During the period upon which we are now entering, Roman literature arrived at its greatest perfection. The time at which it attained the highest point of excellence is fixed by Niebuhr[438] about A. U. C. 680, when Cicero was between thirty and forty years old. Poetry, indeed, still continued to improve, as regarded metrical structure and diction, in finish, smoothness, and harmony. There is ex. gr. in these respects a marked difference between the works of Lucretius and Virgil; but nevertheless the principles of language now became fixed and settled. In fact, the condition of a language must be judged of by its prose; so must likewise the state of perfection to which its literature has attained. If poetry could be with propriety assumed as the standard, the commencement of the empire of Augustus would constitute the best age of Latin literature, rather than the time when the forum echoed with the eloquence of Cicero; but in the two ages of Cicero and Augustus, taken together as forming one era, is comprehended the golden age both of poetry and prose.
Dramatic literature, however, never recovered from the trance into which it had fallen. The stage had not altogether lost that popularity which it had possessed in the days of Attius and Terence, for Æsopus and Roscius, the former the great tragedian, the latter the favourite comedian, in the time of Cicero, amassed great wealth. Æsopus lived liberally,[439] and yet bequeathed a fortune to his son, and Roscius is said to have earned daily the sum of thirty-two pounds.
Notwithstanding, also, the degradation attached to the social position of an actor, both these eminent artists enjoyed the friendship of Cicero and other great men. They brought to the study of their profession industry, taste, talent, and learning, and these qualities were appreciated. Æsopus was on one occasion encored a countless number of times (millies)[440] by an enthusiastic audience, and Roscius was elevated by Sulla to the equestrian dignity. But although the standard Roman plays were constantly represented, dramatic literature had become extinct. No one wrote comedy at all, and the tragedies of Valgius Rufus and Asinius Pollio were only intended for reading or recitation. Nor, as has been already shown, does the Thyestes of Varus really form an exception to this statement.
The dramatic entertainments which had now taken the place of comedy and tragedy were termed mimes.
Their distinguishing appellation was derived from the Greek, but they entirely differed from those compositions to which the Greeks applied that title. The latter were written not in verse, but in prose;[441] they were dialogues, not dramatic pieces, and though they were exhibited at certain festivals, and the parts supported by actors, they were never represented on the stage. Even when Sophron, whose compositions were admired and imitated by Plato,[442] raised them to their highest degree of perfection, and made them vehicles of serious moral lessons mingling together ludicrous buffoonery with grave philosophy, their language was only a rhythmical prose, probably somewhat resembling that in which the celebrated despatch of Hippocrates[443] was written. Some idea may be formed of their nature from the fact that the idylls of Theocritus were imitated from the mimes of Sophron, and that Persius took them for his model in his peculiarly dramatic satires.[444]
The Roman mimes were laughable imitations of manners and persons. So far they combined features of comedy and farce; for comedy represents the characters of a class—farce those of individuals. Their essence was that of the modern pantomime; mimicry and burlesque dialogue were only accidentally introduced. Their coarseness and even indecency[445] gratified the love of broad humour which characterized the Roman people. They became successful rivals of comedy, and thus came to be admitted on the public stage. It is most probable that like other dramatic exhibitions, they originally grew out of the Fabulæ Atellanæ, which they afterwards superseded. But notwithstanding their indecency, their satire upon the living, and their burlesque representations of the illustrious dead, when exhibited at funeral games, they had sometimes, like the mimes of Sophron, a moral character, and abounded in shrewd wisdom and noble sentiments.[446] Schlegel asserts that there is a great affinity between the Roman mimes and the pasquinades and harlequinades of modern Italy. He conjectures that in them may be traced the germ of the Comedie dell’ Arte, and states that the very picture of Polichinello is found in some of the frescoes of Pompeii.
After a time, when mimes became established as popular favourites, the dialogue or written part of the entertainment occupied a more prominent position, and was written in verse, like that of tragedy or comedy. In the dictatorship of Julius Cæsar, a Roman knight, named Decius Laberius, became eminent for his mimes. Respecting his merits, we have few opportunities of forming a judgment, as the fragments of his writings[447] are but few and short; but Horace[448] speaks of them in unfavourable language, and finds fault with their carelessness and want of regular plan. He was born about B. C. 107,[449] and died B. C. 45, at Puteoli, (Pozzuoli.) The profession of an actor of mimes was infamous; but Laberius was a writer, not an actor. It happened, however, that P. Syrus, who had been first the slave, then the freedman and pupil of Laberius, and lastly a professional actor, challenged all his brethren to a trial of improvisatorial skill. Cæsar entreated Laberius to enter the lists, and offered him five hundred sestertia (about 4,000l.) Laberius did not submit to the degradation for the sake of the money, but he was afraid to refuse. The only method of retaliation in his power was sarcasm. His part was that of a slave, and when his master scourged him, he exclaimed, “Porro, Quirites, libertatem perdimus!” His words were received with a round of applause, and the audience fixed their eyes on Cæsar. On another occasion his attack on the Dictator was almost threatening:—
He appears to have been always quick and ready in repartee. When, on being vanquished by his adversary Syrus, the Dictator said to him with a sneer—
He replied with the following sad but true reflections:—
Cæsar, however, restored to him the rank and equestrian privileges of which his act had deprived him; but still he could not recover the respect of his countrymen. As he passed the orchestra in his way to the stalls of the knights, Cicero cried out, “If we were not so crowded, I would make room for you here.” Laberius replied, alluding to Cicero’s lukewarmness as a political partisan, “I am astonished that you should be crowded, as you generally sit on two stools.” The calm and feeling rebuke with which, in the prologue to his mime, he remonstrated against the tyranny of Cæsar, is singularly spirited and beautiful:—
Another poet of this age who composed mimes was C. Matius, surnamed, from his baldness, Calvena. His mimes were termed Mimiambi, because he wrote in the iambic measure,[450] and he was also a translator of the Iliad as well as the author of a work on cookery. His principal merit is said to have been his skill in enriching his native language by the introduction of new words.[451] He was somewhat younger than Laberius, and enjoyed the friendship of the greatest amongst his contemporaries. His intimacy with Julius Cæsar,[452] to whom he was warmly attached,[453] and afterwards with Augustus,[454] gave him great influence;[455] but he never took much part in the political strife which imbittered his times, nor did he use his influence in order to procure his own advancement.
His retired habits and love of literary leisure saved him from seeking his happiness in the excitements of ambition. Cicero, who loved him dearly, often mentions him in his letters, and pays a compliment[456] to his learning and amiability. An interesting letter of his, which is preserved in the collection of Cicero’s epistles to his friends,[457] shows that he possessed an accomplished mind and an affectionate heart. It cannot be supposed, therefore, that his Mimiambi were debased by the too common faults of coarseness and immodesty.
Publius Syrus was, as his name implies, originally a Syrian slave, and took his prænomen from the master who gave him his freedom. All that is known respecting his life has already been stated in the account of Laberius. The commendations which his mimes received from the ancients, especially from Cicero,[458] Seneca,[459] and Pliny,[460] prove them to have been much read and admired. The fragments which still remain are marked by wit and neatness, and the shrewd wisdom of proverbial philosophy. Tradition has also recorded a bon-mot of his, which is as witty as it is severe. Seeing once an ill-tempered man, named Mucius, in low spirits, he remarked, “Either some bad fortune has happened to Mucius, or some good fortune to one of his friends.” An accurate knowledge of human nature, exhibited in pointed and terse language, most probably constituted the charm of this species of scenic literature. The large collection of his proverbial sayings, entitled P. Syri Sententiæ, are by no means all genuine; but the nucleus around which the collection has grown by successive additions is undoubtedly his, and those which are the work of after ages are formed after the model of his apothegms.
The Roman pantomime differed somewhat from the mime—it was a ballet of action performed by a single dancer. It was first introduced in its complete form in the reign of Augustus: and Suidas,[461] misquoting a passage from Zosimus,[462] groundlessly attributes the invention to the emperor himself. As the mime bore some resemblance to the Atellan farces, so the pantomime resembled the histrionic performances introduced by Livius Andronicus. In both, the person who recited the words (canticum[463]) was different from him who represented the characters. In the pantomime, the canticum was sung by a chorus arrayed at the back of the stage. Until the times of the later emperors, when vice was paraded with unblushing effrontery, women never acted in pantomime; but the exhibition itself was sensual and licentious in its character,[464] and the actors of it were deservedly deemed infamous, and forbidden by Tiberius to hold any intercourse with Romans of equestrian or senatorial dignity.[465] Nero, however, outraged public decency by himself appearing in pantomime.[466] Fortunate was it for the dignity of Rome that the face of the emperor was concealed behind a mask which, unlike the performers in the mimes, the pantomimic actors always wore. The players not only exhibited the human figure in the most graceful attitudes, but represented every passion and emotion with such truth, that the spectators could without difficulty understand the story. Sometimes the scenes represented were founded upon the Greek tragic drama; but for its purifying effect was substituted the awakening of licentious passions.
These were the exhibitions which threw such discredit on the stage—which called forth the well-deserved attacks of the early Christian fathers, and caused them to declare that whoever attended them was unworthy of the name of Christians. Had the drama not been so abused, had it retained its original purity, and carried out the object attributed to it by Aristotle, they would have seen in it not a nursery of vice, but a school of virtue—not only an innocent amusement, but a powerful engine to form the taste, to improve the morals, and to purify the feelings of a people.
The principal actors of pantomime in the reign of Augustus were Bathyllus, Hylas, and Pylades. In the reign of Nero the art was practised by Latinus,[467] and Paris, who taught the emperor to dance, and subsequently was put to death by Nero when he became his rival for popular applause.[468] But those who attained the highest degree of popularity were another Latinus, and another Paris, who flourished in the reign of Domitian. Both have been immortalized in the epigrams of Martial.[469] To the former, Martial attributes the power to fascinate such stern and rigid moralists as resembled Cato, the Curii, and Fabricii. The epitaph concludes with these lines:—
The latter, by his popularity, acquired great influence at court, but his profligacy proved his ruin. He intrigued with the empress Domitia; and Domitian consequently divorced his wife, and caused Paris to be assassinated. He has furnished a plot and a hero to Massinger’s play of the “Roman Actor.” The simple and beautiful epitaph written to his memory by Martial is as follows:—
Lucretius Carus might claim a place amongst philosophers as well as poets, for his poem marks an epoch both in poetry and philosophy. But his philosophy is a mere reflexion from that of Greece, whilst his poetry is bright with the rays of original genius. A delineation, therefore, of his characteristics as a writer of the imagination, will present the more accurate idea of the place which he occupies amongst Roman authors. It was no empty boast of his, that, as a poet, he deserved the praise of originality—that he had opened a path through the territory of the muse, untrodden before by poet’s foot—that he had drawn from a virgin fountain, and culled fresh flowers whence the Muse had never yet sought them to wreathe a garland for the poet’s brow.[470]
Few materials exist for the compilation of his biography. From two passages[471] in his work, in which he states that his native language was Latin, it is clear that he was born within the limits of Italy. The date of his birth is generally fixed B. C. 95.[472] The prevalence of the Epicurean philosophy, and the additional popularity with which his talents invested the fashionable creed, combined to raise him to the equestrian dignity; and, consistently with his cold and hopeless atheism—his proud disbelief in a superintending Providence—he died by his own hand in the prime of life and in the forty-fourth year of his age.[473] The story that his work was written in the lucid intervals of a madness produced by a love-potion, as well as his residence at Athens for the purpose of study, rest upon no foundation.
His poem On the Nature of Things is divided into six books, and is written in imitation of that of Empedocles, who is the subject of his warmest praise and admiration. Whilst its subject is philosophical and its purpose didactic, its unity of design, the one point of view from which he regards the various doctrines of the master whose principles he adopts, claims for it the rank of an epic poem.
This epic structure prevents it from being a complete and systematic survey of the whole Epicurean philosophy; but, notwithstanding this deficiency in point of comprehensiveness, the exactness and fidelity with which he represents those doctrines which he enunciates, renders him deserving of the credit of having given to his countrymen, as far as epic writing permitted, an accurate view of the philosophical system which then enjoyed the highest degree of popularity.
Although Greek philosophy furnished Lucretius with his subject, and a Greek poem served as a model, he also saw and valued the capabilities of the Latin language—he wielded at will its power of embodying the noblest thoughts, and showed how its copious and flexible properties could overcome the hard technicalities of science. Grand as were his conceptions, the language of Lucretius is not inferior to them in majesty. Without violating philosophical accuracy, he never appears to feel it a restraint to his muse: his fancy is always lively, his imagination has free scope even when his thoughts are fixed in the abstrusest theories, and engaged in the most subtle argumentation.[474]
The great beauty of the poetry of Lucretius is its variety. One might expect sublimity in the philosopher who penetrates the secrets of the natural world, and discloses to the eye of man the hidden causes of its wonderful phenomena. His object was a lofty one; for, although the irrational absurdities of the national creed drove him into the opposite evils of skepticism and unbelief, his aim was to set the intellect free from the trammels of superstition. But besides grandeur and sublimity we find the totally different poetical qualities of softness and tenderness. Rome had long known nothing but war, and was now rent by that worst and most demoralizing kind of war, civil dissension. Lucretius yearned for peace; and his prayer, that the fabled goddess of all that is beautiful in nature would heal the wounds which discord had made, is distinguished by tenderness and pathos even more than by sublimity. The whole passage is superior to the poetry of Ovid in force, although inferior in facility. His versification is not so smooth and harmonious as that of Virgil, who flourished in a period when the language had attained a higher degree of perfection, and the Roman ear was more educated, and therefore more delicately attuned, but it is never harsh and rugged, and always falls upon the ear with a swelling and sonorous melody. Virgil appreciated his excellence, and imitated not only single expressions, but almost entire verses and passages.[475]
As an example of sublimity, few passages can equal that in which he describes the prostration of human intellect under the grievous superstition, the dauntless purpose of Epicurus to free men from her oppressive rule, and to enable him to burst open the portals of Nature’s treasure-house, and thus gain a victory which will place him on an equality with the inhabitants of heaven:—
The idea which the poet here presents to the mind of his readers is of the same kind with that which pervades the writings of the Greek tragedians: it is that of the limited energies of mortals resolutely struggling with a superior and almost irresistible power.
The thrilling narrative of the plague at Athens, with all its physical and moral horrors, is one of the most heart-rending specimens of descriptive poetry. The stern rejection of all fear of death, though based upon a denial of the immortality of the soul, is a noble burst of poetical as well as philosophical enthusiasm; and the fifth book displays that perfect finish and accomplished grace which characterizes all the best Roman poets. Amongst the most affecting passages may be enumerated those which describe the early sorrows of the human race, and the grief of the bereaved animal whose young one has been slain in sacrifice.[476] Two other fine passages are the philosophical explanation of Tartarus, and the panoramic view of the tempest of human desires, seen from the rocky heights of philosophy—a glorious descriptive piece which has been imitated by Lord Bacon.
The following lines show how beautifully the poet has caught the spirit and feeling of Greek fancy, and how capable the Latin language now was of adequately expressing them:—
It cannot be denied that there are in the poem of Lucretius many barren wastes over which are scattered the rubbish and débris of a false philosophy; but even in these deserts the oases are numerous enough to prevent exhaustion and fatigue. They recur too frequently to enumerate them all. If the attempt were made, other tastes would still discover fresh examples.
The following is, in a few words, the plan and structure of the poem:—Its professed object is to emancipate mankind from the debasing effects of superstition by an exposition of the leading tenets of the Epicurean school. It is divided into six books. In the first, the poet enunciates and copiously illustrates the grand axiom of his system of the universe, together with the corollaries which necessarily arise from it. “Nothing is created out of nothing.” He commences also the subject of the atomic theory. In the second book he pursues the subject of creation generally, and the various functions of animal life. The third treats of the nature of the soil. The fourth contains the theory of sensation, especially of sight; of the relation which thought bears to matter; of the passions, and especially of the influence of love, both physical and moral. The fifth book is devoted to the history of mankind. The sixth explains the phenomena of the natural world, including those of disease and death.
The following are the leading Epicurean doctrines imbodied in the poem:—There are divine beings, but they are neither the creators[477] nor the governors of the world.[478] They live in the enjoyment of perfect happiness and repose, regardless of human affairs, unaffected by man’s virtues and vices, happiness or misery. Neither have they the power any more than the will to interfere in the affairs of the world, for they cannot resist the eternal laws of nature and destiny. Whilst, in deference to the innate sense which revolts at the denial of a God, he acknowledges the existence of divine beings, the proofs which he adduces as derived from his great master are weak and unsatisfactory.[479] The corollary of this disbelief in Divine Providence is practical atheism. The ideas which man entertains of God are false, because they are the mere creations of the imagination. Ignorant of the real causes which lead to natural phenomena, he conjures up these as the machinery to account for them.[480] The popular belief is groundless; and yet the poet believes that if this system is overthrown there is nothing to supply its place, and hence all worship, whether prayer or praise, is grovelling superstition.[481] The only true piety consists in calm and peaceful contemplation.[482]
To those who argue that unbelief leads to ungodliness, his answer is that what man calls religion has led to the greatest crimes.[483] He is not entirely destitute of the religious sentiment or the principle of faith, for he deifies nature[484] and has a veneration for her laws; and hence his infidelity must be viewed rather in the light of a philosophical protest against the degrading results of heathen superstition than a total rejection of the principle of religious faith.
It is here that Lucretius seems for awhile to leave the authority of Epicurus; and with the inspiration of a poet, which is hardly consistent with a total absence of veneration and faith, to forsake his cold and heartless system. Although he asserts that the phenomena of nature are the result of a combination of atoms, that these elementary particles are self-existent and eternal, he seems to invest nature with a sort of personality. The warm sensibility of the poet overcomes the cold logic of the philosopher. Dissatisfied with the ungenial idea of an abstract lifeless principle, he yearns for the maternal caresses of a being endued with energies and faculties with which he can sympathize. He therefore ascribes to nature an attribute which can only belong to an intelligent agent having ruling power. Nay, he even goes farther than this, and absolutely contradicts the dogmas of the Epicurean school. Even the works of nature are represented as instinct with life.[485] The sun is spoken of as a being who, by the warmth of his beams, vivifies all things: the earth, from whose womb all things spring, fosters and nurtures all her children. The very stars may possibly be living beings, performing their stated motions in search of their proper sustenance.[486] These are, doubtless, the fancies of the poet rather than the grave and serious belief of the philosopher; but they prove how false, hollow, and artificial is a system which pretends to account for creation by natural causes, and how earnestly the human mind craves after the comfort and support of a personal deity.
The denial of the immortality of the soul is inferred from the destructibility of the material elements out of which it is composed. It must perish immediately that it is deprived of the protection of the body.[487] In accordance with this psychical theory, he accounts for the difference of human tempers and characters. Character results from the combination of the elementary principles:—a predominance of heat produces the choleric disposition; that of wind produces timidity; that of air a calm and equable temper.[488] But this natural constitution, the strength of the will, acted upon by education, is able, to a certain extent, to modify, though it cannot effect a complete change. Thus it is that, although moral as well as physical phenomena are produced in accordance with fixed laws, human ills result from unbridled passions, and may be remedied by philosophy.
Although, if tried by a Christian standard, the Lucretian morality is by no means pure,[489] yet even where he permits laxity he is not insensible to the moral beauty, the happy and holy results of purity and chastity.[490] Nor, notwithstanding the assertions of Cicero,[491] can the charge of immorality or of a selfish love of impure pleasure be made against Lucretius or Epicurus. The distinction which the latter drew between lawful and unlawful pleasures was severe and uncompromising. The former speaks of the hell which the wicked sensualist always carries within his own breast[492]—of the satisfaction of true wisdom,[493] and of a conscience void of offence.[494]
Again, Epicurus was a man of almost Christian gentleness. Stoical grossness and contempt of refinement revolted him; the unamiable severity of that sect was alien to his nature. He was thus driven to the opposite extreme; and although he was careful to make pure intellectual pleasure the summum bonum, his standard laid him open to objections from his jealous adversaries. The zeal with which many distinguished females devoted themselves to his system, and became his disciples because his doctrines and character especially recommended themselves to the female sex, made it easy for his enemies to stigmatize them as effeminate, instead of praising them as feminine. With that illiberality which refused to woman freedom of conduct and a liberal education, his adversaries calumniated the characters of his pupils, represented them as unchaste, and their instructor as licentious. Nor did they hesitate even to support these accusations by forgeries.[495]
A careless reception of their calumnies without investigation, added to the general, and perhaps wilful, misapprehension which prevailed among the Romans in the days of Cicero, led to the misrepresentations which are found in his writings. These have been handed down to after ages: and thus the doctrines taught by Epicurus have been loaded with undeserved obloquy.[496] There is, however, no doubt that Epicurism was adopted by the Romans in a corrupt form, and that it became fashionable because it was supposed to encourage indifferentism and sensuality. It is probable, too, that the denial of immortality contributed much to the depravation and distortion of his system. Nothing so surely demoralizes as destroying the hopes of eternity. Man cannot commune with God, or soar on high to spiritual things, unless he hopes to be spiritualized and to see God as He is. Whatever the philosopher may teach as to the true nature of happiness, man will set up his own corrupt standard, which his passions and appetites lead him to prefer: he will act on the principle “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.” Still it must be confessed that the views of Epicurus respecting man’s duty to God were disinterested—founded on ideas of the Divine perfections, not merely on hopes of reward.[497] His views of sensual pleasures were in accordance with his simple, frugal life, diametrically opposed to intemperance and excess. He taught by example as well as by precept, that he who would be happy must cultivate wisdom and justice, because virtue and happiness are inseparable. He attached his disciples to him by affection rather than by admiration; submitted to weakness and sickness with patient resignation; and died with a heroism which no Stoic could have surpassed.
Such was the master whom Lucretius followed, and the school to which he belonged; and though the sternness of the Roman character breathed into his protest against superstition a bolder spirit of defiance than that of the placid and resigned Greek, his teaching was equally pure and noble, and he would have proudly disdained to make philosophy a cloak for voluptuous profligacy. Poets who surpassed him in gracefulness, and who were fortunate enough to flourish when the Latin language had become more plastic, paid due honour to his greatness. Virgil celebrates the happiness of that man:—