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I. Vt ferme religiosis viantium moris est, cum aliqui lucus aut aliqui locus sanctus in via oblatus est, votum postulare, pomum adponere, paulisper adsidere: ita mihi ingresso sanctissimam istam civitatem, quamquam oppido festinem, praefanda venia et habenda oratio et inhibenda properatio est. Neque enim iustius religiosam moram viatori obiecerit aut ara floribus redimita aut spelunca frondibus inumbrata aut quercus cornibus onerata aut fagus pellibus coronata, vel enim colliculus saepimine consecratus vel truncus dolamine effigiatus vel cespes libamine umigatus vel lapis unguine delibutus. Parva haec quippe et quamquam paucis percontantibus adorata, tamen ignorantibus transcursa.
1. As it is commonly the custom of religious wayfarers, when some grove or some sacred place is met upon the road, to make a vow, to set down fruit, to sit for a little while: so for me, upon entering this most holy city, although indeed I hasten exceedingly, pardon must be asked beforehand, a speech must be delivered, and my haste must be checked. For neither would an altar wreathed with flowers, nor a cave shaded with foliage, nor an oak laden with horns, nor a beech crowned with skins, more justly interpose a religious delay to a traveler; or indeed a little hill consecrated by a hedge, or a trunk fashioned into an effigy by the chisel, or a turf moistened with libation, or a stone anointed with unguent. For these are small things and, although worshiped by the few who inquire, yet sped past by the uninformed.
II. At non itidem maior meus Socrates, qui cum decorum adulescentem et diutule tacentem conspicatus foret, "ut te videam", inquit, "aliquid et loquere." Scilicet Socrates tacentem hominem non videbat; etenim arbitrabatur homines non oculorum, sed mentis acie et animi obtutu considerandos. Nec ista re cum Plautino milite congruebat, qui ita ait: Pluris est oculatus testis unus quam auriti decem. Immo enimvero hunc versum ille ad examinandos homines converterat: Pluris est auritus testis unus quam oculati decem.
2. But not likewise my elder Socrates, who, when he had caught sight of a decorous adolescent and one long silent, said, "that I may see you, say something as well." Evidently Socrates did not see a man who was silent; for he judged that men must be considered not by the acumen of the eyes, but by the edge of the mind and the gaze of the spirit. Nor in this did he agree with the Plautine soldier, who says thus: One eyewitness is worth more than ten who have only heard. Nay rather, he had converted this verse for the examining of men: One who has heard is worth more as a witness than ten who have only seen.
Moreover, if the judgments of the eyes were to prevail more than those of the mind, assuredly in wisdom it would have to be conceded to the eagle. For we humans can perceive neither things a little far off nor things placed very near; rather we all in a certain way are half-blind: and if you reduce matters to the eyes and to that earthly and dull gaze, assuredly the most distinguished poet spoke most truly—as though a mist were cast before our eyes and that we are able to discern only within a stone’s throw. The eagle, however, when she has exalted herself as high as the clouds, borne aloft on wings all that space where it rains and snows, beyond which summit there is no place for the thunderbolt or the lightning, at the very floor of the ether and the gable of the storm; when therefore the eagle has raised herself thither, with a gentle nod she glides leftwards or rightwards with so great a mass of body, turning her sail-filled wings whithersoever she pleased by the slight rudder of the tail; then, looking down on all things, there, her pinions projecting as tireless oars and with a briefly lingering flight hanging almost in the same spot, she looks around and seeks whither most of all she may from above hurl herself upon prey in the manner of a thunderbolt; unforeseen from heaven, at once the herds on the plains, at once the wild beasts on the mountains, at once men in the cities she discerns with a single gaze under the same swoop, whence to pierce with her beak, whence to hook with her talons either an unwary lamb or a timorous hare, or whatever creature for eating or for tearing chance has offered . . .
III. Hyagnis fuit, ut fando accepimus, Marsyae tibicinis pater et magister; rudibus adhuc musicae saeculis solus ante alios cantus canere, nondum quidem tam flexanimo sono nec tam pluriformi modo nec tam multiforatili tibia; quippe adhuc ars ista repertu novo commodum oriebatur. Nec quicquam omnium est quod possit in primordio sui perfici, sed in omnibus ferme ante est spei rudimentum quam rei experimentum. Prorsus igitur ante Hyagnin nihil aliud plerique callebant quam Vergilianus upilio seu busequa, stridenti miserum stipula disperdere carmen.
3. Hyagnis was, as we have heard by report, the father and master of Marsyas the piper; in ages of music still rude he alone before others knew how to sing songs, not yet indeed with so soul-flexing a sound nor in so multiform a manner nor with so many-perforated a pipe; for as yet that art, with a discovery newly found, was just beginning to arise. Nor is there anything at all that can be perfected in its own beginnings, but in almost all things the rudiment of hope comes before the experiment of the thing. Accordingly, then, before Hyagnis most people were skilled in nothing other than what the Vergilian shepherd or ox–driver does, to squander the wretched song with a shrilling straw-reed.
If anyone seemed to have advanced a little more amply in the art, yet even for him the custom was to resound with one pipe as if with a single trumpet. Hyagnis was the first to spread the hands in playing, the first to animate two pipes with one breath, the first to blend a musical concert from the left and right holes, with a sharp tinkle and a deep boom. Born from him, Marsyas—while in the craft of pipe-playing he took after his father—Phrygian and, in other respects, a barbarian, with a beast-like countenance, grim, rough, unwashed-bearded, bristling with thorns and hairs, is said—ah, monstrous wrong!—to have contested with Apollo: the foul with the comely, the rustic with the learned, a beast with a god.
The Muses, together with Minerva, stood by as judges for the sake of dissimulation, namely to deride that monster’s barbarism and no less to punish his stolidity. But Marsyas—than which the greatest specimen of stupidity—not understanding that he was being held up to ridicule, before he began to inflate the pipes first barbarously effused certain deliraments about himself and Apollo, praising himself because he was with hair thrown back, with a squalid beard, hirsute of chest, by art a piper, and by fortune needy; whereas Apollo—ridiculous to say—he blamed by adverse virtues, in that Apollo was with unshorn hair, pleasing in his cheeks, glabrous of body, multiscient in art, and opulent in fortune. “Now first,” he said, “his locks, with the temples pre-smoothed and pre-softened with goatish pomades, flow forward and hang down; his whole body is most agreeable, his limbs glossy, his tongue fatidic; whether you yourself by speech or by bad verses, in both alike your facundity is matched.”
"All these" he says "blandishments are by no means decorous to virtue, but accommodated to luxury": by contrast, the quality of his own body he claimed to flaunt before himself as the greatest show. The Muses laughed when they heard this kind of charges—things to be desired by a wise man—objected to Apollo, and they left that piper, defeated in the contest, like a two‑footed bear, its hide excised, with naked and torn entrails. Thus Marsyas sang himself into punishment and fell.
IV. Tibicen quidam fuit Antigenidas, omnis voculae melleus modulator et idem omnimodis peritus modificator, seu tu velles Aeolion simplex sive Iastium varium seu Ludium querulum seu Phrygium religiosum seu Dorium bellicosum. Is igitur cum esset in tibicinio adprime nobilis, nihil aeque se laborare et animo angi et mente dicebat, quam quod monumentarii ceraulae tibicines dicerentur. Sed ferret aequo animo hanc nominum communionem, si mimos spectavisset: animadverteret illic paene simili purpura alios praesidere, alios vapulare; itidem si munera nostra spectaret: nam illic quoque videret hominem praesidere, hominem depugnare; togam quoque parari et voto et funeri, item pallio cadavera operiri et philosophos amiciri.
4. There was a certain piper, Antigenidas, a honey-sweet modulator of every little note and likewise in every way a skilled modifier, whether you should wish the Aeolian simple, or the Iastian variegated, or the Lydian plaintive, or the Phrygian religious, or the Dorian warlike. Therefore, since he was most distinguished in pipe-playing, he said that nothing equally made him toil and vexed his spirit and mind as the fact that the funerary reed-players at the monuments were called pipers. But he would bear with equanimity this sharing of names, if he had watched the mimes: he would notice there, in almost similar purple, some to preside, others to be flogged; likewise if he should watch our shows: for there too he would see a man preside, a man fight it out; the toga too is prepared both for a vow and for a funeral, and likewise a pallium both covers corpses and clothes philosophers.
V. Bono enim studio in theatrum convenistis, ut qui sciatis non locum auctoritatem orationi derogare, sed cum primis hoc spectandum esse, quid in theatro deprehendas. Nam si mimus est, riseris, si funerepus, timueris, si comoedia est, faveris, si philosophus, didiceris.
V. For with good zeal you have come together into the theater, as those who know that it is not the place that derogates authority from an oration, but that among the first things this must be looked to: what you apprehend in the theater. For if it is a mime, you laugh; if a rope-crawler, you are afraid; if it is a comedy, you show favor; if a philosopher, you learn.
VI. Indi, gens populosa cultoribus et finibus maxima, procul a nobis ad orientem siti, prope oceani reflexus et solis exortus, primis sideribus, ultimis terris, super Aegyptios eruditos et Iudaeos superstitiosos et Nabathaeos mercatores et fluxos vestium Arsacidas et frugum pauperes Ityraeos et odorum divites Arabas - eorum igitur Indorum non aeque miror eboris strues et piperis messes et cinnami merces et ferri temperacula et argenti metalla et auri fluenta, nec quod Ganges apud eos unus omnium amnium maximus eois regnator aquis in flumina centum discurrit, centum valles illi oraque centum, oceanique fretis centeno iungitur amni, nec quod isdem Indis ibidem sitis ad nascentem diem tamen in corpore color noctis est, nec quod apud illos immensi dracones cum immanibus elephantis pari periculo in mutuam perniciem concertant: quippe lubrico volumine indepti revinciunt, ut illis expedire gressum nequeuntibus vel omnino abrumpere tenacissimorum serpentium squameas pedicas necesse sit ultionem a ruina molis suae petere ac retentores suos toto corpore oblidere. Sunt apud illos et varia colentium genera - libentius ego de miraculis hominum quam naturae disserverim -; est apud illos genus, qui nihil amplius quam bubulcitare novere, ideoque adgnomen illis bubulcis inditum. Sunt et mutandis mercibus callidi et obeundis proeliis strenui vel sagittis eminus vel ensibus comminus.
6. The Indians, a populous nation, greatest in cultivators and in frontiers, situated far from us to the East, near the bendings of the ocean and the rising of the sun, under the first stars, at the farthest lands, surpass the Egyptians learned, and the Jews superstitious, and the Nabataeans merchants, and the Arsacids loose of garments, and the Ituraeans poor of crops, and the Arabs rich in odors - of those Indians, therefore, I do not equally marvel at piles of ivory and harvests of pepper and merchandise of cinnamon and temperings of iron and the silver metals and the flowings of gold, nor that the Ganges among them, the single greatest of all rivers, ruler of the eastern waters, runs out into a hundred rivers—his are a hundred valleys and a hundred shores—and is joined to the straits of the ocean by a hundred-streamed river; nor that to those same Indians, though situated there at the nascent day, nevertheless in the body there is the color of night; nor that among them immense dragons with enormous elephants, with equal peril, contend to mutual perdition: indeed, having caught them with slippery coil they bind them fast, so that, since the elephants cannot free their step, or altogether break the scaly fetters of the most tenacious serpents, it is necessary to seek vengeance from the collapse of their own mass and to crush their holders with their whole body. There are among them also various kinds of tillers of the soil—more willingly would I discourse of the marvels of men than of nature—; there is among them a class who know nothing more than to drive oxen, and therefore to them the agnomen “Cowherds” has been assigned. There are also men clever in exchanging wares and strenuous in going into battles, either with arrows from afar or with swords at close quarters.
There is, moreover, among them a distinguished class, they are called Gymnosophists. These I admire most of all, because they are men skilled not in propagating the vine nor inoculating (grafting) a tree nor in breaking up the soil; they do not know how to cultivate a field or refine gold or tame a horse or subdue a bull or shear or pasture a sheep or a goat. What then is it?
one thing in place of all these they know: they cultivate wisdom as much the elder masters as the younger disciples. Nor do I praise anything equally among them as that they hate torpor of mind and idleness. Therefore, when the table has been set, before the edibles are served, all adolescents from diverse places and offices come together to the banquet; the masters interrogate what deed they have done from the rising of the light to that good of the day.
Here another recounts that he was chosen as arbiter between two, enmity healed, goodwill reconciled, suspicion purged, he rendered friends out of foes; likewise another says that he obeyed his parents when they commanded certain things, and another that he discovered something by his own meditation or learned it by another’s demonstration, . . . finally the rest recount. He who has nothing to bring forward as to why he should lunch, without having lunched is thrust outside to work.
VII. Alexandro illi, longe omnium excellentissimo regi, cui ex rebus actis et auctis cognomentum magno inditum est, ne vir unicam gloriam adeptus sine laude umquam nominaretur - nam solus a condito aevo, quantum hominum memoria exstat, inexsuperabili imperio orbis auctus fortuna sua maior fuit successusque eius amplissimos et provocavit ut strenuus et aequiperavit ut meritus et superavit ut melior, solusque sine aemulo clarus, adeo ut nemo eius audeat virtutem vel sperare, fortunam vel optare -, eius igitur Alexandri multa sublimia facinora et praeclara edita fatigaberis admirando vel belli ausa vel domi provisa, quae omnia adgressus est meus Clemens, eruditissimus et suavissimus poetarum, pulcherrimo carmine illustrare; sed cum primis Alexandri illud praeclarum, quod imaginem suam, quo certior posteris proderetur, noluit a multis artificibus vulgo contaminari, sed edixit universo orbi suo, ne quis effigiem regis temere adsimularet aere? colore, caelamine, quin saepe solus eam Polycletus aere duceret, solus Apelles coloribus deliniaret, solus Pyrgoteles caelamine excuderet; praeter hos tris multo nobilissimos in suis artificiis si quis uspiam reperiretur alius sanctissimae imagini regis manus admolitus, haud secus in eum quam in sacrilegum vindicaturum. Eo igitur omnium metu factum, solus Alexander ut ubique imaginum simillimus esset, utique omnibus statuis et tabulis et toreumatis idem vigor acerrimi bellatoris, idem ingenium maximi honoris, eadem forma viridis iuventae, eadem gratia relicinae frontis cerneretur.
7. To that Alexander, by far the most excellent of all kings, to whom from deeds done and augmented the cognomen “the Great” was bestowed, lest the man who attained unique glory should ever be named without praise—for he alone from the founding of the age, so far as the memory of men stands, with an unconquerable command of the world, was greater than his fortune, and his very large successes he challenged as strenuous, matched as deserving, and surpassed as better, and alone was renowned without a rival, to such a degree that no one dares either to hope for his virtue or to wish for his fortune—; therefore of that Alexander you will grow weary admiring many lofty deeds and illustrious exploits, whether ventures of war or measures provided at home, which all my Clemens, most learned and most delightful of poets, has undertaken to illuminate with a most beautiful song; but among the first that illustrious thing of Alexander, that he did not wish his image, whereby he might be transmitted more surely to posterity, to be commonly contaminated by many craftsmen, but he decreed to his whole world that no one rashly should counterfeit the likeness of the king in bronze? in color, in chasing, but that often he alone Polyclitus should cast it in bronze, he alone Apelles should outline it with colors, he alone Pyrgoteles should strike it in engraving; besides these three, far the most noble in their arts, if anywhere anyone else were found to have applied hands to the most sacred image of the king, he would avenge upon him no otherwise than upon a sacrilegious person. Therefore, through the fear of all, it came about that Alexander alone was everywhere most like his images, that in all statues and panels and chased works the same vigor of a most keen warrior, the same disposition of the greatest honor, the same form of green youth, the same grace of the slightly receding brow was discerned.
Would that, by a like example, an edict of philosophy might have force, that no one rashly simulate its image; that a few good artificers, likewise properly erudite, would contemplate the pursuit of wisdom on all sides; and that the rude, sordid, unskilled not imitate philosophers only as far as the cloak, and not contaminate the regal discipline—discovered both for speaking well and for living well—by speaking ill and living in like manner. Both of which, of course, are very easy. For what is an easier thing than the rage of the tongue and the vileness of morals, the one from contempt of others, the other from contempt of oneself?
For to cultivate oneself basely is a contempt of oneself; to assail others barbarously is an affront to the hearers. Does he not lay the greatest insult upon you who thinks you rejoice in slanders against every good man, who supposes you do not understand evil and vicious words, or, if you do understand, to take them in good part? Which of the clodhoppers, porters, tavern-keepers is so inarticulate that, if he should wish to take up the cloak, he would not revile more eloquently?
VIII. Hic enim plus sibi debet quam dignitati, quamquam nec haec illi sit cum aliis promiscua; nam ex innumeris hominibus pauci senatores, ex senatoribus pauci nobiles genere et ex iis pauci consulares, ex consularibus pauci boni et adhuc ex bonis pauci eruditi. Sed ut loquar de solo honore, non licet insignia eius vestitu vel calceatu temere usurpare.
8. For he owes more to himself than to his dignity, although not even this is promiscuous to him with others; for out of innumerable men, few are senators; out of senators, few are noble by lineage; and out of these, few are consulars; out of consulars, few are good; and from the good, fewer still are erudite. But, to speak of honor alone, it is not permitted rashly to usurp its insignia in dress or in footwear.
IX. Si quis forte in hoc pulcherrimo coetu ex illis invisoribus meis malignus sedet, quoniam, ut in magna civitate, hoc quoque genus invenitur, qui meliores obtrectare malint quam imitari et, quorum similitudinem desperent, eorundem adfectent simultatem, scilicet uti, qui suo nomine obscuri sunt, meo innotescant,- si qui igitur ex illis lividis splendidissimo huic auditorio velut quaedam macula se immiscuit, velim paulisper suos oculos per hunc incredibilem consessum circumferat contemplatusque frequentiam tantam, quanta ante me in auditorio philosophi numquam visitata est, reputet cum animo suo, quantum periculum conservandae existimationis hic adeat qui contemni non consuevit, cum sit arduum et oppido difficile vel modicae paucorum exspectationi satisfacere, praesertim mihi, cui et ante parta existimatio et vestra de me benigna praesumptio nihil non quicquam sinit neglegenter ac de summo pectore hiscere. Quis enim vestrum mihi unum soloecismum ignoverit? quis vel unam syllabam barbare pronuntiatam donaverit?
IX. If by chance in this most beautiful assembly there sits some malignant man from among those my enviers, since, as in a great city, this kind is found too—men who prefer to detract from their betters rather than imitate them, and who, despairing of likeness to them, aim at enmity with those same—namely, so that those who are obscure under their own name may become known by mine,- if, therefore, any one of those livid fellows has mixed himself into this most splendid audience like a certain blot, I would wish him for a little to carry his eyes around this incredible gathering, and, having beheld a throng so great as in a philosopher’s auditorium before me has never been visited, to reckon with his mind how great a peril for the conserving of reputation is here incurred by one who is not accustomed to be contemned, since it is arduous and exceedingly difficult to satisfy even the modest expectation of a few—especially for me, to whom both a reputation previously won and your kindly presumption about me permit nothing at all to be uttered negligently and only to open my mouth from the very top of my breast. For who among you would pardon me a single solecism? who would grant indulgence even for one syllable pronounced barbarously?
who would have permitted uncomposed and vicious words, rashly as if arising in the delirious, to blather? Which, however, you easily—and indeed most deservedly—pardon in others. But every single saying of mine you examine sharply, you weigh sedulously, you reduce to the file and to a fixed line, you compare with the lathe and with the genuine cothurnus: so much does cheapness have of excuse, dignity of difficulty.
I acknowledge, therefore, my difficulty, nor do I deprecate your estimating thus. Nor yet let some small and perverse similitude keep you in a false mind, since certain, as I have often said, cloaked mendicant-tricks go strolling about. The proconsul’s crier too ascends the tribunal, and he too is seen there in a toga, and indeed for a long time he stands or walks, or for the most part shouts most zealously; but in truth the proconsul himself speaks with a moderated voice, rarely and while sitting, and for the most part reads from a tablet; for the crier’s garrulous voice is a ministry, but the proconsul’s tablet is the sentence, which, once read, can be increased by not even a single letter nor, on the other hand, diminished, but however it has been recited, thus it is entered into the province’s record.
I too, in my own studies, undergo some likeness according to my capacity; for whatever I have brought before you is immediately received and read, nor is it permitted me thereafter to recall it, nor yet to change or to emend anything. Wherefore a greater scruple in speaking must be observed, and indeed not in one single genre of studies. For more of my works exist among the Camenae than Hippias’s works among the crafts.
What that may be, if you attend with your mind, I will dispute more diligently and more accurately. And Hippias is from the number of the sophists, in the multitude of arts prior to all, second to none in eloquence; his age was that of Socrates, his native land Elis; his lineage is unknown, his glory indeed great, his fortune moderate, yet his genius noble, his memory excellent, his studies varied, his rivals many. This Hippias once came to Pisa for the Olympic contest, no less to be seen for his attire than to be marveled at for his elaboration (workmanship).
Everything he had with him—none of it had he purchased, but he had fashioned it for himself with his own hands—both the garments with which he was clothed, and the shoes with which he was shod, and the adornments by which he was made conspicuous. For wearing next to the body he had an inner tunic of the thinnest weave, with triple warp, double-dyed in purple: he alone, at home, had woven it for himself. For a girding he had a belt, a kind variegated with Babylonian embroidery in wondrous colors: nor had anyone assisted him in this work.
He had for a wrapping a white pallium, which he had thrown around himself from above: that pallium too I find to have been his own labor. He had also fastened for himself the foot-coverings, the crepidae; he also had a golden ring on his left hand with a most skillfully made signet, which he displayed; he himself had fashioned the little ring’s hoop, had closed the bezel, and had engraved the gem. I have not yet recounted all of his things.
Indeed, it will not irk me to recount what it did not shame him to display, who in a great assembly proclaimed that he had also fashioned for himself an oil-flask, which he carried, of lenticular form, with a rounded circumference, with a somewhat pressed rotundity, and beside it a respectable little strigil, with the straight gable-like pitch of a little boat, with the bent tubulation of the little spoon, so that it too might linger in the hand by the handle and sweat might trickle from it in a little rivulet. Who, moreover, will not praise a man so much-knowing in numerous art, magnificent in universal knowledge, daedal in the expertise of so many utensils? Nay, I too praise Hippias, but I prefer to emulate the fecundity of his genius in doctrine rather than with the multiform instrument of furnishings, and I confess that I am less skilled in the bench-crafts, to buy clothing from the weaving-shop, to procure those sandals from the cobbler’s, indeed not even to wear a ring, to value gem and gold no more than lead and little stones, to purchase the strigil and the flask and the other bath utensils at the market-fair.
For in truth I do not go so far as to deny that I know how to use neither the compass nor the awl nor the file nor the lathe nor tools of that kind, but in preference to these I confess that with a single papyrus-reed pen I prefer to refashion poems of every kind fitted for the rod, the lyre, the sock, the buskin, likewise satires and riddles, likewise histories of various matters, and also orations praised by the eloquent and dialogues praised by philosophers, and these and other things of the same sort both in Greek and in Latin, with a twin vow, equal zeal, and a similar style. Would that I indeed were able, not one by one and separately, but all together and in a heap, to offer them to you, most excellent proconsul [as] best, and by your praiseworthy testimony to enjoy favor for all my Muse! not, by Hercules, from a lack of praise, which has long remained whole and flourishing, reserved for you through all your predecessors, but because I wish to be approved by none more than him whom I myself before all with merit approve.
For thus it has been sanctioned by nature, that him whom you praise you also love, and furthermore, him whom you love you also wish yourself to be praised by him. And I profess myself your admirer, under no obligation to you privately, but under every obligation publicly. For I have obtained nothing from you, because I have not even asked.
But philosophy has taught me not only to love a benefice, but even a malefaction, and rather to impart by judgment than to serve convenience, and to prefer what is expedient for the commonweal rather than what is for me. Therefore most people love the fruit of your goodness; I, the zeal. And I have set myself to do this, while I contemplate your moderation in the affairs of the provincials, by which those who have experienced it ought to love you more effectively on account of the benefit, and those inexperienced on account of the example.
For both by benefaction you have obliged many and by example you have profited all. For who would not love to learn from you by what moderation that agreeable gravity of yours, gentle austerity, placid constancy, and winning vigor can be attained? No proconsul, so far as I know, has the province of Africa more revered and less feared: in no year except your own, for the restraining of offenses, did shame prevail more than fear.
No one else with equal power more often benefited, more rarely terrified; no one brought a son more similar in virtue. Therefore no one was proconsul at Carthage longer. For even at the time when you were making the circuit of the province, with Honorinus remaining with us, we felt your absence less than we desired you more: the father’s fairness in the son, the old man’s prudence [authority] in the youth, the consular authority in the legate, altogether so fashions and represents all your virtues that, by my faith, the praise won in the youth would be more admirable than that won in you, unless you had given it to be such.
Now we, Severianus, the whole province, long for you. Indeed, Honorinus—both his own honor calls to the praetorship and the favor of the Caesars shapes him for the consulship—and our love for the present holds him, and the hope of Carthage pledges him for the future, relying on the one solace of your example: that he who is sent as legate will soon return to us as proconsul.
X. Sol qui candentem fervido curru atque equis flammam citatis fervido ardore explicas: itemque luminis eius Luna discipula nec non quinque ceterae vagantium potestates: Iovis benefica, Veneris voluptifica, pernix Mercuri, perniciosa Saturni, Martis ignita. Sunt et aliae mediae deum potestates, quas licet sentire, non datur cernere, ut Amoris ceterorumque id genus, quorum forma invisitata, vis cognita. Item in terris, utcumque providentiae ratio poscebat, alibi montium arduos vertices extulit, alibi camporum supinam planitiem coaequavit, itemque ubique distinxit amnium fluores, pratorum virores, item dedit volatus avibus, volutus serpentibus, cursus feris, gressus hominibus.
X. Sun, who with a fervid chariot and with horses sped, with fervid ardor unfoldest the glowing flame: likewise the Moon, disciple of its light, and also the five other wandering powers: beneficent of Jupiter, voluptific of Venus, swift of Mercury, pernicious of Saturn, fiery of Mars. There are also other intermediate powers of the gods, which it is permitted to sense, but it is not granted to behold—such as Love and the rest of that kind—whose form is unseen, whose force is known. Likewise on earth, as the plan of Providence demanded, in one place he raised the steep summits of mountains, elsewhere he leveled the supine plainness of fields, and likewise everywhere he distinguished the flowings of rivers, the viridity of meadows; likewise he gave flights to birds, volutions to serpents, courses to wild beasts, steps to human beings.
XI. Patitur enim, quod qui herediolum sterile et agrum scruposum, meras rupinas et senticeta miseri colunt: quoniam nullus in tesquis suis fructus est nec ullam illic aliam frugem vident, sed infelix lolium et steriles dominantur avenae, suis frugibus indigentes aliena furatum eunt et vicinorum flores decerpunt, scilicet ut eos flores carduis suis misceant; ad eundem modum qui suae virtutis sterilis est . . .
11. For he suffers what those wretches suffer who cultivate a sterile little holding and a scabrous, stony field, mere rock-rubbish and bramble-thickets: since there is no fruit in their thickets and they see there no other grain, but baleful darnel and barren oats dominate; being in want of their own produce they go to steal what is another’s and pluck the neighbors’ flowers—namely, so that they may mix those flowers with their own thistles; in the same way, the one who is sterile of his own virtue . . .
XII. Psittacus avis Indiae avis est; instar illi minimo minus quam columbarum, sed color non columbarum; non enim lacteus ille vel lividus vel utrumque, subluteus aut sparsus est, sed color psittaco viridis et intimis plumulis et extimis palmulis, nisi quod sola cervice distinguitur. Enimvero cervicula eius circulo mineo velut aurea torqui pari fulgoris circumactu cingitur et coronatur. Rostri prima duritia: cum in petram quampiam concitus altissimo volatu praecipitat, rostro se velut ancora excipit.
12. The parrot is a bird of India; its size is by a very little less than that of doves, but its color is not that of doves; for it is not that milky or leaden or both, somewhat yellowish or speckled, but the parrot’s color is green both in the inmost plumules and the outermost winglets, except that it is distinguished only at the neck. Indeed its little neck is girdled and crowned with a minium-red circle, as if by a golden torque, with an equal sweep of brilliance. The beak’s hardness is foremost: when, impelled, it from the loftiest flight plunges headlong against some rock, it catches itself with its beak as if with an anchor.
But the head has the same hardness as the beak. When it is compelled to emulate our speech, the head is beaten with a little iron key, so that it may thoroughly perceive the master’s command; this is the rod for the learner. The chick, moreover, learns immediately up to two years of its age, while the mouth is pliant, so that it may be shaped, while the tongue is tender, so that it may be made to vibrate: but an old one, once captured, is unteachable and forgetful.
But for the discipline of human speech the parrot is more facile, the one that feeds on acorns, and in whose feet, as in a human, five little digits are counted. For not in all parrots is that a distinguishing mark; but this is proper to all: that their tongue is broader than that of other birds; thereby they articulate human words more easily, with a more open plectrum and palate. And that, indeed, which it has learned, it sings to us so similarly—or rather, speaks— that, if you hear the voice, you would think it a human: for if you hear the crow, attempting the same, it does not speak. But in very truth both the crow and the parrot pronounce nothing other than what they have learned.
If you teach him invectives, he will rail by day and by night, resounding with maledictions: this is his song, he takes this for a song. When he has enumerated all the maledictions he has learned, he again repeats the same refrain. If you wish to be free of reviling, the tongue must be cut out, or as soon as possible he must be sent back into his own forests.
XIII. Non enim mihi philosophia id genus orationem largita est, ut natura quibusdam avibus brevem et temporarium cantum commodavit, hirundinibus matutinum, cicadis meridianum, noctuis serum, ululis vespertinum, bubonibus nocturnum, gallis antelucanum; quippe haec animalia inter se vario tempore et vario modo occinunt et occipiunt carmine, scilicet galli expergifico, bubones gemulo, ululae querulo, noctuae intorto, cicadae obstrepero, hirundines perarguto. Sed enim philosophi ratio et oratio tempore iugis est et auditu venerabilis et intellectu utilis et modo omnicana.
13. For philosophy has not bestowed upon me that kind of oration, as nature furnished to certain birds a brief and temporary song: to swallows a morning one, to cicadas a midday one, to little-owls a late one, to screech-owls an evening one, to eagle-owls a nocturnal one, to cocks an ante-lucan one; for these animals among themselves at various times and in various modes sing forth and strike up with song, namely cocks with a rousing, eagle-owls with a moaning, screech-owls with a querulous, little-owls with an involved, cicadas with an obstreperous, swallows with a very shrill. But the reason and the oration of the philosopher are continuous in time, venerable to the hearing, useful to the intellect, and in manner all-singing.
XIV. Haec atque hoc genus alia partim cum audiret a Diogene Crates, alia ipse sibimet suggereret, denique in forum exsilit, rem familiarem abicit velut onus stercoris magis labori quam usui, dein coetu facto maximum exclamat: "Crates" inquit "Cratetem manu mittit": et exinde non modo solus, verum nudus et liber omnium, quoad vixit, beate vixit. Adeoque eius cupiebatur, ut virgo nobilis spretis iunioribus ac ditioribus procis, ultronea eum sibi optaverit. Cumque interscapulum Crates retexisset, quod erat aucto gibbere, peram cum baculo et pallium humi posuisset eamque supellectilem sibi esse puellae profiteretur eamque formam, quam viderat: proinde sedulo consuleret, ne post querela eam caperet; enimvero Hipparche condicionem accipit.
XIV. These and other things of this kind Crates partly used to hear from Diogenes, partly he himself suggested to himself; finally he leaps into the forum, casts away his household property as a load of dung, more for toil than for use, then, a crowd having been gathered, he cries out loudly: “Crates,” he says, “manumits Crates”; and thereafter not only solitary, but naked and free of all things, so long as he lived, he lived happily. And he was so desired that a noble maiden, spurning younger and richer suitors, of her own accord chose him for herself. And when Crates had laid bare the space between his shoulders, which was enlarged with a hump, and had set on the ground his wallet with staff and cloak, and declared that to be the furnishings for the girl, and that the form she had seen; therefore let her take careful counsel, lest afterward a complaint seize her; indeed Hipparche accepts the condition.
She replied that for a long time now sufficient provision had been made and sufficient counsel taken for herself, and that she could find nowhere among the nations a richer husband nor a more handsome; therefore let him lead her where he pleased. The Cynic led her into a portico; there, in a celebrated place, before the brightest light, he reclined, and would have deflowered the maiden, prepared with equal constancy, had not Zeno, by the battle-array of the cloaklets of the surrounding ring, defended the master from the gaze, in secret.
XV. Samos Icario in mari modica insula est - exadversum Miletos - ad occidentem eius sita nec ab ea multo pelagi dispescitur; utramius clementer navigantem dies alter in portu sistit. Ager frumento piger, aratro inritus, fecundior oliveto, nec vinitori nec holitori scalpitur. Ruratio omnis in sarculo ei surculo, quorum proventu magis fructuosa insula est quam frugifera.
15. Samos is a modest island in the Icarian Sea - opposite Miletus - situated to its west, nor is it separated from it by much sea; from either side, for one sailing gently, the next day sets him in harbor. The field is sluggish for grain, not stirred by the plough, more fecund in olive-grove, and it is not scratched either for the vintner or the kitchen-gardener. All husbandry is in the hoe and the shoot, by whose yield the island is more fructuous than frugiferous.
Ceterum both by the inhabitants frequented and by guests celebrated. It has a town, by no means in keeping with its glory, but that it was once ample the half-ruined walls in many places indicate. Indeed a shrine of Juno long renowned; that shrine, along the shore, if I rightly recall the route, is not more than 20 stadia distant from the town.
There the goddess’s donarium is exceedingly opulent: a very great quantity of gold and silver in dishes, mirrors, cups, and utensils of this sort. There is also a great mass of bronze with varied effigy-work, of very ancient and notable workmanship; and, among these, before the altar, the statue of Bathyllus, dedicated by the tyrant Polycrates, than which I seem to have known nothing more perfectly achieved; some falsely suppose it to be by Pythagoras. He is a youth of beauty worth beholding, his hair parted evenly from the forehead and drawn back along the cheeks, while behind a longer lock shades the shining neck to the confines of the shoulder-blades; the nape full of vital sap, the cheekbones full, the cheeks rounded, and in the middle the chin is dimpled; and his whole stance is that of a citharoedic performer: gazing upon the goddess, like one singing, a tunic variegated with pictures let down downward to the very feet, with a Greek girdle; with a chlamys he veils each arm as far as the joints of the palms, and the rest hangs in stripes of ornament; the cithara, fitted with an embossed baldric, is held tightly; his hands are tender, rather long and slender: the left, with fingers spread apart, works the strings, the right, with the gesture of one playing, brings the plectrum to the cithara, as if ready to strike, while the voice in the song has paused; and meanwhile the song seems to distill from a rounded mouth, the lips half-gaping in the effort.
But let this statue be of some adolescent, who, beloved by Polycrates the tyrant, lilts Anacreontic song for the sake of friendship. At any rate, it is far from being the statue of Pythagoras the philosopher; he was by birth a Samian, and most notably distinguished in beauty, and by far most learned in psallendo and in all music, and nearly of that era when Polycrates held Samos—yet by no means was the philosopher beloved by the tyrant. For indeed, just when that man began to rule, Pythagoras secretly fled from the island, his father Mnesarchus having been recently lost—a man whom I find among the bench-working artisans, who in carving gems with utmost craftsmanship sought praise rather than profit.
There are those who say that Pythagoras at that time, among the captives of King Cambyses, as he was being conveyed to Egypt, had as teachers the Persian magi and especially Zoroaster, the priest of all divine arcana, and that afterward he was recovered by a certain Gillo, a prince of the Crotonians. However, the more celebrated report maintains that of his own accord he sought Egyptian disciplines and there learned from the priests the to-be-trusted powers of ceremonies, the admirable vicissitudes of numbers, the most skillful formulae of geometry; and that, not satisfied in spirit by these arts, he soon approached the Chaldeans and then the Brahmans - these are wise men, a nation of India - therefore the gymnosophists of those Brahmans. The Chaldeans display astral science, the fixed circuits of the wandering numina, and for both the various effects in the nativities of men, and also remedies of healing for mortals, procured for large sums of money and sought on land and in sky and sea; but the Brahmans contributed most things of his philosophy: what the lessons of minds are, what the exercises of bodies, how many the parts of the soul, how many the vicissitudes of life, what torments or rewards are meted out to each by the Manes according to his merit.
Nay even Pherecydes, a native from the island of Syros, who first, the linkage of verses repudiated, dared to compose in spread-out words, in loosened speech, in free oration, him too Pythagoras honored as a teacher and, when he had been dissolved by the putrescence of an unspeakable disease into a scab of serpents, he piously interred him. He is said also to have discussed naturalia with Anaximander of Miletus, and likewise, for the sake of discipline, to have followed the Cretan Epimenides, the famed vates and expiator, and also Leodamas, a disciple of Creophylus, who is recorded to have been the host of the poet Homer and an emulator of his singing. Trained by so many teachers, having drained from the whole world so many and such manifold goblets of disciplines, a man especially of immense ingenium and indeed august, above the grasp of a human mind, the first namer and founder of philosophy taught his pupils nothing before this: to be silent; and the first meditation with him for one who would be wise was to restrain the whole tongue, and the words which the poets call winged—to press those words, their feathers plucked, within the wall of gleaming teeth.
Absolutely, I say, this was the first rudiment of wisdom: to learn thoroughly to meditate, to unlearn talking. Yet they did not wean themselves from voice for their whole lifetime, nor did all follow the teacher tongueless for an equal time, but for weightier men a moderated taciturnity in a short span seemed sufficient, while the more loquacious indeed were punished, as it were, with an exile of the voice for almost five years. Furthermore, our Plato, deviating not even a little from this sect, pythagorizes in very many things; and I too, that I might be adopted into his name by my teachers, learned both by Academic meditations—to speak energetically when there is need of what is said, and, when there is need of what is unsaid, to keep silence gladly.
XVI. Priusquam vobis occipiam, principes Africae viri, gratias agere ob statuam, quam mihi praesenti honeste postulastis et absenti benigne decrevistis, prius volo causam vobis allegare, cur aliquam multos dies a conspectu auditorii afuerim contulerimque me ad Persianas aquas, gratissima prorsus et sanis natabula et aegris medicabula - quippe ita institui omne vitae meae tempus vobis probare, quibus me in perpetuum firmiter dedicavi: nihil tantum, nihil tantulum faciam, quin eius vos et gnaros et iudices habeam - quid igitur de repentino ab hoc splendidissimo conspectu vestro distulerim. Exemplum eius rei paulo secus simillimum memorabo, quam improvisa pericula hominibus subito oboriantur, de Philemone comico. De ingenio eius qui satis nostis, de interitu paucis cognoscite.
16. Before I begin to give you thanks, leading men of Africa, for the statue which you honorably requested for me when I was present and kindly decreed when I was absent, first I wish to allege to you the reason why I was away from the sight of the audience for quite many days and betook myself to the Persian waters, by all means most agreeable swimming-places for the healthy and remedies for the sick - for I have thus resolved to make the whole time of my life approved to you, to whom I have firmly dedicated myself forever: nothing so great, nothing so small will I do, without having you both knowing and judges of it - why then I have so suddenly withdrawn from this most splendid sight of you. I will recount an example of this matter almost the very likeness of how unforeseen dangers suddenly arise for men, concerning Philemon the comic poet. Of his genius, which you well enough know; of his death, learn in a few words.
Yet you would find with him many sallies, plots deftly inflected, recognitions lucidly unfolded, characters fitting the affairs, maxims congruent with life, jests not beneath the soccus, seriousness not up to the cothurnus. Corruptions are rare with him, errors safe, loves licensed. Nor any the less: both a perjured pander and a fervid lover and a clever little slave and a teasing girlfriend and a restraining wife and an indulgent mother and a scolding uncle and a helpful comrade and a fighting soldier, but also voracious parasites and grasping parents and impudent prostitutes.
With these praises, for a long time in the comic art, a certain notable man by chance was reciting a part of a play which he had recently made; and when already in the third act—such as the kind loves to happen in comedy—he was stirring more pleasant affections, a shower having suddenly arisen, just as the experience very lately befell me in coming to you, compelled the assembly of the audience and the begun hearing to be postponed: nevertheless, at the request of various persons, he would read through the remainder without intermission on the following day. Therefore on the next day, with the greatest eagerness, a huge throng of people came together; each places himself right opposite as close as possible; the one arriving late nods to his friends that they should share a place for sitting; those furthest out, dislodged from their wedge-seats, complain; with the whole theater crammed full, a massive crush, they begin to complain among themselves; those who had not been present inquire about the things said before, those who had been present recall what was heard, and with all now knowing the earlier things they await what follows.
Meanwhile the day goes on, and Philemon does not come to the appointed meeting; some murmur at the poet’s tardiness, more defend him. But when they sit longer than is fair and Philemon appears nowhere, some of the readier are sent to summon him, and they come upon him dead on his own little bed. Just then he had grown rigid, his soul having gone forth, and he was lying leaning upon the couch, like one thinking: still his hand entwined with the volume, still his face pressed to the straight-set book, but indeed now empty of soul, forgetful of the book and unconcerned about the audience.
Those who had entered stood for a little while, struck by the marvel of so unexpected a thing, of so fair a death. Then, having returned to the people, they announced that Philemon the poet, who was being awaited to finish in the theatre the feigned plot, had now at home consummated a true play; indeed that he had now said “farewell to human affairs and applaud,” while his own familiars should grieve and lament; that yesterday’s shower had augured tears for them; that his comedy had come to the funeral torch before to the nuptial; therefore, since the excellent poet had laid down the persona of life, straight from the auditorium they must go to his funeral rites, his bones now to be gathered, soon his songs to be read. These things I had long ago learned had been done thus, as I have recounted, but today I have recalled them to my own peril.
For, as you surely remember, when the recitation was impeded by rain, with you consenting I postponed it to a near day, and indeed very nearly after Philemon’s example; for on that same day in the palaestra I so violently turned my ankle that I was within a little of even breaking the joint off from the leg. However, the joint gave way from its place, and from that dislocation it is even now loose. And now, while I was setting it back with a huge stroke, straightway, with my body abundantly in sweat, I for a long while grew numb; then a bitter pain of the intestines arose and was allayed only a little before a violent one would at last have made me lifeless and, after the fashion of Philemon, would have compelled me to go away to death rather than to the reading—to fulfill the fates rather than the things to be spoken, to consummate my soul rather than my history.
Therefore, as soon as at the Persian waters, by gentle temperateness and no less in every way by a soothing fomentation, I recovered my step, not indeed yet fit for bearing weight, but as much as seemed enough for one hastening to you, I was coming to render what I had pledged, when meanwhile you, by your own benefaction, not only took away lameness from me, but even added swiftness. Was it not to be hastened by me, that for that honor I should say to you many thanks, for which I had said no prayers? Not that the greatness of Carthage does not merit even from a philosopher a prayer for an honor, but in order that your benefaction might be whole and untainted, if my petition had broken off nothing from its grace—that is, that it might be gratuitous in every respect.
For neither does he who prays for it buy with a light price, nor does he who is asked receive a small payment, to such a degree that you would rather buy all the utensils than ask. I judge this especially to be observed in honor: he who has with laborious entreaty obtained it owes to himself one favor, that he has obtained it; but he who has acquired it without the annoyance of canvassing owes a double favor to those who bestow it, both because he did not ask and because he received. A double favor therefore I owe you, nay indeed a manifold one, which I will proclaim everywhere and always.
But now for the present, with a proper book for this honor not yet composed by me, I will, as I am wont, make a public protestation. For there is a definite method by which a philosopher ought to give thanks for a statue decreed to him publicly, from which the book that the most excellent honor of Strabo Aemilianus demands will vary a little. Which book I shall hope that I can suitably compose; to make sufficient trial of it with you today.
For he is so great in studies, that he is more preeminent by his own genius than by a patrician consulship. With what words to you, Aemilianus Strabo, man of all, as many as ever have been or are or even will be, most illustrious among the best, best among the most illustrious, most learned among both, with what words at length, for this your disposition toward me, I might render thanks and record it, by what worthy method I might celebrate your so honorific benignity, by what remuneration of speaking I might match the glory of your deed, I have not yet, by Hercules, discovered. But I shall seek diligently and strive, while I am mindful of myself, while the breath rules these limbs.
For now, at the present moment—for I will not deny it—joy drowns out eloquence, and cogitation is impeded by pleasure; and the mind, occupied with delectation, prefers for the present to rejoice rather than to proclaim. What am I to do? I wish to seem grateful, but for joy I have not yet the leisure to give thanks.
Let no one, let none of those more gloomy-minded, wish to reproach me in this matter, that I deserve my honor no less than I understand it, that I exult in so great a testimonial of a most illustrious and most erudite man: for a consular man bore testimony for me in the Curia of the Carthaginians, most splendid no less than most benign; to be known by whom even only is the highest honor, he also in some manner stood as my encomiast before the princes of Africa. For, as I learn, three days ago, with a little petition (libellus) sent, by which he was requesting an illustrious place for my statue, he first of all commemorated between us the rights of friendship, honorably begun from the comradeship of studies under the same masters; then afterwards he acknowledged all my vows in accordance with the steps of his dignity. Now this is the first benefaction: that he remembers himself a fellow-student.
Nay, he has even shown, by the evidence of the priesthood undertaken, that the supreme honor of Carthage is at hand for me. Now this is a preeminent beneficence, and far excelling before the rest: that a most substantial witness commends me to you by his suffrage as well. In sum, he has promised that at Carthage he will set up for me, at his own expense, a statue—a man for whom all the provinces rejoice to set up four-yoked and six-yoked chariots everywhere among the nations.
What therefore remains for the tribunal and column of my honor, for the culmination of my praise? Nay indeed, what remains? Aemilianus Strabo, a man of consular rank, soon to be proconsul by the votes of all, delivered his opinion concerning my honors in the Curia of the Carthaginians, and all followed his authority.
Does this not seem to you to be a senatus consultum? What of the fact that all the Carthaginians who were present in that most holy curia so willingly decreed a place for the statue, that you would know that for this reason they brought forward, as I hope, another statue into the next curia, so that, with veneration intact, with the reverence for their own consular intact, they might seem not to have emulated his deed, but to have followed it—that is, so that within a whole day the public beneficium might come to me. Moreover, the most excellent magistrates and the most benevolent leading men remembered that they had from you the mandate for what they wished.
Would I know that and cease to proclaim it? I would be ungrateful. Nay rather, to your entire order, for the most ample merits toward me, I render and hold as great thanks as I can, who adorned me in that curia with the most honorable acclamations, in which curia even to be named only is the highest honor.
Therefore, what was difficult to do and in truth arduous was not supposed: to be welcome to the people, to please the order, to be approved by the magistrates and princes—may I say it with due averting of ill‑luck—this has now in a certain way befallen me. What then remains for the honor of my statue, except the price of the bronze and the service of the craftsman? which things have never been lacking to me even in moderate cities, so that they should not be lacking at Carthage, where the most splendid order is accustomed to judge even about greater matters rather than to compute.
But about this I will then speak more perfectly, when you more effectually. Nay even to you, O nobility of the senators, the renown of the citizens, the dignity of friends, soon at the dedication of my statue, with a book also composed, I shall sing thanks more fully, and to that book I will commit, that through all the provinces and in the whole world henceforth and for the whole time henceforth the praises of your benefaction may everywhere among the nations, for all years, make present.
XVII. Viderint, quibus mos est oggerere se et otiosis praesidibus, ut impatientia linguae commendationem ingenii quaerant et adfectata amicitiae vestrae specie glorientur. Vtrumque eius a me, Scipio. Orfite, longe abest.
17. Let them see to it, those whose custom it is to thrust themselves upon governors at leisure, so that by an impatience of tongue they may seek a commendation of talent and boast in the appearance of an affected friendship with you. Both of these are far from me, Scipio Orfitus.
For even my however small ingenium has long since been more known to people according to its own capacity than to need a new commendation, and I prefer your favor and that of your similars to possessing it in boast, and I am more a seeker of so great a friendship than a glorier, since no one can desire except truly [I think], whereas anyone can boast falsely. Moreover, from my earliest age I have always sedulously cultivated the good arts, and you yourself are a most well-endowed witness that I have sought that estimation of manners and studies both in our province and also at Rome among your friends, such that my friendship is no less to be taken up by you than yours to be desired by me. Indeed, not to impart pardon promptly is the part of one who requires the assiduity of attendance from one who comes but rarely, and the highest proof of love is to delight in those who frequent, to be angered at those who desist, to celebrate the one who perseveres, to long for the one who ceases, since it is necessary that the presence be welcome of the same person whose absence afflicts.
Moreover, a voice restrained by perpetual silence will be no more of use than nostrils clogged by catarrh, ears stopped with filth, eyes overcast with a white film. What if the hands are bound with manacles, what if the feet are confined with fetters—then the mind, our governor, is either relaxed by sleep, or drowned by wine, or buried by illness. Surely, just as a sword shines with use but, through disuse, rusts, so the voice, laid in the sheath of silence, is dulled by long torpor.
Desuetude begets for all sloth; sloth begets lethargy. Tragedians, accordingly, if they do not declaim daily, clarity in the arteries grows obsolete; therefore by bellowing again and again they purge hoarseness. Moreover, the empty labor of exercising a man’s very voice is in many ways surpassed by superfluous zeal, since indeed, in comparison to the voice of a man, the trumpet is grimmer in roughness, and the lyre more varied in harmony, and the tibia more delightful in plaint, and the reed-pipe more pleasant in whisper, and the buccina more far-reaching in signification.
I pass over to speak of the unpremeditated sounds of many animals, to be admired for their distinct properties, as is the grave bellowing of bulls, the sharp ululation of wolves, the sad barritus of elephants, the cheerful hinnitus of horses, and also the instigated clangors of birds, and also the indignant roars of lions, and the other voices of that kind of animals, savage and liquid, which hostile rabies or propitious voluptas summon. For which to man a voice given by divinity is indeed narrower, but has greater utility for minds than delectation for ears. Wherefore it ought the more to be celebrated, being more frequently employed, and indeed not except in the auditorium, with so great a man presiding, in this excellent celebration of many learned men, of many benevolent men.
Indeed, even if I were supremely skilled on the strings, I would pursue only crowded gatherings of men. In solitude Orpheus sang in the woods, Arion among the dolphins; for, if there is faith in the tales, Orpheus desolated by exile, Arion hurled headlong from a ship, the former a charmer of monstrous beasts, the latter a pleaser of compassionate beasts, both most wretched singers, because they strove not of their own accord for praise, but of necessity for safety. I would admire them the more, if they had pleased humans rather than beasts.
These secret places would in any case be more congruent for birds—blackbirds and nightingales and swans. And the blackbirds in remote thickets twitter the ditty of boyhood, the nightingales in solitude gabble the arcane canticle of adolescence, the swans by pathless rivers rehearse the song of old age. Indeed, whoever is about to produce a useful song for boys and young men and old men should sing in the midst of thousands of people—such as this my song about the virtues of Orfitus is, late perhaps, but in earnest—no less pleasing than useful to the boys, youths, and elders of the Carthaginians, whom by his indulgence the most preeminent of all proconsuls has uplifted; and with desire tempered and remedy moderated he has given to boys satiety, to young men hilarity, to old men security.
I do indeed fear, Scipio, since your praises I have touched upon, lest for the present either your generous modesty or my ingenuous modesty restrain me. But I cannot but, from the very many things which in you, most meritorious, we admire, from these very many at least touch upon a very few. You these with me, citizens saved by him, recognize.
XVIII. Tanta multitudo ad audiendum convenistis, ut potius gratulari Carthagini debeam, quod tam multos eruditionis amicos habet, quam excusare, quod philosophus non recusaverim dissertare. Nam et pro amplitudine civitatis frequentia collecta et pro magnitudine frequentiae locus delectus est. Praeterea in auditorio hoc genus spectari debet non pavimenti marmoratio nec proscaenii contabulatio nec scaenae columnatio, sed nec culminum eminentia nec lacunarium refulgentia nec sedilium circumferentia, nec quod hic alias mimus halucinatur, comoedus sermocinatur, tragoedus vociferatur, funerepus periclitatur, praestigiator furatur, histrio gesticulatur ceterique omnes ludiones ostentant populo quod cuiusque artis est, sed istis omnibus supersessis nihil amplius spectari debet quam convenientium ratio et dicentis oratio.
18. Such a multitude have gathered to listen, that I ought rather to congratulate Carthage, because it has so many friends of erudition, than to excuse that, as a philosopher, I did not refuse to discourse. For both in proportion to the amplitude of the city a crowd has been collected, and in proportion to the magnitude of the crowd a place has been chosen. Moreover, in an auditorium of this kind there ought to be looked at not the marbling of the pavement, nor the planking of the proscenium, nor the columniation of the stage, nor yet the prominence of the roofs, nor the refulgence of the lacunaria, nor the circumference of the seats, nor that here at other times the mime raves, the comedian sermocinates, the tragedian vociferates, the rope-walker hazards himself, the prestidigitator steals, the actor gesticulates, and all the other play-actors display to the people what belongs to each one’s art; but with all these things set aside, nothing more ought to be looked at than the arrangement of those convening and the oration of the speaker.
Wherefore, as poets are wont here and in this very place to substitute various cities—like that tragedian who makes it be said in the theater, “Liber, you who inhabit these august places of Cithaeron,” and likewise that comedian: “Plautus asks for a very small portion of space from your great and pleasant walls, to which, without architects, he may transfer Athens”—so let it be permitted to me too to substitute here no far‑off and transmarine city, but rather either the curia or the library of Carthage itself. Therefore take it thus: if I bring forth things worthy of the curia, as if you were hearing me in the curia itself; if learned things, as if they were being read in the library. Would that, in proportion to the amplitude of the auditorium, a prolix oration were at my service, and that it did not above all fail me here, where I would most desire to be most eloquent.
Straightway it is a true word indeed, those who say that nothing whatsoever so prosperous is given to a human being divinely, without something of difficulty being mixed into it; so that even in each most ample joy there lurks some complaint, even if small, by a certain conjunction of honey and gall: where there is an udder, there is a tuber. This I, both [in] other times and also now for the present, experience in practice. For the more I seem to have among you more suffrages for commendation, the more for speaking I am, through excessive reverence for you, more hesitating, and I—who in the presence of outsiders very often have disputed most readily—now in the presence of my own hesitate and - wondrous to say - am frightened off by the very allurements and reined in by the spurs and restrained by the incitements.
Do not many exhortations stand at hand for me with you, since I am to you neither alien in hearth nor in my boyhood unvisited, nor peregrine in my masters, nor unknown in my sect, nor unheard in my voice, nor in my books unread or disapproved? Thus both my fatherland in the council of Africa—that is, yours—and my boyhood among you, and my masters, you, and my sect, although confirmed at Attic Athens, yet was here inchoated; and my voice in each language has already to your ears been well known even before the most proximate six-year period. Nay more, my books everywhere are reckoned dear with no other praise more prized than that they are approved by your judgment.
These so great and so manifold common inducements do not less allure you to listening than they retard me from daring, and I would more easily proclaim your praises among other peoples than among you: thus with one’s own, each one’s modesty is subject, but among outsiders truth is free. So always and everywhere I, for my part, celebrate you as parents and my first teachers, and I repay you a fee—not that which the sophist Protagoras bargained for and did not receive, but that which the wise Thales did not bargain for and received. I see what you require: I will tell both.
Protagoras, who was a sophist far most-learned and, among the first inventors of rhetoric, most eloquent, a fellow-citizen and coeval of Democritus the physicist - from there instruction was supplied to him -, they say that that Protagoras bargained with his own pupil Evathlus for an overly abundant fee on a rash condition, to wit that he should then at length give him the silver if at his first apprenticeship of pleading before the judges he had won. Accordingly Evathlus, after he had easily learned thoroughly all those means of winning-over of judges and the traps of adversaries and the artifices of speakers, being otherwise shrewd and ingeniously disposed to astuteness, content to know what he had desired, began to be unwilling as to what he had bargained, but by cleverly weaving delays to frustrate his teacher and for a long time to be willing neither to plead nor to pay, until Protagoras summoned him before the judges; and, the condition set forth on which he had undertaken to teach, he proposed a two-edged argument in a double way. "For whether I win," he says, "you will have to pay the fee as one condemned; or if you win, nonetheless you will have to render it as one bound by the pact, since you will have won this, your first case before the judges."
For, "if it is so," he says, "in neither way do I owe what you seek. For either I win and am dismissed by the judgment, or I am beaten and am absolved by the pact, whence I do not owe the fee, if in this first case I shall have been defeated before the judges. Thus in every way I am freed—if I am beaten, by the condition; if I win, by the sentence." Do these arguments of the sophists not seem to you, turned against each other like thorns which the wind has rolled together, to cohere among themselves, with equal spines on both sides, with similar penetration, by mutual wound?
And therefore the fee of Protagoras, so harsh, so thorny, is to be left to the crafty and the avaricious: to which indeed by much that other recompense so greatly excels, which they relate that Thales advised. Thales the Milesian, from those seven men of wisdom aforementioned, easily the preeminent—for he was among the Greeks the first discoverer of geometry and the most certain explorer of the nature of things and the most skilled contemplator of the stars—found the greatest things by small lines: the cycles of times, the breaths of winds, the courses of the stars, the sonorous marvels of thunders, the oblique courses of the constellations, the annual returns of the sun; likewise of the moon, either the increments of the waxing, or the diminutions of the waning, or the obstructings of an eclipsing one. The same man indeed, now with a downhill old age, devised a divine ratio concerning the sun, which I for my part have not only learned, but also by experimenting have proved, whenever the sun by its magnitude measures the circle which it permeates.
It is related that Thales taught Mandraytus of Priene that thing recently invented by himself, and he, exceedingly delighted by the new and unexpected knowledge, bade him choose how great a fee he wished to be repaid to him for so great a demonstration. "Enough payment will it be for me," said wise Thales, "if that which you learned from me, when you begin to bring it forth to certain people, you do not claim for yourself, but rather proclaim me, rather than another, the finder of that invention." A fair fee indeed, and worthy of such a man, and perpetual; for both to this day and henceforth forever that fee will be paid to Thales by all of us who have truly come to know his celestial studies. This fee I pay to you, Carthaginians, everywhere among the nations, for the disciplines which in my boyhood I obtained among you.
Everywhere indeed I bear myself as an alumnus of your city, everywhere I celebrate you with praises of every kind, I cultivate your disciplines more studiously, I proclaim your resources more gloriously, I even venerate your gods more religiously. Now also therefore I shall take for myself, in your ears, a most auspicious beginning from the god Aesculapius, who looks favorably upon the citadel of our Carthage with indubitable numen. The hymn of that god I will also sing to you in Greek and Latin song, [now] dedicated by me to him.
For I am not an unknown worshipper to him, nor a recent cultivator, nor an ungrateful high-priest, and already I have venerated him both with eloquence in prose and in verse, so that even now I sing his hymn in each language, to which likewise a Greek and Latin dialogue I have prefaced, in which Sabidius Severus and Julius Persius will converse, men most deservedly most friendly both mutually with each other and to you and to the public interests, equal in learning and eloquence and benevolence, it is uncertain whether calmer in modesty or readier in industry or more illustrious in honors. Although there is among them the highest concord, yet this alone is the emulation and in this one contest, which of them loves Carthage more, and with utmost forces to the marrow they both contend, neither is conquered. Their discourse, judged by me both most pleasing to you to hear and fitting for me to compose and, as dedicated to the god, religious, at the beginning of the book I make one of those who learned thoroughly with me at Athens to question Persius in Greek about what I discoursed the day before in the temple of Aesculapius, and little by little I join Severus to them, to whom meanwhile I have assigned the parts of the Roman language.
XIX. Asclepiades ille, inter praecipuos medicorum, si unum Hippocratem excipias, ceteris princeps, primus etiam vino repperit aegris opitulari, sed dando scilicet in tempore: cuius rei observationem probe callebat, ut qui diligentissime animadverteret venarum pulsus inconditos vel praevaros. Is igitur cum forte in civitatem sese reciperet et rure suo suburbano rediret, aspexit in pomoeriis civitatis funus ingens locatum plurimos homines ingenti multitudine, qui exsequias venerant, circumstare, omnis tristissimos et obsoletissimos vestitu. Propius accessit, utine cognosceret more ingenii quisnam esset, quoniam percontanti nemo responderat, an vero ut ipse aliquid in illo ex arte reprehenderet.
19. That Asclepiades, among the principal physicians, if you except Hippocrates alone, the chief of the rest, was also the first to discover that wine could succor the sick—of course by giving it in due time; he thoroughly mastered the observation of this matter, as one who most diligently noted the incondite or wayward pulses of the veins. He therefore, when by chance he was taking himself back into the city and returning from his suburban estate, saw on the city’s pomerial outskirts a huge funeral laid out, and very many men in a vast multitude, who had come to the obsequies, standing around, all most sorrowful and in the shabbiest attire. He came nearer, whether to learn, according to the habit of his disposition, who it might be—since to him, when he inquired, no one had answered—or indeed so that he himself might censure something in it by his art.
Certainly, indeed, fate had already overtaken the man lying there and almost laid out. Already all the limbs of that wretch were sprinkled with aromatics, already his face itself was smeared with odorous unguent, already he was embalmed, already almost prepared; for, having looked him over and, certain signs having been most carefully observed, he handled the man’s body again and again and found in it life lying hidden. Forthwith he cried out that the man was living: away, then, with the torches, away let the fires be removed, let the pyre be taken down, let the funereal dinner be carried back from the tomb to the table.
Meanwhile a murmur arose; some were saying the doctor ought to be believed, others even were ridiculing medicine. At last, even with the relatives unwilling—whether because by now they themselves possessed the inheritance, or because they still did not have trust in him—yet with difficulty Asclepiades obtained a brief postponement for the “dead man,” and so, wrested from the hands of the undertakers, as though from the lower world by postliminium, he brought him home, and immediately he revived the breath, immediately he roused the soul, skulking in the hiding-places of the body, by certain medicaments.
XX. Sapientis viri super mensam celebre dictum est: "Prima", inquit, "creterra ad sitim pertinet, secunda ad hilaritatem, tertia ad voluptatem, quarta ad insaniam." Verum enimvero Musarum creterra versa vice quanto crebrior quantoque meracior, tanto propior ad animi sanitatem. Prima creterra litteratoris rudimento eximit, secunda grammatici doctrina instruit, tertia rhetoris eloquentia armat. Hactenus a plerisque potatur.
20. A celebrated saying of a wise man at table is: "The first," he says, "crater pertains to thirst, the second to hilarity, the third to pleasure, the fourth to insanity." But indeed the Muses’ crater, contrariwise, the more frequent and the more pure, the nearer it is to soundness of mind. The first crater brings one out from the rudiment of the litterator, the second equips with the doctrine of the grammarian, the third arms with the eloquence of the rhetor. Thus far it is drunk by most.
I too have drunk other kraters at Athens: one contrived for poetry, one limpid for geometry, one sweet for music, one rather austere for dialectic, and now indeed for universal philosophy an insatiable, to wit, and nectarous one. For Empedocles sings poems, Plato dialogues, Socrates hymns, Epicharmus modes, Xenophon histories, Crates satires: your Apuleius cultivates all these and the nine Muses with equal zeal, with a greater will, of course, than faculty, and for that reason perhaps he is the more to be praised, because in all good things the attempt is in praise, the achievement is in chance, just as conversely in misdeeds even crimes only conceived, not yet completed, are punished, with a bloody mind and a clean hand. Therefore, just as for punishment it suffices to have meditated things that must be punished, so also for praise it is enough to have endeavored at things that ought to be proclaimed.
What moreover greater praise or surer, than to bless Carthage, where as an entire community you are most erudite, in whose hands every discipline boys learn, young men display, elders teach? Carthage, the venerable instructress of our province? Carthage, the celestial Muse of Africa, Carthage the Camena of the toga-wearers.
XXI. Habet interdum et necessaria festinatio honestas moras, saepe uti malis interpellatam voluntatem: quippe et illis, quibus curriculo confecta via opus est, adeo uti praeoptent pendere equo quam carpento sedere, propter molestias sarcinarum et pondera vehiculorum et moras orbium et salebras orbitarum - adde et lapidum globos et caudicum toros et camporum rivos et collium clivos -; hisce igitur moramentis omnibus qui volunt devitare ac vectorem sibimet equum deligunt diutinae fortitudinis, vivacis pernicitatis, id est et ferre validum et ire rapidum, qui campos collesque gradu perlabitur uno, ut ait Lucilius; tamen cum eo equo per viam concito pervolant, si quem interea conspicantur ex principalibus viris nobilem hominem, bene consultum, bene cognitum, quamquam oppido festinent, tamen honoris eius gratia cohibent cursum, relevant gradum, retardant equum et ilico in pedes desiliunt, fruticem, quem verberando equo gestant, eam virgam in laevam manum transferunt, itaque expedita dextra adeunt ac salutant et, si diutule ille quippiam percontetur, ambulant diutule et fabulantur, denique quantumvis morae in officio libenter insumunt.
21. Even necessary haste sometimes has honorable delays, and often the will is interrupted by annoyances: indeed even those for whom a journey finished by chariot is required, so much so that they prefer to hang upon a horse rather than sit in a cart, on account of the troubles of baggage and the weights of vehicles and the delays of wheels and the jolts of ruts - add also the lumps of stones and the knobs of logs and the streams of fields and the slopes of hills -; therefore, to avoid all these hold-ups, they choose for themselves as bearer a horse of long-enduring fortitude, of lively swiftness, that is, both strong to bear and quick to go, which, as Lucilius says, glides over fields and hills with a single stride; yet when they fly along the road at speed on that horse, if meanwhile they catch sight of some noble man from among the leading men, well advised, well known, although they are in a great hurry, nevertheless for the sake of his honor they check their course, ease their pace, slow the horse and immediately leap down on their feet; the switch which they carry for whipping the horse, that rod they transfer into the left hand; and thus with the right hand free they approach and greet, and if he questions anything at some length, they walk at some length and converse, and finally they gladly expend however much delay in courtesy.
XXII. Crates ille Diogenis sectator, qui ut lar familiaris apud homines aetatis suae Athenis cultus est - nulla domus umquam clausa erat nec erat patris familias tam absconditum secretum, quin eo tempestive Crates interveniret, litium omnium et iurgiorum inter propinquos disceptator atque arbiter; quod Herculem olim poetae memorant monstra illa immania hominum ac ferarum virtute subegisse orbemque terrae purgasse, similiter adversum iracundiam et invidiam atque avaritiam atque libidinem ceteraque animi humani monstra et flagitia philosophus iste Hercules fuit: eas omnes pestes mentibus exegit, familias purgavit, malitiam perdomuit, seminudus et ipse et clava insignis, etiam Thebis oriundus, unde Herculem fuisse memoria exstat -; igitur, priusquam plane Crates factus, inter proceres Thebanos numeratus est, lectum genus, frequens famulitium, domus amplo ornata vestibulo, ipse bene vestitus, bene praediatus. Post ubi intellegit nullum sibi in re familiari praesidium legatum, quo fretus aetatem agat, omnia fluxa infirmaque esse, quicquid sub caelo divitiarum est, eas omnis ad bene vivendum nihil quicquam esse . . .
XXII. That Crates, a follower of Diogenes, who was cultivated at Athens among the men of his age as a household Lar—no house was ever closed, nor was there any secret of a paterfamilias so hidden that Crates did not timely intervene there, the disceptator and arbiter of all suits and quarrels among relatives; just as the poets once relate that Hercules by valor subdued those immense monsters of men and beasts and cleansed the circle of the earth, similarly this philosopher was a Hercules against anger and envy and avarice and lust and the other monsters and flagitia of the human mind: all those plagues he drove out from minds, he purified households, he thoroughly subdued malice, himself half-naked and marked by a club, likewise sprung from Thebes, whence memory records Hercules to have been—; therefore, before he was plainly made Crates, he was counted among the Theban nobles, of chosen lineage, with a frequent household of servants, a house adorned with a spacious vestibule, himself well clothed, well endowed with estates. Afterward, when he understood that there had been left to him no protection in family property on which, relying, he might pass his life, that all things are flux and infirm, whatever wealth is under the sky, that all those things are nothing at all for living well . . .
XXIII. Sicuti navem bonam, fabre factam, bene intrinsecus compactam, extrinsecus eleganter depictam, mobili clavo, firmis rudentibus, procero malo, insigni carchesio, splendentibus velis, postremo omnibus armamentis idoneis ad usum et honestis ad contemplationem, eam navem si aut gubernator non agat aut tempestas agat, ut facile cum illis egregiis instrumentis aut profunda hauserint aut scopuli comminuerint! Sed et medici cum intraverint ad aegrum, uti visant, nemo eorum, quod tabulina perpulchra in aedibus cernant et lacunaria auro oblita et gregatim pueros ac iuvenes eximia forma in cubiculo circa lectum stantis, aegrum iubet, uti sit animo bono; sed, ubi iuxtim consedit, manum hominis prehendit, eam pertrectat, venarum pulsum et momenta captat: si quid illic turbatum atque inconditum offendit, illi renuntiat male morbo haberi. Dives ille cibo interdicitur; ea die in sua sibi copiosa domo panem non accipit, cum interea totum eius servitium hilares sunt atque epulantur, nec in ea re quicquam efficit condicione.
23. Just as a good ship, skillfully made, well compacted within, elegantly painted without, with a responsive helm, firm ropes, a tall mast, a notable carchesium, gleaming sails, in short with all the tackle suitable for use and becoming to contemplate—if either the helmsman does not guide that ship or a storm drives it, how easily, along with those excellent equipments, either the depths will gulp them down or the rocks will shatter them! But also when physicians have entered to a sick man, to make a visit, none of them, because they see very beautiful paneling in the house and coffered ceilings overlaid with gold and boys and youths of exceptional beauty standing in groups in the chamber around the bed, bids the patient to be of good cheer; but, when he has sat down close by, he takes the man’s hand, handles it, feels for the pulse of the veins and the beats: if he finds anything there disturbed and disordered, he reports to him that he is in bad case with disease. That rich man is forbidden food; on that day, in his own abundant house, he does not receive bread for himself, while meanwhile all his household are cheerful and feast, nor does he achieve anything in that matter by his condition.