No More Learning

I should in vain attempt, my Curtius, to tell you how strongly I am bound to this place, to this kingdom and city, and above all, to those who survive this destruction. No Palmyrene can lament with more sincerity than I the whirl wind of desolation that has passed over them, obliterating almost their place and name ; nor from any one do there ascend more fervent prayers that prosperity may yet return, and these widespread ruins again rise and glow in their ancient beauty. Rome has by former acts of unparalleled barbarism covered her name with reproach ; but by none has she so drenched it in guilt as by this wanton annihilation — for so do I regard it — of one of the fairest cities and kingdoms of the earth. The day of Aurelian's triumph may be a day of triumph to him, but to Rome it will be a day of never-forgotten infamy.
A Roman Triumph.
I trust that you have safely received the letter which, as we entered the Tiber, I was fortunate enough to place on board a vessel bound directly to Berytus. In that I have told you of my journey and voyage, and have said many other things of more consequence still, both to you, Gracchus, and myself.
I now write to you from my own dwelling upon the Caelian, where I have been these many days that have intervened since the date of my former letter. If you have waited impatiently to hear from me again, I hope now I shall atone for what may seem a too long delay, by telling you of those concerning whom you wish chiefly to hear and know, — Zenobia and Julia.
But first let me say that I have found Portia in health, and as happy as she could be after her bitter disappointment in Calpurnius. This has proved a misfortune, less only than the loss of our father himself. That a Piso should live, and be other than a Roman ; that he should live and bear arms against his country, — this has been to her one of those inexplicable mysteries in the providence of the gods that has tasked her
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piety to the utmost. In vain has she scrutinized her life to discover what fault has drawn down upon her and her house this heavy retribution. Yet her grief is lightened by what I have told her of the conduct of Calpurnius at Antioch and Emesa. At such times, when I have related the events of those great days, and the part which my brother took, the pride of the Roman has yielded to that of the mother, and she has not been able to conceal her satisfaction. "Ah," she would say,
"mybraveboy! " "Thatwaslikehim! "
das himself was not greater ! " " What might he not be, were he but in Rome! "
Portia is never weary with inquiring into everything relat ing to yourself and Gracchus. My letters, many and minute as they have been, so far from satisfying her, serve only as themes for new and endless conversations, in which, as well as I am able, I set before her my whole life while in Palmyra, and every event, from the conversation at the table or in the por ticoes, to the fall of the city and the death of Longinus. So great is her desire to know all concerning the " hero Fausta," and so unsatisfying is the all that I can say, that I shall not wonder if, after the ceremony of the triumph, she should her self propose a journey to Palmyra, to see you once more with her own eyes, and once more fold you in her arms. You will rejoice to be told that she bewails, even with tears, the ruin of the city, and the cruel massacre of its inhabitants. She con demns the emperor in language as strong as you and I should use. The slaughter of Sandarion and his troops she will by no
I have found Curtius and Lucilia also in health. They are at their villa upon the Tiber. The first to greet me there were Laco and Caelia. Their gratitude was affecting and oppressive. Indeed, there is no duty so hard as to receive with grace the thanks of those whom you have obliged. Curtius is for once satisfied that I have performed with fidelity the part of a cor respondent. He even wonders at my diligence. The advan tage is, I believe for the first time, fairly on my side, — though you can yourself bear testimony, having heard all his epistles, how many he wrote, and with what vividness and exactness he made Rome to pass before us. I think he will not be prevented
"I warrant Zab-
means allow to be a sufficient justification of the act. And of her opinion are all the chief citizens of Rome.
from writing to you by anything I can say. He drops in every day, Lucilia sometimes with him, and never leaves us till he
172 THE FALL OF PALMYRA.
has exhausted his prepared questions concerning you and the great events which have taken place, — there remaining innu merable points to a man of his exact turn of mind, about which he must insist upon fuller and more careful information. I think he will draw up a history of the war. I hope he will ; no one could do it better.
Aurelian, you will have heard, upon leaving Palmyra, in stead of continuing on the route which he set out, toward Emesa and Antioch, turned aside to Egypt, in order to put down, by one of his sudden movements, the Egyptian merchant Firmus, who, with a genius for war greater than for traffic, had placed himself at the head of the people, and proclaimed their inde pendence of Rome. As the friend and ally of Zenobia — although he could render her, during the siege, no assistance — I must pity his misfortunes and his end. News has just reached us that his armies have been defeated, he himself taken and put to death, and his new-made kingdom reduced again to the con dition of a Roman province. We now every hour look to hear of the arrival of the emperor and his armies.
Although there has been observed some secrecy concerning the progress and places of residence of Zenobia, yet we learn with a good degree of certainty that she is now at Brundusium, awaiting the further orders of Aurelian, having gone overland from Byzantium to Apollonia, and there crossing the Adriatic. I have not been much disturbed by the reports which have pre vailed, because I thought I knew too much of the queen to think them well grounded. Yet I confess I have suffered some what, when, upon resorting to the Capitol or the baths, I have found the principal topic to be the death of Zenobia, — accord ing to some, of grief, on her way from Antioch to Byzantium ; or, as others had it, of hunger, she having resolutely refused all nourishment. I have given no credit to the rumor ; yet as all stories of this kind are a mixture of truth and error, so in this case I can conceive easily that it has some foundation in reality, and I am led to believe from it that the sufferings of the queen have been great. How, indeed, could they be otherwise? A feebler spirit than Zenobia's, and a feebler frame, would necessarily have been destroyed. With what impatience do I wait the hour that shall see her in Rome !
already relieved of all anxiety as to her treatment by Aurelian ; no fear need be entertained for her safety. Desirous as far as may be to atone for the rash severity of his orders in Syria, he
I am happily
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will distinguish with every possible mark of honor the queen, her family, and such other of the inhabitants of Palmyra as have been reserved to grace his triumph.
For this august ceremony the preparations are already making. It is the sole topic of conversation, and the single object toward which seem to be bent the whole genius and industry of the capital. It is intended to surpass in magnifi cence all that has been done by former emperors or generals. The materials for it are collecting from every part of the empire, and the remotest regions of Asia and Africa. Every day there arrive cargoes either of wild beasts, or of prisoners destined to the amphitheater. Illustrious captives also from Asia, Germany, and Gaul, among whom are Tetricus and his son. The Tiber is crowded with vessels bringing in the treasures drawn from Palmyra, — her silver and gold, her statuary and works of art, and every object of curiosity and taste that was susceptible of transportation across the desert and the ocean.
It is now certain that the queen has advanced as far as Tusculum, where with Julia, Livia, Faustula, and Vabalathus, she will remain — at a villa of Aurelian's, it is said — till the day of triumph. Separation seems the more painful as they approach nearer. Although knowing that they would be scrupulously prohibited from all intercourse with any beyond the precincts of the villa itself, I have not been restrained from going again and again to Tusculum, and passing through it and around it in the hope to obtain were it but a distant glimpse of persons to whom I am bound more closely than to any others on earth. But it has been all in vain. I shall not see them till I behold them a part of the triumphal procession of their conqueror.
Aurelian has arrived ; the long-expected day has come and is gone. His triumph has been celebrated, and with a magnifi cence and a pomp greater than the traditionary glories of those of Pompey, Trajan, Titus, or even the secular games of Philip.
I have seen Zenobia !
The sun of Italy never poured a flood of more golden light upon the great capital and its surrounding plains than on the day of Aurelian's triumph. The airs of Palmyra were never more soft. The whole city was early abroad ; and added to our over grown population, there were the inhabitants of all the neigh boring towns and cities, and strangers from all parts of the
174 THE PALL OF PALMYRA.
empire, so that it was with difficulty and labor only, and no little danger too, that the spectacle could be seen. I obtained a position opposite the Capitol, from which I could observe the whole of this proud display of the power and greatness of Rome.
A long train of elephants opened the show, their huge sides and limbs hung with cloth of gold and scarlet, some having upon their backs military towers or other fanciful structures, which were filled with the natives of Asia or Africa, all arrayed in the richest costumes of their countries. These were followed by wild animals, and those remarkable for their beauty, from every part of the world, either led, as in the case of lions, tigers, leopards, by those who from long management of them pos sessed the same power over them as the groom over his horse, or else drawn along upon low platforms, upon which they were made to perform a thousand antic tricks for the amusement of the gaping and wondering crowds. Then came not many fewer than two thousand gladiators in pairs, all arranged in such a manner as to display to the greatest advantage their well-knit joints, and projecting and swollen muscles. Of these a great number have already perished on the arena of the Flavian, and in the sea fights in Domitian's theater. Next, upon gilded wagons, and arrayed so as to produce the most dazzling effect, came the spoils of the wars of Aurelian, — treasures of art, rich cloths and embroideries, utensils of gold and silver, pictures, statues, and works in brass, from the cities of Gaul, from Asia, and from Egypt. Conspicuous here over all were the rich and gorgeous contents of the palace of Zenobia. The huge wains groaned under the weight of vessels of gold and silver, of ivory, and the most precious woods of India. The jeweled wine cups, vases, and golden statuary of Demetrius attracted the gaze and excited the admiration of every beholder. Immediately after these came a crowd of youths richly habited in the costumes of a thousand different tribes, bearing in their hands, upon cushions of silk, crowns of gold and precious stones, the offerings of the cities and kingdoms of all the world, as it were, to the power and fame of Aurelian. Following these, came the ambassadors of all nations, sumptu ously arrayed in the habits of their respective countries. Then an innumerable train of captives, showing plainly, in their downcast eyes, in their fixed and melancholy gaze, that hope had taken its departure from their breasts. Among these were many women from the shores of the Danube, taken in arms
one only that you wish to hear ?
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fighting for their country, of enormous stature, and clothed in the warlike costume of their tribes.
But why do I detain you with these things, when it is of
I cannot tell you with what impatience I waited for that part of the procession to approach
where were Zenobia and Julia. I thought its line would stretch on forever. And it was the ninth hour before the alternate shouts and deep silence of the multitudes announced that the conqueror was drawing near the Capitol. As the first shout arose, I turned toward the quarter whence it came, and beheld, not Aurelian as I expected, but the Gallic emperor Tet- ricus — yet slave of his army and of Victoria — accompanied by the prince his son, and followed by other illustrious captives from Gaul. All eyes were turned with pity upon him, and with indignation too that Aurelian should thus treat a Roman, and once a senator. But sympathy for him was instantly lost in a stronger feeling of the same kind for Zenobia, who came immediately after. You can imagine, Fausta, better than I can describe them, my sensations, when I saw our beloved friend — her whom I had seen treated never otherwise than as a sov ereign queen and with all the imposing pomp of the Persian ceremonial — now on foot, and exposed to the rude gaze of the Roman populace, — toiling beneath the rays of a hot sun, and the weight of jewels such as, both for richness and beauty, were never before seen in Rome, and of chains of gold, which first passing around her neck and arms, were then borne up by at tendant slaves. I could have wept to see her so — yes, and did. My impulse was to break through the crowd and support her almost fainting form ; but I well knew that my life would answer for the rashness on the spot. I could only, therefore, like the rest, wonder and gaze. And never did she seem to me, not even in the midst of her own court, to blaze forth with such transcendent beauty, yet touched with grief. Her look was not that of dejection, of one who was broken and crushed by misfortune ; there was no blush of shame. It was rather one of profound, heartbreaking melancholy. Her full eyes looked as if privacy only was wanted for them to overflow with floods of tears ; but they fell not. Her gaze was fixed on va cancy, or else cast toward the ground. She seemed like one unobservant of all around her, and buried in thoughts to which all else were strangers, and had nothing in common with. They were in Palmyra, and with her slaughtered multitudes.
176 THE FALL OP PALMYRA.
Yet though she wept not, others did ; and one could see all along, wherever she moved, the Roman hardness yielding to pity, and melting down before the all-subduing presence of this wonderful woman. The most touching phrases of compassion fell constantly upon my ear. And ever and anon, as in the road there would happen some rough or damp place, the kind souls would throw down upon it whatever of their garments they could quickest divest themselves of, that those feet, little used to such encounters, might receive no harm. And, as when other parts of the procession were passing by, shouts of tri umph and vulgar joy frequently arose from the motley crowds, yet when Zenobia appeared, a deathlike silence prevailed, or it was interrupted only by exclamations of admiration or pity, or of indignation at Aurelian for so using her. But this hap pened not long ; for when the emperor's pride had been suffi ciently gratified, and just there where he came over against the steps of the Capitol, he himself, crowned as he was with the diadem of universal empire, descended from his chariot, and unlocking the chains of gold that bound the limbs of the queen, led and placed her in her own chariot — that char iot in which she had hoped herself to enter Rome in triumph — between Julia and Livia. Upon this, the air was rent with the grateful acclamations of the countless multitudes. The queen's countenance brightened for a moment as if with the expressive sentiment, " The gods bless you ! " and was then buried in the folds of her robe. And when, after the lapse of many minutes, it was again raised and turned toward the people, every one might see that tears burning hot had coursed her cheeks, and relieved a heart which else might well have burst with its restrained emotion. Soon as the chariot which held her had disappeared upon the other side of the Capitol, I extricated myself from the crowd, and returned home. It was not till the shades of evening had fallen that the last of the procession had passed the front of the Capitol, and the emperor reposed within the walls of his palace.
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. 177
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. By LONGINUS.
[Dionysius Cassius Longikus, the foremost rhetorician, critic, and philo sophic expositor of his age, pronounced by some the best critic of all antiquity, was born probably in Syria, a. d. 213. He studied under Origen at Alexandria, and settled as teacher of oratory and composition at Athens, gaining immense reputation not only for learning, as a " walking library," but for taste and in sight. He became in his latter years tutor to Zenobia's children at Palmyra, and her chief political counselor ; and on her overthrow by Aurelian, was exe
cuted for treason. ]
But since the sentiments and the language of compositions are generally best explained by the light they throw upon one another, let us in the next place consider what it is that re mains to be said concerning the "Diction. " And here, that a judicious choice of proper and magnificent terms has wonderful effects in winning upon and entertaining an audience, cannot, I think, be denied. For it is from hence that the greatest writers derive with indefatigable care the grandeur, the beauty, the solemnity, the weight, the strength, and the energy of their expressions. This clothes a composition in the most beautiful dress, makes it shine like a picture in all the gayety of color, and, in a word, it animates our thoughts and inspires them with a kind of vocal life. But it is needless to dwell upon these particulars before persons of so much taste and experience. Fine words are indeed the peculiar light in which our thoughts must shine. But then it is by no means proper that they should everywhere swell and look big. For dressing up a trifling subject in grand, exalted expressions makes the same ridiculous appearance as the enormous mask of a trage dian would do upon the diminutive face of an infant.
. . . In this verse of "Anacreon," the terms are vulgar, yet there is a
. . . [The beginning of this Section is lost. ]
simplicity in it which pleases, because it is natural : Nor shall this Thracian vex me more !
And for this reason, that celebrated expression of Theo- pompus seems to me the most significant of any I ever met with, though Cecilius has found something to blame in it:
VOL. VII. — 12
178 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
" Philip " (says he) " was used to swallow affronts, in compli ance with the exigencies of his affairs. "
Vulgar terms are sometimes much more significant than the most ornamental could possibly be. They are easily under stood, because borrowed from common life ; and what is most familiar to us, soonest engages our belief. Therefore, when a person, to promote his ambitious designs, bears ill-treatment and reproaches not only with patience, but a seeming pleasure, to say that he swallows affronts is as happy and expressive a phrase as could possibly be invented. The following passage from " Herodotus " in my opinion comes very near it. " Cle- omenes," (says he) "being seized with madness, with a little knife that he had, cut his flesh into small pieces, till, having entirely mangled his body, he expired. " And again, "Pythes remaining still in the ship, fought courageously, till he was hacked in pieces. " These expressions approach near to the vulgar, but are far from having vulgar significations.
As to a proper number of Metaphors, Cecilius has gone into their opinion, who have settled it at two or three at most, in expressing the same object. But in this also let Demos thenes be observed as our model and guide ; and by him we shall find that the proper time to apply them is when the passions are so much worked up as to hurry on like a torrent, and unavoidably carry along with them a whole crowd of meta phors. " Those prostituted souls, those cringing traitors, those furies of the commonwealth, who have combined to wound and mangle their country, who have drunk up its liberty in healths, to Philip once and since to Alexander, measuring their happiness by their belly and their lust. As for these generous principles of honor and that maxim never to endure a master, which to our brave forefathers were the high ambition of life and the standard of felicity, — these they have quite subverted. " Here, by means of this multitude of Tropes, the orator bursts out upon the traitors in the warmest indignation. It is, how ever, the precept of Aristotle and Theophrastus that bold Metaphors ought to be introduced with some small allevia
tIions ; such as, if it may be so expressed, and as it were, and if may speak with so much boldness. For this excuse, say they, very much palliates the hardness of the figures.
Such a rule hath a general use, and therefore I admit it ; yet still I maintain what I advanced before in regard to
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. 179
Figures : that bold Metaphors, and those, too, in good plenty, are very seasonable in a noble composition, where they are always mitigated and softened by the vehement Pathetic and generous Sublime dispersed through the whole. For as it is the nature of the Pathetic and Sublime to run rapidly along and carry all before them, so they require the figures they are worked up in to be strong and forcible, and do not so much as give leisure to a hearer to cavil at their number, because they immediately strike his imagination and inflame him with all the warmth and fire of the speaker.
But let us for once admit the possibility of a faultless and consummate writer ; and then will it not be worth while to consider at large that important question, Whether, in poetry or prose, what is truly grand in the midst of some faults be not preferable to that which has nothing extraordinary in its best parts, correct, however, throughout and faultless? And further, Whether the excellence of fine writing consists in the number of its beauties or in the grandeur of its strokes ? For these points, being peculiar to the Sublime, demand an illus tration.
I readily allow that writers of a lofty and towering genius are by no means pure and correct, since whatever is neat and accurate throughout must be exceedingly liable to flatness. In the Sublime, as in great affluence of fortune, some minuter articles will unavoidably escape observation. But it is almost impossible for a low and groveling genius to be guilty of error, since he never endangers himself by soaring on high, or aiming at eminence, but still goes on in the same uniform secure track, whilst its very height and grandeur exposes the Sublime to sud den falls. Nor am I ignorant indeed of another thing, which will no doubt be urged, that in passing our judgment upon the works of an author, we always muster his imperfections, so that the remembrance of his faults sticks indelibly fast in the mind, whereas that of his excellencies is quickly worn out. For my part, I have taken notice of no inconsiderable number of faults in Homer, and some other of the greatest authors, and cannot by any means be blind or partial to them ; however, I judge them not to be voluntary faults, so much as accidental slips incurred through inadvertence ; such as, when the mind is intent upon things of a higher nature, will creep insensibly into
compositions.
And for this reason I give it as my real opinion,
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that the great and noble flights, though they cannot everywhere boast an equality of perfection, yet ought to carry off the prize, by the sole merit of their own intrinsic grandeur.
Apollonius, author of the "Argonautics," was a writer with out blemish ; and no one ever succeeded better in Pastoral than Theocritus, excepting some pieces where he has quitted his own province. But yet, would you choose to be Apollonius or Theocritus rather than Homer? Is the poet Eratosthenes, whose " Erigone " is a complete and delicate performance, and not chargeable with one fault, to be esteemed a superior poet to Archilochus, who flies off into many and brave irregularities, a godlike spirit bearing him forward in the noblest career, such spirit as will not bend to rule, or easily brook control ? In " Lyrics," would you sooner be Bacchylides than Pindar, or Io the Chian than the great Sophocles ? Bacchylides and Io have written smoothly, delicately, and correctly, they have left nothing without the nicest decoration ; but in Pindar and Sophocles, who carry fire along with them through the violence of their motion, that very fire is many times unseasonably quenched, and then they drop most unfortunately down. But yet no one, I am certain, who has the least discernment, will scruple to prefer the single " CEdipus " of Sophocles before all that Io ever composed.
If the beauties of writers are to be estimated by their number, and not by their quality or grandeur, then Hyperides will prove far superior to Demosthenes. He has more harmony and a finer cadence, he has a greater number of beauties, and those in a degree almost next to excellent. He resembles a champion who, professing himself master of the five exercises, in each of them severally must yield the superiority to others, but in all together stands alone and unrivaled. For Hyperides has in every point, except the structure of his words, imitated all the virtues of Demosthenes, and has abundantly added the graces and beauties of Lysias. When his subject demands simplicity, his style is exquisitely smooth ; nor does he utter everything with one emphatical air of vehemence, like Demos thenes. His thoughts are always just and proper, tempered with most delicious sweetness and the softest harmony of words. His turns of wit are inexpressibly fine. He raises a laugh with the greatest art, and is prodigiously dexterous at irony or sneer. His strokes of raillery are far from ungenteel ; by no means
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far-fetched, like those of the depraved imitators of Attic neatness, but apposite and proper. How skillful at evading an argument ! With what humor does he ridicule, and with what dexterity does he sting in the midst of a smile ! In a word, there are inimitable graces in all he says. Never did any one more artfully excite compassion ; never was any one more diffuse in narration ; never any more dexterous at quit ting and resuming his subject with such easy address, and such pliant activity. This plainly appears in his little poetical fables of " Latona " ; and besides, he has composed a funeral oration with such pomp and ornament as I believe never will or can be equaled.
Demosthenes, on the other side, has been unsuccessful in representing the humors and characters of men ; he was a stranger to diffusive eloquence ; awkward in his address ; void of all pomp and show in his language ; and, in a word, for the most part deficient in all the qualities ascribed to Hyperides. Where his subject compels him to be merry or facetious, he makes people laugh, but it is at himself. And the more he en deavors at raillery, the more distant he is from it. Had he ever attempted an oration for a Phryne or an Athenogenes, he would in such attempts have only served as a foil to Hyperides.
Yet, after all, in my opinion, the numerous beauties of Hyperides are far from having any inherent greatness. They show the sedateness and sobriety of the author's genius, but have not force enough to enliven or to warm an audience. No one that reads him is ever sensible of extraordinary emotion.
Whereas Demosthenes, adding to a continued vein of grandeur and to magnificence of diction (the greatest qualifications requi site in an orator), such lively strokes of passion, such copious ness of words, such address, and such rapidity of speech ; and, what is his masterpiece, such force and vehemence, as the greatest writers besides durst never aspire to : being, I say, abundantly furnished with all these divine (it would be sin to call them human) abilities, he excels all before him in the beauties which are really his own ; and, to atone for deficiencies in those he has not, overthrows all opponents with the irresist ible force and the glittering blaze of his lightning. For it is much easier to behold with steadfast and undazzled eyes the flashing lightning, than those ardent strokes of the Pathetic, which come so thick, one upon another, in his orations.
182 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
The parallel between Plato and his opponents must be drawn in a different light. For Lysias not only falls short of him in the excellence, but in the number of his beauties. And what is more, he not only falls short of him in the number of his beauties, but exceeds him vastly in the number of his faults.
What, then, can we suppose that those godlike writers had in view, who labored so much in raising their compositions to the highest pitch of the Sublime, and looked down with con tempt upon accuracy and correctness? Amongst others, let this reason be accepted. Nature never designed man to be a groveling and ungenerous animal, but brought him into life, and placed him in the world, as in a crowded theater, not to be an idle spectator, but, spurred on by an eager thirst of excel ling, ardently to contend in the pursuit of glory. For this purpose she implanted in his soul an invincible love of grandeur, and a constant emulation of whatever seems to approach nearer to divinity than himself. Hence it is that the whole universe is not sufficient for the extensive reach and piercing specula tion of the human understanding. It passes the bounds of the material world, and launches forth at pleasure into endless space. Let any one take an exact survey of a life which, in its every scene, is conspicuous on account of excellence, grandeur, and beauty, and he will soon discern for what noble ends we were born. Thus the impulse of nature inclines us to admire, not a little, clear, transparent rivulet that ministers to our necessities, but the Nile, the Ister, the Rhine, or still much more, the Ocean. We are never surprised at the sight of a small fire that burns clear and blazes out on our own private hearth, but view with amaze the celestial fires, though they are often obscured by vapors and eclipses. Nor do we reckon any thing in nature more wonderful than the boiling furnaces of . /Etna, which cast up stones, and sometimes whole rocks, from their laboring abyss, and pour out whole rivers of liquid and unmingled flame. And from hence we may infer that what ever is useful and necessary to man lies level to his abilities, and is easily acquired ; but whatever exceeds the common size is always great and always amazing.
With regard, therefore, to those sublime writers whose flight, however exalted, never fails of its use and advantage, we must add another consideration. Those other inferior beauties show their authors to be men, but the Sublime makes
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near approaches to the height of God. What is correct and faultless comes off barely without censure, but the grand and lofty command admiration. What can I add further? One exalted and sublime sentiment in those noble authors makes ample amends for all their defects. And what is more re markable, were the errors of Homer, Demosthenes, Plato, and the rest of the most celebrated authors to be culled carefully out and thrown together, they would not bear the least pro portion to those infinite, those inimitable excellencies which are so conspicuous in these heroes of antiquity. And for this reason has every age and every generation, unmoved by partiality and unbiased by envy, awarded the laurels to these great masters, which flourish still green and unfading on their brows, and will flourish,
As long as streams in silver marges rove,
Or Spring with annual green renews the grove.
(— Fenton. )
A certain writer objects here that an ill-wrought Colossus cannot be set upon the level with a little faultless statue ; for instance, the little soldier of Polyclitus ; but the answer to this is very obvious. In the works of art we have regard to exact proportion ; in those of nature to grandeur and mag nificence. Now speech is a gift bestowed upon us by nature. As, therefore, resemblance and proportion to the originals is required in statues, so in the noble faculty of discourse there should be something extraordinary, something more than humanly great. . . .
. . . [The beginning of this section on Hyperbole is lost. ] As this Hyperbole, for instance, is exceedingly bad, " If you carry not your brains in the soles of your feet and tread upon them. " One consideration, therefore, must always be attended to, " How far the thought can properly be carried. " For over shooting the mark often spoils an Hyperbole ; and whatever is overstretched loses its tone and immediately relaxes; nay, sometimes produces an effect contrary to that for which it was intended. Thus Isocrates, childishly desirous of saying nothing without enlargement, has fallen into a shameful puerility. The end and design of his " Panegyric " is to prove that the Athenians had done greater service to the united body of Greece than the Lacedaemonians ; and this is his beginning : " The virtue and
184 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
efficacy of eloquence is so great as to be able to render great things contemptible, to dress up trifling subjects in pomp and show, to clothe what is old and obsolete in a new dress, and put off new occurrences in an air of antiquity. " And will it not be immediately demanded, Is this what you are going to practice with regard to the affairs of the Athenians and Lace daemonians? For this ill-timed encomium of eloquence is an inadvertent admonition to the audience not to listen or give credit to what he says.
Those Hyperboles, in short, are the best (as I have before observed of Figures) which have neither the appearance nor air of Hyperboles. And this never fails to be the state of those which in the heat of a passion flow out in the midst of some grand circumstance. Thus Thucydides has dexterously applied one to his countrymen that perished in Sicily. "The Syra- cusans," says he, " came down upon them and made a slaughter chiefly of those who were in the river. The water was im mediately discolored with blood. But the stream polluted with mud and gore deterred them not from drinking it greedily, nor many of them from fighting desperately for a draught of it. " A circumstance so uncommon and affecting gives those expres sions of drinking mud and gore and fighting desperately for it an air of probability.
Hyperboles literally are impossibilities, and therefore can only then be reasonable or productive of sublimity where the circumstances may be stretched beyond their proper size, that they may appear without fail important and great.
Herodotus has used a like Hyperbole concerning those war riors who fell at Thermopylae : " In this place they defended themselves with the weapons that were left, and with their hands and teeth, till they were buried under the arrows of bar barians. " Is it possible, you will say, for men to defend them selves with their teeth against the fury and violence of armed assailants? Is it possible that men could be buried under arrows? Notwithstanding all this, there is a seeming prob ability in it. For the circumstance does not appear to have been fitted to the Hyperbole, but the Hyperbole seems to be the necessary production of the circumstance. For applying these strong Figures only where the heat of action or impetuosity of passion demands them (a point I shall never cease to insist upon) very much softens and mitigates the boldness of too daring expressions. So in comedy circumstances wholly absurd
THE VIGIL OF VENDS. 185
and incredible pass off very well, because they answer their end and raise a laugh. As in this passage : " He was owner of a piece of ground not so large as a Lacedaemonian letter. " For laughter is a passion arising from some inward pleasure.
But Hyperboles equally serve two purposes ; they enlarge and they lessen. Stretching anything beyond its natural size is the property of both. And the Diasyrm (the other species of the Hyperbole) increases the lowness of anything, or renders trifles more trifling.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS. (Translated by Thomas Stanley. )
[Author unknown ; date perhaps about third or fourth century a. d. ]
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
The spring appears, in which the earth Receives a new harmonious birth ; When all things mutual love unites ; When birds perform their nuptial rites ; And fruitful by her watery lover,
Each grove its tresses doth recover.
Love's Queen to-morrow, in the shade, Which by these verdant trees is made, Their sprouting tops in wreaths shall bind, And myrtles into arbors wind ;
To-morrow, raised on a high throne, Dione shall her laws make known.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
Then the round ocean's foaming flood Immingled with celestial blood, THongst the blue purple of the main, And horses whom two feet sustain, Rising Dione did beget
With fruitful waters dropping wet.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
With flowery jewels everywhere
She paints the purple-colored year ;
She, when the rising bud receives
Favonius' breath, thrusts forth the leaves, The naked roof with these t' adorn ;
She the transparent dew o' th' morn, Which the thick air of night still uses
To leave behind, in rain diffuses ;
These tears with orient brightness shine, Whilst they with trembling weight decline, Whose every drop, into a small
Clear orb distilled, sustain its fall.
Pregnant with these the bashful rose
Her purple blushes doth disclose.
The drops of falling dew that are
Shed in calm nights by every star,
She in her humid mantle holds,
And then her virgin leaves unfolds.
I' th' morn, by her command, each maid With dewy roses is arrayed ;
Which from Cythera's crimson blood,
From the soft kisses Love bestowed,
From jewels, from the radiant flame,
And the sun's purple luster, came.
She to her spouse shall married be To-morrow ; not ashamed that he
Should with a single knot untie
Her fiery garment's purple dye.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
The goddess bade the nymphs remove Unto the shady myrtle grove ;
The boy goes with the maids, yet none Will trust, or think Love tame is grown, Ifthey perceive that anywhere
He arrows doth about him bear.
Go fearless, nymphs, for Love hath laid Aside his arms, and tame is made.
His weapons by command resigned, Naked to go he is enjoined,
THE VIGIL OF VENUS.
Lest he hurt any by his craft,
Either with flame, or bow, or shaft.
But yet take heed, young nymphs, beware You trust him not, for Cupid's fair,
Lest by his beauty you be harmed ;
Love naked is completely armed.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
Fair Venus virgins sends to thee,
Indued with equal modesty :
One only thing we thee desire,
Chaste Delia, for a while retire ;
That the wide forest, that the wood,
May be unstained with savage blood.
She would with prayers herself attend thee, But that she knew she could not bend thee ; She would thyself to come have prayed,
Did these delights beseem a maid.
Now might'st thou see with solemn rites The Chorus celebrate three nights ;
'Mongst troops whom equal pleasure crowns, To play and sport upon thy downs ;
'Mongst garlands made of various flowers, 'Mongst ever verdant myrtle bowers.
Ceres nor Bacchus absent be,
Nor yet the poet's deity.
All night we wholly must employ
In vigils, and in songs of joy ;
None but Dione must bear sway
Amongst the woods ; Delia, give way.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
She the tribunal did command
Decked with Hyblaean flowers should stand; She will in judgment sit ; the Graces
On either side shall have their places ; Hybla, thy flowers pour forth, whate'er
Was brought thee by the welcome year; Hybla, thy flowery garment spread,
Wide as is Enna's fruitful mead;
Maids of the country here will be ;
Maids of the mountain come to see ;
THE VIGIL OF VEMJS.
Hither resort all such as dwell
Either in grove, or wood, or well.
The wing'd boy's mother every one Commands in order to sit down ; Charging the virgins that they must In nothing Love, though naked, trust.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
Let the fresh covert of a shade
Be by these early flowers displayed, To-morrow (which with sports and play
We keep) was . /Ether's wedding day ;
When first the father of the spring
Did out of clouds the young year bring.
The husband Shower then courts his spouse, And in her sacred bosom flows,
That all which that vast body bred
By this defluxion may be fed :
Produced within, she all there sways
By a hid spirit, which by ways
Unknown diffused through soul and veins, All things both governs and sustains. Piercing through the unsounded sea,
And earth, and highest heaven, she
All places with her power doth fill,
Which through each part she doth distill ; And to the world the mystic ways
Of all production open lays.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
She to the Latins did transfer
The Trojan nephews ; and by her Was the Laurentian virgin won,
And joined in marriage to her son. By her assistance did Mars gain
A votaress from Vesta's fane.
To marriage Romulus betrayed
The Sabine women, by her aid,
(Of Romans the widespreading stem,) And in the long descent of them
In whom that offspring was dilated, Caesar her nephew she created.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
The fields are fruitful made by pleasure ; The fields are rich in Venus' treasure ; And Love, Dione's son, fame yields
For truth, his birth had in the fields ;
As soon as born the field relieved him, Into its bosom first received him,
She bred him from his infant hours With the sweet kisses of the flowers.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
See how the bulls their sides distend,
And broomstalks with the burthen bend ; Now every one doth safely lie
Confined within his marriage tie ;
See, with their husbands here are laid
The bleating flocks beneath the shade.
The warbling birds on every tree
The goddess wills not silent be.
The vocal swans on every lake,
With their hoarse voice a harsh sound make And Tereus' hapless maid beneath
The poplar's shade her song doth breathe ; Such as might well persuade thee, love, Doth in those trembling accents move ;
Not that the sister in those strains
Of the inhuman spouse complains.
We silent are whilst she doth sing,
How long in coming is my spring ?
When will the time arrive, that I
May swallow-like my voice untie ?
My muse for being silent flies me,
And Phoebus will no longer prize me:
So did Amiclae once, whilst all
Silence observed, through silence fall.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
190 EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. By AUSONIUS.
[Decimfs Magnus Ausomus, a Roman man of letters, now remembered only as a poet ; was born at Burdigala (Bordeaux) about 310, son of a noted physician, was a classical scholar of distinction, practised law, taught grammar, became professor of rhetoric, and attained such reputation that Valentinian appointed him tutor to his son Gratian, besides making him quaestor. Gratian after his accession made him prefect of Latium, Libya, and Gaul, and consul. He was converted to Christianity, and probably died about 394. His fame rests chiefly on a collection of miscellaneous poems called " Silvae. "]
(Translated by Thomas Dale. )
Four letters now, my friend, thou hast, Each more complaining than the last,
And though I lack new phrase to tell
How long I've loved thee, and how well,— And thus, so gently, jog thy sloth,
Still to reply, I find thee loath,
As if thou had'st no time to spend Upon the letter of a friend.
Have I deserved, Paulinus, say, This thankless and unkind delay, Or dust thou curb thy wishes in, Remorseful for some secret sin, Determined to continue dumb,
As penance, for a year to come ?
This between friends ? — Why, even foes Are civil till they get to blows,
And, often ere they come to fight,
Will say "good morning," or "good night"; For why should Mars unfurl his banners Against well-breeding and good manners ? Nay e'en the very stocks and stones, Paulinus, have respondent tones,
And if you bid a cave " good by,"
A civil echo makes reply.
As for the groves, they are what folk call, Who like find words, "exceeding vocal " ; Your seashore rocks, too, are great gabblers, And streamlets are notorious babblers.
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
I've heard a buzzing hold, for hours,
With busy-body bees and flowers,
And Midas, that half-witted Vandal, Found reeds a good deal prone to scandal ; As for the wind and pines, they'll sing And quaver, too, like anything.
Ay' ! puzzle some that have reliance
Both on their voices and their science.
— Take this, in short, Paulinus, from me,
" Nature throughout, abhors a dummy. " Beasts, birds, and bats, are proofs of this,
The very serpent has his hiss ;
The proverb goes, that fish are mute,
But wise philosophers dispute,
And tell you, with a knowing wink,
"Not so mute, maybe, as you think. "
The hoarse tragedian, if he fears
His bawling may not split your ears,
Stamps when he thinks his voice is wanting, And gets the boards to help his ranting.
I pass your cymbals and your trumpet,
And drum that grumbles when you thump it ; And, quite as garrulous, I pass
Your timbrels of the noisy brass,
That at Dodona still cry clang,
Nor take, in peace, one single bang.
Paulinus, you have grown so dumb,
That those who know not whence you come Will all agree to think it likely
You are a burgher of Amyclae !
If, like Sigalion, Egypt's god,
You'll only wink, or sign, or nod,
And give a sinecure to tongue,
Can folks but wonder why 'twas hung ?
Come, come, — I know you're sorry ; — shame At once both feels and causes blame;
The more your sluggishness you see
The longer it is like to be, —
But can't you send a word or two
Just barely to say, "how d' ye do ? "— They shall pass freely for a letter, a "Health to my friend," and "yours, etc. "; I ask you not to fill the sheet,
Talk, like love cyphers, short and sweet
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
It never was my way, God knows,
To like a friend because he'd prose,
Nor did I think it less a curse
Because my friend can prose in verse. Write for the prize in pithy brevity,
And, ten to one, but we shall give it you ; E'en try to rival the gruff Spartans
Who played so dextrously their part once, And capped a tedious king's long scrawl With but one letter — that was all,
Strive like Pythagoras to teach,
Who never wasted time in speech,
But sent all syllogisms to pot,
With "this is so," and " this is not ";
A golden rule to disentangle
An argument that's grown a wrangle.
A way for all it may not suit
To get the worst in a dispute.
His affability is small
Who never says a word at all,
But he who cuts his speeches short,
We like him all the better for 't ;
And take my word, Paulinus, would ye, To be a genial fav'rite, study,
I do believe the secret lies
Midway, between two contraries,
And that the keystone of the matter,
Is neither to be dumb nor chatter.
'Tis plain (you'll tell me) that I show Aroad Inever mean to go;—
How nearly the extremes will touch
Of saying nothing and too much.
You cannot into speech be wrung,
Nor I compelled to hold my tongue ; Yet these varieties, we see,
But serve to pester you and me.
Still, — let no snowy Pyrenees,
Paulinus, thus your kindness freeze,
Nor all the shades that round you lie Make you forget our friendly sky.
Would all the plagues e'er pestered Spain Might rise and pester her again ;
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
Depend on 't I'd feel no objection Should Carthage make a resurrection, And set once more, to rouse your fears, Old Hannibal about your ears — Believe me, I should think it glorious To hear that the old rogue Sertorius Again on earth his nose had thrust, Resolved upon another dust.
Your country's honor, and mine own, Prop of the Senate and the throne, Shall rocky Calagorris have —
Or Bilboa — your forgotten grave, — Shall parched Ilerda refuge give, Whose thirsty river scarce can live ? — Your country saw your early rise, And let her close your dying eyes, Nor the hot sands of distant Spain These honored bones, at last, contain. Oh ! may he, who could recommend Unsocial silence to my friend,
Ingrate, ne'er have it in his choice,
For any good to use his voice ;
Grant Heav'n he never may be found,
To share the joys that spring from sound. For him may poet raise no strain —
For him no nightingale complain —
No groves resound — no breezes sigh — No echoes liquidly reply —
Deserted — poor — may he be placed Upon some lonely, barren waste,
Or 'mid untrodden mountains, where No sound disturbs the savage air,
Sad, voiceless may he wander on,
As did, of old, Bellerophon. —
But I have done ; — and now, extend Indulgence to thy chyming friend ; — And oh ! Paulinus, he would fain
That his rough-hewn Boeotian strain Might have the fortune to recall
A real poet to us all.
VOL. VII. — 13
194 JULIAN, CONSTANTIUS, AND THE PERSIAN WAR.
JULIAN, CONSTANTIUS, AND THE PERSIAN WAR. By ammianus marcellinus.
[Ammianus Marcellinub, the most valuable of Roman historians after the time of Dion Cassius, was born in Antioch about 320-325, of a noble pagan fam ily, and served in the army till middle age, winning credit as a cavalryman on several expeditions during the reign of Constantius II. , and accompanying the emperor Julian on his fatal Persian campaign (363). Retiring to Rome, he wrote — not in his natural Greek, but in unnatural Latin — a history of the empire from the accession of Nerva (96) to the death of Valens (378). Con trary to the frequent fate of such histories, the contemporary and most valuable part has survived, and is highly valued for its accuracy and impartiality. The date of his death is unknown. ]
Capture of Amida and Escape of Ammianus.
The enemy surrounded the city with a line of heavy-armed soldiers five deep ; and at the beginning of the third day the brilliant squadrons filled every spot as far as the eye could see in every direction, and the ranks, marching slowly, took up the positions appointed to each by lot.
When we saw these countless hosts thus deliberately col lected for the conflagration of the Roman world, and directed to our own immediate destruction, we despaired of safety, and sought only how to end our lives gloriously, as we all desired.
From the rising of the sun to its setting, the enemy's lines stood immovable, as if rooted to the ground, without changing a step or uttering a sound ; nor was even the neigh of a horse heard ; and the men having withdrawn in the same order as they had advanced, after refreshing themselves with food and sleep, even before the dawn, returned, led by the clang of brazen trumpets, to surround the city, as if fated to fall with their terrible ring.
And scarcely had Grumbates, like a Roman fecial, hurled at us a spear stained with blood, according to his native fashion, than the whole army, rattling their arms, mounted up to the walls, and instantly the tumult of war grew fierce, while all the squadrons hastened with speed and alacrity to the attack, and our men on their side opposed them with equal fierceness and resolution.
Soon many of the enemy fell, with their heads crushed by vast stones hurled from scorpions, some were pierced with arrows,
JULIAN, CONSTANTIUS, AND THE PERSIAN WAR.
195
others were transfixed with javelins, and strewed the ground with their bodies ; others, wounded, fled back in haste to their comrades.
Nor was there less grief or less slaughter in the city, where the cloud of arrows obscured the air, and the vast engines, of which the Persians had got possession when they took Singra, scattered wounds everywhere.
For the garrison, collecting all their forces, returning in constant reliefs to the combat in their eagerness to defend the city, fell wounded, to the hindrance of their comrades, or, being sadly torn as they fell, threw down those who stood near them, or if still alive, sought the aid of those skillful in extracting darts which had become fixed in their bodies.
So slaughter was met by slaughter, and lasted till the close of day, being scarcely stopped by the darkness of evening, so great was the obstinacy with which both sides fought.
And the watches of the night were passed under arms, and the hills resounded with the shouts raised on both sides, while our men extolled the valor of Constantius Caesar as lord of the empire and of the world, and the Persians styled Sapor Saansas and Pyroses, which appellation means king of kings, and con queror in wars.
The next morning, before daybreak, the trumpet gave the signal, and countless numbers from all sides flocked like birds to a contest of similar violence ; and in every direction, as far as the eye could reach, nothing could be seen in the plains and valleys but the glittering arms of these savage nations.
And presently a shout was raised, and as the enemy rushed forward all at once, they were met by a dense shower of mis siles from the walls ; and as may be conjectured, none were hurled in vain, falling as they did among so dense a crowd. For while so many evils surrounded us, we fought, as I have said before, with the hope, not of procuring safety, but of dying bravely. . . .
At the dawn of the next morning we saw from the citadel an innumerable multitude, which, after the capture of the fort called Ziata, was being led to the enemy's camp. For a pro miscuous multitude had taken refuge in Ziata on account of its size and strength ; it being a place ten furlongs in circumfer ence.
In those days many other fortresses also were stormed and burnt, and many thousands of men and women carried off from
JULIAN, CONSTANTIUS, AND THE PERSIAN WAR.
them into slavery ; among whom were many men and women enfeebled by age, who, fainting from different causes, broke down under the length of the journey, gave up all desire of life, and were hamstrung and left behind.
The Gallic soldiers beholding these wretched crowds, de manded by a natural but unseasonable impulse to be led against the forces of the enemy, threatening their tribunes and princi pal centurions with death if they refused them leave.
And as wild beasts kept in cages, being rendered more sav age by the smell of blood, dash themselves against their mov able bars in the hope of escaping, so these men smote the gates, which we have already spoken of as being blockaded, with their swords ; being very anxious not to be involved in the destruc tion of the city till they had done some gallant exploit ; or if they ultimately escaped from their dangers, not to be spoken of as having done nothing worth speaking of, or worthy of their Gallic courage. Although when they had sallied out before, as they had often done, and had inflicted some loss on the raisers of the mounds, they had always experienced equal loss themselves.
We, at a loss what to do, and not knowing what resistance to oppose to these furious men, at length, having with some difficulty won their consent thereto, decided, since the evil could be endured no longer, to allow them to attack the Per sian advanced guard, which was not much beyond bowshot ; and then, if they could force their line, they might push their advance farther. For it was plain that if they succeeded in this, they would cause a great slaughter of the enemy.
And while the preparations for this sally were being made, the walls were still gallantly defended with unmitigated labor and watching, and planting engines for shooting stones and darts in every direction.
In the meantime the Gallic troops, impatient of delay, armed with their axes and swords, went forth from the open postern gate, taking advantage of a dark and moonless night. And imploring the Deity to be propitious, and repressing even their breath when they got near the enemy, they advanced with quick step and in close order, slew some of the watch at the outposts, and the outer sentinels of the camp (who were asleep, fearing no such event), and entertained secret hopes of pene trating even to the king's tent if fortune assisted them.