CHAPTER V.

C. VALERIUS FLACCUS—FAULTS OF THE ARGONAUTICA—PAPINIUS STATIUS—BEAUTY OF HIS MINOR POEMS—INCAPABLE OF EPIC POETRY—DOMITIAN—EPIGRAM—MARTIAL—HIS BIOGRAPHY—PROFLIGACY OF THE AGE IN WHICH HE LIVED—IMPURITY OF HIS WRITINGS—FAVOURABLE SPECIMENS OF HIS POETRY.

C. VALERIUS FLACCUS.

C. Valerius Flaccus flourished in the reign of Vespasian; and, according to an epigram of Martial, in which the poet advises his friend to leave the Muses for the drier but more profitable profession of a pleader, he was born at Patavium[1116] (Padua.) The frequent addition of the surnames Setinus Balbus have caused it to be supposed that he was a native of Setia, in Campania (Sezzo;) but it is impossible to form any satisfactory conjecture as to their signification, and the statement of Martial is too definite to admit of a doubt. Quintilian[1117] asserts that, when he wrote, V. Flaccus had _lately_ died: he was, therefore, probably cut off prematurely about A. D. 88.

His only poem which is extant is entitled “_Argonautica_,” and is an imitation, and, in some parts, a translation, of the Greek poem of Apollonius Rhodius on the same subject. It is addressed to the Emperor, and in the proëmium he pays a compliment to Domitian on his poetry, and to Titus on his victories over the Jews.

He evidently did not live to complete his original design: even the eighth book is unfinished; and, from the events still remaining to be related, he probably planned an epic poem of the same length as that of Virgil, whose style and versification he endeavoured to imitate. An Italian poet, John Baptista Pius, continued the subject, by an addition to the eighth book, and by subjoining two more, the incidents of which were partly borrowed from Apollonius.

Of his merits Quintilian speaks favourably in the passage already alluded to, and says, that in him literature had sustained a severe loss. The severer criticism of Scaliger is more precise and more judicious:—“Immaturâ morte præreptus acerbum item poëma suum nobis reliquit. Est autem omnino duriusculus, penitus vero nudus Gratiarum comitate.” The defects of the Argonautica are, in fact, rather of a negative than a positive character. There are no glaring faults or blemishes; none of the affectation or rhetorical artifices which belong to the period of the decline. There may be a little occasional hardness, and a few awkward expressions and paraphrases, but there is no bombast to outrage good taste, and no unmetrical cadences to offend the ear. But there is no genius, no inspiration, no thrilling fervour, no thoughts that breathe or words that burn. He never rises above a dead level. Every thing is in accordance with decent and direct propriety. He has some talent as a descriptive poet: his versification is harmonious, and he attains to those superficial excellencies which are found in the prize poem of a pains-taking, ingenious, and well-educated scholar. Virgil was an imitator: that is, his taste, like Roman taste, universally was formed and trained by imitation; but his spirit disdained these trammels, and soared to originality. V. Flaccus is scarcely ever original except when he is commonplace: he imitates Virgil successfully, as far as the outward graces of style are concerned; but in the charm of natural simplicity, he always falls short of his great original.

P. PAPINIUS STATIUS (BORN A. D. 61.)

Towards the middle of the first century of the Christian era,[1118] there arrived at Rome, from Naples, a grammarian, named P. Papinius Statius. He opened a school, and soon became so celebrated as a public instructor, that he became tutor to the young Domitian, whose favour and affection continued after he became emperor. Some of his fame was also founded on gaining, in his boyhood, the prize in many public contests of poetry. Every year between the age of thirteen and nineteen, he is said to have been crowned. These contests were partly of an improvisatorial character; and in an age when public readings and recitations were in vogue, and were the means which poets had of gaining fame and patronage, success of this kind was highly valued. The subject of one of his poems is said to have been the conflagration of the Capitol, during the struggle between the Vitellians and the supporters of Vespasian.[1119] Statius, however, seems to have possessed no higher degree of poetical power than a happy facility in versification, for he died[1120] and left no works which have stood the test of time.

A son, however, inherited poetical talents of the same kind, but of a far higher order than those of his father, and although, for a long time, he was entirely dependent upon his works for the means of living, and, notwithstanding thunders of applause, must starve, unless he can sell his play to the manager Paris,[1121] the sunshine of imperial favour, which his father had enjoyed, shone upon him.[1122] He purchased patronage, however, at the expense of grossly flattering the tyrant. This son, who bore the same name as his father, was the author of the Silvæ, Thebaid, and Achilleid. He was born A. D. 61, and died in the prime of life, A. D. 95, at Naples, his native city. As no interesting particulars are recorded respecting his life, and as he is never mentioned by any classical author except Juvenal,[1123] it is impossible to say how the opinion arose which was entertained by his admirer Dante, and others, that he was in secret a defender of the Christians, and also himself a believer.[1124]

He was a true Italian in the character of his genius. He had a thorough perception of the beauties of nature. His Silvæ are full of truthful pictures. He possessed ready facility in versification, which was surpassed by no poet of classic antiquity except Ovid, and that improvisatorial power for which his countrymen in the present day are so often celebrated. As long as he was content to be a poet on a small scale he was eminently successful. His Sylvæ contain many poetical incidents which might stand by themselves as perfect fugitive pieces,—brief effusions, suggested by statues[1125] and buildings,[1126] verses of compliment[1127] and delicate flattery,[1128] or condolence[1129] or congratulation. It matters not how light or trifling the subject, he can raise it and adorn it. He writes with equal beauty on the tree of his friend Atedius;[1130] the death of a parrot; of the emperor’s lion;[1131] the locks of Flavius Earinus;[1132] the rude freedom of the Saturnalia.[1133] It is in these unpretending poems that we see his natural and unaffected elegance, his harmonious ear, and his truthfulness of perception. But the case is totally different when the subject is above him.[1134] He had neither grasp of mind, nor vigour of imagination, to fit him for the task of an epic poet; and, hence, his great work, the Thebaid, and his other unfinished epic, the Achilleid, are complete failures.

In his minor poems he seems to trust to the natural powers of his genius; he never strains at producing effect, nor is he too solicitous about exact finish and laborious polish. Although not improvisatorial, they partake of that character, and have all its freshness combined with the advantage of written and corrected performances. His thoughts are inspired by his subject; and its reality, which he was capable of appreciating, gives a life to his compositions. But the principal fault in his Silvæ is too great a display of Greek learning. Every page is full of mythological allusions, which sometimes render his graceful verses dry and wearisome, and must have rendered them acceptable to those only who were well versed in Greek literature: they never could have been universally popular. The qualities which recommended his Silvæ do not adorn his epic poetry. His imaginary heroes do not inspire and warm his imagination: he is not affected by their personality in the same way in which he is by the lawns and groves, and sun, and forests, and skies of Italy.

For this deficiency he attempts to compensate by extravagant bombast, totally out of keeping with the action of the poem, and by an attention to the theoretical principles of art, and an elaborate finish which must have cost him many hours of toil. Yet this perseverance is thrown away, and the effect produced by the contrast between the action and essence of the poem, and the language in which it is externally clothed, produces an effect contrary to that which was intended.

He was a skilful draughtsman, a gorgeous colourist, a pleasing landscape-painter, and a diligent student of the rules of art; but his genius could not rise to the highest departments of art—he could not give the mind or the _morale_ to those characters whose external features he was so apt in delineating. He owes the estimation in which he is held as an epic poet not to his absolute but his relative merit. He was the best of the heroic poets of his day. Statius, notwithstanding his defects, was evidently a profound student as well as an admirer of the Homeric poems; and there are two points in which he has proved himself a successful imitator. These are his battles and his similes. His descriptions of the former are stirring and dramatic, and some of his similes will bear comparison with the best Latin specimens of this kind of illustration. When it is remembered that no epic poet has approached more nearly to Homer in the use of the simile than Dante, and that he equals the Greek bard in sublime and picturesque description, it may easily be imagined that these were the qualities in the poems of Statius which especially called forth his admiration.

A few words only are necessary to describe the nature and subject-matter of the poems of Statius. The Silvæ consist of thirty-two separate pieces. They are all hexametrical, with the exception of four in hendecasyllabics,[1135] one in Alcaic,[1136] and one in Sapphic metre.[1137] Each of the five books in which these poems are arranged has a prose dedication to some friend prefixed; the first being addressed to the poet Stella, the common friend of himself and Martial.[1138] The title Silvæ was given to these poems, on account of the very quality which constitutes their especial charm. They are the rude materials of thought, springing up spontaneously in all their wild luxuriance from the rich natural soil of the poet’s imagination, unpruned, untrimmed, ignorant of that cultivated art which an affected and artificial age thought necessary to constitute a finished poem. “Such extemporaneous performances as these,” says Quintilian, “are called Silvæ: the author subsequently re-examines and corrects his effusions.”[1139] The Thebaid is comprised in twelve books, and its subject is the ancient Greek legends respecting the war of the Seven against Thebes. The composition of this work preceded the publication of the Silvæ. Achilleid was intended, doubtless, to embrace all the exploits of Achilles, but only two books were completed.

DOMITIAN.

A paraphrase of the Phænomena of Aratus belongs to this age. It has been ascribed to Germanicus, but its real author was Domitian, who, as well as Nero, wrote verses.[1140] As far as language and versification are concerned, it is not without merit; but the subject is unsuitable to poetry.[1141] Domitian had taste, although his talents did not deserve the adulatory commendations of Quintilian;[1142] but he encouraged learned men: and to his encouragement we owe those distinguished contemporary writers who, for one generation, arrested the downward progress of Roman literature.

EPIGRAM.

The Greek Epigram was originally, as the word implies, simply an inscription. It was therefore short and concise; its metre elegiac, as especially suited to the periodic structure of the sentiment, and its characteristic qualities, terseness and neatness. So long as it retained this character it was free from bitterness; and the principal element of success in this species of composition was tact rather than genius, and a cultivated taste rather than poetical inspiration. Not only were Catullus, Virgil, and Ovid epigrammatists, but some Roman _literati_, arrived at mediocrity, or even excellence, in epigram, who were not capable of becoming great poets. Julius Cæsar wrote one on Terence, and perhaps the following neatly-turned lines; although they have been ascribed to Augustus and Germanicus:—

Thrax puer astricto glacie dum ludit in Hebro Pondere concretas frigore rupit aquas; Dumque imæ partes rapido traherentur ab amne, Abscidit tenerum lubrica testa caput. Orba quod inventum mater dum conderet urna, Hoc peperi flammis, cetera, dixit, aquis.

Lutatius Catulus was the author of a quatrain on Roscius the comedian; and the Anthology, amongst numerous others, contains one by Augustus,[1143] and four of no merit by Mæcenas,[1144] together with those beautiful lines addressed by Hadrian to his soul, which Pope has imitated in his “Dying Christian:”—

Animula vagula blandula, Hospes comesque corporis, Quæ nunc abibis in loca? Pallidula rigida nudula Nec ut soles dabis jocos.

To the original characteristics of epigram the Romans added that which constitutes an epigram in the modern sense of the term, pointedness either in jest or earnest, and the bitterness of personal satire. Common sense, shrewdness, and an acute observation of human nature were thus superadded to Greek gracefulness and elegance; and the same nation which reduced the wild and unpremeditated sarcasms of the Greek stage into the symmetrical form of satire, produced also the epigram as written by the pen of Martial. The same characteristics of the Roman mind which mark satire are visible also in epigram. Epigram is the concentration of satire. The desultory vagueness which is allowable in the latter, the variety of subjects, which are touched upon with irregular and unrestrained freedom, are, in the former, limited and defined. One idea is selected, and to this all the powers of the writer’s acute mind are directed, and made to converge as to a point. It is not often that the harmless elements of Greek wit, such as the pun, or the pleasantry by surprise or unexpected turn (although these sometimes occur,[1145]) are found in the Roman epigram. Smartness is generally connected with severity. The same bitter spirit which dictated the Archilochian epodes of Horace, which breathes throughout the indignant lines of Juvenal, points the shafts of Martial. The blows, however, which he aimed at vice could not be deadly, because he had no faith in virtue, and because he delighted to grovel in the impurity which he described.

M. VALERIUS MARTIALIS (BORN A. D. 43.)

All that is known of the life of Martial is derived from his own works; and this is but little, for he says nothing of his early years, and did not begin to write until the reign of Domitian. Of his parents he undutifully tells us that they were fools for teaching him to read.[1146] He was born at Bilbilis, a Spanish town in the province of Tarragon,[1147] of the position of which nothing is known for certain, except that its site was an elevated one,[1148] overlooking the river Salo, which flowed round its walls. It appears to have prided itself on its manufactures in gold and iron;[1149] to have been particularly famous for its arms;[1150] and to have been one of the Roman colonies dignified with the title of Augusta.[1151] As Vespasian had conferred on the poet’s native town, in common with the rest of Spain, the _jus Latii_,[1152] Martial was by birth a Roman citizen; and in the days of his popularity obtained this privilege for many of his friends.[1153] His birthday was March 1,[1154] A. D. 43, the third year of the reign of Claudius.

In the twenty-second year of his age, the twelfth year of the reign of Nero,[1155] he migrated to Rome. He was a great favourite of Titus and Domitian, by whom the “_jus trium liberorum_” was conferred upon him,[1156] together with the rank of a Roman knight,[1157] and the honorary title of tribune.[1158] In the reign of the latter he was appointed to the office of court poet, and received a pension from the imperial treasury.[1159] Hence during the latter part of his residence in Rome it is almost certain that, although not rich, he enjoyed a competency. He had a house in the city, and a little villa at Nomentum given him by Domitian.[1160] Nevertheless, he is constantly complaining of his poverty, and thinks that every one grows rich but himself. He laments that poets receive nothing but compliments for their verses, whilst lawyers, and even common criers, gain an ample maintenance:—that “Minerva was a better patron than Apollo; a fuller stream of wealth flowed through the Forum than from the fountain of Helicon, or the channel of Permessus.”[1161] He complains that he spends all he has, and either borrows money from his friends, or takes to another the presents he has given him, and querulously asks him to purchase them back again.[1162] The roof of his villa lets in the rain; and when his friend Stella sends him some tiles to mend it he reproaches him for not sending also a toga to protect the poor inmate.[1163]

All this may have proceeded from the discontented feelings which poets and literary men so often indulge at seeing genius unrewarded, and affluence attending talents which, although if not so high an order, are of more general utility. Perhaps, too, though not absolutely poor, he was straitened in his circumstances, considering his social position and the demands which this entailed upon him. During thirty-five years he lived at Rome the life of a flatterer, and a dependant,[1164] and then returned to his native town.[1165] As Horace, when in his quiet country retirement, sometimes regrets the enjoyments of the capital, although when at Rome he sighs for the pleasures of rural life, so Martial, when at Rome, longed for Bilbilis, and when he returned to Bilbilis regretted Rome. At this late period of his life he married a Spanish lady, named Marcella, whose property was amply sufficient to maintain him in affluence. Her estate he considers a little kingdom; her gardens he would not exchange for those of Alcinous; he praises her bowers, groves, fountains, streamlets, fish-ponds, and meadows; and tells us the climate is so genial that the olive-grounds are green in January, and the roses blow twice in the year, like those of Pæstum.[1166] His wife he praises for her rare genius and sweet manners; he tells her that no one could discover her provincial origin; that her equal could not be found amongst the most elegant ladies in the capital; and when inclined to forget Rome she alone is all that Rome ever was to him:—

Tu desiderium dominæ mihi mitius urbis Esse jubes; Romam tu mihi sola facis.[1167]

But, notwithstanding the delicate compliment which he pays to his rich wife—a compliment dictated probably more by his habit of courtly flattery than by sincerity of affection—he evidently pined for Rome. He was fitted for crowds and not for solitude: his spirit was not pure enough to commune with itself. His delight had been so long to study the human heart in its worst developments, to drag forth to public view its blackest plague-spots, that he would miss the foul models which he had so long studied. Provincial life was therefore utter dulness to him; his only enjoyment was to reproduce the results of his observations on the life of the capital. Combining in himself the apparently inconsistent characters of the flatterer and the satirist, he needed great men to whom he might look up for patronage and approbation, as well as moral wounds to probe and subjects to anatomize. Rome alone supplied these; and when he lost them he lost the intellectual food necessary for his existence. The absence of his accustomed pursuits, and the irremediable void thus created, is evident in many of his epigrams.

The time of his death is uncertain, as the date of Pliny’s elegant epistle to Priscus, in which it is mentioned, cannot be determined.[1168] But as it is probable that the eleventh book of his Epigrams was published in the year in which he left Rome for Bilbilis, and as he apologizes in the dedication of his twelfth book to Priscus for his obstinate indolence during a period of three years, his death cannot have taken place before A. D. 104. It is, however, generally supposed that his life was not prolonged much beyond this date. His death may have been hastened by his distaste for a provincial life, and by the malice and envy of his new neighbours.[1169]

According to his own account, in an epigram,[1170] in which he contrasts himself with an effeminate fop, his appearance was rough and unpolished, his shaggy hair refused to curl, his cheeks were well-whiskered, and his voice was louder than the roar of a lioness.[1171] It is impossible to believe the assertion which he makes respecting his own moral character, namely, that although his verses are licentious his life was virtuous,

Lasciva est nobis pagina, vita proba est.[1172]

—although, measured by the corrupt standard of morals which disgraced the age in which he lived, he was probably not worse than most of his contemporaries. The fearful profligacy which his powerful pen describes in such hideous terms spread through Rome its loathsome infection. As no language is strong enough to denounce the impurities of his age—impurities, in the description of which, the poet evidently revels with a cynical delight—so they were not merely creatures of a prurient imagination, but had a real existence.

It may be said in extenuation of his crime, that the prevalence of vice produced the obscenity of the poet; but no more can be said in defence of works in which the characters of vice are emblazoned in such shameless and unnatural deformity. Had he lived in better times, his talents, of which no doubt can be entertained, might have been devoted to a purer object; as it was, his moral taste must have been thoroughly depraved not to have turned with loathing and disgust from the contemplation of such subjects, instead of voluntarily seeking them; for “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” In Martial we observe that paradoxical but still not unusual combination of varied wit, poetical imagination, and a happy power of graceful expression, not only with strong sensual passions, but with a delight in vice in its most hateful forms and attributes.

Although the new feature which Martial added to the Greek epigram is such as has been described, and although his pages are polluted and defiled, not all his poems are spiteful or obscene. Amidst some obscurity of style and want of finish, many are redolent of Greek sweetness and elegance. Here and there are pleasing descriptions of the beauties of nature;[1173] and, setting aside those which are evidently dictated by the spirit of flattery, many are kind-hearted, as well as complimentary. The few lines which were intended to accompany such trifling offerings of friendship as the poet could afford to give, and which, doubtless, rendered a flower or a toy doubly acceptable, are equal in neatness to many of the Greek Anthology. When he sends a rose to Apollinaris, it is accompanied by the following elegant lines:—

I felix rosa, mollibusque sertis Nostri cinge comas Apollinaris; Quas tu nectere candidas sed olim, Sic te semper amet Venus, memento.[1174]

Go, happy rose, and with thy delicate garlands wreathe the locks of my Apollinaris; and remember, so may Venus ever love thee! to entwine them when gray: but may it be long ere that time comes.

The fourteenth book contains numerous ingenious couplets, sent, together with pencases, dice, tablets, toothpicks, and other little presents, at the Saturnalian festival.

In so vast a collection of pieces it is natural to expect that there would be great inequality, and that some of his wit would be commonplace and puerile. That such was the case, he himself confesses more than once;[1175] and in one place he states that this inequality constitutes one of the merits of his work.[1176]

He knew that his works were appreciated, not only at Rome, but also throughout the empire:—

Toto notus in orbe Martialis Argutis epigrammaton libellis;[1177]

and this consciousness is some excuse for the vanity which occasionally shows itself,[1178] and which does not hesitate to account blemishes as beauties.

The following are favourable specimens of his poetry:—

Indignas premeret pestis cum tabida fauces, Inque ipsos vultus serperet atra lues; Siccis ipse genis flentes hortatus amicos Decrevit Stygios Festus adire lacus. Nec tamen obscuro pia polluit ora veneno, Aut torsit lenta tristia fata fame; Sanctam Romana vitam sed morte peregit, Dimisitque animam nobiliore via. Hanc mortem fatis magni præferre Catonis Fama potest; hujus Cæsar amicus erat.

When the dire quinsey choked his noble breath, And o’er his face the blackening venom stole, Festus disdained to wait a lingering death, Cheered his sad friends, and freed his dauntless soul. Nor meager famine’s slowly-wasting force, Nor hemlock’s gradual chillness he endured; But closed his life a truly Roman course, And with one blow his liberty secured. The Fates gave Cato a less glorious end, For Cæsar was his foe, Festus was Cæsar’s friend.[1179] _Hodgson._

Casta suo gladium cum traderet Arria Pæto Quem de visceribus traxerat ipsa suis, Si qua fides, vulnus, quod feci, non dolet, inquit; Sed quod tu facies, hoc mihi, Pæte, dolet.

When Arria to her Pætus gave the steel, Which from her bleeding side did newly part; “From my own stroke,” she said, “no pain I feel, But, ah! thy wound will stab me to the heart.”

Dum nos blanda tenent jucundi stagna Lucrini Et quæ pumiceis fontibus antra calent, Tu colis Argivi regnum Faustine coloni Quo te bis decimus ducit ab urbe lapis. Horrida sed fervent Nemeæi pectora monstri Nec satis est Baias igne calere suo. Ergo sacri fontes et littora sacra valete Nympharum pariter Nereidumque domus! Herculeos colles gelida vos vincite bruma, Nunc Tiburtinis cedite frigoribus.

While near the Lucrine lake, consumed to death, I draw the sultry air and gasp for breath, Where streams of sulphur raise a stifling heat, And thro’ the pores of the warm pumice sweat; You taste the cooling breeze where, nearer home, The twentieth pillar marks the mile from Rome. And now the Sun to the bright Lion turns, And Baia with redoubled fury burns; Then briny seas and tasteful springs, farewell, Where fountain Nymphs confused with Naiads dwell. In winter you may all the world despise, But now ’tis Tivoli that bears the prize. _Addison._