SATIRE XIV.
There are very many things, Fuscinus,[922] that both deserve a bad name, and fix a lasting spot on a fortune otherwise splendid, which parents themselves point the way to, and inculcate upon their children. If destructive gambling[923] delights the sire, the heir while yet a child plays[924] too; and shakes the selfsame weapons in his own little dice-box. Nor will that youth allow any of his kin to form better hopes of him who has learned to peel truffles,[925] to season a mushroom,[926] and drown beccaficas[927] swimming in the same sauce, his gourmand sire with his hoary gluttony[928] showing him the way. When his seventh[929] year has past over the boy's head, and all his second teeth are not yet come, though you range a thousand bearded[930] philosophers on one side of him, and as many on the other, still he will be ever longing to dine in sumptuous style, and not degenerate from his sire's luxurious kitchen.
Does Rutilus[931] inculcate a merciful disposition and a character indulgent to venial faults? does he hold that the souls and bodies of our slaves[932] are formed of matter like our own and of similar elements? or does he not teach cruelty, that Rutilus, who delights in the harsh clang of stripes, and thinks no Siren's[933] song can equal the sound of whips; the Antiphates[934] and Polyphemus of his trembling household? Then is he happy indeed whenever the torturer[935] is summoned, and some poor wretch is branded with the glowing iron for stealing a couple of towels! What doctrine does he preach to his son that revels in the clank of chains, that feels a strange delight in branded slaves,[936] and the country jail? Do you expect that Larga's[937] daughter will not turn out an adulteress, who could not possibly repeat her mother's lovers so quickly, or string them together with such rapidity, as not to take breath thirty times at least? While yet a little maid she was her mother's confidante; now, at that mother's dictation[938] she fills her own little tablets, and gives them to her mother's agents to bear to lovers of her own.
Such is Nature's law.[939] The examples of vice that we witness at home[940] more surely and quickly corrupt us, when they insinuate themselves into our minds, under the sanction of those we revere. Perhaps just one or two young men may spurn these practices, whose hearts the Titan has formed with kindlier art, and moulded out of better clay.[941]
But their sire's footsteps, that they ought to shun, lead on all the rest, and the routine[942] of inveterate depravity, that has been long before their eyes, attracts them on.
Therefore refrain[943] from all that merits reprobation. One powerful motive, at least, there is to this—lest our children copy our crimes. For we are all of us too quick at learning to imitate base and depraved examples; and you may find a Catiline in every people and under every sky; but nowhere a Brutus,[944] or Brutus' uncle!
Let nothing shocking to eyes or ears approach those doors that close upon your child. Away! far, far away,[945] the pander's wenches, and the songs of the parasite[946] that riots the livelong night! The greatest reverence[947] is due to a child! If you are contemplating a disgraceful act, despise not your child's tender years, but let your infant son act as a check upon your purpose of sinning. For if, at some future time, he shall have done any thing to deserve the censor's[948] wrath, and show himself like you, not in person only and in face, but also the true son of your morals, and one who, by following your footsteps, adds deeper guilt to your crimes—then, forsooth! you will reprove and chastise him with clamorous bitterness, and then set about altering your will. Yet how dare you assume the front severe,[949] and license of a parent's speech; you, who yourself, though old, do worse than this; and the exhausted cupping-glass[950] is long ago looking out for your brainless head?
If a friend is coming to pay you a visit, your whole household is in a bustle. "Sweep the floor, display the pillars in all their brilliancy, let the dry spider come down with all her web; let one clean[951] the silver, another polish the embossed[952] plate—" the master's voice thunders out, as he stands over the work, and brandishes his whip.