shunned of all, that therefore he gives thee his insensate beard to pluck?[1308] Or what is the bribe by which thou wouldst win over the ears of the gods? With lungs, and greasy chitterlings? See[1309] some grandam or superstitious[1310] aunt takes the infant from his cradle, and skilled in warding off the evil eye,[1311] effascinates his brow and driveling lips with middle[1312] finger and with lustral spittle, first. Then dandles[1313] him in her arms, and with suppliant prayer transports him either to the broad lands of Licinus[1314] or the palaces of Crassus.[1315] "Him may some king and queen covet as a son-in-law! May maidens long to ravish him! Whatever he treads on may it turn to roses!" But I do not trust prayers to a nurse.[1316] Refuse her these requests, great Jove, even though she make them clothed in white![1317] You ask vigor for your sinews,[1318] and a frame that will insure old age. Well, so be it. But rich dishes and fat sausages prevent the gods from assenting to these prayers, and baffle Jove himself. You are eager to amass a fortune, by sacrificing a bull; and court Mercury's favor by his entrails. "Grant that my household gods may make me lucky! Grant me cattle, and increase to my flocks!" How can that be, poor wretch, while so many cauls of thy heifers melt in the flames? Yet still he strives to gain his point by means of entrails and rich cakes.[1319] "Now my land, and now my sheepfold teems. Now, surely now, it will be granted!" Until, baffled and hopeless, his sestertius at the very bottom of his money-chest sighs in vain. Were I to offer you[1320] goblets of silver and presents embossed with rich gold,[1321] you would perspire with delight, and your heart, palpitating with joy in your left breast,[1322] would force even the tear-drops from your eyes. And hence it is the idea enters[1323] your mind of covering the sacred faces of the gods with triumphal gold.[1324] For among the Brazen brothers,[1325] let those be chief, and let their beards be of gold, who send dreams purged from gross humors. Gold hath expelled the vases of Numa[1326] and Saturnian[1327] brass, and the vestal urns and the pottery of Tuscany. Oh! souls bowed down to earth! and void of aught celestial! Of what avail is it to introduce into the temples of the gods these our modes of feeling, and estimate what is acceptable to them by referring to our own accursed flesh.[1328] This it is that has dissolved Cassia[1329] in the oil it pollutes. This has dyed the fleece of Calabria[1330] with the vitiated purple. To scrape the pearl from its shell, and from the crude ore to smelt out the veins of the glowing mass; this carnal nature bids. She sins in truth. She sins. Still from her vice gains some emolument.
Say ye, ye priests! of what avail is gold in sacrifice? As much, forsooth, as the dolls which the maiden bestows on Venus! Why do we not offer that to the gods which the blear-eyed progeny of great Messala can not give even from his high-heaped charger. Justice to god and man enshrined[1331] within the heart; the inner chambers[1332] of the soul free from pollution; the breast imbued[1333] with generous honor. Give me these to present at the temples, and I will make my successful offering[1334] with a little meal.[1335] SATIRE III. ARGUMENT. In this Satire, perhaps more than in any other, we detect Persius' predilection for the doctrines of the Stoics. With them the summum bonum was "the sound mind in the sound body." To attain which, man must apply himself to the cultivation of virtue, that is, to the study of philosophy. He that does not can aspire to neither. Though unknown to himself, he is laboring under a mortal disease, and though he fancies he possesses a healthy intellect, he is the victim of as deep-seated and dangerous a delusion as the recognized maniac. The object of the Satire is to reclaim the idle and profligate young nobles of his day from their enervating and pernicious habits, by the illustration of these principles. The opening scene of the Satire presents us with the bedchamber where one of these young noblemen, accompanied by some other youths probably of inferior birth and station, is indulging in sleep many hours after the sun has risen upon the earth. The entrance of the tutor, who is a professor of the Stoical philosophy, disturbs their slumbers, and the confusion consequent upon his rebuke, and the thin disguise of their ill-assumed zeal, is graphically described. After a passionate outburst of contempt at their paltry excuses, the tutor points out the irretrievable evils that will result from their allowing the golden hours of youth to pass by unimproved: overthrows all objections which are raised as to their position in life, and competency of means rendering such vigorous application superfluous; and in a passage of solemn warning full of majesty and power, describes the unavailing remorse which will assuredly hereafter visit those who have so far quitted the rugged path that leads to virtue's heights, that all return is hopeless. He then proceeds to describe the defects of his own education; and the vices he fell into in consequence of these defects—vices however which were venial in himself, as those principles which would have taught him their folly were never inculcated in him. Whereas those whom he addresses, from the greater care that has been bestowed on their early training, are without apology for their neglect of these palpable duties. Then with great force and vigor, he briefly describes the proper pursuits of well-regulated minds; and looks down with contemptuous scorn on the sneers with which vulgar ignorance would deride these truths, too transcendent for their gross comprehension to appreciate. The Satire concludes very happily with the lively apologue of a glutton; who, in despite of all warning and friendly advice, perseveres even when his health is failing, in such vicious and unrestrained indulgence, that he falls at length a victim to his intemperance. The application of the moral is simple. The mind that is destitute of philosophical culture is hopelessly diseased, and the precepts of philosophy can alone effect a cure. He that despises these, in vain pronounces himself to be of sound mind. On the approach of any thing that can kindle the spark, his passions burst into flame; and in spite of his boasted sanity, urge him on to acts that would call forth the reprobation even of the maniac himself. The whole Satire and its moral, as Gifford says, may be fitly summed up in the solemn injunction of a wiser man than the schools ever produced: "Wisdom is the principal thing: therefore get Wisdom." What! always thus![1336] Already the bright morning is entering the windows,[1337] and extending[1338] the narrow chinks with light. We are snoring[1339] as much as would suffice to work off the potent Falernian,[1340] while the index[1341] is touched by the fifth shadow of the gnomon. See! What are you about? The raging Dog-star[1342] is long since ripening the parched harvest, and all the flock is under the wide-spreading elm. One of the fellow-students[1343] says, "Is it really so? Come hither, some one, quickly. Is nobody coming!" His vitreous bile[1344] is swelling. He is bursting with rage: so that you would fancy whole herds of Arcadia[1345] were braying. Now his book, and the two-colored[1346] parchment cleared of the hair, and paper, and the knotty reed is taken in hand. Then he complains that the ink, grown thick, clogs in his pen; then that the black sepia[1347] vanishes altogether, if water is poured into it; then that the reed makes blots with the drops being diluted. O wretch! and every day still more a wretch! Are we come to such a pitch? Why do you not rather, like the tender ring-dove,[1348] or the sons of kings, call for minced pap, and fractiously refuse your nurse's lullaby!—Can I work with such a pen as this, then? Whom are you deceiving? Why reiterate these paltry shifts? The stake is your own! You are leaking away,[1349] idiot! You will become an object of contempt. The ill-baked jar of half-prepared clay betrays by its ring its defect, and gives back a cracked sound. You are now clay, moist and pliant:[1350] even now you ought to be hastily moulded and fashioned unintermittingly by the rapid wheel.[1351] But, you will say, you have a fair competence from your hereditary estate; a pure and stainless salt-cellar.[1352] Why should you fear? And you have a paten free from care, since it worships your household deities.[1353] And is this enough? Is it then fitting you should puff out your lungs to bursting because you trace the thousandth in descent from a Tuscan stock;[1354] or because robed in your trabea you salute the Censor, your own kinsman? Thy trappings to the people! I know thee intimately, inside and out! Are you not ashamed to live after the manner of the dissolute Natta?[1355] But he is besotted by vicious indulgence; the gross fat[1356] is incrusted round his heart: he is free from moral guilt; for he knows not what he is losing; and sunk in the very depth of vice, will never rise again to the surface of the wave. O mighty father of the gods! when once fell lust, imbued with raging venom, has fired their spirits, vouchsafe to punish fierce tyrants in no other way than this. Let them see Virtue,[1357] and pine away at[1358] having forsaken her! Did the brass of the Sicilian[1359] bull give a deeper groan, or the sword[1360] suspended from the gilded ceiling over the purple-clad neck strike deeper terror, than if one should say to himself, "We are sinking, sinking headlong down," and in his inmost soul, poor wretch, grow pale at what even the wife of his bosom must not know? I remember when I was young I often used to touch[1361] my eyes with oil, if I was unwilling to learn the noble words of the dying Cato;[1362] that would win great applause from my senseless master, and which my father, sweating with anxiety, would listen to with the friends he had brought to hear me. And naturally enough. For the summit of my wishes was to know what the lucky sice would gain; how much the ruinous ace[1363] would sweep off; not to miss the neck of the narrow jar;[1364] and that none more skillfully than I should lash the top[1365] with a whip. Whereas you are not inexperienced in detecting the obliquity of moral deflections, and all that the philosophic porch,[1366] painted over with trowsered Medes, teaches; over which the sleepless and close-shorn youth lucubrates, fed on husks and fattening polenta. To thee, besides, the letter that divides the Samian branches,[1367] has pointed out the path that rises steeply on the right-hand track. And are you snoring still? and does your drooping head, with muscles all relaxed, and jaws ready to split with gaping, nod off your yesterday's debauch? Is there indeed an object at which you aim, at which you bend your bow? Or are you following the crows, with potsherd and mud, careless whither your steps lead you, and living only for the moment? When once the diseased skin begins to swell, you will see men asking in vain for hellebore. Meet the disease on its way to attack you. Of what avail is it to promise mountains of gold to Craterus?[1368] Learn, wretched men, and investigate the causes of things; what we are—what course of life we are born to run—what rank is assigned to us—how delicate the turning round[1369] the goal, and whence the starting-point—what limit must be set to money—what it is right to wish for—what uses the rough coin[1370] possesses—how much you ought to bestow on your country and dear relations—what man the Deity destined you to be, and in what portion of the human commonwealth your station is assigned. Learn: and be not envious because full many a jar grows rancid in his well-stored larder, for defending the fat Umbrians,[1371] and pepper, and hams, the remembrances of his Marsian client; or because the pilchard has not yet failed from the first jar.[1372] Here some one of the rank brood of centurions may say, "I have philosophy enough to satisfy me. I care not to be what Arcesilas[1373] was, and woe-begone Solons, with head awry[1374] and eyes fastened on the ground, while they mumble suppressed mutterings, or idiotic silence, or balance words on their lip pouting out, pondering over the dreams of some palsied dotard, 'that nothing can be generated from nothing; nothing can return to nothing.'—Is it this over which you grow pale? Is it this for which one should go without his dinner?" At this the people laugh, and with wrinkling nose the brawny[1375] youth loudly re-echo the hearty peals of laughter. "Examine me! My breast palpitates unusually; and my breath heaves oppressedly from my fevered jaws: examine me, pray!" He that speaks thus to his physician, being ordered to keep quiet, when the third night has seen his veins flow with steady pulse, begs from some wealthier mansion some mellow Surrentine,[1376] in a flagon of moderate capacity, as he is about to bathe. "Ho! my good fellow, you look pale!" "It is nothing!" "But have an eye to it, whatever it is! Your sallow skin is insensibly rising." "Well, you look pale too! worse than I! Don't play the guardian to me! I buried him long ago—you remain." "Go on! I will hold my peace!" So, bloated with feasting and with livid stomach he takes his bath, while his throat slowly exhales sulphureous malaria. But shivering[1377] comes on over his cups, and shakes the steaming beaker[1378] from his hands; his teeth, grinning, rattle in his head; then the rich dainties dribble from his flaccid lips. Next follow the trumpets and funeral-torches; and at last this votary of pleasure, laid out on a lofty bier, and plastered over with thick unguents,[1379] stretches out his rigid heels[1380] to the door. Then, with head covered, the Quirites of yesterday[1381] support his bier. "Feel my pulse, you wretch! put your hand on my breast. There is no heat here! touch the extremities of my feet and hands. They are not cold!" If money has haply met your eye,[1382] or the fair maiden of your neighbor has smiled sweetly on you, does your heart beat steadily? If hard cabbage has been served up to you in a cold dish, or flour shaken through the people's sieve,[1383] let me examine your jaws. A putrid ulcer lurks in your tender mouth, which it would not be right to grate against with vulgar beet.[1384] You grow cold, when pallid fear has roused the bristles on your limbs. Now, when a torch is placed beneath, your blood begins to boil, and your eyes sparkle with anger; and you say and do what even Orestes[1385] himself, in his hour of madness, would swear to be proofs of madness. [1336] Nempe hÆc. A passage in Gellius exactly describes the opening scene of this Satire. "Nunc videre est philosophos ultrÒ currere ut doceant, ad foras juvenum divitÛm, eosque ibi sedere atque operiri prope ad meridiem, donec discipuli nocturnum omne vinum edormiant." x., 6. SATIRE IV. ARGUMENT. Had Persius lived after instead of before Juvenal we might have imagined that he had taken for the theme the noble lines in his eighth Satire, "Omne animi vitium tanto conspectius in se
Crimen habet quanto Major qui peccat habetur." viii., 140.
"For still more public scandal Vice extends,
As he is great and noble who offends."—Dryden.
Or had he drawn from the fountains of inspired wisdom, that he had had in his eye a passage of still more solemn import: "A sharp judgment shall be to them that be in high places. For mercy will soon pardon the meanest; but mighty men shall be mightily tormented." Wisdom, vi., 5. Either of these passages might fairly serve as the argument of this Satire. What, however, Persius really took as his model is the First Alcibiades of Plato, and the imitation of it is nearly as close as is that of the Second Alcibiades in the Second Satire. And the subject of his criticism is no less a personage than Nero himself. The close analogy between Nero and Alcibiades will be further alluded to in the notes. We must remember that Nero was but seventeen years old when he was called to take the reins of government, and was but three years younger than Persius himself. The Satire was probably written before Nero had entirely thrown off the mask; at all events, before he had given the full evidence which he afterward did of the savage ferocity and gross licentiousness of his true nature. There was enough indeed for the stern Satirist to censure; but still a spark of something noble remaining, to kindle the hope that the reproof might work improvement. In his First Satire he had ridiculed his pretensions to the name of Poet; in this he exposes his inability as a Politician. The Satire naturally and readily divides itself into three parts. In the first he ridicules the misplaced ambition of those who covet exalted station, and aspire to take the lead in state affairs, without possessing those qualifications of talent, education, and experience, which alone could fit them to take the helm of government; and who hold that the adventitious privileges of high birth and ancient lineage can countervail the enervating effects of luxurious indolence and vicious self-indulgence. The second division of the subject turns on the much-neglected duty of self-examination; and enforces the duty of uprightness and purity of conduct from the consideration, that while it is hopeless in all to escape the keen scrutiny that all men exercise in their neighbor's failings, while they are at the same time utterly blind to their own defects, yet that men of high rank and station must necessarily provoke the more searching criticism, in exact proportion to the elevation of their position. He points out also the policy of checking all tendency to satirize the weakness of others, to which Nero was greatly prone, and in fact had already aspired to the dignity of a writer of Satire; as such sarcasm only draws down severer recrimination on ourselves. In the third part he reverts to the original subject; and urges upon the profligate nobles of the day the duty of rigid self-scrutiny, by reminding them of the true character of that worthless rabble, on whose sordid judgment and mercenary applause they ground their claims to approbation. This love of the "aura popularis" was Nero's besetting vice; and none could doubt for whom the advice was meant. Yet the allusions to Nero throughout the Satire, transparent as they must have been to his contemporaries, are so dexterously covered that Persius might easily have secured himself from all charge of personally attacking the emperor under the plea that his sole object was a declamatory exercise in imitation of the Dialogue cf Plato. "Dost thou wield the affairs of the state?"[1386]—(Imagine the bearded[1387] master, whom the fell draught of hemlock[1388] took off, to be saying this:)—Relying on what? Speak, thou ward[1389] of great Pericles. Has talent, forsooth, and precocious knowledge of the world, come before thy beard? Knowest thou what must be spoken, and what kept back? And, therefore, when the populace is boiling with excited passion, does your spirit move you to impose silence on the crowd by the majesty of your hand?[1390] and what will you say then? "I think, Quirites, this is not just! That is bad! This is the properer course?" For you know how to weigh the justice of the case in the double scale of the doubtful balance. You can discern the straight line when it lies between curves,[1391] or when the rule misleads by its distorted foot; and you are competent to affix the Theta[1392] of condemnation to a defect. Why do you not then (adorned in vain with outer skin[1393]) cease to display your tail[1394] before the day to the fawning rabble, more fit to swallow down undiluted Anticyras?[1395] What is your chief good? to have lived always on rich dishes; and a skin made delicate by constant basking in the sun?[1396] Stay: this old woman would scarce give a different answer—"Go now! I am son of Dinomache!"[1397] Puff yourself up!—"I am beautiful." Granted! Still Baucis, though in tatters, has no worse philosophy, when she has cried her herbs[1398] to good purpose to some slovenly slave. How is it that not a man tries to descend into himself? Not a man! But our gaze is fixed on the wallet[1399] on the back in front of us! You may ask, "Do you know Vectidius' farms!" Whose? The rich fellow that cultivates more land at Cures than a kite[1400] can fly over! Him do you mean? Him, born under the wrath of Heaven, and an inauspicious Genius, who whenever he fixes his yoke at the beaten cross ways,[1401] fearing to scrape off the clay incrusted on the diminutive vessel, groans out, "May this be well!" and munching an onion in its hull, with some salt, and a dish of frumety (his slaves applauding the while), sups up the mothery dregs of vapid vinegar. But if, well essenced, you lounge away your time and bask in the sun, there stands by you one, unkenned, to touch you with his elbow, and spit out his bitter detestation on your morals—on you, who by vile arts make your body delicate! While you comb the perfumed hair[1402] on your cheeks, why are you closely shorn elsewhere? when, though five wrestlers pluck out the weeds, the rank fern will yield to no amount of toil. "We strike;[1403] and in our turn expose our limbs to the arrows. It is thus we live. Thus we know it to be. You have a secret wound, though the baldric hides it with its broad gold. As you please! Impose upon your own powers; deceive them if you can!" "While the whole neighborhood pronounces me to be super-excellent, shall I not credit[1404] them?" If you grow pale, vile wretch, at the sight of money; if you execute all that suggests itself to your lust; if you cautiously lash the forum with many a stroke,[1405] in vain you present to the rabble your thirsty[1406] ears. Cast off from you that which you are not. Let the cobbler[1407] bear off his presents. Dwell with yourself,[1408] and you will know how short your household stuff is. SATIRE V. ARGUMENT. On this Satire, which is the longest and the best of all, Persius may be said to rest his claims to be considered a Philosopher and a Poet. It may be compared with advantage with the Third Satire of the second book of Horace. As the object in that is to defend what is called the Stoical paradox, "that none but the Philosopher is of sound mind," "Quem mala stultitia et quemcunque inscitia veri
CÆecum agit, insanum Chrysippi porticus et grex
Autumat:" i., 43-45,
so here, Persius maintains that other dogma of the Stoics, "that none but the Philosopher is truly a free man." Horace argues (in the person of a Stoic) that there can be but one path that leads in the right direction; all others must lead the traveler only farther astray. "Unus utrique error sed variis illudit partibus" (?s???? ?? ??? ?p???, pa?t?dap?? d? ?a???. Arist., Eth., II., vi., 4). So Persius argues, whatever are the varied pursuits of different minds, he that is under the influence of some overwhelming passion, can offer no claim to be accounted a free agent. "Mille hominum species, et rerum discolor usus." (52.) In fact, if we substitute "freedom" for "wisdom," the whole argument of the last part of the Satire may be expressed in the two lines of Horace: "Quisquis
Ambitione mal aut argenti pallet amore
Quisquis Luxuria tristive Superstitione
Aut alio mentis morbo calet:"
that man can neither be pronounced free or of sound mind. The Satire consists of two parts; the first serving as a ProËm to the other. It is, in fact, the earnest expression of unbounded affection for his tutor and early friend AnnÆus Cornutus, from whom he had imbibed those principles of philosophy, which it is the object of the latter part of the Satire to elucidate. After a few lines of ridicule at the hackneyed prologues of the day, he puts into the mouth of Cornutus that just criticism of poetical composition which there is very little doubt Persius had in reality derived from his master; and in answer to this, he takes occasion to profess his sincere and deep-seated love and gratitude toward the preceptor, whose kind care had rescued him from the vicious courses to which a young and ardent temperament was leading him; and whose sound judgment and dexterous management had weaned him from the temptations that assail the young, by making him his own companion in those studies which expanded his intellect while they rectified the obliquity (to use the Stoics' phrase) of his moral character. Such mutual affection, he urges, could only exist between two persons whom something more than mere adventitious circumstances drew together; and he therefore concludes that the same natal star must have presided over the horoscope of both. He then proceeds to the main subject of the Satire, viz., that all men should aim at attaining that freedom which can only result from that perfect "soundness of mind" which we have shown to be the summum bonum of the Stoics. This real freedom no mere external or adventitious circumstances can bestow. Dama, though freed at his master's behest, if he be the slave of passion, is as much a slave as if he had never felt the prÆtor's rod. Until he have really cast off, like the snake, the slough of his former vices, and become changed in heart and principles as he is in political standing, he is so far from being really free from bondage that he can not rightly perform even the most trivial act of daily life. True freedom consists in virtue alone; but "Virtus est vitium fugere:" and he who eradicates all other passions, but cherishes still one darling vice, has but changed his master. The dictates of the passions that sway his breast are more imperious than those of the severest task-master. Whether it be avarice, or luxury, or love, or ambition, or superstition, that is the dominant principle, so long as he can not shake himself free from the control of these, he is as much, as real a slave as the drudge that bears his master's strigil to the bath, or the dog that fancies he has burst his bonds while the long fragment of his broken chain still dangles from his neck. The last few lines contain a dignified rebuke of the sneers which such pure sentiments as these would provoke in the coarse minds of some into whose hands these lines might fall; perhaps, too, they may be meant as a gentle reproof of the sly irony in which the Epicurean Horace indulged, while professing to enunciate the Stoic doctrine, that none but the true Philosopher can be said to be of sound mind.
It is the custom of poets to pray for a hundred voices,[1409] and to wish for a hundred mouths and a hundred tongues for their verses;[1410] whether the subject proposed be one to be mouthed[1411] by a grim-visaged[1412] Tragoedian, or the wounds[1413] of a Parthian drawing his weapon from his groin.[1414] Cornutus.[1415] What is the object of this? or what masses[1416] of robust song are you heaping up, so as to require the support of a hundred throats? Let those who are about to speak on grand subjects collect mists on Helicon;[1417] all those for whom the pot of Procne[1418] or Thyestes shall boil, to be often supped on by the insipid Glycon.[1419] You neither press forth the air from the panting bellows, while the mass is smelting in the furnace; nor, hoarse with pent-up murmur, foolishly croak out something ponderous, nor strive to burst your swollen cheeks with puffing.[1420] You adopt the language of the Toga,[1421] skillful at judicious combination, with moderate style, well rounded,[1422] clever at lashing depraved morals,[1423] and with well-bred sportiveness to affix the mark of censure. Draw from this source what you have to say; and leave at MycenÆ the tables, with the head[1424] and feet, and study plebeian dinners. Persius. For my part, I do not aim at this, that my page may be inflated with air-blown trifles, fit only to give weight[1425] to smoke. We are talking apart from the crowd. I am now, at the instigation of the Muse, giving you my heart to sift;[1426] and delight in showing you, beloved friend, how large a portion of my soul is yours, Cornutus! Knock then, since thou knowest well how to detect what rings sound,[1427] and the glozings of a varnished[1428] tongue. For this I would dare to pray for a hundred voices, that with guileless voice I may unfold how deeply I have fixed thee in my inmost breast; and that my words may unseal for thee all that lies buried, too deep for words, in my secret heart. When first the guardian purple left me, its timid charge,[1429] and my boss[1430] was hung up, an offering to the short-girt[1431] Lares; when my companions were kind, and the white centre-fold[1432] gave my eyes license to rove with impunity over the whole Suburra; at the time when the path is doubtful, and error, ignorant of the purpose of life, makes anxious minds hesitate between the branching cross-ways, I placed myself under you. You, Cornutus, cherished my tender years in your Socratic bosom. Then your rule, dexterous in insinuating itself,[1433] being applied to me, straightened my perverse morals; my mind was convinced by your reasoning, and strove to yield subjection; and formed features skillfully moulded by your plastic thumb. For I remember that many long nights I spent with you; and with you robbed our feasts of the first hours of night. Our work was one. We both alike arranged our hours of rest, and relaxed our serious studies with a frugal meal. Doubt not, at least, this fact; that both our days harmonize by some definite compact,[1434] and are derived from the selfsame planet. Either the Fate, tenacious of truth,[1435] suspended our natal hour in the equally poised balance, or else the Hour that presides over the faithful divides between the twins the harmonious destiny[1436] of us two; and we alike correct the influence of malignant Saturn[1437] by Jupiter, auspicious to both. At all events, there is some star, I know not what, that blends my destiny with thine. There are a thousand species of men; and equally diversified is the pursuit of objects. Each has his own desire; nor do men live with one single wish. One barters beneath an orient sun,[1438] wares of Italy for a wrinkled pepper[1439] and grains of pale cumin.[1440] Another prefers, well-gorged, to heave in dewy[1441] sleep. Another indulges in the Campus Martius. Another is beggared by gambling. Another riots in sensual[1442] pleasures. But when the stony[1443] gout has crippled his joints, like the branches of an ancient beech—then too late they mourn that their days have passed in gross licentiousness, their light has been the fitful marsh-fog; and look back upon the life they have abandoned.[1444] But your delight is to grow pale over the midnight papers; for, as a trainer of youths, you plant in their well-purged ears[1445] the corn of Cleanthes.[1446] From this source seek, ye young and old, a definite object for your mind, and a provision against miserable gray hairs. "It shall be done to-morrow."[1447] "To-morrow, the case will be just the same!" What, do you grant me one day as so great a matter? "But when that other day has dawned, we have already spent yesterday's to-morrow. For see, another to-morrow wears away our years, and will be always a little beyond you. For though it is so near you, and under the selfsame perch, you will in vain endeavor to overtake the felloe[1448] that revolves before you, since you are the hinder wheel, and on the second axle." It is liberty, of which we stand in need! not such as that which, when every Publius Velina[1449] has earned, he claims as his due the mouldy corn, on the production of his tally. Ah! minds barren of all truth! for whom a single twirl makes a Roman.[1450] Here is Dama,[1451] a groom,[1452] not worth three farthings![1453] good for nothing and blear-eyed; one that would lie for a feed of beans. Let his master give him but a twirl, and in the spinning of a top, out he comes Marcus Dama! Ye gods! when Marcus is security, do you hesitate to trust your money? When Marcus is judge, do you grow pale? Marcus said it: it must be so. Marcus, put your name to this deed? This is literal liberty. This it is the cap of liberty[1454] bestows on us. "Is any one else, then, a freeman, but he that may live as he pleases? I may live as I please; am not I then a freer man than Brutus?"[1455] On this the Stoic (his ear well purged[1456] with biting vinegar) says, "Your inference is faulty; the rest I admit, but cancel 'I may,' and 'as I please.'" "Since I left the prÆtor's presence, made my own master by his rod,[1457] why may I not do whatever my inclination dictates, save only what the rubric of Masurius[1458] interdicts?" Learn then! But let anger subside from your nose, and the wrinkling sneer; while I pluck out those old wives' fables from your breast. It was not in the prÆtor's power to commit to fools the delicate duties of life, or transmit that experience that will guide them through the rapid course of life. Sooner would you make the dulcimer[1459] suit a tall porter.[1460] Reason stands opposed to you, and whispers in your secret ear, not to allow any one to do that which he will spoil in the doing. The public law of men—nay, Nature herself contains this principle—that feeble ignorance should hold all acts as forbidden. Dost thou dilute hellebore, that knowest not how to confine the balance-tongue[1461] to a definite point? The very essence of medicine[1462] forbids this. If a high-shoed[1463] plowman, that knows not even the morning star, should ask for a ship, Melicerta[1464] would cry out that all modesty had vanished from the earth.[1465] Has Philosophy granted to you to walk uprightly? and do you know how to discern the semblance of truth; lest it give a counterfeit tinkle, though merely gold laid over brass? And those things which ought to be pursued, or in turn avoided, have you first marked the one with chalk, and then the other with charcoal? Are you moderate in your desires? frugal in your household? kind to your friends? Can you at one time strictly close, at another unlock your granaries? And can you pass by the coin fixed in the mud,[1466] nor swallow down with your gullet the Mercurial saliva? When you can say with truth, "These are my principles, this I hold;" then be free and wise too, under the auspices of the prÆtor and of Jove himself. But if, since you were but lately one of our batch, you preserve your old skin, and though polished on the surface,[1467] retain the cunning fox[1468] beneath your vapid breast; then I recall all that I just now granted, and draw back the rope.[1469] Philosophy has given you nothing; nay, put forth your finger[1470]—and what act is there so trivial?—and you do wrong. But there is no incense by which you can gain from the gods this boon,[1471] that one short half-ounce of Right can be inherent in fools. To mix these things together is an impossibility; nor can you, since you are in all these things else a mere ditcher, move but three measures of the satyr Bathyllus.[1472] "I am free." Whence do you take this as granted, you that are in subjection to so many things?[1473] Do you recognize no master, save him from whom the prÆtor's rod sets you free? If he has thundered out, "Go, boy, and carry my strigils to the baths of Crispinus![1474] Do you loiter, lazy scoundrel?" This bitter slavery affects not thee; nor does any thing from without enter which can set thy strings in motion.[1475] But if within, and in thy morbid breast, there spring up masters, how dost thou come forth with less impunity than those whom the lash[1476] and the terror of their master drives to the strigils? Do you snore lazily in the morning? "Rise!" says Avarice. "Come! rise!" Do you refuse? She is urgent. "Arise!" she says. "I can not." "Rise!" "And what am I to do?" "Do you ask? Import fish[1477] from Pontus, Castoreum,[1478] tow, ebony,[1479] frankincense, purgative Coan wines.[1480] "Be the first to unload from the thirsty camel[1481] his fresh pepper—turn a penny, swear!" "But Jupiter will hear!" "Oh fool! If you aim at living on good terms with Jove, you must go on contented to bore your oft-tasted salt-cellar with your finger!" Now, with girded loins, you fit the skin and wine flagon to your slaves.[1482]—"Quick, to the ship!" Nothing prevents your sweeping over the ÆgÆan in your big ship, unless cunning luxury should first draw you aside, and hint, "Whither, madman, are you rushing? Whither! what do you want? The manly bile has fermented in your hot breast, which not even a pitcher[1483] of hemlock could quench. Would you bound over the sea? Would you have your dinner on a thwart, seated on a coil of hemp?[1484] while the broad-bottomed jug[1485] exhales the red Veientane[1486] spoiled by the damaged pitch![1487] Why do you covet that the money you had here put out to interest at a modest five per cent., should go on to sweat a greedy eleven per cent.? Indulge your Genius![1488] Let us crop the sweets of life! That you really live is my boon! You will become ashes, a ghost, a gossip's tale! Live, remembering you must die.—The hour flies! This very word I speak is subtracted from it!" What course, now, do you take? You are torn in different directions by a two-fold hook. Do you follow this master or that? You must needs by turns, with doubtful obedience, submit to one, by turns wander forth free. Nor, even though you may have once resisted, or once refused to obey the stern behest, can you say with truth, "I have burst my bonds!" For the dog too by his struggles breaks through his leash, yet even as he flies a long portion of the chain hangs dragging from his neck. "Davus![1489] I intend at once—and I order you to believe me too!—to put an end to my past griefs. (So says ChÆrestratus, biting his nails to the quick.) Shall I continue to be a disgrace to my sober relations? Shall I make shipwreck[1490] of my patrimony, and lose my good name, before these shameless[1491] doors, while drunk, and with my torch extinguished, I sing[1492] before the reeking doors of Chrysis?" "Well done, my boy, be wise! sacrifice a lamb to the gods who ward off[1493] evil!" "But do you think, Davus, she will weep at being forsaken?" Nonsense! boy, you will be beaten with her red slipper,[1494] for fear you should be inclined to plunge, and gnaw through your close-confining toils,[1495] now fierce and violent. But if she should call you, you would say at once, "What then shall I do?[1496] Shall I not now, when I am invited, and when of her own act she entreats me, go to her?" Had you come away from her heart-whole, you would not, even now. This, this is the man of whom we are in search. It rests not on the wand[1497] which the foolish Lictor brandishes. Is that flatterer[1498] his own master, whom white-robed Ambition[1499] leads gaping with open mouth? "Be on the watch, and heap vetches[1500] bountifully upon the squabbling mob, that old men,[1501] as they sun themselves, may remember our Floralia.—What could be more splendid?" But when Herod's[1502] day is come, and the lamps arranged on the greasy window-sill have disgorged their unctuous smoke, bearing violets, and the thunny's tail floats, hugging the red dish,[1503] and the white pitcher foams with wine: then in silent prayer you move your lips, and grow pale at the sabbaths of the circumcised. Then are the black goblins![1504] and the perils arising from breaking an egg.[1505] Then the huge Galli,[1506] and the one-eyed priestess with her sistrum,[1507] threaten you with the gods inflating your body, unless, you have eaten the prescribed head of garlic[1508] three times of a morning. Were you to say all this among the brawny centurions, huge Pulfenius[1509] would immediately raise his coarse laugh, and hold a hundred Greek philosophers dear at a clipped centussis.[1510] ARGUMENT. There are few points on which men practically differ more than on the question, What is the right use of riches? On this head there was as much diversity of opinion among the philosophers of old as in the present day. Some maintaining that not only a virtuous, but also a happy life consisted in the absence of all those external aids that wealth can bestow; others as zealously arguing that a competency of means was absolutely necessary to the due performance of the higher social virtues. The source of error in most men lies in their mistaking the means for the end; and the object of this Satire, which is the most original, and perhaps the most pleasing of the whole, is to point out how a proper employment of the fortune that falls to our lot may be made to forward the best interests of man. Persius begins with a warm encomium on the genius and learning of his friend CÆsius Bassus, the lyric poet; especially complimenting him on his antiquarian knowledge, and versatility of talent: and he then proceeds to show, by setting forth his own line of conduct, how true happiness may be attained by avoiding the extremes of sordid meanness on the one hand, and ostentatious prodigality on the other; by disregarding the suggestions of envy and the dictates of ambition. A prompt and liberal regard to the necessities and distresses of others is then inculcated; for this, coupled with the maintenance of such an establishment as our fortune warrants us in keeping up, is, to use the words of the poet, "to use wealth, not to abuse it." He then proceeds with great severity and bitter sarcasm to expose the shallow artifices of those who attempt to disguise their sordid selfishness under the specious pretense of a proper prudence, a reverence for the ancient simplicity and frugality of manners, and a proper regard for the interests of those who are to succeed to our inheritance. The Satire concludes with a lively and graphic conversation between Persius and his imaginary heir, in which he exposes the cupidity of those who are waiting for the deaths of men whom they expect to succeed; and shows that the anxiety of these for the death of their friends, furnishes the strongest motive for a due indulgence in the good things of this life; which it would be folly to hoard up merely to be squandered by the spendthrift, or feed the insatiable avarice of one whom even boundless wealth could never satisfy. This Satire was probably written, as Gifford says, "while the poet was still in the flower of youth, possessed of an independent fortune, of estimable friends, dear connections, and of a cultivated mind, under the consciousness of irrecoverable disease; a situation in itself sufficiently affecting, and which is rendered still more so by the placid and even cheerful spirit which pervades every part of the poem." Has the winter[1511] already made thee retire, Bassus,[1512] to thy Sabine hearth? Does thy harp, and its strings, now wake to life[1513] for thee with its manly[1514] quill? Of wondrous skill in adapting to minstrelsy the early forms of ancient words,[1515] and the masculine sound of the Latin lute—and then again give vent to youthful merriment; or, with dignified touch, sing of distinguished old men. For me the Ligurian[1516] shore now grows warm, and my sea wears its wintry aspect, where the cliffs present a broad side, and the shore retires with a capacious bay. "It is worth while, citizens, to become acquainted with the Port of Luna!"[1517] Such is the best of Ennius in his senses,[1518] when he ceased to dream he was Homer and sprung from a Pythagorean peacock, and woke up plain "Quintus." Here I live, careless of the vulgar herd—careless too of the evil which malignant Auster[1519] is plotting against my flock—or that that corner[1520] of my neighbor's farm is more fruitful than my own. Nay, even though all who spring from a worse stock than mine, should grow ever so rich, I would still refuse to be bowed down double by old age[1521] on that account, or dine without good cheer, or touch with my nose[1522] the seal on some vapid flagon. Another man may act differently from this. The star that presides over the natal hour[1523] produces even twins with widely-differing disposition. One, a cunning dog, would, only on his birthday, dip his dry cabbage in pickle[1524] which he has bought in a cup, sprinkling over it with his own hands the pepper, as if it were sacred; the other, a fine-spirited lad, runs through his large estate to please his palate. I, for my part, will use—not abuse—my property; neither sumptuous enough to serve up turbots before my freedmen, nor epicure enough to discern the delicate flavor of female thrushes.[1525] Live up to your income, and exhaust your granaries. You have a right to do it! What should you fear? Harrow, and lo! another crop is already in the blade! "But duty calls! My friend,[1526] reduced to beggary, with shipwrecked bark, is clutching at the Bruttian rocks, and has buried all his property, and his prayers unheard by heaven, in the Ionian sea. He himself lies on the shore, and by him the tall gods from the stern;[1527] and the ribs of his shattered vessel are a station for cormorants."[1528] Now therefore detach a fragment from the live turf; and bestow it upon him in his need, that he may not have to roam about with a painting of himself[1529] on a sea-green picture. But[1530] your heir, enraged that you have curtailed your estate, will neglect your funeral supper, he will commit your bones unperfumed to their urn, quite prepared to be careless whether the cinnamon has a scentless flavor, or the cassia be adulterated with cherry-gum. Should you then in your lifetime impair your estate? But Bestius[1531] rails against the Grecian philosophers: "So it is—ever since this counterfeit[1532] philosophy[1533] came into the city, along with pepper and dates, the very haymakers spoil their pottage with gross unguents." And are you afraid of this beyond the grave? But you, my heir, whoever you are to be, come apart a little from the crowd, and hear.—"Don't you know, my good friend, that a laureate[1534] letter has been sent by CÆsar on account of his glorious defeat of the flower of the German youth; and now the ashes are being swept from the altars, where they have lain cold; already CÆsonia is hiring arms for the door-posts, mantles for kings, yellow wigs for captives, and chariots, and tall Rhinelanders. Consequently I intend to contribute a hundred pair of gladiators to the gods and the emperor's Genius, in honor of his splendid exploits.—Who shall prevent me? Do you, if you dare! Woe betide you, unless you consent.—I mean to make a largess to the people of oil and meat-pies. Do you forbid it? Speak out plainly!" "Not so," you say. I have a well-cleared field[1535] close by. Well, then! If I have not a single aunt left, or a cousin, nor a single niece's daughter; if my mother's sister is barren, and none of my grandmother's stock survives—I will go to BovillÆ,[1536] and Virbius' hill.[1537] There is Manius already as my heir. "What that son of earth!" Well, ask me who my great-great-grandfather was! I could tell you certainly, but not very readily. Go yet a step farther back, and one more; you will find he is a son of earth! and on this principle of genealogy Manius turns out to be my great uncle. You, who are before me, why do you ask of me the torch[1538] in the race? I am your Mercury! I come to you as the god, in the guise in which he is painted. Do you reject the offer? Will you not be content with what is left? But there is some deficiency in the sum total! Well, I spent it on myself! But the whole of what is left is yours, whatever it is. Attempt not to inquire what is become of what Tadius once left me; nor din into my ears precepts such as fathers give.[1539] "Get interest for your principal, and live upon that."—What is the residue? "The residue!" Here, slave, at once pour oil more bountifully over my cabbage. Am I to have a nettle, or a smoky pig's cheek with a split ear, cooked for me on a festival day, that that spendthrift grandson[1540] of yours may one day stuff himself with goose-giblets, and when his froward humor urge him on, indulge in a patrician mistress? Am I to live a threadbare skeleton,[1541] that his fat paunch[1542] may sway from side to side? Barter your soul for gain. Traffic; and with keen craft sift every quarter of the globe. Let none exceed you in the art of puffing off[1543] your sleek Cappadocian slaves, on their close-confining platform.[1544] Double[1545] your property. "I have done so"—already it returns three-fold, four-fold, ten-fold to my scrip. Mark where I am to stop. Could I do so, he were found, Chrysippus,[1546] that could put the finish to thy heap!
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