Chapter 3

Petrarch.You know Virgil: you remember through what dangers he makes his hero pass in that last awful night of the sack of Troy?

S. Augustine.Yes, it is a topic repeated over and over again in all the schools. He makes him recount his adventures thus—

"What tongue could tell the horrors of that night,Paint all the forms of death, or who have tearsEnough to weep so many wretched wights?Hath the great city that so long was queenFallen at last? Behold in all the streetsThe bodies of the dead by thousands strewn,And in their homes and on the temple's steps!Yet is there other blood than that of Troy,What time her vanquished heroes gathering upTheir quenchless courage smite anon their foes,They, though triumphant, fall. Everywhere grief,Dread everywhere, and in all places Death!"[28]

Petrarch.Now wherever he wandered accompanied by the goddess of Love, through crowding foes, through burning fire, he could not discern, though his eyes were open, the wrath of the angered gods, and so long as Venus was speaking to him he only had understanding for things of earth. But as soon as she left him you remember what happened; he immediately beheld the frowning faces of the deities, and recognised what dangers beset him round about.

"Then I beheld the awe-inspiring formOf gods in anger for the fall of Troy."[29]

From which my conclusion is that commerce with Venus takes away the vision of the Divine.

S. Augustine.Among the clouds themselves you have clearly discerned the light of truth. It is in this way that truth abides in the fictions of the poets, and one perceives it shining out through the crevices of their thought. But, as we shall have to return to this question later on, let us reserve what we have to say for the end of our discourse.

Petrarch.That I may not get lost in tracks unknown to me, may I ask when you propose to return to this point?

S. Augustine.I have not yet probed the deepest wounds of your soul, and I have purposely deferred to do so, in order that, coming at the end, my counsels may be more deeply graven in your remembrance. In another dialogue we will treat more fully of the subject of the desires of the flesh, on which we have just now lightly touched.

Petrarch.Go on, then, now as you proposed.

S. Augustine.Yes, there need be nothing to hinder me, unless you are obstinately bent on stopping me.

Petrarch.Indeed, nothing will please me better than to banish for ever every cause of dispute from the earth. I have never engaged in disputation, even on things perfectly familiar, without regretting it; for the contentions that arise, even between friends, have a certain character of sharpness and hostility contrary to the laws of friendship.

But pass on to those matters in which you think I shall welcome your good counsel.

S. Augustine.You are the victim of a terrible plague of the soul—melancholy; which the moderns callaccidie, but which in old days used to be calledægritudo.

Petrarch.The very name of this complaint makes me shudder.

S. Augustine.Nor do I wonder, for you have endured its burden long enough.

Petrarch.Yes, and though in almost all other diseases which torment me there is mingled a certain false delight, in this wretched state everything is harsh, gloomy, frightful. The way to despair is for ever open, and everything goads one's miserable soul to self-destruction. Moreover, while other passions attack me only in bouts, which, though frequent, are but short and for a moment, this one usually has invested me so closely that it clings to and tortures me for whole days and nights together. In such times I take no pleasure in the light of day, I see nothing, I am as one plunged in the darkness of hell itself, and seem to endure death in its most cruel form. But what one may call the climax of the misery is, that I so feed upon my tears and sufferings with a morbid attraction that I can only be rescued from it by main force and in despite of myself.

S. Augustine.So well do you know your symptoms, so familiar are you become with their cause, that I beg you will tell me what is it that depresses you most at the present hour? Is it the general course of human affairs? Is it some physical trouble, or some disgrace of fortune in men's eyes?

Petrarch.It is no one of these separately. Had I only been challenged to single combat, I would certainly have come off victorious; but now, as it is, I am besieged by a whole host of enemies.

S. Augustine. I pray you will tell me fully all that torments you.

Petrarch.Every time that fortune pushes me back one step, I stand firm and courageous, recalling to myself that often before I have been struck in the same way and yet have come off conqueror; if, after that, she presently deals me a sterner blow, I begin to stagger somewhat; if then she returns to the charge a third and fourth time, driven by force, I retreat, not hurriedly but step by step, to the citadel of Reason.

If fortune still lays siege to me there with all her troops, and if, to reduce me to surrender, she piles up the sorrows of our human lot, the remembrance of my old miseries and the dread of evils yet to come, then, at lost, hemmed in on all sides, seized with terror at these heaped-up calamities, I bemoan my wretched fate, and feel rising in my very soul this bitter disdain of life. Picture to yourself some one beset with countless enemies, with no hope of escape or of pity, with no comfort anywhere, with every one and everything against him; his foes bring up their batteries, they mine the very ground beneath his feet, the towers are already falling, the ladders are at the gates, the grappling-hooks are fastened to the walls, the fire is seen crackling through the roofs, and, at sight of those gleaming swords on every side, those fierce faces of his foes, and that utter ruin that is upon him, how should he not be utterly dismayed and overwhelmed, since, even if life itself should be left, yet to men not quite bereft of every feeling the loss of liberty alone is a mortal stroke?

S. Augustine.Although your confession is a little confused, I make out that your misfortunes all proceed from a single false conception which has in the past claimed and in futuro will still claim innumerable victims. You have a bad conceit of yourself.

Petrarch.Yes, truly, a very bad one.

S. Augustine.And why?

Petrarch.Not for one, but a thousand reasons.

S. Augustine.You are like people who on the slightest offence rake up all the old grounds of quarrel they ever had.

Petrarch.In my case there is no wound old enough for it to have been effaced and forgotten: my sufferings are all quite fresh, and if anything by chance were made better through time, Fortune has so soon redoubled her strokes that the open wound has never been perfectly healed over. I cannot, moreover, rid myself of that hate and disdain of our life which I spoke of. Oppressed with that, I cannot but be grieved and sorrowful exceedingly. That you call this griefaccidieorægritudomakes no difference; in substance we mean one and the same thing.

S. Augustine.As from what I can understand the evil is so deep-seated, it will do no good to heal it slightly, for it will soon throw out more shoots. It must be entirely rooted up. Yet I know not where to begin, so many complications alarm me. But to make the task of dividing the matter easier, I will examine each point in detail. Tell me, then, what is it that has hurt you most?

Petrarch. Whatever I see, or hear, or feel.

S. Augustine.Come, come, does nothing please you?

Petrarch. Nothing, or almost nothing.

S. Augustine.Would to God that at least the better things in your life might be dear, to you. But tell me what is it that is to you the most displeasing of all? I beg you give me an answer.

Petrarch.I have already answered.

S. Augustine.It is this melancholy I spoke of which is the true cause of all your displeasure with yourself.

Petrarch.I am just as displeased with what I see in others as with what I see in myself.

S. Augustine.That too comes from the same source. But to get a little order into our discourse, does what you see in yourself truly displease you as much as you say?

Petrarch.Stop worrying me with your petty questions, that are more than I know how to reply to.

S. Augustine.I see, then, that those things which make many other people envy you are nevertheless in your own eyes of no account at all?

Petrarch.Any one who envies a wretch like me must indeed himself be wretched.

S. Augustine.But now please tell me what is it that most displeases you?

Petrarch.I am sure I do not know.

S. Augustine.If I guess right will you acknowledge it?

Petrarch.Yes, I will, quite freely.

S. Augustine.You are vexed with Fortune.

Petrarch.And am I not right to hate her? Proud, violent, blind, she makes a mock of mankind.

S. Augustine.It is an idle complaint. Let us look now at your own troubles. If I prove you have complained unjustly, will you consent to retract?

Petrarch.You will find it very hard to convince me. If, however, you prove me in the wrong, I will give in.

S. Augustine.You find that Fortune is to you too unkind.

Petrarch. Not too unkind; too unjust, too proud, too cruel.

S. Augustine. The comic poets have more than one comedy called "The Grumbler." There are scores of them. And now you are making yourself one of the crowd. I should rather find you in more select company. But as this subject is so very threadbare that no one can add anything new on it, will you allow me to offer you an old remedy for an old complaint?

Petrarch. As you wish.

S. Augustine. Well then, has poverty yet made you endure hunger and thirst and cold?

Petrarch. No, Fortune has not yet brought me to this pass.

S. Augustine.Yet such is the hard lot of a great many people every day of their lives. Is it not?

Petrarch. Use some other remedy than this if you can, for this brings me no relief. I am not one of those who in their own misfortunes rejoice to behold the crowd of other wretched ones who sob around them; and not seldom I mourn as much for the griefs of others as for my own.

S. Augustine. I wish no man to rejoice in witnessing the misfortunes of others, but they ought at any rate to give him some consolation, and teach him not to complain of his own lot. All the world cannot possibly occupy the first and best place. How could there be any first unless there was also a second following after? Only be thankful, you mortal men, if you are not reduced to the last of all; and that of so many blows of outrageous Fortune you only bear her milder strokes. For the rest, to those who are doomed to endure the extremes of misery, one must offer more potent remedies than you have need of whom Fortune has wounded but a little. That which casts men down into these doleful moods is that each one, forgetting his own condition, dreams of the highest place, and, like every one else, as I just now pointed out, cannot possibly attain it; then when he fails he is discontented. If they only knew the sorrows that attend on greatness they would recoil from that which they now pursue. Let me call as witnesses those who by dint of toil have reached the pinnacle, and who no sooner have arrived than they forthwith bewail the too easy accomplishment of their wish. This truth should be familiar to every one, and especially to you, to whom long experience has shown that the summit of rank, surrounded as it is with trouble and anxieties, is only deserving of pity. It follows that no earthly lot of man is free from complaint, since those who have attained what they desire and those who have missed it alike show some reason for discontent. The first allege they have been cheated, and the second that they have suffered neglect.

Take Seneca's advice then, "When you see how many people are in front of you, think also how many are behind. If you would be reconciled with Providence and your own lot in life, think of all those you have surpassed;" and as the same wise man says in the same place, "Set a goal to your desires such as you cannot overleap, even if you wish."

Petrarch.I have long ago set such a goal to my desires, and, unless I am mistaken, a very modest one; but in the pushing and shameless manners of my time, what place is left for modesty, which men now call slackness or sloth?

S. Augustine.Can your peace of mind be disturbed by the opinion of the crowd, whose judgment is never true, who never call anything by its right name? But unless my recollection is at fault, you used to look down on their opinion.

Petrarch.Never, believe me, did I despise it more than I do now. I care as much for what the crowd thinks of me as I care what I am thought of by the beasts of the field.

S. Augustine.Well, then?

Petrarch.What raises my spleen is that having, of all my contemporaries whom I know, the least exalted ambitions, not one of them has encountered so many difficulties as I have in the accomplishment of my desires. Most assuredly I never aspired to the highest place; I call the spirit of Truth as witness who judges us, who sees all, and who has always read my most secret thoughts. She knows very well that whenever after the manner of men I have gone over in my mind all the degrees and conditions of our human lot. I have never found in the highest place that tranquillity and serenity of soul which I place above all other goods; and for that matter, having a horror of a life full of disquiet and care, I have ever chosen, in my modest judgment, some middle position, and given, not lip-service, but the homage of my heart to that truth expressed by Horace—

"Whoso with little wealth will live content,Easy and free his days shall all be spent;His well-built house keeps out the winter wind,Too modest to excite an envious mind."[30]

And I admire the reasons he gives in the same Ode not less than the sentiment itself.

"The tallest trees most fear the tempest's might,The highest towers come down with most affright,The loftiest hills feel first the thunder smite."

Alas! it is just the middle place that it has never been my lot to enjoy.

S. Augustine.And what if that which you think is a middle position is in truth below you? What if as a matter of fact you have for a long while enjoyed a really middle place, enjoyed it abundantly? Nay, what if you have in truth left the middle far behind, and are become to a great many people a man more to be envied than despised?

Petrarch.Well, if they think my lot one to be envied, I think the contrary.

S. Augustine.Yes, your false opinion is precisely the cause of all your miseries, and especially of this last. As Cicero puts it, "You must flee Charybdis, with all hands to the oars, and sails as well!"[31]

Petrarch.Whither can I flee? where direct my ship? In a word, what am I to think except what I see before my eyes?

S. Augustine.You only see from side to side where your view is limited. If you look behind you will discover a countless throng coming after, and that you are somewhat nearer to the front rank than to that in the rear, but pride and stubbornness suffer you not to turn your gaze behind you.

Petrarch.Nevertheless from time to time I have done so, and have noticed many people coming along behind. I have no cause to blush at my condition, but I complain of having so many cares. I deplore, if I may yet again make use of a phrase of Horace, that I must live "only from day to day."[32]As to this restlessness of which I have suffered more than enough, I gladly subscribe to what the same poet says in the same place.

"What prayers are mine? O may I yet possessThe goods I have, or, if heaven pleases, less!Let the few years that Fate may grant me stillBe all my own, not held at others' will."[33]

Always in a state of suspense, always uncertain of the future, Fortune's favours have no attraction for me. Up to now, as you see, I have lived always in dependence on others; it is the bitterest cup of all. May heaven grant me some peace in what is left of my old age, and that the mariner who has lived so long amid the stormy waves may die in port!

S. Augustine.So then in this great whirlpool of human affairs, amid so many vicissitudes, with the future all dark before you; in a word, placed as you are at the caprice of Fortune, you will be the only one of so many millions of mankind who shall live a life exempt from care! Look what you are asking for, O mortal man! look what you demand! As for that complaint you have brought forward of never having lived a life of your own, what it really amounts to is not that you have lived in poverty, but more or less in subservience. I admit, as you say, that it is a thing very troublesome. However, if you look around you will find very few men who have lived a life of their own. Those whom one counts most happy, and for whom numbers of others live their lives, bear witness by the constancy of their vigils and their toils that they themselves are living for others. To quote you a striking instance, Julius Cæsar, of whom some one has reported this true but arrogant saying, "The human race only lives for a small number,"[34]Julius Cæsar, after he had subdued the human race to live for himself alone, did himself live for other people. Perhaps you will ask me for whom did he live? and I reply, for those who slew him—for Brutus, Cimber, and other traitorous heads of that conspiracy, for whom his inexhaustible munificence proved too small to satisfy their rapacity.

Petrarch. I must admit you have brought me to my senses, and I will never any more complain either of my obligations to others or of my poverty.

S. Augustine.Complain rather of your want of wisdom, for it is this alone that can obtain for you liberty and true riches. For the rest, the man who quietly endures to go without the cause of those good effects, and then makes complaint of not having them, cannot truly be said to have any intelligent understanding of either the cause or the effects. But now tell me what is it that makes you suffer, apart from what we have been speaking of? Is it any weakness of health or any secret trouble?

Petrarch. I confess that my body has always been a burden every time I think of myself; but when I cast my eyes on the unwieldiness of other people's bodies, I acknowledge that I have a fairly obedient slave. I would to Heaven I could say as much of my soul, but I am afraid that in it there is what is more than a match for me.

S. Augustine. May it please God to bring that also under the rule of reason. But to come back to your body, of what do you complain?

Petrarch.Of that of which most other people also complain. I charge it with being mortal, with implicating me in its sufferings, loading me with its burdens, asking me to sleep when my soul is awake, and subjecting me to other human necessities which it would be tedious to go through.

S. Augustine.Calm yourself, I entreat you, and remember you are a man. Presently your agitation will cease. If any other thing troubles you, tell me.

Petrarch.Have you never heard how cruelly Fortune used me? This stepdame, who in a single day with her ruthless hand laid low all my hopes, all my resources, my family and home?[35]

S. Augustine.I see your tears are running down, and I pass on. The present is not the time for instruction, but only for giving warning; let, then, this simple one suffice. If you consider, in truth, not the disasters of private families only, but the ruins also of empires from the beginning of history, with which; you are so well acquainted; and if you call to mind the tragedies you have read, you will not perhaps be so sorely offended when you see your own humble roof brought to nought along with so many palaces of kings. Now pray go on, for these few warning words will open to you a field for long meditation.

Petrarch.Who shall find words to utter my daily disgust for this place where I live, in the most melancholy and disorderly of towns,[36]the narrow and obscure sink of the earth, where all the filth of the world is collected? What brush could depict the nauseating spectacle —streets full of disease and infection, dirty pigs and snarling dogs, the noise of cart-wheels grinding against the walls, four-horse chariots coming dashing down at every cross-road, the motley crew of people, swarms of vile beggars side by side with the flaunting luxury of the wealthy, the one crushed down in sordid misery, the others debauched with pleasure and riot; and then the medley of characters—such diverse rôles in life—the endless clamour of their confused voices, as the passers-by jostle one another in the streets?

All this destroys the soul accustomed to any better kind of life, banishes all serenity from a generous heart, and quite upsets the student's habit of mind. So my prayers to God are earnest as well as frequent that he would save my barque from imminent wreck, for whenever I look around I seem to myself to be going down alive into the pit.

"Now," I say in mockery, "now betake yourself to noble thoughts "—

"Now go and meditate the tuneful lyre."[37]

S.Augustine.That line of Horace makes me realise what most afflicts you. You lament having lighted on a place so unfavourable for study, for as the same poet says—

"Bards fly from town, and haunt the wood and glade."[38]

And you yourself have expressed the same truth in other words—

"The leafy forests charm the sacred Muse,And bards the noisy life of towns refuse."[39]

If, however, the tumult of your mind within should once learn to calm itself down, believe me this din and bustle around you, though it will strike upon your senses, will not touch your soul. Not to repeat what you have been long well aware of, you have Seneca's letter[40]on this subject, and it is very much to the point. You have your own work also on "Tranquillity of Soul"; you have beside, for combating this mental malady, an excellent book of Cicero's which sums up the discussions of the third day in hisTusculan Orations, and is dedicated to Brutus.[41]

Petrarch.You know I have read all that work and with great attention.

S. Augustine. And have you got no help from it?

Petrarch.Well, yes, at the time of reading, much help; but no sooner is the book from my hands than all my feeling for it vanishes.

S. Augustine.This way of reading is become common now; there is such a mob of lettered men, a detestable herd, who have spread themselves everywhere and make long discussions in the schools on the art of life, which they put in practice little enough. But if you would only make notes of the chief points in what you read you would then gather the fruit of your reading.

Petrarch.What kind of notes?

S. Augustine.Whenever you read a book and meet with any wholesome maxims by which you feel your spirit stirred or enthralled, do not trust merely to the resources of your wits, but make a point of learning them by heart and making them quite familiar by meditating on them, as the doctors do with their experiments, so that no matter when or where some urgent case of illness arises, you have the remedy written, so to speak, in your head. For in the maladies of the soul, as in those of the body, there are some in which delay is fatal, so that if you defer the remedy you take away all hope of a cure. Who is not aware, for instance, that certain impulses of the soul are so swift and strong that, unless reason checks the passion from which they arise, they whelm in destruction the soul and body and the whole man, so that a tardy remedy is a useless one? Anger, in my judgment, is a case in point. It is not for nothing that, by those who have divided the soul into three parts, anger has been placed below the seat of reason, and reason set in the head of man as in a citadel, anger in the heart, and desire lower still in the loins. They wished to show that reason was ever ready to repress instantly the violent outbreaks of the passions beneath her, and was empowered in some way from her lofty estate to sound the retreat. As this check was more necessary in the case of anger, it has been placed directly under reason's control.

Petrarch.Yes, and rightly; and to show you I have found this truth not only in the works of Philosophers but also in the Poets, by that fury of winds that Virgil describes hidden in deep caves, by his mountains piled up, and by his King Æolus sitting above, who rules them with his power, I have often thought he may have meant to denote anger and the other passions of the soul which seethe at the bottom of our heart, and which, unless controlled by the curb of reason, would in their furious haste, as he says, drag us in their train and sweep us over sea and land and the very sky itself.[42]In effect, he has given us to understand he means by the earth our bodily frame; by the sea, the water through which it lives; and by the depths of the sky, the soul that has its dwelling in a place remote, and of which elsewhere he says that its essence is formed out of a divine fire.[43]It is as though he said that these passions will hurl body, soul, and man himself into the abyss. On the other side, these mountains and this King sitting on high—what can they mean but the head placed on high where reason is enthroned? These are Virgil's words—

"There, in a cave profound, King ÆolusHolds in the tempests and the noisy wind,Which there he prisons fast. Those angry thrallsRage at their barrier, and the mountain sideRoars with their dreadful noise, but he on topSits high enthroned, his sceptre in his hand."[44]

So writes the Poet. As I carefully study every word, I have heard with my ears the fury, the rage, the roar of the winds; I have heard the trembling of the mountain and the din. Notice how well it all applies to the tempest of anger. And, on the other hand, I have heard the King, sitting on his high place, his sceptre grasped in his hand, subduing, binding in chains, and imprisoning those rebel blasts,—who can doubt that with equal appropriateness this applies to the Reason? However, lest any one should miss the truth that all this refers to the soul and the wrath that vexes it, you see he adds the line—

"And calms their passion and allays their wrath."[45]

S. Augustine. I cannot but applaud that meaning which I understand you find hidden in the poet's story, familiar as it is to you; for whether Virgil had this in mind when writing, or whether without any such idea he only meant to depict a storm at sea and nothing else, what you have said about the rush of anger and the authority of reason seems to me expressed with equal wit and truth.

But to resume the thread of our discourse, take notice in your reading if you find anything dealing with anger or other passions of the soul, and especially with this plague of melancholy, of which we have been speaking at some length. When you come to any passages that seem to you useful, put marks against them, which may serve as hooks to hold them fast in your remembrance, lest otherwise they might be taking wings to flee away.

By this contrivance you will be able to stand firm against all the passions, and not least against sorrow of heart, which, like some pestilential cloud utterly destroys the seeds of virtue and all the fruits of understanding, and is, in the elegant phrase of Cicero—

"The fount and head of all miseries."[46]

Assuredly if you look carefully at the lives of others as well as your own, and reflect that there is hardly a man without many causes of grief in his life, and if you except that one just and salutary ground, the recollection of your own sins—always supposing it is not suffered to drive you to despair—then you will come to acknowledge that Heaven has assigned to you many gifts that are for you a ground of consolation and joy, side by side with that multitude of things of which you murmur and complain.

As for your complaint that you have not had any life of your own and the vexation you feel in the tumultuous life of cities, you will find no small consolation in reflecting that the same complaint has been made by greater men than yourself, and that if you have of your own free will fallen into this labyrinth, so you can of your own free will make your escape. If not, yet in time your ears will grow so used to the noise of the crowd that it will seem to you as pleasant as the murmur of a falling stream. Or, as I have already hinted, you will find the same result easily if you will but first calm down the tumult of your imagination, for a soul serene and tranquil in itself fears not the coming of any shadow from without and is deaf to all the thunder of the world.

And so, like a man on dry land and out of danger, you will look upon the shipwreck of others, and from your quiet haven hear the cries of those wrestling, with the waves, and though you will be moved with tender compassion by that sight, yet even that will be the measure also of your own thankfulness and joy at being in safety. And ere long I am sure you will banish and drive away all the melancholy that has oppressed your soul.

Petrarch. Although not a few things rather give me a twinge, and especially your notion that it is quite easy and depends only on myself to get away from towns, yet, as you have on many points got the better of me in reasoning, I will here lay down my arms ere I am quite overthrown.

S. Augustine. Do you feel able, then, now to cast off your sorrow and be more reconciled to your fortune?

Petrarch. Yes, I am able, supposing always that there is any such thing as fortune at all. For I notice the two Greek and Latin Poets are so little of one mind on this point that the one has not deigned to mention the word even once in all his works, whereas the other mentions the name of fortune often and even reckons her Almighty.[47]And this opinion is shared by a celebrated historian and famous orator. Sallust has said of fortune that "all things are under her dominion."[48]And Cicero has not scrupled to affirm that "she is the mistress; of human affairs."[49]For myself, perhaps I will declare what I think on the subject at some other time and place. But so far as concerns the matter of our discussion, your admonitions have been of such service to me, that when I compare my lot with that of most other men it no longer seems so unhappy to me as once it did.

S. Augustine. I am glad indeed to have been of any service to you, and my desire is to do everything I can. But as our converse to-day has lasted a long while, are you willing that we should defer the rest for a third day, when we will bring it to a conclusion?

Petrarch.With my whole heart I adore the very number three itself, not so much because the three Graces are contained in it, as because it is held to be nearest of kin to the Deity; which is not only the persuasion of yourself and other professors of the true faith, who place all your faith in the Trinity, but also that of Gentile philosophers who have a traditional use of the same number in worshipping their own deities. And my beloved Virgil seems to have been conversant with this when he wrote—

"Uneven number to the gods is dear."[50]

For what goes before makes it clear that three is the number to which he alludes. I will therefore presently await from your hands the third part of this your threefold gift.

[1]Æneid, viii. 385-86.

[2]De bonis et malis, i. 3.

[3]Tusculan Orations, ii. 15. But Cicero's words are more guarded, "inops interdum."

[4]Declamations, i.

[5]Juvenal,Sat.x. 172-73.

[6]Suetonius Domitian, xviii.

[7]Seneca,Epist.,65.

[8]Scipio is speaking of the souls admitted to heaven, freed from the body.Africa,i. 329.

[9]Juvenal, i. 161 (not correctly quoted).

[10]Terence L'Audrienne, 68.

[11]Horace,Odes, i. 4, 15.

[12]Horace,Epist.i. 18, 109. Conington's translation.

[13]Horace,Odes, I. xxxi. 19, 20.

[14]Juvenal,Sat.,xiv. 135.

[15]Æneid,iii. 629.

[16]Georgics,iv. 132.

[17]Georgics, i. 106.

[18]Juvenal, vi. 361.

[19]Seneca,Epist.,xxv.

[20]Horace,Epist.,i. 2, 56.

[21]De Senectute,xi.

[22]Horace,Epist.i. 2, 62-3.

[23]Petrarch refers to a Calabrian monk who had begun giving him lessons in Greek, but left him on being appointed to a bishopric.

[24]Tusculan Orations,i. 21.

[25]Wisdom, viii. 21.

[26]Cor. xii. 9.

[27]Confessions, viii. 7.

[28]Æneid, ii. 361-9.

[29]Æneid, ii. 622.

[30]Horace,Odes,xi. 10, 6-8.

[31]Tusculan Orations,iii. 11.

[32]Horace,Epist.,i. 18, 110.

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