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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'That ivy wreathes the laurels of your crown.'
"In elegy, too, we challenge the Greeks. The tersest and most elegant
author of it is in my opinion _Tibullus_. Others prefer _Propertius_.
_Ovid_ is more luxuriant, _Gallus_ harsher, than either. Satire is all our
own. In this _Lucilius_ first gained great renown, and even now has many
admirers so wedded to him, as to prefer him not only to all other
satirists but to all other poets. I disagree with them as much as I
disagree with Horace, who thinks Lucilius flows in a muddy stream, and
that there is much that one would wish to remove. For there is wonderful
learning in him, freedom of speech with the bitterness that comes
therefrom, and an inexhaustible wit. _Horace_ is far terser and purer, and
without a rival in his sketches of character. _Persius_ has earned much
true glory by his single book. There are men now living who are renowned,
and others who will be so hereafter. That earlier sort of satire not
written exclusively in verse was founded by _Terentius Varro_, the most
learned of the Romans. He composed a vast number of extremely erudite
treatises, being well versed in the Latin tongue as well as in every kind
of antiquarian knowledge; he will, however, contribute much more to
science than to oratory.
"The iambus is not much in vogue among the Romans as a separate form of
poetry; it is more often interspersed with other rhythms. Its bitterness
is found in _Catullus_, _Bibaculus_, and _Horace_, though in the last the
epode breaks its monotony.
"Of lyricists _Horace_ is, I may say, the only one worth reading; for he
sometimes rises, and he is always full of sweetness and grace, and most
happily daring in figures and expressions. If any one else be added, it
must be Caesius Bassus, whom we have lately seen, but there are living
lyricists far greater than he.
"Of the ancient tragedians _Accius_ and _Pacuvius_ are the most renowned
for the gravity of their sentiments, the weight of their words, and the
dignity of their characters. But brilliancy of touch and the last polish
in completing their work seems to have been wanting, not so much to
themselves as to their times. Accius is held to be the more powerful
writer; Pacuvius (by those who wish to be thought learned) the more
learned. Next comes the _Thyestes_ of _Varius_, which may be compared with
any of the Greek plays. The _Medea_ of _Ovid_ shows what that poet might
have achieved if he had but controlled instead of indulging his
inspiration. Of those of my own day _Pomponius Secundus_ is by far the
greatest. The old critics, indeed, thought him wanting in tragic force,
but they confessed his learning and brilliancy.
"In comedy we halt most lamentably. It is true that Varro declares (after
Aelius Stilo) that the muses, had they been willing to talk Latin, would
have used the language of Plautus. It is true also that the ancients had a
high respect for Caecilius, and that they attributed the plays of Terence
to Scipio--plays that are of their kind most elegant, and would be even
more pleasing if they had kept within the iambic metre. We can scarcely
reproduce in comedy a faint shadow of our originals, so that I am
compelled to believe the language incapable of that grace, which even in
Greek is peculiar to the Attic, or at any rate has never been attained in
any other dialect. _Afranius_ excels in the national comedy, but I wish he
had not defiled his plots by licentious allusions.
"In history at all events, I would not yield the palm to Greece. I should
have no fear in matching _Sallust_ against Thucydides, nor would Herodotus
disdain to be compared with _Livy_--Livy, the most delightful in
narration, the most candid in judgment, the most eloquent in his speeches
that can be conceived. Everything is perfectly adapted both to the
circumstances and personages introduced. The affections, and, above all,
the softer ones, have never (to say the least) been more persuasively
introduced by any writer. Thus by a different kind of excellence he has
equalled the immortal rapidity of Sallust. _Servilius Nonianus_ well said
to me: 'They are not like, but they are equal.' I used often to listen to
his recitations; a man of lofty spirit and full of brilliant sentiments,
but less condensed than the majesty of history demands. This condition was
better fulfilled by _Aufidius Bassus_, who was a little his senior, at any
rate in his books on the German War, in which the author was admirable in
his general treatment, but now and then fell below himself. There still
survives and adorns the literary glory of our age a man worthy of an
immortal record, who will be named some day, but now is only alluded to.
He has many to admire, none to imitate him, as if freedom, though he clips
her wings, had injured him. But even in what he has allowed to remain you
can detect a spirit full lofty, and opinions courageously stated. There
are other good writers; but at present we are tasting, as it were, the
samples, not ransacking the libraries.
"It is the orators who more than any have made Latin eloquence a match for
that of Greece. For I could boldly pitch Cicero against any of their
champions. Nor am I ignorant how great a strife I should be stirring up
(especially as it is no part of my plan), were I to compare him with
Demosthenes. This is the less necessary, since I think Demosthenes should
be read (or rather learnt by heart) above every one else. Their
excellences seem to me to be very similar; there is the same plan, order
of division, method of preparation, proof, and all that belongs to
invention. In the oratorical style there is some difference. The one is
closer, the other more fluent; the one draws his conclusion with more
incisiveness, the other with greater breadth; the one always wields a
weapon with a sharp edge, the other frequently a heavy one as well; from
the one nothing can be taken, to the other nothing can be added; the one
shows more care, the other more natural gift. In wit and pathos, both
important points, Cicero is clearly first. Perhaps the custom of his state
did not allow Demosthenes to use the epilogue, but then neither does the
genius of Latin oratory allow us to employ ornaments which the Athenians
admire. In their letters, of which both have left several, there can be no
comparison; nor in their dialogues, of which Demosthenes has not left any.
In one point we must yield: Demosthenes came first, and of course had a
great share in making Cicero what he was. For to me Cicero seems in his
intense zeal for imitating the Greeks to have united the force of
Demosthenes, the copiousness of Plato, and the sweetness of Isocrates. Nor
has he only acquired by study all that was best in each, but has even
exalted the majority if not the whole of their excellences by the
inexpressible fertility of his glorious talent. For, as Pindar says, he
does not collect rain-water, but bursts forth in a living stream; born by
the gift of providence that eloquence might put forth and test all her
powers. For who can teach more earnestly or move more vehemently? to whom
was such sweetness ever given? The very concessions he extorts you think
he begs, and while by his swing he carries the judge right across the
course, the man seems all the while to be following of his own accord.
Then in everything he advances there is such strength of assertion that
one is ashamed to disagree; nor does he bring to bear the eagerness of an
advocate, but the moral confidence of a juryman or a witness; and
meanwhile all those graces, which separate individuals with the most
constant care can hardly obtain, flow from him without any premeditation;
and that eloquence which is so delicious to listen to seems to carry on
its surface the most perfect freedom from labour. Wherefore his
contemporaries did right to call him 'king of the courts;' and posterity
to give him such renown that Cicero stands for the name not of a man but
of eloquence itself. Let us then fix our eyes on him; let his be the
example we set before us; let him who loves Cicero well know that his own
progress has been great. In _Asinius Pollio_ there is much invention,
much, according to some, excessive, diligence; but he is so far from the
brilliancy and sweetness of Cicero that he might be a generation earlier.
But _Messala_ is polished and open, and in a way carries his noble birth
into his style of eloquence, but he lacks vigour. If _Julius Caesar_ had
only had leisure for the forum, he would be the one we should select as
the rival of Cicero. He has such force, point, and vehemence of style,
that it is clear he spoke with the same mind that he warred. Yet all is
covered with a wondrous elegance of expression, of which he was peculiarly
studious. There was much talent in _Caelius_, and in accusations chiefly
he showed a great urbanity; he was a man worthy of a better mind and a
longer life. I have found those who prefer _Calvus_ to any orator; I have
found others who thought with Cicero that by too strict criticism of
himself he lost real power; but his style is weighty and noble, guarded,
and often vehement. He was an enthusiastic atticist, and his early death
may be considered a misfortune, if we can believe that a longer life would
have added something to his over concise manner. _Servius Sulpicius_ has
earned considerable fame by his three speeches. _Cassius Severus_ will
give many points for imitation if he be read judiciously; if he had added
colour and weight to his other good qualities of style, he would be placed
extremely high. For he has great talent and wonderful power of satire. His
urbanity, too, is great, but he gave himself up to passion rather than
reason. And as his wit is always bitter, so the very bitterness of it
sometimes makes it ludicrous. I need not enumerate the rest of this long
list. Of my own contemporaries _Domitius Afer_ and _Julius Africanus_ are
far the greatest; the former in art and general style, the latter in
earnestness, and the sorting of words, which sorting, however, is perhaps
excessive, as his arrangements are lengthy and his metaphors immoderate.
There have been lately some great masters in this line. _Trachalus_ was
often sublime, and very open in his manner, a man to whom you gave credit
for good motives; but he was much greater heard than read. For he had a
beauty of voice such as I have never known in any other, an articulation
good enough for the stage, and grace of person and every other external
advantage were at their height in him. _Vibius Crispus_ was neat, elegant,
and pleasing, better for private than public causes. Had _Julius Secundus_
lived longer, his renown as an orator would be first-rate. For he would
have added, as indeed he had already began to add, all the desiderata for
the highest ideal. He would have been more combative, and more attentive
to the subject, even to an occasional neglect of the manner. Cut off as he
was, he nevertheless merits a high place; such is his facility of speech,
his charm in explaining what he has to say; his open, gentle, and specious
style, his perfect selection of words, even those which are adopted on the
spur of the moment; his vigorous application of analogies extemporaneously
suggested. My successors in rhetorical criticism will have a rich field
for praising those who are now living. For there are now great talents at
work who do credit to the bar, both finished patrons, worthy rivals of the
ancients, and industrious youths, following them in the path of
excellence.
"There remain the philosophers, few of whom have attained to eloquence.
_Cicero_, here as ever, is the rival of Plato. _Brutus_ stands in this
department much higher than as an orator; he suffices for the weight of
his matter; you can see he feels what he says. _Cornelius Celsus_,
following the _Sextii_, has written a good deal with point and elegance.
_Plancus_ among the Stoics is useful for his knowledge. Among Epicureans,
_Catius_ though a light is a pleasant writer. I have purposely deferred
_Seneca_ until the end, because of the false report current that I condemn
him, and even personally dislike him. This results from my endeavour to
recal to a severer standard a corrupt and effeminate taste. When I began
my crusade, Seneca was almost the only writer in the hands of the young.
Nor did I try to 'disestablish' him altogether, but only to prevent his
being placed above better men, whom he continually attacked, from a
consciousness that his special talents would never allow him to please in
the way they pleased. And then his pupils loved him better than they
imitated him, and in their imitations fell as much below him as he had
fallen below the ancients. I only wish they could have been equals or
seconds to such a man. But he pleased them solely through his faults; and
it was to reproduce these that they all strove with their utmost efforts,
and then, boasting that they spoke in his style, they greatly injured his
fame. He, indeed, had many and great excellences; an easy and fertile
talent, much study, much knowledge, though in this he was often led astray
by those he employed to 'research' for him. He treated nearly the whole
cycle of knowledge. For he has left speeches, poems, letters, and
dialogues. In philosophy he was not very accurate, but he was a notable
rebuker of vice. Many brilliant apophthegms are scattered through his
works; much, too, may be read with a moral purpose. But from the point of
view of eloquence his style is corrupt, and the more pernicious because he
abounds in pleasant faults. One could wish he had used his own talent and
another person's judgment. For had he despised some modes of effect, had
he not striven after others (_partem_), if he had not loved all that was
his own, if he had not broken the weight of his subjects by his short cut-
up sentences, he would be approved by the consent of the learned rather
than by the enthusiasm of boys. For all this, he should be read, but only
by those who are robust and well prepared by a course of stricter models;
and for this object, to exercise their judgment on both sides. For there
is much that is good in him, much to admire; only it requires picking out,
a thing he himself ought to have done. A nature which could always achieve
its object was worthy of having striven after a better object than it
did."
CHAPTER VI
THE REIGNS OF VESPASIAN, TITUS, AND DOMITIAN (A.D. 69-96).
2. POETS.
The poet is usually credited with a genius more independent of external
circumstances than any other of nature's favourites. His inspiration is
more creative, more unearthly, more constraining, more unattainable by
mere effort. He seems to forget the world in his own inner sources of
thought and feeling. As circumstances cannot produce him, so they do not
greatly affect his genius. He is the product of causes as yet unknown to
the student of human progress; he is a boon for which the age that has him
should be grateful, a sort of _aerii mellis caelestia dona_. Modern
literature is full of this conception. The poet "does but speak because he
must; he sings but as the linnets sing." Never has the sentiment been
expressed with deeper pathos than by Shelley's well-known lines:
"Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not."
The idea that the poet can neither be made on the one hand, nor repressed
if he is there, on the other, has become deeply rooted in modern literary
thought. And yet if we look through the epochs that have been most fertile
of great poets, the instances of such self-sufficing hardiness are rare.
In Greek poetry we question whether there is one to be found. In Latin
poetry there is only Lucretius. In modern times, it is true, they are more
numerous, owing to the greater complexity of our social conditions, and
the greater difficulty for a strongly sensuous or deeply spiritual poetic
nature to be in harmony with them all. Putting aside these solitary voices
we should say on the whole that poetry, at least in ancient times, was the
tenderest and least hardy of all garden flowers. It needed, so to say, a
special soil, constant care, and shelter from the rude blast. It could
blossom only in the summer of patronage, popular or imperial; the storms
of war and revolution, and the chill frost of despotism, were equally
fatal to its tender life. Where its supports were strong its own strength
came out, and that with such luxuriance as to hide the props which lay
beneath; but when once the inspiring consciousness of sympathy and aid was
lost, its fair head drooped, its fragrance was forgotten, and its seeds
were scattered to the waste of air.
If Lucan's claim to the name of poet be disputed, what shall we say to the
so-called poets of the Flavian age? to Valerius Flaccus, Silius, Statius,
and Martial? In one sense they are poets certainly; they have a thorough
mastery over the form of their art, over the hackneyed themes of verse.
But in the inspiration that makes the bard, in the grace that should adorn
his mind, in the familiarity with noble thoughts which lends to the
_Pharsalia_ an undisputed greatness, they are one and all absolutely
wanting. None of them raise in the reader one thrill of pleasure, none of
them add one single idea to enrich the inheritance of mankind. The works
of Pliny and Quintilian cannot indeed be ranked among the masterpieces of
literature. But in elegant greatness they are immeasurably superior to the
works of their brethren of the lyre. Science can seek a refuge in the
contemplation of the material universe; if it can find no law there, no
justice, no wisdom, no comfort, it at least bows before unchallenged
greatness. Rhetoric can solace its aspirations in a noble though hopeless
effort to rekindle an extinct past. Poetry, that should point the way to
the ideal, that should bear witness if not to goodness at least to beauty
and to glory, grovels in a base contentment with all that is meanest and
shallowest in the present, and owns no source of inspiration but the
bidding of superior force, or the insulting bribe of a despot's minion
which derides in secret the very flattery it buys.
These poets need not detain us long. There is little to interest us in
them, and they are of little importance in the history of literature. The
first of them is C. VALERIUS FLACCUS SETINUS BALBUS. [1] He was born not,
as his name would indicate, at Setia, but at Patavium. [2] We gather from
a passage in his poem [3] that he filled the office of _Quindecimvir
sacris faciundis_, and from Quintilian [4] that he was cut off by an early
death. The date of this event may be fixed with probability to the year 88
A.D. [5] Dureau de la Malle has disputed this, and thinks it probable that
he lived until the reign of Trajan; but this is in itself unlikely, and
inconsistent with the obviously unfinished state of the poem. The legend
of the Argonauts which forms its subject was one that had already been
treated by Varro Atacinus apparently in the form of an imitation or
translation from the same writer, Appollonius Rhodius, whom Valerius also
chose as his model. But whereas Varro's poem was little more than a free
translation, that of Valerius is an amplification and study from the
original of a more ambitious character. It consists of eight books, of
which the last is incomplete, and in estimating its merits or demerits we
must not forget the immaturity of its author's talent.
The opening dedication to Vespasian fixes its composition under his reign.
Its profane flattery is in the usual style of the period, but lacks the
brilliancy, the audacity, and the satire of that of Lucan. From certain
allusions it is probable that the poem was written soon after the conquest
of Jerusalem by Titus [6] (A.D. 70). There is considerable learning shown,
but a desire to compress allusions into a small space and to suggest
trains of mythological recollection by passing hints, interfere with the
lucidity of the style. In other respects the diction is classical and
elegant, and both rhythm and language are closely modelled on those of
Virgil. Licences of versification are rare. The spondaic line, rarely used
by Ovid, almost discarded by Lucan, but which reappears in Statius, is
sparingly employed by Valerius. Hiatus is still rarer, but the shortening
of final _o_ occurs in verbs and nominatives, such as _Juno, Virgo_,
whenever it suits the metre. His speeches are rhetorical but not
extravagant, some, _e.g._, that of Helle to Jason, are very pretty. In
descriptive power he rises to his highest level; some of his subjects are
extremely vivid and might form subjects for a painting. [7] During the
time that he was writing the eruption of Vesuvius occurred, and he has
described it with the zeal of a witness. [8]
"Sic ubi prorupti tonuit cum forte Vesevi
Hesperiae letalis apex; vixdum ignea montem
Torsit hiems, iamque Eoas einis induit urbes."
But in this, as in all the descriptive pieces, however striking and
elaborate, of the period of the decline, are prominently visible the
strained endeavour to be emphatic, and the continual dependence upon book
reminiscence instead of first-hand observation. Valerius is no exception
to the rule. Nor is the next author who presents himself any better in
this respect, the voluptuary and poetaster C. SILIUS ITALICUS.
This laborious compiler and tasteless versifier was born 25 A.D., or
according to some 24 A.D., and died by his own act seventy-six years
later. He is known to us as a copyist of Virgil; to his contemporaries he
was at least as well known as a clever orator and luxurious virtuoso. His
early fondness for Virgil's poetry may be presumed from the dedication of
Cornutus's treatise on that subject to him, but he soon deserted
literature for public life, in which (68 A.D.) he attained the highest
success by being nominated consul. He had been a personal friend of
Vitellius and of Nero; but now, satisfied with his achievements, he
settled down on his estates, and composed his poem on the Punic Wars in
sixteen books. Most of the information we possess about him is gathered
from the letter [9] in which Pliny narrates his death. We translate the
most striking passages for the reader's benefit.
"I have just heard that Silius has closed his life in his Neapolitan
villa by voluntary abstinence. The cause of his preferring to die was
ill-health. He suffered from an incurable tumour, the trouble arising
from which determined him with singular resolution to seek death as a
relief. His whole life had been unvaryingly fortunate, except that he
had lost the younger of his two sons. On the other hand, he had lived
to see his elder and more promising son succeed in life and obtain the
consulship. He had injured his reputation under Nero. It was believed
he had acted as an informer. But afterwards, while enjoying
Vitellius's friendship, he had conducted himself with courtesy and
prudence. He had gained much credit by his proconsulship in Asia, and
had since by an honourable leisure wiped out the blot which stained
the activity of his former years. He ranked among the first men in the
state, but he neither retained power nor excited envy. He was saluted,
courted; he received levees often in his bed, always in his chamber,
which was crowded with visitors, who came attracted by no
considerations of his fortune. When not occupied with writing, he
passed his days in learned discourse. His poems evince more diligence
than talent: he now and then by reciting challenged men's opinions
upon them. Latterly, owing to advancing years, he retired from Rome
and remained in Campania, nor did even the accession of a new emperor
draw him forth. To allow this inactivity was most liberal on the
emperor's part, to have the courage to accept it was equally
honourable to Silius. He was a virtuoso, and was even blamed for his
propensities for collecting. He owned several country-houses in the
same district, and was always so taken with each new house he
purchased as to neglect the old for it. All of them were well stocked
with books, statues, and busts of great men. These last he not only
treasured but revered, above all, that of Virgil, whose birthday he
kept more religiously than his own. He preferred celebrating it at
Naples, where he visited the poet's tomb as if it had been a temple.
Amid such complete tranquillity he passed his seventy-fifth year, not
exactly weak in body, but delicate."
To this notice of Pliny's we might add several by Martial; but as these
refer to the same facts, adding beside only fulsome praises of the wealthy
and dignified litterateur, they need not be quoted here. Quintilian does
not mention him. But his silence is no token of disrespect; it is merely
an indication that Silius was still alive when the great critic wrote.
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