"It is certainly true that a man is hated when he declares himself an
enemy to all vice, and begins to follow the right road in life, because,
in the first place, his habits are different from those of other people;
for who ever approved of anything to which he took exceptions? Then,
they whose only ambition is to pile up riches, don't want to believe that
men can possess anything better than that which they have themselves;
therefore, they use every means in their power to so buffet the lovers
of literature that they will seem in their proper place--below the
moneybags." "I know not why it should be so," (I said with a sigh), "but
Poverty is the sister of Genius." ("You have good reason," the old man
replied, "to deplore the status of men of letters." "No," I answered,
"that was not the reason for my sigh, there is another and far weightier
cause for my grief." Then, in accordance with the human propensity of
pouring one's personal troubles into another's ears, I explained my
misfortune to him, and dwelt particularly upon Ascyltos' perfidy.) "Oh
how I wish that this enemy who is the cause of my enforced continence
could be mollified," (I cried, with many a groan,) "but he is an old hand
at robbery, and more cunning than the pimps themselves!" (My frankness
pleased the old man, who attempted to comfort me and, to beguile my
sorrow, he related the particulars of an amorous intrigue in which he
himself had played a part.)
"When I was attached to the Quaestor's staff, in Asia, I was quartered
with a family at Pergamus. I found things very much to my liking there,
not only on account of the refined comfort of my apartments, but also
because of the extreme beauty of my host's son. For the latter reason,
I had recourse to strategy, in order that the father should never suspect
me of being a seducer. So hotly would I flare up, whenever the abuse
of handsome boys was even mentioned at the table, and with such
uncompromising sternness would I protest against having my ears insulted
by such filthy talk, that I came to be looked upon, especially by the
mother, as one of the philosophers. I was conducting the lad to the
gymnasium before very long, and superintending his conduct, taking
especial care, all the while, that no one who could debauch him should
ever enter the house. Then there came a holiday, the school was closed,
and our festivities had rendered us too lazy to retire properly, so we
lay down in the dining-room. It was just about midnight, and I knew he
was awake, so I murmured this vow, in a very low voice, 'Oh Lady Venus,
could I but kiss this lad, and he not know it, I would give him a pair of
turtle-doves tomorrow!' On hearing the price offered for this favor, the
boy commenced to snore! Then, bending over the pretending sleeper, I
snatched a fleeting kiss or two. Satisfied with this beginning, I arose
early in the morning, brought a fine pair of turtle-doves to the eager
lad, and absolved myself from my vow."
"Next night, when the same opportunity presented itself, I changed my
petition, 'If I can feel him all over with a wanton hand,' I vowed, 'and
he not know it, I will give him two of the gamest fighting-cocks, for his
silence.' The lad nestled closer to me of his own accord, on hearing this
offer, and I truly believe that he was afraid that I was asleep. I made
short work of his apprehensions on that score, however, by stroking and
fondling his whole body. I worked myself into a passionate fervor that
was just short of supreme gratification. Then, when day dawned, I made
him happy with what I had promised him. When the third night gave me
my chance, I bent close to the ear of the rascal, who pretended to be
asleep. 'Immortal gods,' I whispered, 'if I can take full and complete
satisfaction of my love, from this sleeping beauty, I will tomorrow
present him with the best Macedonian pacer in the market, in return for
this bliss, provided that he does not know it.' Never had the lad slept
so soundly! First I filled my hands with his snowy breasts, then I
pressed a clinging kiss upon his mouth, but I finally focused all my
energies upon one supreme delight! Early in the morning, he sat up in
bed, awaiting my usual gift. It is much easier to buy doves and
game-cocks than it is to buy a pacer, as you know, and aside from that, I was
also afraid that so valuable a present might render my motive subject to
suspicion, so, after strolling around for some hours, I returned to the
house, and gave the lad nothing at all except a kiss. He looked all
around, threw his arms about my neck. 'Tell me, master,' he cried,
'where's the pacer?' ('The difficulty of getting one fine enough has
compelled me to defer the fulfillment of my promise,' I replied, 'but I
will make it good in a few days.' The lad easily understood the true
meaning of my answer, and his countenance betrayed his secret
resentment.)"
"(In the meantime,) by breaking this vow, I had cut myself off from the
avenue of access which I had contrived, but I returned to the attack, all
the same, when the opportunity came. In a few days, a similar occasion
brought about the very same conditions as before, and the instant I heard
his father snoring, I began pleading with the lad to receive me again
into his good graces, that is to say, that he ought to suffer me to
satisfy myself with him, and he in turn could do whatever his own
distended member desired. He was very angry, however, and would say
nothing at all except, 'Either you go to sleep, or I'll call father!'
But no obstacle is so difficult that depravity cannot twist around it and
even while he threatened 'I'll call father,' I slipped into his bed and
took my pleasure in spite of his half-hearted resistance. Nor was he
displeased with my improper conduct for, although he complained for a
while, that he had been cheated and made a laughing- stock, and that his
companions, to whom he had bragged of his wealthy friend, had made sport
of him. 'But you'll see that I'll not be like you,' he whispered; 'do it
again, if you want to!' All misunderstandings were forgotten and I was
readmitted into the lad's good graces. Then I slipped off to sleep,
after profiting by his complaisance. But the youth, in the very flower
of maturity, and just at the best age for passive pleasure, was by no
means satisfied with only one repetition, so he roused me out of a heavy
sleep. 'Isn't there something you'd like to do?' he whispered! The
pastime had not begun to cloy, as yet, and, somehow or other, what with
panting and sweating and wriggling, he got what he wanted and, worn out
with pleasure, I dropped off to sleep again. Less than an hour had passed
when he began to punch me with his hand. 'Why are we not busy,' he
whispered! I flew into a violent rage at being disturbed so many times,
and threatened him in his own words, 'Either you go to sleep, or I'll
call father!'"
Heartened up by this story, I began to draw upon his more comprehensive
knowledge as to the ages of the pictures and as to certain of the stories
connected with them, upon which I was not clear; and I likewise inquired
into the causes of the decadence of the present age, in which the most
refined arts had perished, and among them painting, which had not left
even the faintest trace of itself behind. "Greed of money," he replied,
"has brought about these unaccountable changes. In the good old times,
when virtue was her own reward, the fine arts flourished, and there was
the keenest rivalry among men for fear that anything which could be of
benefit to future generations should remain long undiscovered. Then it
was that Democritus expressed the juices of all plants and spent his
whole life in experiments, in order that no curative property should lurk
unknown in stone or shrub. That he might understand the movements of
heaven and the stars, Eudoxus grew old upon the summit of a lofty
mountain: three times did Chrysippus purge his brain with hellebore,
that his faculties might be equal to invention. Turn to the sculptors if
you will; Lysippus perished from hunger while in profound meditation upon
the lines of a single statue, and Myron, who almost embodied the souls of
men and beasts in bronze, could not find an heir. And we, sodden with
wine and women, cannot even appreciate the arts already practiced, we
only criticise the past! We learn only vice, and teach it, too. What has
become of logic? of astronomy? Where is the exquisite road to wisdom?
Who even goes into a temple to make a vow, that he may achieve eloquence
or bathe in the fountain of wisdom? And they do not pray for good health
and a sound mind; before they even set foot upon the threshold of the
temple, one promises a gift if only he may bury a rich relative; another,
if he can but dig up a treasure, and still another, if he is permitted to
amass thirty millions of sesterces in safety! The Senate itself, the
exponent of all that should be right and just, is in the habit of
promising a thousand pounds of gold to the capitol, and that no one may
question the propriety of praying for money, it even decorates Jupiter
himself with spoils'. Do not hesitate, therefore, at expressing your
surprise at the deterioration of painting, since, by all the gods and men
alike, a lump of gold is held to be more beautiful than anything ever
created by those crazy little Greek fellows, Apelles and Phydias!"
"But I see that your whole attention is held by that picture which portrays the destruction of Troy, so I will attempt to unfold the story in verse:
And now the tenth harvest beheld the beleaguered of Troia
Worn out with anxiety, fearing: the honor of Calchas
The prophet, hung wavering deep in the blackest despair.
Apollo commanded! The forested peaks of Mount Ida
Were felled and dragged down; the hewn timbers were fitted to fashion
A war-horse. Unfilled is a cavity left, and this cavern,
Roofed over, capacious enough for a camp. Here lie hidden
The raging impetuous valor of ten years of warfare.
Malignant Greek troops pack the recess, lurk in their own offering.
Alas my poor country! We thought that their thousand grim war-ships
Were beaten and scattered, our arable lands freed from warfare!
Th' inscription cut into the horse, and the crafty behavior
Of Sinon, his mind ever powerful for evil, affirmed it.
Delivered from war, now the crowd, carefree, hastens to worship
And pours from the portals. Their cheeks wet with weeping, the joy
Of their tremulous souls brings to eyes tears which terror
Had banished. Laocoon, priest unto Neptune, with hair loosed,
An outcry evoked from the mob: he drew back his javelin
And launched it! The belly of wood was his target. The weapon
Recoiled, for the fates stayed his hand, and this artifice won us.
His feeble hand nerved he anew, and the lofty sides sounded,
His two-edged ax tried them severely. The young troops in ambush
Gasped. And as long as the reverberations re-echoed
The wooden mass breathed out a fear that was not of its own.
Imprisoned, the warriors advance to take Troia a captive
And finish the struggle by strategem new and unheard of.
Behold! Other portents: Where Tenedos steep breaks the ocean
Where great surging billows dash high; to be broken, and leap back
To form a deep hollow of calm, and resemble the plashing
Of oars, carried far through the silence of night, as when ships pass
And drive through the calm as it smashes against their fir bows.
Then backward we look: towards the rocks the tide carries two serpents
That coil and uncoil as they come, and their breasts, which are swollen
Aside dash the foam, as the bows of tall ships; and the ocean
Is lashed by their tails, their manes, free on the water, as savage
As even their eyes: now a blinding beam kindles the billows,
The sea with their hissing is sibilant! All stare in terror!
Laocoon's twin sons in Phrygian raiment are standing
With priests wreathed for sacrifice. Them did the glistening serpents
Enfold in their coils! With their little hands shielding their faces,
The boys, neither thinking of self, but each one of his brother!
Fraternal love's sacrifice! Death himself slew those poor children
By means of their unselfish fear for each other! The father,
A helper too feeble, now throws himself prone on their bodies:
The serpents, now glutted with death, coil around him and drag him
To earth! And the priest, at his altar a victim, lies beating
The ground. Thus the city of Troy, doomed to sack and destruction,
First lost her own gods by profaning their shrines and their worship.
The full moon now lifted her luminous beam and the small stars
Led forth, with her torch all ablaze; when the Greeks drew the bolts
And poured forth their warriors, on Priam's sons, buried in darkness
And sodden with wine. First the leaders made trial of their weapons
Just as the horse, when unhitched from Thessalian neck-yoke,
First tosses his head and his mane, ere to pasture he rushes.
They draw their swords, brandish their shields and rush into the battle.
One slays the wine-drunken Trojans, prolonging their dreams
To death, which ends all. Still another takes brands from the altars,
And calls upon Troy's sacred temples to fight against Trojans."
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