And since we have begun to make mention of the Greeks, pass on to their schools of philosophy, and hear the foul crime of the more dignified cloak.[130] It was a Stoic that killed Bareas—the informer, his personal friend—the old man, his own pupil—bred on that shore[131] on which the pinion of the Gorgonean horse lighted. There is no room for any Roman here, where some Protogenes, or Diphilus, or Erimanthus reigns supreme; who, with the common vice of his race, never shares a friend, but engrosses him entirely to himself. For when he has infused into his patron's too ready ear one little drop of the venom of his nature and his country, I am ejected from the door; all my long-protracted service goes for naught. Nowhere is the loss of a client of less account. Besides (not to flatter ourselves) what service can the poor man render, what merit can he plead, even though he be zealous enough to hasten in his toga[132] before break of day, when the very prætor himself urges on his lictor, and bids him hurry on with headlong speed, since the childless matrons have been long awake, lest his colleague[133] be beforehand with him in paying his respects to Albina and Modia. Here, by the side of a slave, if only rich, walks the son of the free-born;[134] for the other gives to Calvina, or Catiena (that he may enjoy her once or twice), as much as the tribunes in the legion receive;[135] whereas you, when the face of a well-dressed harlot takes your fancy, hesitate to hand Chione from her exalted seat.
Produce me at Rome a witness of as blameless integrity as the host of the Idæan deity;[136] let Numa stand forth, or he that rescued Minerva when in jeopardy from her temple all in flames: the question first put would be as to his income, that about his moral character would come last of all. "How many slaves does he keep? How many acres of public land does he occupy?[137] With how many and what expensive dishes is his table spread?" In exact proportion to the sum of money a man keeps in his chest, is the credit given to his oath. Though you were to swear by all the altars of the Samothracian and our own gods, the poor man is believed to despise the thunderbolts and the gods, even with the sanction of the gods themselves. Why add that this same poor man furnishes material and grounds for ridicule to all, if his cloak is dirty and torn, if his toga is a little soiled, and one shoe gapes with its upper leather burst; or if more than one patch displays the coarse fresh darning thread, where a rent has been sewn up. Poverty, bitter though it be, has no sharper pang than this, that it makes men ridiculous. "Let him retire, if he has any shame left, and quit the cushions of the knights, that has not the income required by the law, and let these seats be taken by"—the sons of pimps, in whatever brothel born![138] Here let the son of the sleek crier applaud among the spruce youths of the gladiator, and the scions of the fencing-school. Such is the will of the vain Otho, who made the distinction between us.
Who was ever allowed at Rome to become a son-in-law if his estate was inferior, and not a match for the portion of the young lady?[139] What poor man's name appears in any will? When is he summoned to a consultation even by an ædile? All Quirites that are poor, ought long ago to have emigrated in a body.[140] Difficult indeed is it for those to emerge from obscurity whose noble qualities are cramped by narrow means at home; but at Rome, for men like these, the attempt is still more hopeless; it is only at an exorbitant price they can get a wretched lodging, keep for their servants, and a frugal meal.[141] A man is ashamed here to dine off pottery ware,[142] which, were he suddenly transported to the Marsi and a Sabine board, contented there with a coarse bowl of blue earthenware, he would no longer deem discreditable. There is a large portion of Italy (if we allow the fact), where no one puts on the toga, except the dead.[143] Even when the very majesty of festival days is celebrated in a theatre reared of turf,[144] and the well-known farce at length returns to the stage,[145] when the rustic infant on its mother's lap is terrified at the wide mouth of the ghastly mask, there you will see all costumes equal and alike, both orchestra and common people. White tunics are quite sufficient as the robe of distinction for the highest personages there, even the very ædiles. Here, in Rome, the splendor of dress is carried beyond men's means; here, something more than is enough, is taken occasionally from another's chest. In this fault all participate. Here we all live with a poverty that apes our betters. Why should I detain you? Every thing at Rome is coupled with high price. What have you to give, that you may occasionally pay your respects to Cossus? that Veiento may give you a passing glance, though without deigning to open his mouth? One shaves the beard, another deposits the hair of a favorite; the house is full of venal cakes.[146] Now learn this fact, and keep it to work within your breast. We clients are forced to pay tribute and increase the private income of these pampered slaves.
Who dreads, or ever did dread, the falling of a house at cool Præneste, or at Volsinii seated among the well-wooded hills, or simple Gabii,[147] or the heights of sloping Tibur. We, in Rome, inhabit a city propped in great measure on a slender shore.[148] For so the steward props up the falling walls,[149] and when he has plastered over the old and gaping crack, bids us sleep without sense of danger while ruin hangs over our heads![150] I must live in a place, where there are no fires, no nightly alarms. Already is Ucalegon shouting for water, already is he removing his chattels: the third story in the house you live in is already in a blaze. You are unconscious! For if the alarm begin from the bottom of the stairs, he will be the last to be burned whom a single tile protects from the rain, where the tame pigeons lay their eggs. Codrus had a bed too small for his Procula, six little jugs the ornament of his sideboard, and a little can besides beneath it, and a Chiron reclining under the same marble; and a chest now grown old in the service contained his Greek books, and opic[151] mice-gnawed poems of divine inspiration. Codrus possessed nothing at all; who denies the fact? and yet all that little nothing that he had, he lost. But the climax that crowns his misery is the fact, that though he is stark naked and begging for a few scraps, no one will lend a hand to help him to bed and board. But, if the great mansion of Asturius has fallen, the matrons appear in weeds,[152] the senators in mourning robes, the prætor adjourns the courts. Then it is we groan for the accidents of the city; then we loathe the very name of fire. The fire is still raging, and already there runs up to him one who offers to present him with marble, and contribute toward the rebuilding. Another will present him with naked statues of Parian marble,[153] another with a chef-d'œuvre of Euphranor or Polycletus.[154] Some lady will contribute some ancient ornaments of gods taken in our Asiatic victories; another, books and cases[155] and a bust of Minerva; another, a whole bushel of silver. Persicus, the most splendid of childless men, replaces all he has lost by things more numerous and more valuable, and might with reason be suspected of having himself set his own house on fire.[156]
If you can tear yourself away from the games in the circus,[157] you can buy a capital house at Sora, or Fabrateria, or Frusino, for the price at which you are now hiring your dark hole for one year. There you will have your little garden, a well so shallow as to require no rope and bucket, whence with easy draught you may water your sprouting plants. Live there, enamored of the pitchfork, and the dresser of your trim garden,[158] from which you could supply a feast to a hundred Pythagoreans. It is something to be able in any spot, in any retreat whatever, to have made one's self proprietor even of a single lizard.
Here full many a patient dies from want of sleep; but that exhaustion is produced by the undigested food that loads the fevered stomach. For what lodging-houses allow of sleep? None but the very wealthy can sleep at Rome.[159] Hence is the source of the disease. The passing of wagons in the narrow curves of the streets, and the mutual revilings of the teamdrivers[160] brought to a stand-still, would banish sleep even from Drusus and sea-calves.[161]
If duty calls him,[162] the rich man will be borne through the yielding crowd, and pass rapidly over their heads on the shoulders of his tall Liburnian, and, as he goes, will read or write, or even sleep inside his litter,[163] for his sedan with windows closed entices sleep. And still he will arrive before us. In front of us, as we hurry on, a tide of human beings stops the way; the mass that follows behind presses on our loins in dense concourse; one man pokes me with his elbow, another with a hard pole;[164] one knocks a beam against my head, another a ten-gallon cask. My legs are coated thick with mud; then, anon, I am trampled upon by great heels all round me, and the hob-nail of the soldier's caliga remains imprinted on my toe.
Do you not see with what a smoke the sportula is frequented? A hundred guests! and each followed by his portable kitchen.[165] Even Corbulo[166] himself could scarcely carry such a number of huge vessels, so many things piled upon his head, which, without bending his neck, the wretched little slave supports, and keeps fanning his fire as he runs along.[167]
Tunics that have been patched together are torn asunder again. Presently, as the tug approaches, the long fir-tree quivers, other wagons are conveying pine-trees; they totter from their height, and threaten ruin to the crowd. For if that wain, that is transporting blocks of Ligustican stone, is upset, and pours its mountain-load upon the masses below, what is there left of their bodies? Who can find their limbs or bones? Every single carcass of the mob is crushed to minute atoms as impalpable as their souls. While, all this while, the family at home, in happy ignorance of their master's fate, are washing up the dishes, and blowing up the fire with their mouths, and making a clatter with the well-oiled strigils, and arranging the bathing towels with the full oilflask. Such are the various occupations of the bustling slaves. But the master himself is at this moment seated[168] on the banks of Styx, and, being a novice, is horrified at the grim ferry-man, and dares not hope for the boat to cross the murky stream; nor has he, poor wretch, the obol in his mouth to hand to Charon.
Now revert to other perils of the night distinct from these. What a height it is from the lofty roofs, from which a potsherd tumbles on your brains. How often cracked and chipped earthenware falls from the windows! with what a weight they dint and damage the flint pavement where they strike it! You may well be accounted remiss and improvident against unforeseen accident, if you go out to supper without having made your will. It is clear that there are just so many chances of death, as there are open windows where the inmates are awake inside, as you pass by. Pray, therefore, and bear about with you this miserable wish, that they may be contented with throwing down only what the broad basins have held. One that is drunk, and quarrelsome in his cups, if he has chanced to give no one a beating, suffers the penalty by loss of sleep; he passes such a night as Achilles bewailing the loss, of his friend;[169] lies now on his face, then again on his back. Under other circumstances, he can not sleep. In some persons, sleep is the result of quarrels; but though daring from his years, and flushed with unmixed wine, he cautiously avoids him whom a scarlet cloak, and a very long train of attendants, with plenty of flambeaux and a bronzed candelabrum, warns him to steer clear of. As for me, whose only attendant home[170] is the moon, or the glimmering light of a rushlight, whose wick I husband and eke out—he utterly despises me! Mark the prelude of this wretched fray, if fray it can be called, where he does all the beating, and I am only beaten.[171] He stands right in front of you, and bids you stand! Obey you must. For what can you do, when he that gives the command is mad with drink, and at the same time stronger than you. "Where do you come from?" he thunders out: "With whose vinegar and beans are you blown out? What cobbler has been feasting on chopped leek[172] or boiled sheep's head with you? Don't you answer? Speak, or be kicked! Say where do you hang out? In what Jew's begging-stand shall I look for you?" Whether you attempt to say a word or retire in silence, is all one; they beat you just the same, and then, in a passion, force you to give bail to answer for the assault. This is a poor man's liberty! When thrashed he humbly begs, and pummeled with fisticuffs supplicates, to be allowed to quit the spot with a few teeth left in his head. Nor is this yet all that you have to fear, for there will not be wanting one to rob you, when all the houses are shut up, and all the fastenings of the shops chained, are fixed and silent.