Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookace argues (in the person of a Stoic) that there can be but _one_ path that leads in the right direction; all others must lead the traveler only farther astray. "Unus utrique error sed variis illudit partibus" (ἐσθλοὶ μὲν γὰρ ἁπλῶς, παντοδαπῶς δὲ κακοί. Arist., Eth., II., vi., 4). So Persius argues, whatever are the varied pursuits of different minds, he that is under the influence of some overwhelming passion, can offer no claim to be accounted a free agent. "Mille hominum species, et rerum discolor usus." (52.) In fact, if we substitute "freedom" for "wisdom," the whole argument of the last part of the Satire may be expressed in the two lines of Horace: "Quisquis _Ambitione_ malâ aut _argenti_ pallet amore Quisquis _Luxuria_ tristive _Superstitione_ Aut alio mentis morbo calet:" that man can neither be pronounced free or of sound mind. The Satire consists of two parts; the first serving as a Proëm to the other. It is, in fact, the earnest expression of unbounded affection for his tutor and early friend Annæus Cornutus, from whom he had imbibed those principles of philosophy, which it is the object of the latter part of the Satire to elucidate. After a few lines of ridicule at the hackneyed prologues of the day, he puts into the mouth of Cornutus that just criticism of poetical composition which there is very little doubt Persius had in reality derived from his master; and in answer to this, he takes occasion to profess his sincere and deep-seated love and gratitude toward the preceptor, whose kind care had rescued him from the vicious courses to which a young and ardent temperament was leading him; and whose sound judgment and dexterous management had weaned him from the temptations that assail the young, by making him his own companion in those studies which expanded his intellect while they rectified the _obliquity_ (to use the Stoics' phrase) of his moral character. Such mutual affection, he urges, could only exist between two persons whom something more than mere adventitious circumstances drew together; and he therefore concludes that the same natal star must have presided over the horoscope of both. He then proceeds to the main subject of the Satire, viz., that all men should aim at attaining that freedom which can only result from that perfect "soundness of mind" which we have shown to be the summum bonum of the Stoics. This real freedom no mere external or adventitious circumstances can bestow. Dama, though freed at his master's behest, if he be the slave of passion, is as much a slave as if he had never felt the prætor's rod. Until he have really cast off, like the snake, the slough of his former vices, and become changed in heart and principles as he is in political standing, he is so far from being really free from bondage that he can not rightly perform even the most trivial act of daily life. True freedom consists in virtue alone; but "Virtus est vitium fugere:" and he who eradicates all other passions, but cherishes still one darling vice, has but changed his master. The dictates of the passions that sway his breast are more imperious than those of the severest task-master. Whether it be avarice, or luxury, or love, or ambition, or superstition, that is the dominant principle, so long as he can not shake himself free from the control of these, he is as much, as real a slave as the drudge that bears his master's strigil to the bath, or the dog that fancies he has burst his bonds while the long fragment of his broken chain still dangles from his neck. The last few lines contain a dignified rebuke of the sneers which such pure sentiments as these would provoke in the coarse minds of some into whose hands these lines might fall; perhaps, too, they may be meant as a gentle reproof of the sly irony in which the Epicurean Horace indulged, while professing to enunciate the Stoic doctrine, that none but the true Philosopher can be said to be of sound mind. It is the custom of poets to pray for a hundred voices,[1409] and to wish for a hundred mouths and a hundred tongues for their verses;[1410] whether the subject proposed be one to be mouthed[1411] by a grim-visaged[1412] Tragœdian, or the wounds[1413] of a Parthian drawing his weapon from his groin.[1414] CORNUTUS.[1415] What is the object of this? or what masses[1416] of robust song are you heaping up, so as to require the support of a hundred throats? Let those who are about to speak on grand subjects collect mists on Helicon;[1417] all those for whom the pot of Procne[1418] or Thyestes shall boil, to be often supped on by the insipid Glycon.[1419] You neither press forth the air from the panting bellows, while the mass is smelting in the furnace; nor, hoarse with pent-up murmur, foolishly croak out something ponderous, nor strive to burst your swollen cheeks with puffing.[1420] You adopt the language of the Toga,[1421] skillful at judicious combination, with moderate style, well rounded,[1422] clever at lashing depraved morals,[1423] and with well-bred sportiveness to affix the mark of censure. Draw from this source what you have to say; and leave at Mycenæ the tables, with the head[1424] and feet, and study plebeian dinners. PERSIUS. For my part, I do not aim at this, that my page may be inflated with air-blown trifles, fit only to give weight[1425] to smoke. We are talking apart from the crowd. I am now, at the instigation of the Muse, giving you my heart to sift;[1426] and delight in showing you, beloved friend, how large a portion of my soul is yours, Cornutus! Knock then, since thou knowest well how to detect what rings sound,[1427] and the glozings of a varnished[1428] tongue. For this I would dare to pray for a hundred voices, that with guileless voice I may unfold how deeply I have fixed thee in my inmost breast; and that my words may unseal for thee all that lies buried, too deep for words, in my secret heart. When first the guardian purple left me, its timid charge,[1429] and my boss[1430] was hung up, an offering to the short-girt[1431] Lares; when my companions were kind, and the white centre-fold[1432] gave my eyes license to rove with impunity over the whole Suburra; at the time when the path is doubtful, and error, ignorant of the purpose of life, makes anxious minds hesitate between the branching cross-ways, I placed myself under you. You, Cornutus, cherished my tender years in your Socratic bosom. Then your rule, dexterous in insinuating itself,[1433] being applied to me, straightened my perverse morals; my mind was convinced by your reasoning, and strove to yield subjection; and formed features skillfully moulded by your plastic thumb. For I remember that many long nights I spent with you; and with you robbed our feasts of the first hours of night. Our work was one. We both alike arranged our hours of rest, and relaxed our serious studies with a frugal meal. Doubt not, |