A History of Roman Literature by Charles Thomas Cruttwell
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Charles Thomas Cruttwell >> A History of Roman Literature
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Though by no means equal to the reputation it once had, the poem is not
without merit. The diction is much less stilted than Seneca's or
Persius's; the thoughts mostly correct, though rather tame; and the
descriptions accurate even to tediousness. The arrangement of his subject
betrays a somewhat weak hand, though in this he is superior to Gratius
Faliscus; but he has an earnest desire to make truth known, and a warm
interest in his theme. The opening invocation is addressed to Apollo and
the Muses, asking their aid along an unwonted road.
He denies that eruptions are the work of gods or Cyclopes, and laments
over the errors that the genius of poetry has spread (74-92)--
"Plurima pars scaenae fallacia."
The scenes that poets paint are rarely true, and often very hurtful, but
he is moved only with the desire to discover and communicate truth. He
then begins to discuss the power of confined air when striving to force a
passage, and the porous nature of the interior of the earth; and (after a
fine digression on the thirst for knowledge), he examines the properties
of fire, and specially its effect on the different minerals composing the
soil of Aetna. A disproportionate amount (nearly 150 lines) is given to
describing lava, after which his theory is thus concisely summarised--
"Haec operis forma est: sic nobilis uritur Aetna:
Terra foraminibus vires trahit, urget in artum,
Spiritus incendit: vivit per maxima saxa."
The poem concludes with an account of a former eruption, signalised by the
miraculous preservation of two pious youths who ventured into the burning
shower to carry their parents into a place of safety. The poem is
throughout a model of propriety, but deficient in poetic inspiration; the
technical parts, elaborate as they are, impress the reader less favourably
than the digressions, where subjects of human interest are treated, and
the Roman character comes out. Lucilius called himself an Epicurean, and
is so far consistent as to condemn the "fallacia vatum" and the
superstition that will not recognise the sufficiency of physical causes;
but he (v. 537) accepts Heraclitus's doctrine about the universality of
fire, and in other places shows Stoic leanings. He imitates Lucretius's
transitions, and his appeals to the reader, _e.g._ 160: _Falleris et
nondum certo tibi lumine res est_, and inserts many archaisms as _ulli_
for _ullius_, _opus_ governing an accus., _cremant_ for _cremantur_,
_auras_ (gen. sing.) _iubar_ (masc.) _aureus_. [81] His rhythm resembles
Virgil, but even more that of Manilius.
We cannot conclude this chapter without some notice of the tragedies of
Seneca. There can be no reasonable doubt that they are the work of the
philosopher, nor is the testimony of antiquity really ambiguous on the
point. [82] When he wrote them is uncertain; but they bear every mark of
being an early exercise of his pen. Perhaps they were begun during his
exile in Corsica, when enforced idleness must have tasked the resources of
his busy mind, and continued after his return to Rome, when he found that
Nero was addicted to the same pursuit. There are eight complete tragedies
and one praetexta, the _Octavia_, which is generally supposed to be by a
later hand, as well as considerable fragments from the _Thebais_ and
_Phoenissae_. The subjects are all from the well-worn repository of Greek
legend, and are mostly drawn from Euripides. The titles of _Medea_,
_Hercules furens_, _Hippolytus_ and _Troades_ at once proclaim their
origin, but the _Hercules Oetaeus_, _Oedipus Thyestes_, and _Agamemnon_,
are probably based on a comparison of the treatment by the several Attic
masters. The tragedies of Seneca have as a rule been strongly censured for
their rhetorical colouring, their false passion, and their total want of
dramatic interest. They are to the Greek plays as gaslight to sunlight.
But in estimating their poetic value it is fair to remember that the Roman
ideas of art were neither so accurate nor so profound as ours. The deep
analysis of Aristotle, which grouped all poets who wrote on a _theme_
under the title _rhetorical_, and refused to Empedocles the name of poet
at all, would not have been appreciated by the Romans. To them the _form_
was what constituted a work poetical, not the creative idea that underlay
it. To utilise fictitious situations as a vehicle for individual
conviction or lofty declamation on ethical commonplace, was considered
quite legitimate even in the Augustan age. And Seneca did but follow the
example of Varius and Ovid in the tragedies now before us. It is to the
genius of German criticism, so wonderfully similar in many ways to that of
Greece, that we owe the re-establishment of the profound ideal canons of
art over the artificial technical maxims which from Horace to Voltaire had
been accepted in their stead. The present low estimate of Seneca is due to
the reaction (a most healthy one it is true) that has replaced the
extravagant admiration in which his poems were for more than two centuries
held.
The worst technical fault in these tragedies is their violation of the
decencies of the stage. Manto, the daughter of Tiresias and a great
prophetess, investigates the entrails in public. Medea kills her children
_coram populo_ in defiance of Horace's maxim. These are inexcusable
blemishes in a composition which is made according to a prescribed
_recipe_. His "tragic mixture," as it may be called, is compounded of
equal proportions of description, declamation, and philosophical
aphorisms. Thus taken at intervals it formed an excellent tonic to assist
towards an oratorical training. It was not an end in itself, but was a
means for producing a finished rhetor. This is a degradation of the
loftiest kind of poetry known to art, no doubt; but Seneca is not to blame
for having begun it. He merely used the material which lay before him;
nevertheless, he deserves censure for not having brought into it some of
the purer thoughts which philosophy had, or ought to have, taught him.
Instead of this, his moral conceptions fall far below those of his models.
In the _Phaedra_ of Greek tragedy we have that chastened and pathetic
thought, which hangs like a burden on the Greek mind, a thought laden with
sadness, but a sadness big with rich fruit of reflection; the thought of
guilt unnatural, involuntary, imposed on the sufferer for some inscrutable
reason by the mysterious dispensation of heaven. Helen, the queen of
ancient song, is the offspring of this thought; Phaedra in another way is
its offspring too. But as Virgil had degraded Helen, so Seneca degrades
Phaedra. Her love for Hippolytus is the coarse sensual craving of a
common-place adulteress. The language in which it is painted, stripped of
its ornament, is revolting. As Dido dwells on the broad chest and
shoulders of Aeneas, [83] so Phaedra dwells on the healthy glow of
Hippolytus's cheek, his massive neck, his sinewy arms. The Roman ladies
who bestowed their caresses on gladiators and slaves are here speaking
through their courtly mouthpiece. The gross, the animal--it is scarcely
even sensuous--predominates all through these tragedies. Truly the Greeks
in teaching Rome to desire beauty had little conception of the fierceness
of that robust passion for self-indulgence which they had taught to speak
the language of aesthetic love!
A feature worth noticing in these dramas is the descriptive power and
brilliant philosophy of the choruses. They are quite unconnected with the
plot, and generally either celebrate the praises of some god, _e.g._,
Bacchus in the _Oedipus_, or descant on some moral theme, as the advantage
of an obscure lot, in the same play. The _eclat_ of their style, and the
pungency of their epigrams is startling. In sentiment and language they
are the very counterpart of his other works. The doctrine of fate,
preached by Lucan as well as by Seneca in other places, is here inculcated
with every variety of point. [84] We quote a few lines from the _Oedipus_:
Fatis agimur: cedite fatis.
Non sollicitae possunt curae
Mutare rati stamina fusi
Quicquid patimur, mortale genus,
Quicquid facimus venit ex alto;
Servatque suae decreta colus
Lachesis, dura revoluta manu.
Omnia certo tramite vadunt,
Primusque dies dedit extremum.
Non illa deo vertisse licet
Quae nexa suis currunt causis.
It cuique ratus, prece non ulla
Mobilis, ordo.
Here we have in all its naked repulsiveness the Stoic theory of
predestination. Prayer is useless; God is unable to influence events;
Lachesis the wrinkled beldame, or fate, her blind symbol, has once for all
settled the inevitable nexus of cause and effect.
The rhythm of these plays is extremely monotonous. The greater part of
each is in the iambic trimeter; the choruses generally in anapaests, of
which, however, he does not understand the structure. The _synaphea_
peculiar to this metre is neglected by him, and the rule that each system
should close with a _paroemiac_ or _dimeter catalectic_ is constantly
violated.
With regard to the _Octavia_, it has been thought to be a product of some
mediaeval imitator; but this is hardly likely. It cannot be Seneca's,
since it alludes to the death of Nero. Besides its style is simpler and
less bombastic and shows a much tenderer feeling; it is also infinitely
less clever. Altogether it seems best to assign it to the conclusion of
the first century.
The only other work of Seneca's which shows a poetical form is the
_Apokolokyntosis_ or "Pumpkinification" of the emperor Claudius, a bitter
satire on the apotheosis of that heavy prince. Seneca had been compelled,
much against the grain, to offer him the incense of flattery while he
lived. He therefore revenged himself after Claudius's death by this sorry
would-be satire. The only thing witty in it is the title; it is a mixture
of prose and verse, and possesses just this interest for us, that it is
the only example we possess of the Menippean satire, unless we refer the
work of Petronius to this head.
CHAPTER III.
THE REIGNS OF CALIGULA, CLAUDIUS, AND NERO.
2. PROSE WRITERS--SENECA.
Of all the imperial writers except Tacitus, Seneca is beyond comparison
the most important. His position, talents, and influence make him a
perfect representative of the age in which he lived. His career was long
and chequered: his experience brought him into contact with nearly every
phase of life. He was born at Cordova 3 A.D. and brought by his indulgent
father as a boy to Rome. His early studies were devoted to rhetoric, of
which he tells us he was an ardent learner. Every day he was the first at
school, and generally the last to leave it. While still a young man he
made so brilliant a name at the bar as to awaken Caligula's jealousy. By
his father's advice he retired for a time, and, having nothing better to
do, spent his days in philosophy. Seneca was one of those ardent natures
the virgin soil of whose talent shows a luxurious richness unknown to the
harassed brains of an old civilisation. His enthusiasm for philosophy
exceeded all bounds. He first became a Stoic. But stoicism was not severe
enough for his taste. He therefore turned Pythagorean, and abstained for
several years from everything but herbs. His father, an old man of the
world, saw that self-denial like this was no less perilous than his former
triumphs. "Why do you not, my son," he said, "why do you not live as
others live? There is a provocation in success, but there is a worse
provocation in ostentatious abstinence. You might be taken for a Jew (he
meant a Christian). Do not draw down the wrath of Jove." The young
enthusiast was wise enough to take the hint. He at once dressed himself
_en mode_, resumed a moderate diet, only indulging in the luxury of
abstinence from wine, perfumes, warm baths, and made dishes! He was now 35
years of age; in due time Caligula died, and he resumed his pleadings at
the bar. He was appointed Quaestor by Claudius, and soon opened a school
for youths of quality, which was very numerously attended. His social
successes were striking, and brought him into trouble. He was suspected of
improper intimacy with Julia, the daughter of Germanicus, and in 41 A.D.
was exiled to Corsica. This was the second blow to his career. But it was
a most fortunate one for his genius. In the lonely solitudes of a
barbarous island he meditated deeply over the truth of that philosophy to
which his first devotion had been given, and no doubt struck out the germs
of that mild and catholic form of it which has made his teaching, with all
its imperfections, the purest and noblest of antiquity. While there he
wrote many of the treatises that have come down to us, besides others that
are lost. The earliest in all probability is the _Consolatio ad Marciam_,
addressed to the daughter of Cremutius Cordus, which seems to have been
written even before his exile. Next come two other _Consolationes_. The
first is addressed to Polybius, the powerful freedman of Claudius. It is
full of the most abject flattery, uttered in the hope of procuring his
recall from banishment. That Seneca did not object to write to order is
unhappily manifest from his panegyric on Claudius, delivered by Nero,
which was so fulsome that, even while the emperor recited it, those who
heard could not control their laughter. The second _Consolation_ is to his
mother Helvia, whom he tenderly loved; and this is one of the most
pleasing of his works. Already he is beginning to assume the tone of a
philosopher. His work _De Ira_ must be referred to the commencement of
this period, shortly after Caligula's death. It bears all the marks of
inexperience, though its eloquence and brilliancy are remarkable. He
enforces the Stoic thesis that anger is not an emotion, just in itself and
often righteously indulged, but an evil passion which must be eradicated.
This view which, if supported on grounds of mere expediency, has much to
recommend it, is here defended on _a priori_ principles without much real
reflection, and was quite outgrown by him when taught by the experience of
riper years. In the _Constantio Sapientis_ he praises and holds up to
imitation the absurd apathy recommended by Stilpo. In the _De Animi
Tranquillitate_, addressed to Annaeus Serenus, the captain of Nero's body-
guard, [1] he adopts the same line of thought, but shows signs of limiting
its application by the necessities of circumstances. The person to whom
this dialogue is addressed, though praised by Seneca, seems to have been
but a poor philosopher. In complaisance to the emperor he went so far as
to attract to himself the infamy which Nero incurred by his amours with a
courtesan named Acte; and his end was that of a glutton rather than a
sage. At a large banquet he and many of his guests were poisoned by eating
toadstools! [2]
It was Messalina who had procured Seneca's exile. When Agrippina succeeded
to her influence he was recalled. This ambitious woman, aware of his
talents and pliant disposition, and perhaps, as Dio insinuates, captivated
by his engaging person, contrived to get him appointed tutor to her son,
the young Nero, now heir-apparent to the throne. This was a post of which
he was not slow to appropriate the advantages. He rose to the praetorship
(50 A.D.) and soon after to the consulship, and in the short space of four
years amassed an enormous fortune. [3] This damaging circumstance gave
occasion to his numerous enemies to accuse him before Nero; and though
Seneca in his defence [4] attributed all his wealth to the unsought bounty
of his prince, yet it is difficult to believe it was honestly come by,
especially as he must have been well paid for the numerous violations of
his conscience to which out of regard to Nero he submitted. Seneca is a
lamentable instance of variance between precept and example. [5] The
authentic bust which is preserved of him bears in its harassed expression
unmistakable evidence of a mind ill at ease. And those who study his works
cannot fail to find many indications of the same thing, though the very
energy which results from such unhappiness gives his writings a deeper
power.
The works written after his recall show a marked advance in his
conceptions of life. He is no longer the abstract dogmatist, but the
supple thinker who finds that there is room for the philosopher in the
world, at court, even in the inner chamber of the palace. To this period
are to be referred his three books _De Clementia_, which are addressed to
Nero, and contain many beautiful and wholesome precepts; his _De Vita
Beata_, addressed to his brother Novatus (the Gallio of the Acts of the
Apostles), and perhaps the admirable essay _De Beneficiis_. This, however,
more probably dates a few years later (60-62 A.D.). It is full of
digressions and repetitions, a common fault of his style, but contains
some very powerful thought. The animus that dictates it is thought by
Charpentier to be the desire to release himself from all sense of
obligation to Nero. It breathes protest throughout; it proves that a
tyrant's benefits are not kindnesses. It gives what we may call _a
casuistry of gratitude_. Other philosophical works now lost are the
_Exhortationes_, the _De Officiis_, an essay on premature death, one on
superstition, in which he derided the popular faith, one on friendship,
some books on moral philosophy, on remedies for chance casualties, on
poverty and compassion. He wrote also a biography of his father, many
political speeches delivered by Nero, a panegyric on Messalina, and a
collection of letters to Novatus.
The Stoics affected to despise physical studies, or at any rate to
postpone them to morals. Seneca shared this edifying but far from
scientific persuasion. But after his final withdrawal from court, as the
wonders of nature forced themselves on his notice, he reconsidered his old
prejudice, and entered with ardour on the contemplation of physical
phenomena. Besides the _Naturales Quaestiones_, a great part of which
still remain, he wrote a treatise _De Motu Terrarum_, begun in his youth
but revised in his old age, and essays on the properties of stones and
fishes, besides monographs on India and Egypt, and a short fragment on
"the form of the universe." These, however, only occupied a portion of his
time, the chief part was given to self-improvement and those beautiful
letters to Lucilius which are the most important remains of his works.
Since the death of Burrus, who had helped him to influence Nero for good,
or at least to mitigate the atrocious tendencies of his disposition,
Seneca had known that his position was insecure. A prince who had killed
first his cousin and then his mother, would not be likely to spare his
preceptor. Seneca determined to forestall the danger. He presented himself
at the palace, and entreated Nero to receive back the wealth he had so
generously bestowed. Instead of complying, Nero, in a speech full of
specious respect, but instinct with latent malignity, refused to accept
the proffered gift. The ex-minister knew that his doom was sealed. He at
once relinquished all the state in which he had lived, gave no more
banquets, held no more levees, but abandoned himself to a voluntary
poverty, writing and reading, and practising the asceticism of his school.
But this submission did not at all satisfy Nero's vengeance. He made an
insidious attempt to poison his old friend. This was revealed to Seneca,
who henceforth ate nothing but herbs which he gathered with his own hand,
and drank only from a spring that rose in his garden. Soon afterwards
occurred the conspiracy of Piso, and this gave his enemies a convenient
excuse for accusing him. It is impossible to believe that he was guilty.
Nero's thirst for his blood is a sufficient motive for his condemnation.
He was bidden to prepare for death, which he accordingly did with alacrity
and firmness. In the fifteenth book of the Annals of Tacitus is related
with that wondrous power which is peculiar to its author, the dramatic
scene which closed the sage's life. The best testimony to his domestic
virtue is the deep affection of his young wife Paulina. Refusing all
entreaty, she resolutely determined to die with her husband. They opened
their veins together; she fainted away, and was removed by her friends and
with difficulty restored to life; he, after suffering excruciating agony,
which he endured with cheerfulness, discoursing to his friends on the
glorious realities to which he was about to pass, was at length suffocated
by the vapour of a stove. Thus perished one of the weakest and one of the
most amiable of men; one who, had he had the courage to abjure public
life, would have been reverenced by posterity in the same degree that his
talent has been admired. As it is, he has always found severe judges. Dio
Cassius soon after his death wrote a biography, in which all his acts
received a malignant interpretation. Quintilian disliked him, and harshly
criticised his literary defects. The pedant Fronto did the same. Tacitus,
with a larger heart, made allowance for his temptations, and while never
glossing over his unworthy actions, has yet shown his love for the man in
spite of all by the splendid tribute he pays to the constancy of his
death.
The position of Seneca, both as a philosopher and as a man of letters, is
extremely important, and claims attentive consideration in both these
relations. As a philosopher he is usually called a Stoic. In one sense
this appellation is correct. When he places himself under any banner it is
always that of Zeno. Nevertheless it would be a great error to regard him
as a Stoic in the sense in which Brutus, Cato, and Thrasea, were Stoics.
Like all the greatest Roman thinkers he was an Eclectic; he belonged in
reality to no school. He was the successor of such men as Scipio, Ennius,
and Cicero, far more than of the rigid thinkers of the Porch. He himself
says, "Nullius nomen fero." [6] The systematic teachers of the Roman
school, as distinct from those who were rather patriots than philosophers,
had become more and more liberal in their speculative tenets, more and
more at one upon the great questions of practice. Since the time of Cicero
philosophic thought had been flowing steadily in one direction. It had
learnt the necessity of appealing to men's hearts rather than convincing
their intellects. It had become a system of persuasion. Fabianus was the
first who clearly proposed to himself, as an end, to gain over the
affections or to arouse the conscience. He was succeeded, under Tiberius,
by Sotion the Pythagorean and Attalus the Stoic, [7] of both of whom
Seneca had been an ardent pupil. Demetrius the Cynic, in a ruder way, had
worked for the same object. [8] In this gradual convergence of diverse
schools metaphysics were necessarily put aside, and ethics occupied the
first and only place. Each school claimed for itself the best men of all
schools. "He is a Stoic," [9] says Seneca, "even though he denies it." The
great conclusions of abstract thought brought to light in Greece were now
to be tested in their application to life. "The remedies of the soul have
been discovered long ago; it is for us to learn how to apply them." Such
is the grand text on which the system of Seneca is a comment. This system
demands, above all things, a knowledge of the human heart. And it is
astonishing how penetrating is the knowledge that Seneca displays. His
varied experience opened to him many avenues of observation closed to the
majority. His very position, as at once a great statesman and a great
moralist, naturally attracted men to him. And he used his opportunities
with signal adroitness. But his ability was not the only reason of this
peculiar insight. Cicero was as able; but Cicero had it not. His thoughts
were occupied with other questions, and do not penetrate into the recesses
of the soul. The reason is to be found in the circumstances of the time.
For a man to succeed in life under a _regime_ of mutual distrust, which he
himself bitterly compares to the forced friendship of the gladiatorial
school, a deep study of character was indispensable. Wealth could no
longer be imported: [10] it could only be redistributed. To gain wealth
was to despoil one's neighbour. And the secret of despoiling one's
neighbour was to understand his weakness: if possible, to detect his
hidden guilt. Not Seneca only but all the great writers of the Empire show
a marked familiarity with the _pathology_ of mind.
Seneca tells us that he loves teaching above all things else; that if he
loves knowledge it is that he may impart it. [11] For teaching there is
one indispensable prerequisite, and two possible domains. The prerequisite
is certainty of one's self, the domains are those of popular instruction
and of private direction. Seneca tries first of all to ensure his own
conviction. "Not only," he says, "do I believe all I say, but I love it."
[12] He tries to make his published teachings as real as possible by
assuming a conversational tone. [13] They have the piquancy, the
discursiveness, the brilliant flavour of the salon. They recall the
converse of those gifted men who pass from theme to theme, throwing light
on all, but not exhausting any. But Seneca is the last man to assume the
sage. Except pedantry, nothing is so alien from him as the assumption of
goodness. "When I praise virtue do not suppose I am praising myself, but
when I blame vice, then believe that it is myself I blame." [14]
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