BIBLIOGRAPHY

The two old men go into Chremes' house; and now Geta finds himself confronted by the indignant Antipho, who has hardly been able to contain himself during this (to him) inexplicable dialogue, in which his wife was being coolly bargained away. It is only with the greatest difficulty that Geta can make the angry bridegroom appreciate the ruse by which the money has been obtained for Phædria's use. In the end Antipho goes off to tell the news to Phædria. Demipho and Chremes now come out, the former with a bag of money in his hand. He wants it understood that no one can cheat him; he is going to be very business-like and have ample witness to the transactions. Chremes' only desire is that the business may be settled as soon as possible. Demipho now tells Geta to lead the way to Phormio, and they start toward the Forum. Chremes' troubles are only in part allayed. His Lemnian daughter's marriage with Antipho seems now safely provided for, but whereishis Lemnian daughter and her mother? That they are here in Athens fills him with terror. He paces back and forth in deep thought, muttering:

WherecanI find those women now, I wonder?

And just at this moment out from Demipho's house comes old Sophrona, Phanium's nurse, who also seems to be in great distress:

O, whatshallI do? Where shall I find a friend in my distress, or to whom shall I go for advice? Where get help? For I'm afraid that my young mistress is going to get into trouble from this marriage that I persuaded her into. I hear that the young man's father is very much put out about it.Chr.[aside]. Who in the world is this old woman coming out of my brother's house?So.But want made me advise her as I did, though I knew that the marriage was a bit shaky, in order that for awhile at least we might be sure of our living.Chr.[aside in great excitement]. By Jove! unless I'm much mistaken, or my eyes don't see straight, that's my daughter's nurse!So.And I can't get any trace of the man who is her father.Chr.[aside]. Shall I go up to her, or shall I wait until I understand better what she's talking about?So.But if I could only find him now, I'd have nothing to fear.Chr.[aside]. ItisSophrona; I'll speak to her. [Calling softly]. Sophrona!So.Who is this I hear calling my name?Chr.Look here, Sophrona.So.[finally looking the right way]. My goodness gracious! Is this Stilpho?Chr.No.So.No?Chr.[drawing her cautiously away from the vicinity of his house]. Say, Sophrona, come away a little from that door, will you? And don't you ever call me by that name again.So.O, my goodness, aren't you the man you always said you were?Chr.Sh!So.What makes you so afraid of that door?Chr.I've got a savage wife shut up there. I gave you the wrong name on purpose, that you might not thoughtlessly blurt it out in public sometime, and so let my wife here get wind of it.So.And so that's the reason why we poor women could never find you here.Chr.Tell me now what business you have with this household from which you have just come out. Where are those women?So.[with a burst of tears]. O dear me!Chr.How? What's that? Aren't they alive?So.Your daughter is. But the mother, sick at heart over this business, is dead.Chr.That's too bad!So.And then, considering that I was just a lonely old woman, in a strange city without a cent of money, I think I did pretty well for the girl, for I married her off to the young man the heir of this family here.Chr.What, Antipho?So.Why, yes!Chr.You don't mean to say he's got two wives?So.O gracious, no! This is the only one.Chr.But what about that other girl who is said to be related to him?So.Why, this is the one.Chr.[beside himself with joy and wonder]. You don't mean it!So.That was a cooked up scheme that her lover might marry her without a dowry.Chr.Thank heaven for that! How often things come about by mere chance that you wouldn't dare hope for! Here I find my daughter happily married to the very man I had picked out for her! What my brother and I were taking the greatest pains to bring about, here this old woman, without any help from us, all by herself, has done.So.But now, sir, we've got to bestir ourselves. The young man's father is back, and they say he's in a terrible stew about it.Chr.O, there's no danger on that score. But, for heaven's sake, don't let any one find out that she's my daughter.So.Well, no one shall find it out from me.Chr.Now you follow me, we'll talk about the rest inside. [They go into Demipho's house.]

Demipho and Geta appear in a brief scene, in which the former grumblingly comments upon the bargain which they have just made with Phormio. He disappears into his brother's house. Geta, left alone, soliloquizes upon the situation and sums it up so far as it is known to him. As he disappears into Demipho's house, the latter is seen coming out of his brother's house with his brother's wife, Nausistrata, whom in fulfilment of his promise he is taking in to see Phanium in order to reconcile the bride to the new arrangements that have been made for her.

And just at this moment Chremes comes rushing out of his brother's house; he calls to Demipho, not seeing in his excitement that Nausistrata is also on the stage.

Chr.Say, Demipho! Have you paid the money yet?Dem.Yes, I've tended to that.Chr.Well, I wish you hadn't. [Aside as he sees his wife]. Gracious! There's my wife! I almost said too much.Dem.Why do you wish it, Chremes?Chr.O, that's all right.Dem.What do you mean? Have you talked with the girl on whose account I'm taking Nausistrata in?Chr.Yes, I've had a talk with her.Dem.Well, what does she say?Chr.She can't be disturbed.Dem.Why can't she?Chr.O, because—they're so fond of each other.Dem.What difference does that make to us?Chr.A great deal. And besides, I've found that she's related to us, after all.Dem.What's that? You're off your base.Chr.No, I'm not. I know what I'm talking about. I remember all about it now.Dem.Surely, youarecrazy.Naus.I beg you won't do any harm to a relative.Dem.She's no relative.Chr.Don't say that. She gave the wrong name for her father. That's where you make your mistake.Dem.Nonsense! Didn't she know her own father?Chr.Yes, she knew him.Dem.Well, then, why didn't she tell his right name?Chr.[apart to Demipho, in low, desperate tones]. Won't you ever let up? Won't you understand?Dem.How can I, if you tell me nothing?Chr.O, you'll be the death of me.Naus.I wonder what it's all about.Dem.I'll be blest if I know.Chr.Do you want to know? I swear to you there's no one nearer to her than you and I.Dem.Good gracious! Let's go to her, then. Let's all together get to the bottom of this business. [He starts toward his house with Nausistrata].Chr.I say, Demipho!Dem.Well, what now?Chr.[angrily]. Have you so little confidence in me as that?Dem.Do you want me to take your word for it? Do you want me to seek no further in the matter? All right, so be it. But what about the daughter of our friend? What's to become of her?Chr.She'll be all right.Dem.Are we to drop her, then?Chr.Why not?Dem.And is Phanium to remain?Chr.Just so.Dem.Well, Nausistrata, I guess we will excuse you. [Exit Nausistrata into her own house]. Now, Chremes, what in the world is all this about?Chr.Is that door tight shut?Dem.Yes.Chr.[leading his brother well out of earshot of the house]. O Jupiter! The gods are on our side. My daughter I have found—married—to your son!Dem.What? How can that be?Chr.It isn't safe to talk about it here.Dem.Well, go inside then.Chr.But see here, I don't want even our sons to find this out. [They go into Demipho's house.]

Antipho has seen Phædria's business happily settled, and now comes in, feeling very gloomy about his own affairs. His deep dejection serves as a happy contrast to the fortunate turn of his affairs which we have just witnessed. In his unsettled state he starts off to find the faithful Geta, when Phormio comes on the stage, in high spirits over his success in cheating the old men out of their money in behalf of Phædria. It is his own rôle now, he says, to keep well in the background. Now the door of Demipho's house opens and out rushes Geta, shouting and gesticulating:

O luck! O great good luck! How suddenly have you heaped your choicest gifts on my master Antipho this day!Ant.[apart]. What can he mean?Ge.And freed us all from fear! But what am I stopping here for? I'll throw my cloak over my shoulder and hurry up and find the man, that he may know how things have turned out.Ant.[aside]. Do you know what this fellow is talking about?Pho.No, do you?Ant.No.Pho.No more do I.Ge.I'll run over to Dorio's house. They are there now.Ant.[calling]. Hello, Geta!Ge.[without looking back]. Hello yourself! That's an old trick, to call a fellow back when he's started to run.Ant.I say, Geta!Ge.Keep it up; you won't catch me with your mean trick.Ant.Won't you stop?Ge.You go hang.Ant.That's what will happen to you, you rogue, unless you hold on.Ge.This fellow must be one of the family by the way he threatens. But isn't it the man I'm after—the very man? Come here right off.Ant.What is it?Ge.O, of all men alive you are the luckiest! There's no doubt about it, Antipho, you are the pet child of heaven.Ant.I wish I were. But please tell me how I am to believe it.Ge.Isn't it enough if I say that you are fairly dripping with joy?Ant.You're just killing me.Pho.[coming forward]. Why don't you quit your big talk, Geta, and tell us your news.Ge.O, you were there, were you, Phormio?Pho.Yes, I was; but hurry up.Ge.Well, then, listen. Just now, after we gave you the money in the Forum, we went straight home; and then my master sent me in to your wife.Ant.What for?Ge.Never mind that now, Antipho; it has nothing to do with this story. When I am about to enter the woman's apartments, the slave-boy Mida runs up to me, plucks me by the coat and pulls me back. I look around, and ask him what he does that for; he says, it's against orders for any one to go to the young mistress. "Sophrona has just taken the old man's brother Chremes in there," he says, "and he's in there with 'em now." As soon as I heard that, I tiptoed toward the door of the room—got there, stood still, held my breath and put my ear to the key-hole. So I listened as hard as I could to catch what they said.Ant.Good for you, Geta!Ge.And then I heard the finest piece of news. I declare I almost shouted for joy!Ant.What for?Ge.What do you think?Ant.I haven't the slightest idea.Ge.But, I tell you, it was the grandest thing! Your uncle turns out to be—the father of—Phanium—your wife!Ant.What? How can that be?Ge.He lived with her mother secretly in Lemnos.Pho.Nonsense! Wouldn't the girl have known her own father?Ge.Be sure there's some explanation of it, Phormio. You don't suppose that I could hear everything that passed between them, from outside the door?Ant.Now I think of it, I too have had some hint of that story.Ge.Now I'll give you still further proof: pretty soon your uncle comes out of the room and leaves the house, and before long he comes back with your father, and they both go in. And now they both say that you may keep her. In short, I was sent to hunt you up and bring you to them.Ant.[all excitement]. Well, why don't you do it then? What are you waiting for?Ge.Come along.Ant.O my dear Phormio, good-by!Pho.Good-by, my boy. I declare, I'm mighty glad it's turned out well for you.

Antipho and Geta hurry away to Demipho's house, while Phormio retires up a convenient alley to await future developments.

The only problem now remaining on Phormio's side is how to keep the money that has been given him by the old men, so that Phædria may not be again embarrassed; on the side of the old men the problem is to get back their money. How the poet treats us to the liveliest scene of all after the more important matters have been settled, is now to be seen. Demipho and Chremes come upon the stage, congratulating each other upon the happy turn which their affairs have taken.

Dem.I ought to thank the gods, as indeed I do, that these matters have turned out so well for us, brother.Chr.Isn't she a fine girl, just as I told you?Dem.Yes, indeed. But now we must find Phormio as soon as possible, so as to get our six hundred dollars back again before he makes away with it.

Phormio now walks across the stage in a lordly way without seeming to see the old men, and goes straight to Demipho's door, upon which he raps loudly and calls to the attendant within:

If Demipho is at home. I want to see him, that—Dem.[stepping up from without]. Why, we were just coming to see you, Phormio.Pho.On the same business, perhaps?Dem.Very likely.Pho.I supposed so. But why were you coming to me? It's absurd. Were you afraid that I wouldn't do what I had promised? No fear of that. For, however poor I may be, I have always been particularly careful to keep my word. And so I have come to tell you, Demipho, that I am ready; whenever you wish, give me my wife. For I put all my own private considerations aside, as was quite right, when I saw that you wanted this so much.Dem.[who does not know quite what to say]. But my brother here has asked me not to give her to you. "For," says he, "what a scandal there will be if you do that! At the time when she could have been given to you honorably it was not done; and now it would be a disgrace to cast her off." Almost the same arguments that you yourself urged upon me not long ago.Pho.Well, youhavegot gall!Dem.What do you mean?Pho.Can't you see? I can't even marry that other girl now; for with what face could I go back to her after I had once thrown her over?Chr.[prompting Demipho, sotto voce]. "Then I find that Antipho is unwilling to to let his wife go"—tell him that.Dem.And then I find that my son objects to letting his wife go. But come right over to the Forum, if you please, Phormio, and sign this money back to me again.Pho.How can I, when I have already used it to pay my debts with?Dem.Well, what then?Pho.[pompously]. If you are willing to give me the girl you promised for my wife, I'll marry her: but if you want her to stay with you, why, the dowry stays with me, Demipho. For it isn't right that I should lose this on your account, when it was for the sake of your honor that I broke with the other girl who was offering the same dowry.Dem.Go be hanged, with your big talk, you jail-bird! Do you suppose that I don't see through you and your tricks?Pho.Look out, I'm getting hot.Dem.Do you mean to say you would marry this girl if we gave her to you?Pho.Just try me and see.Dem.[with a sneer]. O yes, your scheme is to have my son live with her at your house.Pho.[indignantly]. What do you mean?Dem.Come, give me that money.Pho.Come, give me my wife.Dem.[laying hands on him]. You come along to court with me.Pho.You'd better look out! If you don't stop—Dem.What will you do?Pho.I? [Turning to Chremes]. Perhaps you think that I take only poor girls under my protection. I'll have you know I sometimes stand as patron to girls with dowries too.Chr.[with a guilty start]. What's that to us?Pho.O nothing. I knew a woman here once whose husband had—Chr.O!Dem.What's that?Pho.Another wife in Lemnos—Chr.I'm a dead man.Pho.By whom he had a daughter; and he's bringing her up on the quiet.Chr.I'm buried.Pho.And these very things I'll tell his real wife.Chr.Good gracious, don't do that!Pho.Oho! You were the man, were you, Chremes?Dem.[in a rage]. How the villain gammons us!Chr.You may go.Pho.The deuce you say!Chr.Why, what do you mean? We are willing that you should keep the money.Pho.Yes, I see. But what, a plague! doyoumean? Do you think you can guy me by changing your minds like a pair of silly boys? "I won't, I will—I will, I won't, again—take it, give it back—what's said is unsaid—what's been agreed on is no go"—that's your style. [He turns to go away].Chr.[apart]. How in the world did he find that out?Dem.I don't know, but I'm sure I never told any one.Chr.Lord! it seems like a judgment on me!Pho.[gleefully, aside]. I've put a spoke in their wheel!Dem.[aside]. See here, Chremes, shall we let this rascal cheat us out of our money and laugh in our faces besides? I'd rather die first. Now make up your mind to be manly and resolute. You see that your secret is out, and that you can't keep it from your wife any longer. Now what she is bound to learn from others it will be much better for her to hear from your own lips. And then we will have the whip hand of this dirty fellow.Pho.[overhearing these words, aside]. Tut! tut! Unless I look out, I'll be in a hole. They're coming at me hard.Chr.But I am afraid that she will never forgive me.Dem.O, cheer up, man. I'll make you solid with her again, more especially since the mother of this girl is dead and gone.Pho.Isthatyour game? I tell you, Demipho, it's not a bit to your brother's advantage that you are stirring me up. [To Chremes]. Look here, you! When you have followed your own devices abroad, and haven't thought enough of your own wife to keep you from sinning most outrageously against her, do you expect to come home and make it all up with a few tears? I tell you, I'll make her so hot against you that you can't put out her wrath, not if you dissolve in tears.Dem.Confound the fellow! Was ever a man treated so outrageously?Chr.[all in a tremble]. I'm so rattled that I don't know what to do with the fellow.Dem.[grasping Phormio's collar]. WellIdo. We'll go straight to court.Pho.To court, is it? [Dragging off toward Chremes' house]. This way, if you please.Dem.[hurrying toward his own house]. Chremes, you catch him and hold him, while I call my slaves out.Chr.[holding off]. I can't do it alone; you come here and help.

Demipho comes back and lays hold of Phormio, and all engage in a violent struggle mingled with angry words and blows. Phormio is getting the worst of it, when he says:

Now I'll have to use my voice. Nausistrata! Come out here!Chr.Stop his mouth.Dem.[trying to do so, without success]. See how strong the rascal is.Pho.I say, Nausistrata!Chr.Won't you keep still?Pho.Not much.

Nausistrata now appears at the door of her house; Phormio, seeing her, says, panting but gleeful:

Here's where my revenge comes in.Naus.Who's calling me? [Seeing the disordered and excited condition of the men]. Why, what's all this row about, husband? Who is this man? [Chremes remains tongue-tied]. Won't you answer me?Pho.How can he answer you, when, by George, he doesn't know where he is?Chr.[trembling with fear]. Don't you believe a word he says.Pho.Go, touch him; if he isn't frozen stiff, you may strike me dead.Chr.It isn't so.Naus.What is this man talking about, then?Pho.You shall hear; just listen.Chr.You aren't going to believe him?Naus.Good gracious, how can I believe one who hasn't said anything yet?Pho.The poor fellow is crazy with fear.Naus.Surely it's not for nothing that you are so afraid.Chr.[with chattering teeth]. Wh-wh-who's afraid?Pho.Well then, since you're not afraid, and what I say is nothing, you tell the story yourself.Dem.Scoundrel! Shall he speak at your bidding?Pho.[contemptuously]. O you! you've done a fine thing for your brother.Naus.Husband, won't you speak to me?Chr.Well—Naus.Well?Chr.There's no need of my talking.Pho.You're right; but there's need of her knowing. In Lemnos—Chr.O don't!Pho.unbeknown to you—Chr.O me!Pho.he took another wife.Naus.[screaming]. My husband! Heaven forbid.Pho.But it's so, just the same.Naus.O wretched me!Pho.And by her he had a daughter—also unbeknown to you.Naus.By all the gods, a shameful and evil deed!Pho.But it's so, just the same.Naus.It's the most outrageous thing I ever heard of. [Turning her back on Chremes]. Demipho, I appeal to you; for I am too disgusted to speak to him again. Wasthisthe meaning of those frequent journeys and long stays at Lemnos? Wasthiswhy my rents ran down so?Dem.Nausistrata, I don't deny that he has been very much to blame in this matter; but is that any reason why you should not forgive him?Pho.He's talking for the dead.Dem.For it wasn't through any scorn or dislike of you that he did it. And besides, the other woman is dead who was the cause of all this trouble. So I beg you to bear this with equanimity as you do other things.Naus.Why should I bear it with equanimity? I wish this were the end of the wretched business; but why should I hope it will be? Am I to think that he will be better now he's old? But he was old before, if that makes any difference. Or am I any more beautiful and attractive now than I was, Demipho? What assurance can you give me that this won't happen again?

Phormio now comes to the front of the stage and announces in a loud official voice to the audience:

All who want to view the remains of Chremes, now come forward! The time has come.—That's the way I do them up. Come along now, if any one else wants to stir up Phormio. I'll fix him just like this poor wretch here.—But there! he may come back to favor now. I've had revenge enough. She has something to nag him with as long as he lives.Naus.But I suppose I have deserved it. Why should I recount to you, Demipho, all that I have been to this man?Dem.I know it all, Nausistrata, as well as you.Naus.Well, have I deserved this treatment?Dem.By no means! but, since what's been done can't be undone by blaming him, pardon him. He confesses his sin, he prays for pardon, he promises never to do so again: what more do you want?Pho.[aside]. Hold on here; before she pardons him, I must look out for myself and Phædria. Say, Nausistrata, wait a minute before you answer him.Naus.Well?Pho.I tricked Chremes out of six hundred dollars; I gave the money to your son, and he has used it to buy his wife with.Chr.[angrily]. How? What do you say?Naus.[to Chremes]. How now? Does it seem to you a shameful thing for your son, a young man, to have one wife, when you, an old man, have had two? Shame on you! With what face will you rebuke him? Answer me that? [Chremes slinks back without a word].Dem.He will do as you say.Naus.Well, then, here is my decision: I'll neither pardon him, nor promise anything, nor give you any answer at all, until I have seen my son. And I shall do entirely as he says.Pho.You are a wise woman, Nausistrata.Naus.[to Chremes]. Does that suit you?Chr.Does it? Indeed and truly I'm getting off well—[aside] and better than I expected.Naus.[to Phormio] Come, tell me your name. What is it?Pho.Mine? It's Phormio; I'm a great friend to your family, and especially to Phædria.Naus.Phormio, I vow to you I am at your service after this, to do and to say, so far as I can, just what you want.Pho.I thank you kindly, lady.Naus.No, upon my word, you've earned it.Pho.Do you want to begin right off, Nausistrata, and do something that will both make me happy and bring tears to your husband's eyes?Naus.That I do.Pho.Well, then, invite me to dinner.Naus.With all my heart, I do.Dem.Come then, let's go inside.Chr.Agreed; but where is Phædria, my judge?Pho.I'll soon have him here.

And so ends this merry play, as the whole party moves toward Chremes' house, where, let us hope, all family differences were forgotten in the good dinner awaiting them.

Meanwhile the man before the curtain reminds us that we still have a duty to perform:

Fare you well, my friends, and give us your applause.

The Roman Drama, as illustrated by the works of the early tragedians, from 240 to the first century B. C.: Andronicus Nævius, Ennius, Pacuvius, Accius. The later tragedians to the close of the first century A. D.: Pollio, Varius, Ovid, Maternus, Secundus, Lucan, and Seneca. The writers of comedy, second century B. C.: Plautus and Terence.

1. How did the civilization of Rome in 454 B. C. compare with that of Greece? 2. How did Rome's conquest of the Greek colonies in Italy help the development of Italian literature? 3. How did the First Punic War affect this development? 4. Who was the "first professor of Latin on record"? 5. From what sources were the subjects of the old Roman tragedies taken? 6. How did the Roman spirit differ from that of the Greek? 7. Why did the Romans fail to develop a truly national tragedy? 8. What four names besides that of Andronicus are representative of the old Roman tragedy? 9. What qualities of Accius do we find in the fragments of his writings which remain? 10. What is true of the writers of tragedy after Accius? 11. Why have the tragedies of Seneca special interest? 12. What are their defects? 13. What their strong qualities? 14. Why did the plays of Seneca have such an influence in England? 15. What is the outline of the story of Medea? 16. How does it illustrate Seneca's defects of style? 17. Quote passages which illustrate his skill in epigram. 18. In graphic description. 19. In pathos and passion. 20. In subtile analysis of character and motive. 21. Describe the three great types of Greek comedy. 22. What result followed the attempts of Nævius to write in the spirit of Old Comedy? 23. What two writers alone of comedy are known to us from their works? 24. What are the chief characteristics ofPhormioof Terence?

1. OLD ROMAN TRAGEDY.

2. LATER ROMAN TRAGEDY AND SENECA.

3. ROMAN COMEDY.

Satire has always shone among the rest,And is the boldest way, if not the best,To tell men freely of their foulest faults,To laugh at their vain deeds and vainer thoughts.

What prophecy was to the ancient Hebrews, the drama to the Greeks, the purpose-novel and the newspaper editorial to our own day, satire was to the Roman of the republic and the early empire—the moral mentor of contemporary society. This conception of the prophet as the preacher of his day is often obscured by the conception of him as one who could reveal the future; but a closer study of the life and times of these great religious leaders shows them to have been men profoundly interested in current life, who gave all their energies to the task of raising the standard of the religious and social thought of their own day. The function of Greek tragedy was ever religious. It had its very origin in the worship of the gods; and the presence of the altar as the center of the strophic movements of the chorus was a constant reminder that the drama was dealing with the highest problems of human life. Added to the general religious atmosphere of tragedy were the direct moral teachings, the highest sentiments of ancient culture, which constantly sounded through the play. Greek comedy, especially of the old and middle type, also served a distinct moral purpose in society. It did not, indeed, sound the same lofty notes as did its sister tragedy; but it was the lash which was mercilessly applied, at first with bolder license to individual sinners in high places, and afterward in a more guarded manner to the vices and follies of men in general. In either case, the powerful stimulus of fear of public ridicule and castigation must have had a real effect upon the manners and morals of the ancient Greeks.

When we turn to our own time, we find the literary preacher at the novelist's desk or in the editor's chair. The influence of the purpose-novel and the editorial can hardly be overestimated. In the generation immediately preceding our own, a very direct influence upon the public social life of his day was wielded by the pen of Dickens. His eyes were open to abuses of every kind—in educational, charitable, legal, and criminal institutions; and he used every weapon known to literary art to right these wrongs. In this task he was ably assisted by men like Thackeray, Reade, Kingsley, and others. And there can be little doubt that the improved conditions in the England of to-day are due in generous measure to the work of these novelist preachers. The editor's function is still more intimately and constantly to hold the mirror up to society, revealing and reproving its faults. And to-day there is probably no more potent force acting directly upon the opinions and conduct of men than the daily editorial.

Now, the literary weapon of the Roman moralist was satire. It flourished in all periods of Roman literature, both the wordsatireand the thing itself being of Latin origin. In other fields of literature there is a large imitation of Greek models. Roman tragedy was at first but little more than a translation of the Greek plays, and the same is true of comedy. Cato, Varro, Vergil, and the rest who wrote of agriculture, had a Greek prototype in Hesiod, who in hisWorks and Dayshad treated of the same theme; Lucretius was the professed disciple and imitator of Epicurus; Cicero, in oratory, had ever before his eyes his Demosthenes, and in philosophy his Plato and Aristotle; Vergil had his Homer in epic and his Theocritus in pastoral; Horace, in his lyrics, is Greek through and through, both in form and spirit, for Pindar and Anacreon, Sappho, Alcæus, Archilochus, and the whole tuneful line are forever echoing through his verse. Ovid, in his greatest work, only succeeded in setting Greek mythology in a frame of Latin verse, though he told those fascinating stories as they had never been told before; while the historians, the rhetoricians, the philosophers—all had their Greek originals and models.

But in the field of satire the Romans struck out a new literary path for themselves. Even here we are bound to admit that the spirit is Greek, the spirit of the old comedy, of bold assault upon the evils of government, of society, of individuals. But still satire, as a form of literature, is the Roman's own; and beginning with Lucilius, the father of satire in the modern sense, the long line of satirists who followed his lead sufficiently attests the strong hold which this particular form of literature gained upon the Roman mind.

We have said that Lucilius was the father of satire in the modern sense; but the name at least, together with many of the features of his satire and that of his successors, reaches far back of him into the recesses of an ancient Italian literature, long since vanished, of which we can gain only the faintest hints. These hints as to the character of that ancient forerunner of the Lucilian satire come to us from two sources—the discussions of the Latin grammarians as to the derivation of the wordsatura(satire), and the remote reflections and imitations of the oldsaturain later works.

These far-off imitations give some idea of the character of the genuine satire of the earliest time,—that of a medley of verse of different meters, intermingled with prose, introducing words and phrases of other languages, and treating of a great variety of subjects. This literary medley or jumble probably had its origin in the farm or vineyard, where, in celebration of the "harvest home" or other joyous festival, it would be brought out, perhaps accompanied by some kind of musical recitation, and of course loaded with the rude wit of the time.

Such, then, we may suppose, was the character of the rude satire of ancient Italy. But alas for any real personal knowledge which we may gain of it, those merry, clumsy jests, those rustic songs, are vanished with the simple sun-loving race which produced them. The olive orchards still wave gray-green upon the sunny slopes, the vineyards still cling to every hillside and nestle in every valley; but the ancient peasantry who once called this land their home, whose simple annals old Cato loved to tell, and who could have given us material for precious volumes upon the folk-lore and customs of their times, have gone, and left scarcely a trace of their rude, unlettered literature.

The first tangible literary link that binds us to the old Roman satire is found in the poet Ennius, who flourished about two hundred years before Christ. The story of his life is outlined elsewhere in this book. His satires seem to have been a sort of literary miscellany which included such of his writings as could not conveniently be classified elsewhere.

The merest handful of fragments of these satires remains, although there is good ground for believing that there were six books of these. No adequate judgment can therefore be formed as to their character. It can with safety be said, however, that they were in a sense the connecting link between the early satire and the literary satire of the modern type. As has been said above, they were a literary miscellany or medley, and as such contain some salient features of their predecessors; and it is highly probable that they contained attacks upon the vices and follies of the time, in which respect they looked forward to a more complete development in Lucilian satire.

A most interesting fragment of theEpicharmusdescribes the nature of the gods according to the philosophy of Ennius:

And that is he whom we call Jove, whom Grecians callThe atmosphere: who in one person is the wind and clouds, then rain,And after, freezing hail; and once again, thin air.For this, those things are Jove considered which I name to you,Since by these elements do men and cities, beasts.And all things else exist.

There was a satire by Ennius, as Quintilian tells us, containing a dialogue between Life and Death; but of this we have not a remnant. He also introduced the fables of Æsop into his writings. The following is the moral which he deduces from the story of the lark and the farmers—a moral which Aulus Gellius assures us that it would be worth our while to take well to heart. It may be freely translated as follows:

Now list to this warning, give diligent heed,Whether seeking for pleasure or pelf:Don't wait for your neighbors to help in your need,But just go and do it yourself!

Surely Miles Standish might have gained from his Ennius, as well as from his Cæsar, that famous motto:

If you wish a thing well done,You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!

We may leave our present notice of Ennius with a glance at the epitaph which he wrote for himself. It is classed with his epigrams, but it may properly be considered in connection with the medley of his satires. In it he claims that unsubstantial immortality of remembrance and of mention among men which is even now, as we write and read, being vouchsafed to him.

Behold, O friends, old Ennius' carvéd stone,Who wrote your father's deeds with lambent pen;Let no tears deck my funeral, for lo,My soul immortal lives on lips of men.

We have seen that the spirit of invective in Lucilius, which became in his hands the spirit of satire, is traceable to the old Greek comedy. The poetic form (the dactylic hexameter in which he wrote twenty of the thirty books of his satire) had already been naturalized in Roman literature by Ennius in his great epic poem. But to Lucilius is due the credit of being the first to incarnate this spirit in this form, and thus to establish an entirely new type in literature.

His satires contain invectives against luxury, avarice, and kindred vices, and prevalent superstitions; an attack upon the rich; ridicule of certain rhetorical affectations; grammatical remarks, and criticisms on art; observations upon the Stoic philosophy; the poet's own political experiences and expectations, also other anecdotes and incidents gathered from his own experience; an interesting account of a journey to Sicily, from which Horace probably obtained the model for his famous journey to Brundisium. These and many other subjects filled his pages, and suggest by their wide range the old-time medley-satire.

The poet lived in stirring times. Born in 180 B. C., eleven years before the death of Ennius, he died about 103 B. C., three years after Cicero's birth and the year before the birth of Cæsar. He was thus contemporary with some of the most important and striking events in Roman history—the third Macedonian War; the Third Punic War; the Numantian War, in which he himself served as a knight under Scipio Africanus in 133 B. C.; the troubled times of the two Gracchi; the Jugurthine War, and the rise of Caius Marius. He was of equestrian rank, and lived on terms of intimacy with some of the best men at Rome, notably the younger Scipio and Lælius. With such backing as this, of family and friends, he was in good position to direct his satire against the wicked and unscrupulous men of his time, regardless of their rank, without fear or favor.

What did the Romans themselves think of Lucilius? To judge from the frequency and character of their references to him, the poet must have made a profound impression upon his countrymen. A study of these references shows that in the main this impression was favorable. He isdoctus, that is, profoundly learned in the wisdom of the Greeks; and, according to Aulus Gellius, he was equally well versed in the language and literature of his own land. He is to Juvenal themagnus, the "father of satire," who has well-nigh preempted the field, to follow whom requires elaborate explanation and apology on the part of the would-be satirist. He is to Ciceroperurbanus, preëminently endowed with that subtle something in spirit and expression which marks at once the polished man of the world. He is to Fronto remarkable for hisgracilitas, that plainness, directness, and simplicity of style which, joined with the "harshness" and "roughness" of his "eager" spirit and of his righteous indignation, made his satire such a formidable weapon against the vices of his day. Persius says of him that he "slashed the citizens of his time and broke his jaw-teeth on them." And the testimony of Juvenal is still more striking: "But whenever Lucilius with drawn sword fiercely rages, his hearer, whose soul is cold within him because of his crimes, blushes with shame, and his heart quakes in silent fear because of his guilty secrets."

Like those of so many of his predecessors in literature, the works of Lucilius remain to us only in the merest fragments. For these we are indebted largely to the Latin grammarians, who quote freely from him, usually in illustration of the meaning of some word which they may be discussing. A comparatively small number of the fragments have come down to us through quotations on account of their sentiment, as when Cicero says: "Lucilius used to say that he did not write to be read by either of the extremes of society, because one would not understand him, and the other knew more than he did."

We shall now examine a few of the more important of the fragments which have been preserved to us. The following has been thought to be a vivid picture of the unworthy struggle of life as he saw it in the Rome of his own time. Lactantius, however, whose quotation of the fragment has saved it, thinks that the poet is portraying in a more general way the unhappy, unrestful life of mankind, unrelieved, as Lucretius would say, by the comforting reflections of philosophy.

But now, from morning to night, on holidays and work days, in the same place, the whole day long, high and low, all busy themselves in the forum and never depart. To one and the same pursuit and practice have they all devoted themselves: to cheat as guardedly as possible, to strive craftily, to vie in flattery, to make a pretense of being good men, to lay snares just as if they were all the foes of all.

There was a certain Titus Albucius, who, it seems, was so enamored with everything Greek that he was continually affecting the manners and language of that country. Such running after foreign customs and speech has not yet wholly disappeared. This weakness is the object of the poet's wit in the following passage, in which he tells how Scævola, the proprætor of Asia, once "took down" the silly Albucius in Athens:

A Greek, Albucius, you would be called, and not a Roman and a Sabine, a fellow-townsman of Pontius and Tritanius, though they are both illustrious men, and first-rate standard-bearers. And so, as prætor at Athens, when I meet you, I salute you in the foreign style which you are so fond of:"χᾶιρε!"[A]I say; and my lictors and all my retinue inquire:"χᾶιρε?" Fie, Albucius! for this thou art my country's foe, and my own enemy!

[A]Hail.

The fourth satire, says an ancient scholiast, was an attack upon luxury and the vices of the rich. The following passage might well have been the opening lines of this satire, representing Lælius as exclaiming in praise of a vegetable diet and against gluttony:

"O sorrel, how praiseworthy art thou,And yet how little art thou really known!"

over his mess of sorrel Lælius the wise used to cry out, chiding one by one the gluttons of our day.

And that he did not hesitate to call the glutton and spendthrift by name is shown by this fragment, which is evidently a continuation of the same diatribe:

"O Publius Gallonius, thou spendthrift," said he, "thou art a wretched fellow. Never in all thy life hast thou dined well, though all thy wealth on that lobster and that sturgeon thou consumest."

The last selection which we shall present from Lucilius is the longest extant fragment. The passage is a somewhat elaborate definition ofvirtueas the old Roman understood it. We use the translation of Sellar.

Virtue, Albinus, consists in being able to give their true worth to the things on which we are engaged, among which we live. The virtue of a man is to understand the real meaning of each thing: to understand what is right, useful, honorable for him; what things are good, what bad, what is unprofitable, base, dishonorable; to know the due limit and measure in making money; to give its proper worth to wealth; to assign what is really due to office; to be a foe and enemy of bad men and bad principles; to extol the good, to wish them well, to be their friend through life. Lastly, it is true worth to look on our country's weal as the chief good; next to that the weal of our parents; third and last, our own weal.

Horace well sustains the character of preacher whose function it has already been said that satire performs. He found in his world the same frail human nature which had aroused the righteous scorn of Lucilius, and had led him to those bitter attacks upon the follies of his time for which his satire was justly dreaded. But Horace is cast in a different mold from Lucilius. While he sees just as clearly the shortcomings of society, he has a realizing sense that he himself is a part of that same society, guilty of the same sins, subject to the same criticism.

This consciousness of common frailty leads to moderation on the part of the preacher. He manifests a kindly sense of human brotherhood for better or for worse, which forms one of his most charming characteristics, and differentiates him from his great predecessor as well as from those who followed in the field of satire. It is true that Horace is sufficiently strenuous and severe in his polemics against the prevalent frailties of society as he saw them; but he has a habit of taking his hearers into his confidence at the end of his lecture, and reassuring them by some whimsical jest or the information that the sermon was meant as much for himself as for them. He had no idea of reforming society from the outside as from a separate world; but he proceeded upon the principle that, as real reformation and progress must be the result of reformed internal conditions, so the reformer himself must be a sympathetic part of his world.

It was in a homely and wholesome school that our poet learned his moral philosophy. In a glowing tribute of filial affection for his father, he tells us how that worthy man, who was himself only a freedman—a humble collector of debts by trade, or possibly a fishmonger, away down in his provincial home in Apulia—decided that his son should have a better chance in life than had fallen to his own lot. The local school in the boy's native village of Venusia, where the big-boned sons of retired centurions gained their meager education, was not good enough for our young man. He must to Rome and afterward to Athens, and have all the chances which were open to the sons of the noblest families of the land. And so we have the pleasing picture of the sensible old father, not sending but taking his boy to Rome, where he was the young student's constant companion, his "guide, philosopher, and friend," attending him in all his ways, both in school and out.

Horace tells us how this practical old father taught him to avoid the vices of the day. No fine-spun, theoretical philosophy for him; but practical illustration drove every lesson home. The poet dwells with pleasure upon this element in his education.

That Horace was a worthy son of a worthy father is proved in many ways, but in none more clearly than when, in after years, as a welcome member of the most exclusive social set in Rome, he affectionately recalls his father's training, and tells his high-born friends that, if he had the chance to choose his ancestry, he would not change one circumstance of his birth.

The practice of personal observations of the life around him, which he learned from his father, the poet carried with him through life, and is the explanation of the intensely practical and realistic character of his satire. See him as he comes home at night and sits alone recalling the varied happenings of the day. These are some of the thoughts, as he himself tells us, which come to him at such times, and find half-unconscious audible expression:

Now that's the better course.—I should live better if I acted along that line.—So-and-so didn't do the right thing that time.—I wonder if I shall ever be foolish enough to do the like.

It is after such meditations as these that he takes up his tablets and outlines his satires. We are reminded in this of the practice of the great Cæsar, who is said to have recalled, as he rested in his tent at night, the stirring events of each day, and to have noted these for his history.

This method of composition from practical observation explains many peculiarities of the style of Horace's satires. They are absolutely unpretentious, prevailingly conversational in tone, abounding in homely similes and colloquialisms, pithy anecdotes, familiar proverbs, and references to current people and events which make up the popular gossip of the day. He also has an embarrassing habit of suddenly turning his "thou-art-the-man" search-light upon us just when we are most enjoying his castigation of our neighbors. He employs burlesque and irony also among his assortment of satiric weapons. He is, above all, personal, rarely allowing the discourse to stray from the personality of himself and his audience.

The following outline of one of his "sermons" will afford a good illustration of his style and method of handling a discourse. Its subject is the sin and folly of discontent and greed for gain, a sin which he frequently denounces, not alone in his satires, but in his odes as well. This satire is addressed by way of compliment to his patron Mæcenas, and is placed at the beginning of his two books of satires.

How strange it is that no one lives content with his lot, but must always be envying his neighbor! The soldier would be a merchant, the merchant a soldier; the lawyer would be a farmer, the farmer a lawyer. But these malcontents are not in earnest in this prayer for a change; should some god grant their petition, they would one and all refuse to accept the boon.The excuse of those who toil early and late is, that when they have "made their pile" and have a modest competency for a peaceful old age, they will retire. They say that they seek gold only as a means to an end, and cite the example of the thrifty ant. But herein they show their insincerity; for, while the ant lives upon its hoarded wealth in winter, and stops its active life, the gain-getter never stops so long as there is more to be gotten."But," you say, "it is so delightful to have a whole river to drink from." Why so? You can't possibly drink it all, and besides, the river water is apt to be muddy. I prefer to drink from a clear little spring myself. And then, too, you are liable to be drowned in your attempt to drink from the river."But onemusthave money. A man's social standing depends upon his bank account." It's useless to argue with such a man. He can see nothing but the almighty dollar. If he did but know it, he is simply another Tantalus, surrounded by riches which he cannot, or, in his case, will not enjoy. And besides he does not really care for popular opinion as he professes to do. Poor wretch! he has all the care and none of the pleasures of his wealth. Heaven keep me poor in such possessions!You say that money secures help in sickness? Butsuchhelp! Your greed has alienated all who would naturally love and care for you; and you must not be surprised if you do not keep the love which you are doing nothing to preserve.No, no! away with your greed; cease to think that lack of money is necessarily an evil; and beware lest your fate at last be miserably to lose your all by a violent death. No, I am not asking you to be a spendthrift. Only seek a proper mean between this and the miser's character.But, to get back to the original proposition, no one is content with his lot, but is constantly trying to surpass his fellows. And so the jostling struggle for existence goes on, and rare indeed is it to find a man who leaves this life satisfied that he has had his share of its blessings.

The excuse of those who toil early and late is, that when they have "made their pile" and have a modest competency for a peaceful old age, they will retire. They say that they seek gold only as a means to an end, and cite the example of the thrifty ant. But herein they show their insincerity; for, while the ant lives upon its hoarded wealth in winter, and stops its active life, the gain-getter never stops so long as there is more to be gotten.

"But," you say, "it is so delightful to have a whole river to drink from." Why so? You can't possibly drink it all, and besides, the river water is apt to be muddy. I prefer to drink from a clear little spring myself. And then, too, you are liable to be drowned in your attempt to drink from the river.

"But onemusthave money. A man's social standing depends upon his bank account." It's useless to argue with such a man. He can see nothing but the almighty dollar. If he did but know it, he is simply another Tantalus, surrounded by riches which he cannot, or, in his case, will not enjoy. And besides he does not really care for popular opinion as he professes to do. Poor wretch! he has all the care and none of the pleasures of his wealth. Heaven keep me poor in such possessions!

You say that money secures help in sickness? Butsuchhelp! Your greed has alienated all who would naturally love and care for you; and you must not be surprised if you do not keep the love which you are doing nothing to preserve.

No, no! away with your greed; cease to think that lack of money is necessarily an evil; and beware lest your fate at last be miserably to lose your all by a violent death. No, I am not asking you to be a spendthrift. Only seek a proper mean between this and the miser's character.

But, to get back to the original proposition, no one is content with his lot, but is constantly trying to surpass his fellows. And so the jostling struggle for existence goes on, and rare indeed is it to find a man who leaves this life satisfied that he has had his share of its blessings.

With this conclusion another man would have been content. But Horace somehow feels that he has been a little hard upon his kind, and by way of softening down the seriousness of the lecture, and at the same time saving himself from the fault of verbosity, which he detests, he ends with a characteristic jibe at the wordy Stoic philosophers:

But enough of this. Lest you think that I have stolen the notes of the blear-eyed Crispinus, I'll say no more.

In another satire, Horace rebukes the fault of censoriousness. His text practically is: "Judge not that ye be not judged." With characteristic indirect approach to his subject, he begins with a tirade against one Tigellius, until we begin to be indignant with this censorious preacher; when suddenly he whips around to the other side, assumes the rôle of one of his hearers, and puts the question to himself: "Have you no faults of your own?" And then we see that he has only been playing a part, and giving us an objective illustration of how it sounds when the other man finds fault, thus exposing to themselves those who, habitually blind to their own faults, are quick to discover those of other men.

The dramatic element, which seems to have been inherent in satire from the beginning, is one of the most noticeable characteristics of style in the satires of Horace. Indeed, his favorite method of expression is the dialogue, carried on either between himself and some other person, real or imaginary, or between two characters of his creation, whom he introduces as best fitted to conduct the discussion of a theme.

The most dramatic of his satires is that in which he introduces the bore. In this, the poem consists solely of dialogue and descriptions of action which may be taken as stage direction. It therefore needs but slight change to give it perfect dramatic form. The problem of the episode is how to get rid of the bore and at the same time keep within the bounds of gentlemanly conduct. This famous satire is given below in full.

THE BORE: A DRAMATIC SATIRE IN ONE ACT

The persons of the drama: Horace; the Bore; Aristius Fuscus, a friend of Horace; an adversary of the Bore; Horace's slave-boy; a street mob.Scene: The Sacred Way in Rome, extending on during the action into the Forum.[Enter Horace, walking along the street in deep thought. To him enters Bore, who grasps his hand with great show of affection and slaps him familiarly on the shoulder.]Bore.How are you, my dear old fellow?Horace[stiffly]. Fairly well, as times go. I trust all is well with you? [As the Bore follows him up, Horace attempts to forestall conversation, and to dismiss his companion with the question of formal leave:] There's nothing I can do for you is there?Bore.Yes, make my acquaintance. I am really worth knowing; I'm a scholar.Horace.Really? You will be more interesting to me on that account, I am sure. [He tries desperately to get rid of the Bore, goes faster, stops, whispers in the slave-boy's ear; while the sweat pours down his face, which he mops desperately. He exclaims aside:] O Bolanus, how I wish I had your hot temper!Bore[chatters empty nothings, praises the scenery, the buildings, etc. As Horace continues silent, he says:] You're terribly anxious to get rid of me; I've seen that all along. But it's no use, I'll stay by you, I'll follow you. Where are you going from here?Horace[trying to discourage him]. There's no need of your going out of your way. I'm going to visit a man—an entire stranger to you. He lies sick at his house away over beyond the Tiber, near Cæsar's gardens.Bore.O, I have nothing else to do, and I'm a good walker. I'll just go along with you. [As Horace keeps on doggedly in sullen silence, he continues:] Unless I am much mistaken in myself, you will find me a more valuable friend than Viscus or Varius. There's no one can write more poetry in a given time than I, or dance more gracefully; and as for singing, Hermogenes himself would envy me.Horace[interrupting, tries to frighten him off by suggesting that the sick man whom he is going to visit may be suffering from some contagious disease]. Have you a mother or other relative dependent on you?Bore.No, I have no one at all. I've buried every one of them.Horace[aside]. Lucky dogs! Now I'm the only victim left. Finish me up; for a dreadful fate is dogging my steps, which an old Sabine fortune-teller once warned me of when I was a boy. She said: "No poisonous drug shall carry this boy off, nor deadly sword, nor wasting consumption, nor crippling gout; in the fulness of time some chatterbox will talk him to death. So then, if he be wise, when he shall come to man's estate, let him beware of all chatterboxes." [They have now come opposite the Temple of Vesta in the south end of the Forum, near which the courts of justice were held. The hour for opening court has arrived.]Bore[suddenly remembering that he has given bond to appear in a certain suit, and that if he fails to appear this suit will go against him by default]. Won't you kindly attend me here in court a little while?Horace.I can't help you any. Hang it, I'm too tired to stand around here; and I don't know anything about law, anyhow. Besides, I'm in a hurry to get—you know where.Bore.I'm in doubt what to do, whether to leave you or my case.Horace.Leave me, by all means.Bore[after a brief meditation]. No, I don't believe I will. [He takes the lead, and Horace helplessly follows. The Bore starts in on the subject which is uppermost in his mind.] How do you and Mæcenas get on? He's a very exclusive and level-headed fellow, now, isn't he? No one has made a better use of his chances. You would have an excellent assistant in that quarter, one who could ably support you, if only you would introduce yours truly. Strike me dead, if you wouldn't show your heels to all competitors in no time.Horace.Why, we don't live there on any such basis as you seem to think. There is no circle in Rome more free from self-seeking on the part of its members, or more at variance with such a feeling. It makes no difference to me if another man is richer or more learned than I. Every man has his own place there.Bore.You don't really mean that? I can scarcely believe it.Horace.And yet such is the case.Bore.You only make me more eager to be admitted.Horace[with contemptuous sarcasm]. O, you have only to wish it: such is your excellence, you'll be sure to gain your point. To tell the truth, Mæcenas is a soft-hearted fellow, and for this very reason guards the first approach to his friendship more carefully.Bore[taking Horace's suggestion in earnest]. O, I shall keep my eyes open. I'll bribe his servants. And if I don't get in to-day, I'll try again. I'll lie in wait for chances, I'll meet him on the street corners, and walk down town with him. You can't get anything in this life without working for it. [Enter Aristius Fuscus, an intimate friend of Horace. They meet and exchange greetings].Horace[to Fuscus]. Hello! where do you come from?Fuscus.Where are you going? [Horace slyly plucks his friend's toga, pinches his arm, and tries by nods and winks to get Fuscus to rescue him from the Bore. But Fuscus pretends not to understand.]Horace[to Fuscus]. Didn't you say that you had something to say to me in private?Fuscus.Yes, but I'll tell you some other time. To-day is a Jewish festival. You wouldn't have me insult the Jews, would you?Horace.O, I have no such scruples myself.Fuscus.But I have. I'm just one of the plain people—not as strong-minded as you are. You really must excuse me; I'll tell you some other time. [Fuscus hurries away, with a wicked wink, leaving his friend in the lurch.]Horace[in a despairing aside]. O, to think that so dark a day as this should ever have dawned for me! [At this juncture the Bore's adversary at law comes running up.]The Adversary[to Bore, in a loud voice.] Where are you going, you bail-breaking rascal? [To Horace.] Will you come witness against him? [Horace gives him his ear to touch in token of his assent, and the Bore is hurried off to court, with loud expostulations on both sides, and with the inevitable jeering street crowd following after.]Horace[left alone]. Saved, by the grace of Apollo!

The persons of the drama: Horace; the Bore; Aristius Fuscus, a friend of Horace; an adversary of the Bore; Horace's slave-boy; a street mob.

Scene: The Sacred Way in Rome, extending on during the action into the Forum.

[Enter Horace, walking along the street in deep thought. To him enters Bore, who grasps his hand with great show of affection and slaps him familiarly on the shoulder.]

Bore.How are you, my dear old fellow?Horace[stiffly]. Fairly well, as times go. I trust all is well with you? [As the Bore follows him up, Horace attempts to forestall conversation, and to dismiss his companion with the question of formal leave:] There's nothing I can do for you is there?Bore.Yes, make my acquaintance. I am really worth knowing; I'm a scholar.Horace.Really? You will be more interesting to me on that account, I am sure. [He tries desperately to get rid of the Bore, goes faster, stops, whispers in the slave-boy's ear; while the sweat pours down his face, which he mops desperately. He exclaims aside:] O Bolanus, how I wish I had your hot temper!Bore[chatters empty nothings, praises the scenery, the buildings, etc. As Horace continues silent, he says:] You're terribly anxious to get rid of me; I've seen that all along. But it's no use, I'll stay by you, I'll follow you. Where are you going from here?Horace[trying to discourage him]. There's no need of your going out of your way. I'm going to visit a man—an entire stranger to you. He lies sick at his house away over beyond the Tiber, near Cæsar's gardens.Bore.O, I have nothing else to do, and I'm a good walker. I'll just go along with you. [As Horace keeps on doggedly in sullen silence, he continues:] Unless I am much mistaken in myself, you will find me a more valuable friend than Viscus or Varius. There's no one can write more poetry in a given time than I, or dance more gracefully; and as for singing, Hermogenes himself would envy me.Horace[interrupting, tries to frighten him off by suggesting that the sick man whom he is going to visit may be suffering from some contagious disease]. Have you a mother or other relative dependent on you?Bore.No, I have no one at all. I've buried every one of them.Horace[aside]. Lucky dogs! Now I'm the only victim left. Finish me up; for a dreadful fate is dogging my steps, which an old Sabine fortune-teller once warned me of when I was a boy. She said: "No poisonous drug shall carry this boy off, nor deadly sword, nor wasting consumption, nor crippling gout; in the fulness of time some chatterbox will talk him to death. So then, if he be wise, when he shall come to man's estate, let him beware of all chatterboxes." [They have now come opposite the Temple of Vesta in the south end of the Forum, near which the courts of justice were held. The hour for opening court has arrived.]Bore[suddenly remembering that he has given bond to appear in a certain suit, and that if he fails to appear this suit will go against him by default]. Won't you kindly attend me here in court a little while?Horace.I can't help you any. Hang it, I'm too tired to stand around here; and I don't know anything about law, anyhow. Besides, I'm in a hurry to get—you know where.Bore.I'm in doubt what to do, whether to leave you or my case.Horace.Leave me, by all means.Bore[after a brief meditation]. No, I don't believe I will. [He takes the lead, and Horace helplessly follows. The Bore starts in on the subject which is uppermost in his mind.] How do you and Mæcenas get on? He's a very exclusive and level-headed fellow, now, isn't he? No one has made a better use of his chances. You would have an excellent assistant in that quarter, one who could ably support you, if only you would introduce yours truly. Strike me dead, if you wouldn't show your heels to all competitors in no time.Horace.Why, we don't live there on any such basis as you seem to think. There is no circle in Rome more free from self-seeking on the part of its members, or more at variance with such a feeling. It makes no difference to me if another man is richer or more learned than I. Every man has his own place there.Bore.You don't really mean that? I can scarcely believe it.Horace.And yet such is the case.Bore.You only make me more eager to be admitted.Horace[with contemptuous sarcasm]. O, you have only to wish it: such is your excellence, you'll be sure to gain your point. To tell the truth, Mæcenas is a soft-hearted fellow, and for this very reason guards the first approach to his friendship more carefully.Bore[taking Horace's suggestion in earnest]. O, I shall keep my eyes open. I'll bribe his servants. And if I don't get in to-day, I'll try again. I'll lie in wait for chances, I'll meet him on the street corners, and walk down town with him. You can't get anything in this life without working for it. [Enter Aristius Fuscus, an intimate friend of Horace. They meet and exchange greetings].Horace[to Fuscus]. Hello! where do you come from?Fuscus.Where are you going? [Horace slyly plucks his friend's toga, pinches his arm, and tries by nods and winks to get Fuscus to rescue him from the Bore. But Fuscus pretends not to understand.]Horace[to Fuscus]. Didn't you say that you had something to say to me in private?Fuscus.Yes, but I'll tell you some other time. To-day is a Jewish festival. You wouldn't have me insult the Jews, would you?Horace.O, I have no such scruples myself.Fuscus.But I have. I'm just one of the plain people—not as strong-minded as you are. You really must excuse me; I'll tell you some other time. [Fuscus hurries away, with a wicked wink, leaving his friend in the lurch.]Horace[in a despairing aside]. O, to think that so dark a day as this should ever have dawned for me! [At this juncture the Bore's adversary at law comes running up.]The Adversary[to Bore, in a loud voice.] Where are you going, you bail-breaking rascal? [To Horace.] Will you come witness against him? [Horace gives him his ear to touch in token of his assent, and the Bore is hurried off to court, with loud expostulations on both sides, and with the inevitable jeering street crowd following after.]Horace[left alone]. Saved, by the grace of Apollo!

The fourth and tenth satires of the first book are of especial value to us, because they contain Horace's own estimate of his predecessor, Lucilius; answers to popular criticism against the spirit and form of satire; much general literary criticism; and many personal comments by the poet upon his own method and spirit as a satirist. Following is an abstract of the tenth:

Yes, Luciliusisrough—anybody will admit that. I also admit that he is to be praised for his great wit. But wit of itself does not constitute great poetry. There must also be polish, variety of style, sprightliness and versatility. This is what caused the success of the old Greek comedy. "But," you say, "Lucilius was so skilled in mingling Latin and Greek." That, I reply, neither requires any great skill, nor is it a thing to be desired. This last assertion is at once apparent if you take the discussion into other fields of literature than poetry. I myself have been warned by Quirinus not to attempt Greek verse.I have looked over the literary field and found it occupied by men who could write better than I in each department—comedy, tragedy, epic, pastoral. Satire alone promised success to me; but still I do not profess to excel Lucilius. I freely leave the crown to him.But for all that I cannot help seeing his faults which I mentioned in my former satire—his extreme verbosity and roughness. In criticizing him I take the same license which he himself used toward his predecessors, and which he would use now toward his own extant works were he alive to-day. He surely would be more careful, and take more pains with his work, if he were now among us.And that is just the point. One must write and rewrite, and polish to the utmost, if he would produce anything worth reading. He must not be eager to rush into print and cater to the public taste. Let him be content with the applause of men of culture, and strive to win that; and let him leave popular favor to men who are themselves no better than the rabble whom they court.

I have looked over the literary field and found it occupied by men who could write better than I in each department—comedy, tragedy, epic, pastoral. Satire alone promised success to me; but still I do not profess to excel Lucilius. I freely leave the crown to him.

But for all that I cannot help seeing his faults which I mentioned in my former satire—his extreme verbosity and roughness. In criticizing him I take the same license which he himself used toward his predecessors, and which he would use now toward his own extant works were he alive to-day. He surely would be more careful, and take more pains with his work, if he were now among us.

And that is just the point. One must write and rewrite, and polish to the utmost, if he would produce anything worth reading. He must not be eager to rush into print and cater to the public taste. Let him be content with the applause of men of culture, and strive to win that; and let him leave popular favor to men who are themselves no better than the rabble whom they court.

Few Roman writers are more frankly autobiographical than Horace. His odes, epodes, satires, and epistles are full of his own personality and history. From various references in these poems, we learn that he was born in 65 B. C., in Venusia, a municipal town in Apulia; that his father was a freedman, a small farmer, and debt collector by trade; that he was educated in Rome under his father's personal care; that he finished his education in Athens, where he eagerly imbibed Greek philosophy and literature. But now the long storm of civil war, which had attended the rise of Julius Cæsar and the struggle between that leader and Pompey for supremacy, and which had been temporarily allayed by the complete ascendency of Cæsar, broke out afresh with renewed violence upon the assassination of the great dictator. The verse of Horace, especially in his odes, is full of the consciousness of this civil strife, and of deep and sincere regret for its consequence to the state.

The young student was just twenty-one years of age when the fall of Cæsar startled the world. And when Brutus reached Athens on his way to Macedonia, and called upon the young Romans there to rally to the republic and liberty, the ardent heart of the youthful Horace responded to the summons. He joined the ill-fated army of the liberators, was made a military tribune, and served as such until the disastrous day of Philippi, when Horace's military and political ambition left him forever, together with all hope which he may have cherished of the lost cause. He made his way back to Rome under shelter of the amnesty which the merciful conqueror had granted, and there found himself in an unfortunate plight indeed; for his father was now dead, his modest estate lost, probably swallowed up in the general confiscations, and he himself with neither money, friends, nor occupation. He managed in some way, however, to secure a small clerkship, the income from which served to keep the wolf from his humble door.

But in this obscure, unfriended clerk one was now walking the streets of Rome to whom Rome's proudest and most princely mansions were before many years to open as to a welcome guest. For he carried within him, concealed in a most unpretentious personality, a rich store of education, experience, and genius, which was to prove the open sesame for him to the world's best gifts. To the exercise of this genius he now turned; and the appearance of the earliest of his satires, with perhaps some of his odes and epodes as well, was the result. All these things and much more the poet tells us, frankly giving the whole of his story with neither boasting on the one hand nor false pride on the other.

And now the event occurred which was the first link that bound Horace tangibly to his future greatness—his meeting with the poet Vergil, who was at this time famous and powerful in the friendship of Mæcenas, Pollio, and even the emperor himself. This sweet and generous-souled poet, recognizing the kindred spirit of genius in the youthful Horace, straightway admitted him to his own friendship, a friendship which is one of the most charming pictures of that brilliant age, and which was destined to endure unbroken until parted by the death of Vergil himself. It was Vergil who in due time introduced Horace to another friend, a man who was one of the great personages of that age, a leading statesman, a man of letters himself, and a generous patron of letters—Mæcenas, under whose sheltering patronage our poet grew and expanded to the full development of those poetic powers which first had brought him recognition.

From this shelter Horace writes a satire addressed to Mæcenas, in which he recounts, among other circumstances of his life, the occasion of his introduction to his patron; and takes occasion to answer the envious criticisms which were aimed against him, that he, a mere freedman's son, should be elevated above his betters to this high social position. The theme of this satire, which he sturdily maintains, is, that in social, even if not in political matters, character, not family, should be the standard; or, in the language of another gifted son of poverty:

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