On the Nature of Things
De Rerum Natura
Headnote
% On the Nature of Things (De Rerum Natura) is Lucretius’s six-book poem in dactylic hexameter, composed at Rome in the 50s BC and left unfinished at his death; the conventional date of 55 BC marks its setting in the late Republic rather than a firm year of publication. Its purpose is at once scientific and therapeutic: to expound the physics of Epicurus—an infinite universe built from indivisible atoms (primordia) moving through empty void—and, by that demonstration, to free the reader from the two great fears that poison human life, the fear of the gods and the fear of death. The whole is addressed to Gaius Memmius, a Roman politician, and the argument proceeds by patient proof drawn from everyday observation, rising at intervals into passages of sustained grandeur.
Book 1 lays the foundations of the system. After the great hymn to Venus as the generative force of nature and a prayer for peace, Lucretius praises Epicurus as the first man to defy superstition (religio) and range in thought beyond “the flaming ramparts of the world,” and he sets against that superstition the sacrifice of Iphigenia as proof of the crimes it can prompt. He then establishes his physical first principles: that nothing comes from nothing and nothing returns to nothing; that there exist unseen bodies (the atoms) and the empty void in which they move; that the atoms are solid, eternal, and have a least part; and he refutes the rival matter-theories of Heraclitus, Empedocles, and Anaxagoras. The book closes by arguing that the universe—both its matter and its space—is infinite, and that the world is not built around a center to which all things tend. A celebrated image governs the book’s method: as physicians rim a cup of bitter wormwood with honey, so Lucretius sweetens an austere philosophy with the charm of verse.
Book 2 turns from the atoms themselves to their motion. It opens with the famous proem on the serene detachment of the wise—sweet, from the safety of land, to watch another’s struggle at sea, sweeter still to look down from the “temples of the wise” on the strivings of the unenlightened. Lucretius then shows that the atoms are never at rest but move eternally through the void, illustrated by the motes dancing in a sunbeam; that they fall through empty space at equal speed regardless of weight; and—his most original contribution—that they make a tiny, uncaused swerve (clinamen) from the straight fall, which alone allows them to collide and which, in living things, breaks the chain of fate and grounds free will. He argues that the atoms are of finitely many shapes but infinite in number within each shape, and that they possess none of the secondary qualities—no colour, heat, taste, sound, or smell—so that sensation itself must arise from insensible matter. A long digression rationalizes the cult of the Great Mother (Cybele) as an allegory of the earth, restating the Epicurean creed that the gods dwell apart in perfect peace and govern nothing. The book ends on a sublime and sombre note: ours is not the only world, but one of countless others; this world had a birth and will suffer decay, and the earth, once teeming, is already growing old.
Book 3 turns to the soul, and so to the second great fear. Having established the atoms and their motion, Lucretius now argues that the mind (animus) and the vital spirit (anima) are themselves bodily and mortal—made of exceedingly fine, round, swift atoms, with a fourth, nameless nature at their core—and that they are a part of the living man, born with the body, growing, sickening, ageing, and dying together with it, not a tenant lodged within it. After an opening hymn to Epicurus, who first raised so clear a light out of so great a darkness, and a diagnosis of how the unacknowledged dread of death feeds avarice, ambition, and crime, the book marshals a long sequence of proofs that the soul cannot outlast the body: it is healed and disordered by bodily things (disease, wine, the falling-sickness, the faint), it dies away limb by limb, it can neither be nor feel apart from its vessel, and the doctrines of an immortal soul entering the body and of transmigration are shown to be absurd. From this follows the poem’s most famous conclusion—nil igitur mors est ad nos, “nothing, then, is death to us”—for where death is, we are not, and what does not exist cannot be wretched. The book closes in sustained grandeur: Nature herself rises to rebuke the man who clings to a life he has not used; the torments of the underworld—Tantalus, Tityos, Sisyphus, the Danaids, Cerberus, the Furies—are reinterpreted as figures of the fears and cravings of this life; and even good Ancus, the king who bridged the sea, Scipio, Homer, Democritus, and Epicurus himself are recalled as proof that death spares no one, so that to rage against it is folly.
Book 4 turns to perception. Its governing doctrine is that of the simulacra—gossamer films of atoms continually shed from the surfaces of things, whose flight through the air explains sight, reflection in mirrors, dreams, and thought itself. After a restatement of the honeyed-cup image and his claim to poetic originality, Lucretius accounts for the senses in turn: how images strike the eye, why distant things look blurred, how echo, taste, and smell work, and how the mind sees by receiving the finest films directly. He insists that the senses are never in themselves deceived—error lies in the mind’s judgement—and rebuts the sceptic who would deny all knowledge. The book ranges through optical illusions, sleep and dreams, and closes with a long, unsparing diatribe against romantic love as a delusion of the simulacra: a craving that can never be filled, to be met not with abstinence but with a clear-eyed refusal of its illusions.
Book 5 is the poem’s account of the mortal world and the history of humankind. It opens with the highest of all the praises of Epicurus—greater than Hercules, a very god for having shown the way to peace of mind—and then argues that the world itself was born and will die, being made of perishable matter and ruled by no divine craftsman. Lucretius narrates the formation of the earth, sea, and sky, the origin of the heavenly bodies and an account (avowedly plural in its causes) of their motions, and the spontaneous generation of living things from the young earth. The book’s culmination is the great anthropology: the rise of man from a hard, wandering, beast-like beginning through the discovery of fire, language, the family, social compacts, kings, law, metals, agriculture, weaving, navigation, music, and writing—civilization built up piecemeal by need, chance, and reason, with no golden age and no divine gift, and with each advance shadowed by new fears and new violence.
Book 6, the last, returns to the sky and the terrors it breeds, completing the therapeutic program by explaining the most frightening natural phenomena. After a final proem praising Athens and Epicurus, Lucretius accounts for thunder, lightning, and the thunderbolt—demolishing at length the belief that the bolt is Jupiter’s weapon—then for waterspouts, clouds, rain, and the rainbow; for earthquakes; for the constancy of the sea; for the eruptions of Aetna and the summer flooding of the Nile; for the deadly exhalations of the Avernian places, and for marvellous springs, wells, and the lodestone, whose pull on iron he explains by streams of atoms and the emptied void. The poem then breaks into its sombre close: the theory of plague, and the great set-piece of the plague of Athens, adapted from Thucydides, where the disease is traced through the body and through a society collapsing into despair, impiety, and disordered burial. The work ends abruptly there, with the funeral pyres—unfinished, but with the physical doctrine complete.
The translation follows the Latin line by line and preserves the verse-paragraph movements of the argument. The Epicurean technical vocabulary is rendered consistently—primordia / semina rerum / corpora prima as the atoms or first-beginnings, inane as the void, religio as superstition (a negative term here, not piety), foedera naturai as the covenants of nature—and the Roman gods keep their Roman names.
Mother of Aeneas’s line, delight of men and gods, life-giving Venus, who beneath the gliding signs of heaven fill with life the ship-bearing sea, the crop-bearing lands— since it is through you that every kind of living thing is conceived and, rising, looks upon the light of the sun: from you, goddess, the winds flee, from you the clouds of heaven and your approach; for you the inventive earth sends up sweet flowers, for you the wide floors of the sea laugh, and the sky, made calm, shines with outpoured light. For as soon as the spring face of day lies open and the quickening breath of the west wind blows unbarred, first the birds of the air give signal of you, divine one, and of your coming, their hearts struck through by your force. Then the wild herds bound across the glad pastures and swim the racing streams: so, caught by your charm, each follows you in longing wherever you press on to lead. In short, through seas and mountains and devouring rivers, through the leaf-laden homes of birds and the greening plains, striking soft love into the breast of every creature, you bring it about that they breed their kinds in eager succession. Since you alone steer the nature of things, and without you nothing rises into the bright shores of light, nor is anything made glad or lovely, I long to have you as my partner in the verses I am trying to fashion on the nature of things for this son of Memmius of ours, whom you, goddess, in every season have willed to stand out, graced in all things. So much the more, goddess, grant my words an enduring grace. Bring it about, meanwhile, that the savage works of soldiery fall lulled to rest across every sea and land; for you alone can help mortals with the gift of quiet peace, since the savage works of war are governed by Mavors, mighty in arms, who again and again flings himself back into your lap, mastered by the everlasting wound of love, and so, gazing up with his shapely neck thrown back, he feeds his hungry looks on love, agape at you, goddess, and the breath of him, fallen back, hangs upon your lips. Over him, goddess, as he reclines upon your sacred body, pour yourself around and above him, and let sweet speech flow from your mouth, glorious one, seeking quiet peace for the Romans; for neither can I go about this work with a steady mind in our country’s troubled hour, nor can the famed line of Memmius fail the common welfare at such a time. For the whole nature of the gods must of itself enjoy its deathless age in the deepest peace, withdrawn from our affairs and far set apart; for, free of every pain, free of every danger, strong in its own resources, needing nothing of ours, it is neither won by good deeds nor touched by anger.
Aeneadum genetrix, hominum divomque voluptas, alma Venus, caeli subter labentia signa quae mare navigerum, quae terras frugiferentis concelebras, per te quoniam genus omne animantum concipitur visitque exortum lumina solis: te, dea, te fugiunt venti, te nubila caeli adventumque tuum, tibi suavis daedala tellus summittit flores, tibi rident aequora ponti placatumque nitet diffuso lumine caelum. nam simul ac species patefactast verna diei et reserata viget genitabilis aura favoni, aeriae primum volucris te, diva, tuumque significant initum perculsae corda tua vi. inde ferae pecudes persultant pabula laeta et rapidos tranant amnis: ita capta lepore te sequitur cupide quo quamque inducere pergis. denique per maria ac montis fluviosque rapacis frondiferasque domos avium camposque virentis omnibus incutiens blandum per pectora amorem efficis ut cupide generatim saecla propagent. quae quoniam rerum naturam sola gubernas nec sine te quicquam dias in luminis oras exoritur neque fit laetum neque amabile quicquam, te sociam studeo scribendis versibus esse, quos ego de rerum natura pangere conor Memmiadae nostro, quem tu, dea, tempore in omni omnibus ornatum voluisti excellere rebus. quo magis aeternum da dictis, diva, leporem. effice ut interea fera moenera militiai per maria ac terras omnis sopita quiescant; nam tu sola potes tranquilla pace iuvare mortalis, quoniam belli fera moenera Mavors armipotens regit, in gremium qui saepe tuum se reiicit aeterno devictus vulnere amoris, atque ita suspiciens tereti cervice reposta pascit amore avidos inhians in te, dea, visus eque tuo pendet resupini spiritus ore. hunc tu, diva, tuo recubantem corpore sancto circum fusa super, suavis ex ore loquellas funde petens placidam Romanis, incluta, pacem; nam neque nos agere hoc patriai tempore iniquo possumus aequo animo nec Memmi clara propago talibus in rebus communi desse saluti. omnis enim per se divum natura necessest immortali aevo summa cum pace fruatur semota ab nostris rebus seiunctaque longe; nam privata dolore omni, privata periclis, ipsa suis pollens opibus, nihil indiga nostri, nec bene promeritis capitur nec tangitur ira.
For the rest, lend me empty ears and a keen mind drawn back from its cares, and bring them to true reasoning, lest the gifts I set out for you with faithful zeal you leave despised before they have been understood. For I shall begin to set forth for you the highest law of sky and gods, and lay open the first-beginnings of things, out of which nature makes all things, increases and feeds them, and into which that same nature, once they perish, breaks them again— the things we are used to calling, in giving our account, matter and the generative bodies of things, to name the seeds of things, and to take up for these same things the term first bodies, since from them, the firsts, all things are.
Quod super est, vacuas auris animumque sagacem semotum a curis adhibe veram ad rationem, ne mea dona tibi studio disposta fideli, intellecta prius quam sint, contempta relinquas. nam tibi de summa caeli ratione deumque disserere incipiam et rerum primordia pandam, unde omnis natura creet res, auctet alatque, quove eadem rursum natura perempta resolvat, quae nos materiem et genitalia corpora rebus reddunda in ratione vocare et semina rerum appellare suemus et haec eadem usurpare corpora prima, quod ex illis sunt omnia primis.
When human life lay foul before all eyes upon the earth, crushed and groaning under the weight of superstition, which showed its head out of the regions of the sky, looming over mortals with its horrible face, a man of Greece was first who dared to lift his mortal eyes against it, first to take his stand; him neither the report of gods nor thunderbolts nor the sky with its threatening rumble cowed—rather, all the more they spurred the keen valor of his mind, until he longed to be the first to burst the close-barred gates of nature open. And so the living force of his mind won through, and he advanced far beyond the flaming ramparts of the world, and ranged in mind and spirit through the whole immensity, and from there brings back to us, in triumph, what can come to be and what cannot, by what law each thing holds a power bounded, and its deep-set boundary stone. Therefore superstition is in its turn cast down and trampled underfoot; his victory lifts us level with the sky.
Humana ante oculos foede cum vita iaceret in terris oppressa gravi sub religione, quae caput a caeli regionibus ostendebat horribili super aspectu mortalibus instans, primum Graius homo mortalis tollere contra est oculos ausus primusque obsistere contra; quem neque fama deum nec fulmina nec minitanti murmure compressit caelum, sed eo magis acrem inritat animi virtutem, effringere ut arta naturae primus portarum claustra cupiret. ergo vivida vis animi pervicit et extra processit longe flammantia moenia mundi atque omne immensum peragravit mente animoque, unde refert nobis victor quid possit oriri, quid nequeat, finita potestas denique cuique qua nam sit ratione atque alte terminus haerens. quare religio pedibus subiecta vicissim opteritur, nos exaequat victoria caelo.
In this matter I fear one thing: that you may judge you are taking up the first lessons of an impious creed and setting foot upon a road of crime. On the contrary, more often it is that very superstition that has bred wicked and impious deeds. So at Aulis the chosen chieftains of the Greeks, the foremost of men, foully defiled the altar of the Virgin of the Crossways with the blood of Iphianassa. As soon as the fillet, bound about her maiden tresses, streamed down her cheeks in equal lengths along either side, and she saw her father standing grief-stricken before the altars, and the attendants beside him hiding the knife, and the people pouring out tears at the sight of her, dumb with terror she sank to her knees and reached for the ground. Nor in such an hour could it help the poor girl that she had been the first to give the king the name of father; for, lifted by men’s hands and trembling, she was led up to the altars—not that, the solemn rite once done, she might be brought home to the ringing wedding-hymn, but that, chaste, at the very season for marrying, unchastely she might fall a victim, in grief, beneath a father’s stroke, to win the fleet a glad and favoring departure. So great are the evils that superstition could urge.
Illud in his rebus vereor, ne forte rearis impia te rationis inire elementa viamque indugredi sceleris. quod contra saepius illa religio peperit scelerosa atque impia facta. Aulide quo pacto Triviai virginis aram Iphianassai turparunt sanguine foede ductores Danaum delecti, prima virorum. cui simul infula virgineos circum data comptus ex utraque pari malarum parte profusast, et maestum simul ante aras adstare parentem sensit et hunc propter ferrum celare ministros aspectuque suo lacrimas effundere civis, muta metu terram genibus summissa petebat. nec miserae prodesse in tali tempore quibat, quod patrio princeps donarat nomine regem; nam sublata virum manibus tremibundaque ad aras deductast, non ut sollemni more sacrorum perfecto posset claro comitari Hymenaeo, sed casta inceste nubendi tempore in ipso hostia concideret mactatu maesta parentis, exitus ut classi felix faustusque daretur. tantum religio potuit suadere malorum.
You yourself, at some time, overborne by the terror-speaking words of the prophets, will seek to break away from me. For indeed, how many dreams they can invent for you even now, such as might overturn the ordering of your life and trouble all your fortunes with fear! And with reason; for if men saw that there was a fixed end to their afflictions, they would find some way to stand against the superstitions and threats of the prophets. As it is, there is no means of resisting, no power, since everlasting punishments must be feared after death. For the nature of the soul is unknown— whether it is born, or instead slips into us at birth, and whether it perishes together with us, sundered by death, or visits the darkness of Orcus and its vast pools, or by some divine power works its way into other creatures, as our own Ennius sang, who first brought down from lovely Helicon a wreath of evergreen leaf to shine in fame among the peoples of Italy; and yet, for all that, Ennius sets forth in everlasting verses that there are also regions of Acheron, where neither our souls nor our bodies abide, but certain images, pale in strange ways; and from there, he tells, the likeness of ever-blooming Homer rose up before him and began to shed salt tears and to unfold in speech the nature of things. Therefore we must render a good account of things on high: by what law the courses of sun and moon come about, and by what force each thing is driven on upon the earth; and then, before all, with keen reasoning we must see of what the soul and the mind’s nature are made, and what that thing is which, meeting us awake, terrifies our minds when sickness has us, or sleep has us buried, so that we seem to see and hear, before our very eyes, those whose bones, once death is met, the earth folds round.
Tutemet a nobis iam quovis tempore vatum terriloquis victus dictis desciscere quaeres. quippe etenim quam multa tibi iam fingere possunt somnia, quae vitae rationes vertere possint fortunasque tuas omnis turbare timore! et merito; nam si certam finem esse viderent aerumnarum homines, aliqua ratione valerent religionibus atque minis obsistere vatum. nunc ratio nulla est restandi, nulla facultas, aeternas quoniam poenas in morte timendum. ignoratur enim quae sit natura animai, nata sit an contra nascentibus insinuetur et simul intereat nobiscum morte dirempta an tenebras Orci visat vastasque lacunas an pecudes alias divinitus insinuet se, Ennius ut noster cecinit, qui primus amoeno detulit ex Helicone perenni fronde coronam, per gentis Italas hominum quae clara clueret; etsi praeterea tamen esse Acherusia templa Ennius aeternis exponit versibus edens, quo neque permaneant animae neque corpora nostra, sed quaedam simulacra modis pallentia miris; unde sibi exortam semper florentis Homeri commemorat speciem lacrimas effundere salsas coepisse et rerum naturam expandere dictis. qua propter bene cum superis de rebus habenda nobis est ratio, solis lunaeque meatus qua fiant ratione, et qua vi quaeque gerantur in terris, tunc cum primis ratione sagaci unde anima atque animi constet natura videndum, et quae res nobis vigilantibus obvia mentes terrificet morbo adfectis somnoque sepultis, cernere uti videamur eos audireque coram, morte obita quorum tellus amplectitur ossa.
Nor does it escape my mind how hard it is to throw the dark discoveries of the Greeks into the light of Latin verse, above all when much must be handled with new-coined words, because of the poverty of our tongue and the newness of the matter; but still your worth, and the hoped-for delight of your sweet friendship, persuade me to bear any labor, and lead me to keep watch through the calm nights, searching for the words, and the song at last, by which I might spread bright light before your mind, that you may look deep into things kept hidden. This terror of the mind, then, and this darkness must be scattered not by the rays of the sun nor the bright shafts of day, but by the outward face of nature and her law.
Nec me animi fallit Graiorum obscura reperta difficile inlustrare Latinis versibus esse, multa novis verbis praesertim cum sit agendum propter egestatem linguae et rerum novitatem; sed tua me virtus tamen et sperata voluptas suavis amicitiae quemvis efferre laborem suadet et inducit noctes vigilare serenas quaerentem dictis quibus et quo carmine demum clara tuae possim praepandere lumina menti, res quibus occultas penitus convisere possis. hunc igitur terrorem animi tenebrasque necessest non radii solis neque lucida tela diei discutiant, sed naturae species ratioque.
Her first principle for us will take its start from this: that nothing is ever brought to birth from nothing by divine power. For fear so grips all mortals just because they see many things happen on earth and in the sky whose causes they can in no way make out, and they suppose them done by a god’s will. And so, once we have seen that nothing can be created from nothing, then we shall more rightly discern from there the thing we are after: both out of what each thing can be made, and in what way all things come about with no work of the gods.
Principium cuius hinc nobis exordia sumet, nullam rem e nihilo gigni divinitus umquam. quippe ita formido mortalis continet omnis, quod multa in terris fieri caeloque tuentur, quorum operum causas nulla ratione videre possunt ac fieri divino numine rentur. quas ob res ubi viderimus nil posse creari de nihilo, tum quod sequimur iam rectius inde perspiciemus, et unde queat res quaeque creari et quo quaeque modo fiant opera sine divom.
For if things came from nothing, every kind could be born of everything; nothing would need a seed. First, men could rise out of the sea, and out of the land the scaly tribe could come, and birds burst from the sky; herds and other cattle, and every kind of wild beast, with births past all rule, would hold the tilled land and the waste. Nor would the same fruits stay constant to the trees, but would keep changing; all could bear all things. For where there were no generative bodies proper to each, how could there be for things a settled mother? But as it is, because each thing is made from fixed seeds, it is born and comes out into the shores of light from where its matter and its first bodies are; and for this reason all things cannot be born of all, because in fixed things resides a power set apart.
Nam si de nihilo fierent, ex omnibus rebus omne genus nasci posset, nil semine egeret. e mare primum homines, e terra posset oriri squamigerum genus et volucres erumpere caelo; armenta atque aliae pecudes, genus omne ferarum, incerto partu culta ac deserta tenerent. nec fructus idem arboribus constare solerent, sed mutarentur, ferre omnes omnia possent. quippe ubi non essent genitalia corpora cuique, qui posset mater rebus consistere certa? at nunc seminibus quia certis quaeque creantur, inde enascitur atque oras in luminis exit, materies ubi inest cuiusque et corpora prima; atque hac re nequeunt ex omnibus omnia gigni, quod certis in rebus inest secreta facultas.
Besides, why do we see the rose in spring, the grain in heat, the vines poured out at autumn’s coaxing, if not because, when at their own fixed time the seeds of things have flowed together, whatever is made comes to light while the seasons are at hand and the living earth brings the tender things in safety into the shores of light? But if they came from nothing, they would spring up of a sudden at no fixed interval and in alien parts of the year, since there would be no first-beginnings that could be barred from a generative union at an unfitting time.
Praeterea cur vere rosam, frumenta calore, vites autumno fundi suadente videmus, si non, certa suo quia tempore semina rerum cum confluxerunt, patefit quod cumque creatur, dum tempestates adsunt et vivida tellus tuto res teneras effert in luminis oras? quod si de nihilo fierent, subito exorerentur incerto spatio atque alienis partibus anni, quippe ubi nulla forent primordia, quae genitali concilio possent arceri tempore iniquo.
Nor, moreover, would there be need of time for things to grow, for seed to gather, if they could grow from nothing; for little children would all at once become young men, and trees would leap up suddenly, sprung straight from the earth. None of which happens, plainly, since all things grow little by little, as is fitting, from a fixed seed, and growing keep their kind; so you may know that each thing waxes and is fed from its own matter.
Nec porro augendis rebus spatio foret usus seminis ad coitum, si e nilo crescere possent; nam fierent iuvenes subito ex infantibus parvis e terraque exorta repente arbusta salirent. quorum nil fieri manifestum est, omnia quando paulatim crescunt, ut par est semine certo, crescentesque genus servant; ut noscere possis quicque sua de materia grandescere alique.
Add to this that without the year’s fixed rains the earth could not send up its gladdening yields, nor, further, could the nature of living things, cut off from food, breed on its kind and keep its life; so that you may rather hold there are many bodies common to many things, as we see letters common to words, than that anything could exist without first-beginnings.
Huc accedit uti sine certis imbribus anni laetificos nequeat fetus submittere tellus nec porro secreta cibo natura animantum propagare genus possit vitamque tueri; ut potius multis communia corpora rebus multa putes esse, ut verbis elementa videmus, quam sine principiis ullam rem existere posse.
Lastly, why could nature not produce men so vast that on foot they might wade the sea across its shallows and tear great mountains apart with their hands and outlast many living generations, if not because a fixed matter is assigned to things for their begetting, from which it stands settled what can arise? We must therefore grant that nothing can come from nothing, since things have need of seed, from which, once made, they can be carried forth into the tender breezes of air.
Denique cur homines tantos natura parare non potuit, pedibus qui pontum per vada possent transire et magnos manibus divellere montis multaque vivendo vitalia vincere saecla, si non, materies quia rebus reddita certast gignundis, e qua constat quid possit oriri? nil igitur fieri de nilo posse fatendumst, semine quando opus est rebus, quo quaeque creatae aeris in teneras possint proferrier auras.
Finally, since we see that tilled places surpass the untilled, and yield better fruit to our hands, there are plainly first-beginnings of things within the earth which we, turning the fertile clods with the ploughshare and working the ground’s soil, rouse up toward their birth; but were there none, you would see each thing become far better of its own accord, without our toil.
Postremo quoniam incultis praestare videmus culta loca et manibus melioris reddere fetus, esse videlicet in terris primordia rerum quae nos fecundas vertentes vomere glebas terraique solum subigentes cimus ad ortus; quod si nulla forent, nostro sine quaeque labore sponte sua multo fieri meliora videres.
Add to this that nature dissolves each thing again into its own bodies, and destroys no thing to nothing. For if anything were mortal in all its parts, each thing would perish, snatched of a sudden from our sight; for there would be no need of any force to work the parting of its members and undo their fastenings. But as it is, since all things are made of everlasting seed, until a force comes on them to shatter them with a blow or to enter within through the empty spaces and dissolve them, nature lets the destruction of nothing be seen.
Huc accedit uti quicque in sua corpora rursum dissoluat natura neque ad nihilum interemat res. nam siquid mortale e cunctis partibus esset, ex oculis res quaeque repente erepta periret; nulla vi foret usus enim, quae partibus eius discidium parere et nexus exsolvere posset. quod nunc, aeterno quia constant semine quaeque, donec vis obiit, quae res diverberet ictu aut intus penetret per inania dissoluatque, nullius exitium patitur natura videri.
Besides, whatever things the lapse of age removes, if it utterly destroys them, consuming all their matter, out of what does Venus bring the race of living things, kind by kind, back into the light of life, or, once brought back, out of what does the inventive earth feed and increase them, furnishing their fodder, kind by kind? Out of what do the sea’s own springs and the far rivers keep it filled? Out of what does the upper air feed the stars? For all things that are of mortal body must have been used up by the infinite past and its days. But if, through that stretch and the ages already gone, those things have lasted from which this sum of the world stands remade, they are surely endowed with an immortal nature. Things cannot, therefore, each return to nothing.
Praeterea quae cumque vetustate amovet aetas, si penitus peremit consumens materiem omnem, unde animale genus generatim in lumina vitae redducit Venus, aut redductum daedala tellus unde alit atque auget generatim pabula praebens? unde mare ingenuei fontes externaque longe flumina suppeditant? unde aether sidera pascit? omnia enim debet, mortali corpore quae sunt, infinita aetas consumpse ante acta diesque. quod si in eo spatio atque ante acta aetate fuere e quibus haec rerum consistit summa refecta, inmortali sunt natura praedita certe. haud igitur possunt ad nilum quaeque reverti.
Lastly, one and the same force and cause would commonly make an end of all, did an everlasting matter not hold them, tangled in fastenings, less or more, among themselves; for a mere touch would surely be cause enough of death, since there would be nothing of everlasting body whose woven fabric some force would have to dissolve. But as it is, because the fastenings of the first-beginnings are unlike one another, and the matter is everlasting, things stay unharmed in body until there meets each one a force keen enough to match the weave found in it. No thing, therefore, returns to nothing, but all return, by their sundering, into the bodies of matter. At last the rains pass away, when father Ether has flung them down into the lap of mother Earth; but the bright crops rise, and the boughs grow green upon the trees, the trees themselves grow and are weighed with fruit. From this, in turn, our kind and the beasts’ kind is fed, from this we see glad cities flower with children and the leafy woods on every side sing with new birds, from this the tired cattle lay their sleek bodies down across the glad pastures, and the white milky stream flows from their swollen udders; from this the new offspring on unsteady legs frisk wanton through the tender grass, their young minds struck through with the undiluted milk. Therefore the things we see do not wholly perish, since nature makes one thing anew from another, and suffers nothing to be born unless helped by another’s death.
Denique res omnis eadem vis causaque volgo conficeret, nisi materies aeterna teneret, inter se nexus minus aut magis indupedita; tactus enim leti satis esset causa profecto, quippe ubi nulla forent aeterno corpore, quorum contextum vis deberet dissolvere quaeque. at nunc, inter se quia nexus principiorum dissimiles constant aeternaque materies est, incolumi remanent res corpore, dum satis acris vis obeat pro textura cuiusque reperta. haud igitur redit ad nihilum res ulla, sed omnes discidio redeunt in corpora materiai. postremo pereunt imbres, ubi eos pater aether in gremium matris terrai praecipitavit; at nitidae surgunt fruges ramique virescunt arboribus, crescunt ipsae fetuque gravantur. hinc alitur porro nostrum genus atque ferarum, hinc laetas urbes pueris florere videmus frondiferasque novis avibus canere undique silvas, hinc fessae pecudes pinguis per pabula laeta corpora deponunt et candens lacteus umor uberibus manat distentis, hinc nova proles artubus infirmis teneras lasciva per herbas ludit lacte mero mentes perculsa novellas. haud igitur penitus pereunt quaecumque videntur, quando alit ex alio reficit natura nec ullam rem gigni patitur nisi morte adiuta aliena.
Now come: since I have taught that things cannot be created from nothing, nor likewise, once born, be called back to nothing, lest you should somehow begin to distrust my words because the first-beginnings of things cannot be seen by the eyes, hear besides of bodies which you must yourself confess to exist among things, and yet that cannot be seen.
Nunc age, res quoniam docui non posse creari de nihilo neque item genitas ad nil revocari, ne qua forte tamen coeptes diffidere dictis, quod nequeunt oculis rerum primordia cerni, accipe praeterea quae corpora tute necessest confiteare esse in rebus nec posse videri.
First, the roused force of the wind scourges the sea and overwhelms huge ships and scatters the clouds, at times sweeping the plains in a racing whirlwind and strewing them with great trees, and it harries the highest peaks with forest-shattering blasts: so the wind rages on with fierce roaring, and the sea storms with threatening growl. There are, then, past doubt, unseen bodies of wind which sweep the sea, the lands, the clouds of heaven, and, harrying them in a sudden whirl, snatch them away, and they stream and spread their havoc in the very way that the soft nature of water is borne along of a sudden in a flooding stream, when a great downrush of water from the high mountains swells it with lavish rains, flinging down the wreckage of woods and whole trees, nor can strong bridges bear the sudden force of the oncoming water: so, made turbid by the great rain, the river drives against the piers with mighty strength, deals havoc with a great din, and rolls beneath its waves great boulders, sweeping off whatever blocks its flood. So, then, the blasts of the wind too must move, which—just as when a strong river has flung itself down— drive things before them, whatever way they go, and overthrow them with crowding assaults, and at times in a twisting eddy seize them and bear them off, swift, in a wheeling whirl. Therefore again and again: there are unseen bodies of wind, since in their deeds and ways they are found to rival great rivers, which are of open, visible body.
Principio venti vis verberat incita corpus ingentisque ruit navis et nubila differt, inter dum rapido percurrens turbine campos arboribus magnis sternit montisque supremos silvifragis vexat flabris: ita perfurit acri cum fremitu saevitque minaci murmure pontus. sunt igitur venti ni mirum corpora caeca, quae mare, quae terras, quae denique nubila caeli verrunt ac subito vexantia turbine raptant, nec ratione fluunt alia stragemque propagant et cum mollis aquae fertur natura repente flumine abundanti, quam largis imbribus auget montibus ex altis magnus decursus aquai fragmina coniciens silvarum arbustaque tota, nec validi possunt pontes venientis aquai vim subitam tolerare: ita magno turbidus imbri molibus incurrit validis cum viribus amnis, dat sonitu magno stragem volvitque sub undis grandia saxa, ruit qua quidquid fluctibus obstat. sic igitur debent venti quoque flamina ferri, quae vel uti validum cum flumen procubuere quam libet in partem, trudunt res ante ruuntque impetibus crebris, inter dum vertice torto corripiunt rapidique rotanti turbine portant. quare etiam atque etiam sunt venti corpora caeca, quandoquidem factis et moribus aemula magnis amnibus inveniuntur, aperto corpore qui sunt.
Then again, we feel the various smells of things, yet we never see them coming to the nostrils, nor do we look upon hot heats, nor can we take hold of cold with the eyes, nor are we used to seeing voices; yet all of these must be made of bodily nature, since they have power to strike upon the senses; for nothing can touch or be touched but body.
Tum porro varios rerum sentimus odores nec tamen ad naris venientis cernimus umquam nec calidos aestus tuimur nec frigora quimus usurpare oculis nec voces cernere suemus; quae tamen omnia corporea constare necessest natura, quoniam sensus inpellere possunt; tangere enim et tangi, nisi corpus, nulla potest res.
Lastly, clothes hung up along a wave-broken shore grow damp, and the same, spread out in the sun, grow dry. Yet it has not been seen in what way the water’s moisture settled into them, nor again in what way it fled before the heat. The moisture, then, is scattered into small parts which the eyes can in no way see. Nay more, as the many years of the sun come round, the ring on the finger is thinned beneath by the wearing, the fall of dripping water hollows the stone, the curved iron ploughshare wastes away unseen in the fields, and the paved stones of the roads we see worn down by the feet of the crowd; and near the gates the bronze statues show their right hands thinned away by the touch of those who greet them and of those who pass. These things, then, we see grow less, since they are worn, but what bodies leave them at each moment of time, grudging nature has shut off from our sight.
Denique fluctifrago suspensae in litore vestis uvescunt, eaedem dispansae in sole serescunt. at neque quo pacto persederit umor aquai visumst nec rursum quo pacto fugerit aestu. in parvas igitur partis dispergitur umor, quas oculi nulla possunt ratione videre. quin etiam multis solis redeuntibus annis anulus in digito subter tenuatur habendo, stilicidi casus lapidem cavat, uncus aratri ferreus occulte decrescit vomer in arvis, strataque iam volgi pedibus detrita viarum saxea conspicimus; tum portas propter aena signa manus dextras ostendunt adtenuari saepe salutantum tactu praeterque meantum. haec igitur minui, cum sint detrita, videmus. sed quae corpora decedant in tempore quoque, invida praeclusit speciem natura videndi.
Finally, whatever things day and nature add to things, forcing them to grow little by little, by measure, no straining keenness of the eyes can watch, nor again whatever things grow old with age and wasting, nor the rocks that overhang the sea, gnawed through by the eating salt— what each loses at each moment you could not discern. With unseen bodies, then, nature carries on her work.
Postremo quae cumque dies naturaque rebus paulatim tribuit moderatim crescere cogens, nulla potest oculorum acies contenta tueri, nec porro quae cumque aevo macieque senescunt, nec, mare quae impendent, vesco sale saxa peresa quid quoque amittant in tempore cernere possis. corporibus caecis igitur natura gerit res.
Yet not all things are held packed close with body on every side; for there is void in things. To have learned this will serve you well in many matters, and will not let you wander, in doubt and forever questioning about the sum of things, and distrusting my words. There is, then, a space untouched, void and empty. For if there were not, in no way could things have power to move; since that office which belongs to body— to block and to stand in the way—would be present at all times to all; nothing, then, could go forward, since no thing would yield the first place of retreat. But as it is, through seas and lands and the heights of heaven we see many things moved in many ways and by various means before our eyes, which, were there no void, would not so much be robbed and bereft of restless motion as never have been brought to birth at all, since matter, packed close on every side, would lie at rest.
Nec tamen undique corporea stipata tenentur omnia natura; namque est in rebus inane. quod tibi cognosse in multis erit utile rebus nec sinet errantem dubitare et quaerere semper de summa rerum et nostris diffidere dictis. qua propter locus est intactus inane vacansque. quod si non esset, nulla ratione moveri res possent; namque officium quod corporis exstat, officere atque obstare, id in omni tempore adesset omnibus; haud igitur quicquam procedere posset, principium quoniam cedendi nulla daret res. at nunc per maria ac terras sublimaque caeli multa modis multis varia ratione moveri cernimus ante oculos, quae, si non esset inane, non tam sollicito motu privata carerent quam genita omnino nulla ratione fuissent, undique materies quoniam stipata quiesset.
Besides, however solid things are thought to be, yet from this you may see that they are of porous body. In rocks and caves the liquid moisture of waters seeps through, and all things weep with plentiful drops. Food disperses itself through every living body; the trees grow and pour out their fruit in season, because the food is spread, from the deepest roots, through all the trunks and through all the boughs. Voices pass through partitions and fly across the shut rooms of houses, the stiff cold seeps through to the bones. But unless there were empty spaces, by which the several bodies might pass, you would see none of this come about in any way.
Praeterea quamvis solidae res esse putentur, hinc tamen esse licet raro cum corpore cernas. in saxis ac speluncis permanat aquarum liquidus umor et uberibus flent omnia guttis. dissipat in corpus sese cibus omne animantum; crescunt arbusta et fetus in tempore fundunt, quod cibus in totas usque ab radicibus imis per truncos ac per ramos diffunditur omnis. inter saepta meant voces et clausa domorum transvolitant, rigidum permanat frigus ad ossa. quod nisi inania sint, qua possent corpora quaeque transire, haud ulla fieri ratione videres.
Lastly, why do we see some things outweigh others in weight, with no greater bulk of shape? For if there is as much body in a ball of wool as there is in lead, it is fair they should weigh the same, since it is the work of body to press all things down, while the nature of the void, by contrast, stays weightless. So a thing that is equally large but seems the lighter declares, past doubt, that it holds more void in itself; but the heavier, by contrast, proclaims there is more body in it, and that it has far less of emptiness within. There is, then, past doubt, the very thing we seek with keen reasoning, mixed into things, which we call void.
Denique cur alias aliis praestare videmus pondere res rebus nihilo maiore figura? nam si tantundemst in lanae glomere quantum corporis in plumbo est, tantundem pendere par est, corporis officiumst quoniam premere omnia deorsum, contra autem natura manet sine pondere inanis. ergo quod magnumst aeque leviusque videtur, ni mirum plus esse sibi declarat inanis; at contra gravius plus in se corporis esse dedicat et multo vacui minus intus habere. est igitur ni mirum id quod ratione sagaci quaerimus, admixtum rebus, quod inane vocamus.
In this matter I am forced to forestall a thing that certain men invent, lest it draw you from the truth. They say the waters give way to the gliding scaly creatures and open liquid paths, because the fish leave places behind them into which the yielding waves can flow together; and so, they say, other things too can move among themselves and change their place, though all things be full. This, of course, is wholly accepted on false reasoning. For where, after all, will the scaly creatures advance, unless the waters give them room? And again, where will the waves be able to withdraw, when the fish cannot go on? So either we must rob all bodies of their motion, or we must say there is void mixed into things, from which each thing takes its first start of moving.
Illud in his rebus ne te deducere vero possit, quod quidam fingunt, praecurrere cogor. cedere squamigeris latices nitentibus aiunt et liquidas aperire vias, quia post loca pisces linquant, quo possint cedentes confluere undae; sic alias quoque res inter se posse moveri et mutare locum, quamvis sint omnia plena. scilicet id falsa totum ratione receptumst. nam quo squamigeri poterunt procedere tandem, ni spatium dederint latices? concedere porro quo poterunt undae, cum pisces ire nequibunt? aut igitur motu privandumst corpora quaeque aut esse admixtum dicundumst rebus inane, unde initum primum capiat res quaeque movendi.
Finally, if two broad bodies, after their collision, leap swiftly apart, surely the air must take up all the void that comes to be between the bodies. That air, however, though it stream together from all around with hurrying currents, will not be able, all in one moment, to fill the whole space; for it must first seize each nearest place, and only then take possession of all. But if anyone supposes that, when the bodies have sprung apart, this happens because the air grows dense, he errs; for then a void comes to be that was not before, and likewise a void is filled that stood empty before, nor can the air be made dense in such a way, nor, if it could, could it, I think, without void draw itself into itself and gather its parts into one.
Postremo duo de concursu corpora lata si cita dissiliant, nempe aer omne necessest, inter corpora quod fiat, possidat inane. is porro quamvis circum celerantibus auris confluat, haud poterit tamen uno tempore totum compleri spatium; nam primum quemque necessest occupet ille locum, deinde omnia possideantur. quod si forte aliquis, cum corpora dissiluere, tum putat id fieri quia se condenseat aer, errat; nam vacuum tum fit quod non fuit ante et repletur item vacuum quod constitit ante, nec tali ratione potest denserier aer nec, si iam posset, sine inani posset, opinor, ipse in se trahere et partis conducere in unum.
Therefore, however long you hold back with objections, you must still confess that there is void in things. And many proofs besides I could rake together, in the telling, to win trust for my words. But for a keen mind these small tracks are enough, by which you may come to know the rest yourself. For as hounds, ranging the mountains, very often find by scent the leaf-covered lairs of the wild beast, once they have struck the sure tracks of its trail, so you, by yourself, will be able to see one thing from another in such matters, and to thread all the unseen hiding-places, and to draw the truth out from them. But if you are slow, or shrink back a little from the task, this much I can promise you outright, Memmius: so deep are the draughts my sweet tongue will pour from great springs, out of my rich breast, that I fear slow old age may sooner creep through my limbs and loose in me the bolts of life, before the whole store of arguments on any single point has been sent through your ears in my verses.
Qua propter, quamvis causando multa moreris, esse in rebus inane tamen fateare necessest. multaque praeterea tibi possum commemorando argumenta fidem dictis conradere nostris. verum animo satis haec vestigia parva sagaci sunt, per quae possis cognoscere cetera tute. namque canes ut montivagae persaepe ferai naribus inveniunt intectas fronde quietes, cum semel institerunt vestigia certa viai, sic alid ex alio per te tute ipse videre talibus in rebus poteris caecasque latebras insinuare omnis et verum protrahere inde. quod si pigraris paulumve recesseris ab re, hoc tibi de plano possum promittere, Memmi: usque adeo largos haustus e fontibus magnis lingua meo suavis diti de pectore fundet, ut verear ne tarda prius per membra senectus serpat et in nobis vitai claustra resolvat, quam tibi de quavis una re versibus omnis argumentorum sit copia missa per auris.
But now, to take up again and weave to its end the thread I began: all nature, then, as it is in itself, stands founded upon two things; for there are bodies, and there is void, in which they are set and through which they move this way and that. For that body exists, the common sense of all proclaims; and unless our first faith in it holds firm and strong, there will be nothing, about things hidden, to which we may appeal to confirm anything by the reasoning of the mind. Then again, were there no place and space, which we call void, bodies could nowhere be set, nor go anywhere at all this way and that; which we showed you a little before, above. Besides, there is nothing you could name as held apart from all body and kept separate from void, some third nature, as it were, discovered in the count. For whatever shall be, it must be something in itself, of bulk great or small, so long as it is; and if it has touch, however light and slight, it will swell the count of body and follow its sum; but if it is intangible, since it cannot from any side keep any thing from passing through it as it goes, this, of course, will be that empty thing we call void. Besides, whatever shall exist in itself will either do something, or must itself be acted on by other agents, or will be such that in it things can be and be done. But nothing can do or be acted on save body, nor, again, can anything furnish place but the void and empty. Therefore, besides void and bodies, no third nature can be left over in the count of things, of itself, neither one that could ever fall beneath our senses, nor one that anyone could grasp by reasoning of the mind.
Sed nunc ut repetam coeptum pertexere dictis, omnis ut est igitur per se natura duabus constitit in rebus; nam corpora sunt et inane, haec in quo sita sunt et qua diversa moventur. corpus enim per se communis dedicat esse sensus; cui nisi prima fides fundata valebit, haut erit occultis de rebus quo referentes confirmare animi quicquam ratione queamus. tum porro locus ac spatium, quod inane vocamus, si nullum foret, haut usquam sita corpora possent esse neque omnino quoquam diversa meare; id quod iam supera tibi paulo ostendimus ante.
For whatever things are named, you will find them either properties bound to these two things, or else their accidents. A bound property is that which can in no way be sundered and parted off without a deadly division, as weight to stones, heat to fire, fluidity to water, touch to all bodies, untouchableness to void. Slavery, by contrast, and poverty and riches, freedom, war, concord, and the rest, at whose coming and going the nature of a thing stays whole— these we are used, and rightly, to call accidents. Time likewise does not exist of itself, but from things themselves follows the sense of what has been done in the past, then what presses now, and what is to come after; nor must we grant that anyone feels time by itself, apart from the motion of things and their tranquil rest.
praeterea nihil est quod possis dicere ab omni corpore seiunctum secretumque esse ab inani, quod quasi tertia sit numero natura reperta. nam quod cumque erit, esse aliquid debebit id ipsum augmine vel grandi vel parvo denique, dum sit; cui si tactus erit quamvis levis exiguusque, corporis augebit numerum summamque sequetur; sin intactile erit, nulla de parte quod ullam rem prohibere queat per se transire meantem, scilicet hoc id erit, vacuum quod inane vocamus. Praeterea per se quod cumque erit, aut faciet quid aut aliis fungi debebit agentibus ipsum aut erit ut possint in eo res esse gerique. at facere et fungi sine corpore nulla potest res nec praebere locum porro nisi inane vacansque. ergo praeter inane et corpora tertia per se nulla potest rerum in numero natura relinqui, nec quae sub sensus cadat ullo tempore nostros nec ratione animi quam quisquam possit apisci.
Lastly, when men say the daughter of Tyndareus was carried off, and that the Trojan-born peoples were subdued in war, we must take care lest these things force us to confess that they exist in themselves, since those generations of men, whose accidents they were, the irrecoverable past has already borne away; for whatever has been done may be called an accident, at one time of the lands, at another of the regions themselves. Finally, had there been no matter of things, nor place and space, in which all things are carried on, never would the fire, kindled by love of the beauty of Tyndareus’s daughter, swelling beneath the Phrygian breast of Alexander, have lit the bright contests of savage war, nor would the wooden horse, unknown to the Trojans, have set Pergama aflame by its night-time birth of Greek-born men; so that you may see clearly that all deeds done do not stand of themselves as body stands, nor exist, nor have being in the same way that void has being, but rather, as you may justly call them, are accidents of body and of place, in which all things are carried on.
Nam quae cumque cluent, aut his coniuncta duabus rebus ea invenies aut horum eventa videbis. coniunctum est id quod nusquam sine permitiali discidio potis est seiungi seque gregari, pondus uti saxis, calor ignis, liquor aquai, tactus corporibus cunctis, intactus inani. servitium contra paupertas divitiaeque, libertas bellum concordia cetera quorum adventu manet incolumis natura abituque, haec soliti sumus, ut par est, eventa vocare. tempus item per se non est, sed rebus ab ipsis consequitur sensus, transactum quid sit in aevo, tum quae res instet, quid porro deinde sequatur; nec per se quemquam tempus sentire fatendumst semotum ab rerum motu placidaque quiete.
Bodies, moreover, are partly the first-beginnings of things, partly those that consist of a union of first-beginnings. But those that are the first-beginnings of things, no force can quench; for in the end they prevail by their solid body. And yet it seems hard to believe that anything can be found among things with a solid body. For the lightning of heaven passes through the walls of houses, as shouts and voices do; iron glows white in the fire, and stones burst asunder in the fierce, seething heat; the stiff hardness of gold is loosened and melts in the blaze, and the ice of bronze, conquered by flame, runs liquid; heat seeps through silver, and so does piercing cold, since, holding the cups duly in our hands, we have felt both, when the dew of water was poured in from above. So thoroughly does there seem to be nothing solid in things. But since true reasoning and the nature of things compel otherwise, attend, while in a few verses I set forth that there are things made of solid and everlasting body, which we teach to be the seeds of things and their first-beginnings, from which the whole created sum of things now stands.
denique Tyndaridem raptam belloque subactas Troiiugenas gentis cum dicunt esse, videndumst ne forte haec per se cogant nos esse fateri, quando ea saecla hominum, quorum haec eventa fuerunt, inrevocabilis abstulerit iam praeterita aetas; namque aliud terris, aliud regionibus ipsis eventum dici poterit quod cumque erit actum. denique materies si rerum nulla fuisset nec locus ac spatium, res in quo quaeque geruntur, numquam Tyndaridis forma conflatus amore ignis Alexandri Phrygio sub pectore gliscens clara accendisset saevi certamina belli nec clam durateus Troiianis Pergama partu inflammasset equos nocturno Graiiugenarum; perspicere ut possis res gestas funditus omnis non ita uti corpus per se constare neque esse nec ratione cluere eadem qua constet inane, sed magis ut merito possis eventa vocare corporis atque loci, res in quo quaeque gerantur.
First, since the twofold nature of two things— two things far unlike—has been found to exist, that of body and of place, in which all things are carried on, each must be pure and exist of itself. For wherever space lies empty, which we call void, there body is not; and again, wherever body keeps its place, there is by no means empty void. There are, then, first bodies, solid and without void.
Corpora sunt porro partim primordia rerum, partim concilio quae constant principiorum. sed quae sunt rerum primordia, nulla potest vis stinguere; nam solido vincunt ea corpore demum. etsi difficile esse videtur credere quicquam in rebus solido reperiri corpore posse. transit enim fulmen caeli per saepta domorum clamor ut ac voces, ferrum candescit in igni dissiliuntque fero ferventi saxa vapore; cum labefactatus rigor auri solvitur aestu, tum glacies aeris flamma devicta liquescit; permanat calor argentum penetraleque frigus, quando utrumque manu retinentes pocula rite sensimus infuso lympharum rore superne. usque adeo in rebus solidi nihil esse videtur. sed quia vera tamen ratio naturaque rerum cogit, ades, paucis dum versibus expediamus esse ea quae solido atque aeterno corpore constent, semina quae rerum primordiaque esse docemus, unde omnis rerum nunc constet summa creata.
Besides, since there is void in things once made, solid matter must stand around it; nor can any thing be proved, by true reasoning, to hide void in its body and hold it within, unless you allow that what encloses it is solid. And that, again, can be nothing but a union of matter able to hold in the void of things. Matter, therefore, which consists of solid body, can be everlasting, though all else dissolve.
Principio quoniam duplex natura duarum dissimilis rerum longe constare repertast, corporis atque loci, res in quo quaeque geruntur, esse utramque sibi per se puramque necessest. nam qua cumque vacat spatium, quod inane vocamus, corpus ea non est; qua porro cumque tenet se corpus, ea vacuum nequaquam constat inane. sunt igitur solida ac sine inani corpora prima.
Then again, were there nothing one might call void, all would be solid; and unless, conversely, there were fixed bodies to fill whatever places they took up, all the space that is would stand as empty void. By turns, then, past doubt, body is marked off from void, since the world stands neither wholly full nor wholly empty; there are, then, fixed bodies that can divide the empty space with their fullness. These can neither be dissolved by blows struck from outside, nor again, pierced to the core, be unraveled, nor, assailed in any other way, be made to totter— which we showed you a little above. For nothing, it seems, can be crushed without void, nor broken, nor split in two by cutting, nor take in moisture, nor likewise seeping cold, nor piercing fire, by which all things are undone. And the more void each thing holds within, the more it gives way utterly when these assail it. Therefore, if the first bodies are solid and without void, as I have taught, they must of necessity be everlasting.
Praeterea quoniam genitis in rebus inanest, materiem circum solidam constare necessest; nec res ulla potest vera ratione probari corpore inane suo celare atque intus habere, si non, quod cohibet, solidum constare relinquas. id porro nihil esse potest nisi materiai concilium, quod inane queat rerum cohibere. materies igitur, solido quae corpore constat, esse aeterna potest, cum cetera dissoluantur.
Besides, had matter not been everlasting, before now all things would have gone back utterly to nothing, and whatever we see would have been born again from nothing. But since I taught above that nothing can be created from nothing, nor what is born be called back to nothing, the first-beginnings must be of immortal body, into which all things may dissolve at their last hour, that there may be matter in store to make things anew. The first-beginnings, then, are of solid singleness; nor, preserved in any other way through the ages, could they make things anew out of infinite past time.
Tum porro si nil esset quod inane vocaret, omne foret solidum; nisi contra corpora certa essent quae loca complerent quae cumque tenerent omne quod est spatium, vacuum constaret inane. alternis igitur ni mirum corpus inani distinctum, quoniam nec plenum naviter extat nec porro vacuum; sunt ergo corpora certa, quae spatium pleno possint distinguere inane. haec neque dissolui plagis extrinsecus icta possunt nec porro penitus penetrata retexi nec ratione queunt alia temptata labare; id quod iam supra tibi paulo ostendimus ante. nam neque conlidi sine inani posse videtur quicquam nec frangi nec findi in bina secando nec capere umorem neque item manabile frigus nec penetralem ignem, quibus omnia conficiuntur. et quo quaeque magis cohibet res intus inane, tam magis his rebus penitus temptata labascit. ergo si solida ac sine inani corpora prima sunt ita uti docui, sint haec aeterna necessest.
Lastly, had nature set no limit to the breaking of things, by now the bodies of matter would have been so worn down by the breaking ages before that nothing formed from them could, from a fixed time, attain the full bound of its age. For we see that anything can be dissolved more quickly than it is built again; and so what the long infinite age of all the bygone time had broken until now, disordering and dissolving, could never be repaired in the time that remains. But as it is, past doubt, a fixed limit to breaking stands set, since we see each thing built up again, and at once fixed spans set, kind by kind, for things, in which they may reach the flower of their age.
Praeterea nisi materies aeterna fuisset, antehac ad nihilum penitus res quaeque redissent de nihiloque renata forent quae cumque videmus. at quoniam supra docui nil posse creari de nihilo neque quod genitumst ad nil revocari, esse inmortali primordia corpore debent, dissolui quo quaeque supremo tempore possint, materies ut subpeditet rebus reparandis. sunt igitur solida primordia simplicitate nec ratione queunt alia servata per aevom ex infinito iam tempore res reparare.
Add to this that, though the most solid bodies of matter exist, yet all can be explained— those things that turn soft: air, water, earth, vapors— how they come to be and by what force each is driven, since once void has been mixed into things. But conversely, if the first-beginnings of things were soft, from what could hard flints and iron be created? No account could be given; for utterly, at its root, the whole nature of things would lack a foundation. They are, then, solid, strong in their singleness, by whose denser knitting all things can be drawn tight and show their mighty strength.
denique si nullam finem natura parasset frangendis rebus, iam corpora materiai usque redacta forent aevo frangente priore, ut nihil ex illis a certo tempore posset conceptum summum aetatis pervadere finem. nam quidvis citius dissolvi posse videmus quam rursus refici; qua propter longa diei infinita aetas ante acti temporis omnis quod fregisset adhuc disturbans dissoluensque, numquam relicuo reparari tempore posset. at nunc ni mirum frangendi reddita finis certa manet, quoniam refici rem quamque videmus et finita simul generatim tempora rebus stare, quibus possint aevi contingere florem.
Again, if no limit has been set to the breaking of bodies, still, from everlasting time, there must even now survive bodies for things not yet assailed by any peril. But since they are endowed with a frail nature, it is at odds that they could have lasted everlasting time, harried by countless blows through the ages.
Huc accedit uti, solidissima materiai corpora cum constant, possint tamen omnia reddi, mollia quae fiunt, aer aqua terra vapores, quo pacto fiant et qua vi quaeque gerantur, admixtum quoniam semel est in rebus inane. at contra si mollia sint primordia rerum, unde queant validi silices ferrumque creari, non poterit ratio reddi; nam funditus omnis principio fundamenti natura carebit. sunt igitur solida pollentia simplicitate, quorum condenso magis omnia conciliatu artari possunt validasque ostendere viris.
Lastly, since a limit has been set, kind by kind, to the growing of things and the holding of life, and since it stands ordained, by the covenants of nature, what each can do and what it cannot, and since nothing is altered, but all things stand so fixed that the many-colored birds, each in its order, show the markings of their kind upon the body, they must, past doubt, have also a body of unchanging matter. For if the first-beginnings of things could be altered, overcome in any way, it would then be uncertain what could arise, what could not, by what law each thing holds its power bounded, and its deep-set boundary stone, nor could the generations so often reproduce, kind by kind, the nature, the ways, the food, the motions of their parents.
porro si nullast frangendis reddita finis corporibus, tamen ex aeterno tempore quaeque nunc etiam superare necessest corpora rebus, quae non dum clueant ullo temptata periclo. at quoniam fragili natura praedita constant, discrepat aeternum tempus potuisse manere innumerabilibus plagis vexata per aevom.
Then again, since there is some last point of each body, that least point which our senses can no longer see, that, past doubt, exists without parts, and is of the smallest nature, and never was, apart and by itself, nor hereafter will have power to be, since it is itself the first and single part of another, and then other and other like parts, in order, in close array fill out the nature of the body; and since these cannot stand of themselves, they must cleave to that from which they can in no way be wrenched. The first-beginnings, then, are of solid singleness, which, packed close, cohere tightly in their least parts. They are not knit together from a gathering of these, but rather are everlasting, strong in their singleness, from which nature, keeping the seeds in store for things, allows nothing to be torn away or lessened any more.
Denique iam quoniam generatim reddita finis crescendi rebus constat vitamque tenendi, et quid quaeque queant per foedera naturai, quid porro nequeant, sancitum quando quidem extat, nec commutatur quicquam, quin omnia constant usque adeo, variae volucres ut in ordine cunctae ostendant maculas generalis corpore inesse, inmutabilis materiae quoque corpus habere debent ni mirum; nam si primordia rerum commutari aliqua possent ratione revicta, incertum quoque iam constet quid possit oriri, quid nequeat, finita potestas denique cuique qua nam sit ratione atque alte terminus haerens, nec totiens possent generatim saecla referre naturam mores victum motusque parentum.
Besides, unless there is a least, all the tiniest bodies will consist of infinite parts, since the half of a half will always have its own half, and nothing will set a bound. So between the sum of things and the least, what would there be to set them apart? Nothing; for however utterly the whole sum be infinite, yet the smallest things would equally consist of infinite parts. And since true reasoning cries out against this and denies that the mind can believe it, you must, overcome, confess that there are things which exist with no parts at all, and are of the smallest nature. And since these are, you must grant that those too are solid and everlasting.
Tum porro quoniam est extremum quodque cacumen corporis illius, quod nostri cernere sensus iam nequeunt, id ni mirum sine partibus extat et minima constat natura nec fuit umquam per se secretum neque post hac esse valebit, alterius quoniamst ipsum pars primaque et una, inde aliae atque aliae similes ex ordine partes agmine condenso naturam corporis explent; quae quoniam per se nequeunt constare, necessest haerere unde queant nulla ratione revelli. sunt igitur solida primordia simplicitate, quae minimis stipata cohaerent partibus arte. non ex illorum conventu conciliata, sed magis aeterna pollentia simplicitate, unde neque avelli quicquam neque deminui iam concedit natura reservans semina rebus.
Lastly, if creating nature had been used to compel all things to be dissolved into their least parts, she could then no longer make anything anew from them, because things not furnished with any parts cannot have what generative matter must have: the various connections, weights, blows, meetings, motions, by which all things are carried on.
Praeterea nisi erit minimum, parvissima quaeque corpora constabunt ex partibus infinitis, quippe ubi dimidiae partis pars semper habebit dimidiam partem nec res praefiniet ulla. ergo rerum inter summam minimamque quod escit, nil erit ut distet; nam quamvis funditus omnis summa sit infinita, tamen, parvissima quae sunt, ex infinitis constabunt partibus aeque. quod quoniam ratio reclamat vera negatque credere posse animum, victus fateare necessest esse ea quae nullis iam praedita partibus extent et minima constent natura. quae quoniam sunt, illa quoque esse tibi solida atque aeterna fatendum.
Therefore those who supposed fire to be the matter of things, and that the sum of things consists of fire alone, seem to have slipped far wide of true reasoning. At their head Heraclitus first enters the battle, famous for his dark speech, more among the empty-headed than among the serious Greeks, who seek the truth; for fools admire and love all the more the things they see lurking beneath inverted words, and take for true whatever can prettily tickle the ears, and is rouged over with a charming sound.
Denique si minimas in partis cuncta resolvi cogere consuesset rerum natura creatrix, iam nihil ex illis eadem reparare valeret propterea quia, quae nullis sunt partibus aucta, non possunt ea quae debet genitalis habere materies, varios conexus pondera plagas concursus motus, per quas res quaeque geruntur.
For why, I ask, could things be so various, if they are created out of fire alone, and pure? It would help nothing for hot fire to be condensed or made rare, if the parts of fire held the same nature that the whole fire above it has. For the burning would be keener with the parts drawn close, and feebler when they are scattered and flung apart. Beyond this there is nothing you could think possible in such cases—far less that so great a variety of things could arise from fires now dense, now rare.
Quapropter qui materiem rerum esse putarunt ignem atque ex igni summam consistere solo, magno opere a vera lapsi ratione videntur. Heraclitus init quorum dux proelia primus, clarus ob obscuram linguam magis inter inanis quamde gravis inter Graios, qui vera requirunt; omnia enim stolidi magis admirantur amantque, inversis quae sub verbis latitantia cernunt, veraque constituunt quae belle tangere possunt auris et lepido quae sunt fucata sonore.
This too: if they should make void mixed into things, the fires could be condensed and left rare; but because they see many things that would tell against them, they shrink from leaving pure void in things; while they fear the steep road, they lose the true path, nor again do they see that, void once taken from things, all would be condensed, and out of all would become one body, which could send nothing swiftly from itself, as heat-bearing fire casts off its light and warmth, so that you may see it is not made of packed-tight parts.
Nam cur tam variae res possent esse, requiro, ex uno si sunt igni puroque creatae? nil prodesset enim calidum denserier ignem nec rare fieri, si partes ignis eandem naturam quam totus habet super ignis haberent. acrior ardor enim conductis partibus esset, languidior porro disiectis dis que supatis. amplius hoc fieri nihil est quod posse rearis talibus in causis, ne dum variantia rerum tanta queat densis rarisque ex ignibus esse.
But if perhaps they believe that fires, in their meeting, can be quenched on some other ground, and change their body, then surely, if they spare it in no single part, all the heat, past doubt, will perish utterly to nothing, and whatever is created will come to be from nothing; for whatever, changed, departs from its own bounds, this at once is the death of what was before. So something must survive unharmed for them, lest all things return for you utterly into nothing, and from nothing the store of things grow strong, reborn.
Id quoque: si faciant admixtum rebus inane, denseri poterunt ignes rarique relinqui; sed quia multa sibi cernunt contraria quae sint et fugitant in rebus inane relinquere purum, ardua dum metuunt, amittunt vera viai nec rursum cernunt exempto rebus inane omnia denseri fierique ex omnibus unum corpus, nil ab se quod possit mittere raptim, aestifer ignis uti lumen iacit atque vaporem, ut videas non e stipatis partibus esse.
Now then, since there are certain most steadfast bodies which keep their nature always the same, by whose going or coming and changed order things change their nature, and the bodies transform themselves, you may know that these bodies of things are not of fire. For it would make no difference that some depart and go, and others be added, and some change their order, if all of them still held the nature of heat; for whatever they made would be fire, every way. But the truth, I think, is this: there are certain bodies whose meetings, motions, order, position, and shapes produce fires, and with changed order change their nature, and are like neither fire nor any other thing that can send bodies out to the senses and touch our touch by their impact.
Quod si forte alia credunt ratione potesse ignis in coetu stingui mutareque corpus, scilicet ex nulla facere id si parte reparcent, occidet ad nihilum ni mirum funditus ardor omnis et e nihilo fient quae cumque creantur; nam quod cumque suis mutatum finibus exit, continuo hoc mors est illius quod fuit ante. proinde aliquid superare necesse est incolume ollis, ne tibi res redeant ad nilum funditus omnes de nihiloque renata vigescat copia rerum.
Furthermore, to say that all things are fire, and that no real thing stands in the count of things but fire, as this same man does, seems sheer raving. For he himself fights against the senses out of the senses, and shakes loose those on which all our beliefs depend, from which this very fire he names became known to him; for he believes the senses truly know fire, but does not believe them about the rest, which are no less clear. This seems to me both empty and mad; for to what shall we appeal? What can be surer for us than the senses themselves, by which we mark the true and false?
Nunc igitur quoniam certissima corpora quaedam sunt, quae conservant naturam semper eandem, quorum abitu aut aditu mutatoque ordine mutant naturam res et convertunt corpora sese, scire licet non esse haec ignea corpora rerum. nil referret enim quaedam decedere, abire atque alia adtribui mutarique ordine quaedam, si tamen ardoris naturam cuncta tenerent; ignis enim foret omnimodis quod cumque crearet. verum, ut opinor, itast: sunt quaedam corpora, quorum concursus motus ordo positura figurae efficiunt ignis mutatoque ordine mutant naturam neque sunt igni simulata neque ulli praeterea rei quae corpora mittere possit sensibus et nostros adiectu tangere tactus.
Besides, why should anyone rather do away with all things and wish to leave the nature of heat alone, than deny that fire is, yet leave some other thing to be? For it seems equal madness to say either.
dicere porro ignem res omnis esse neque ullam rem veram in numero rerum constare nisi ignem, quod facit hic idem, perdelirum esse videtur. nam contra sensus ab sensibus ipse repugnat et labefactat eos, unde omnia credita pendent, unde hic cognitus est ipsi quem nominat ignem; credit enim sensus ignem cognoscere vere, cetera non credit, quae nilo clara minus sunt. quod mihi cum vanum tum delirum esse videtur; quo referemus enim? quid nobis certius ipsis sensibus esse potest, qui vera ac falsa notemus?
Therefore those who supposed fire to be the matter of things, and that the sum could consist of fire, and those who set up air as the first principle for begetting things, or whoever thought that moisture by itself fashions things, or that earth creates all things and turns into the natures of them all, seem to have strayed far, far from the truth.
Praeterea quare quisquam magis omnia tollat et velit ardoris naturam linquere solam, quam neget esse ignis, aliam tamen esse relinquat? aequa videtur enim dementia dicere utrumque.
Add too those who double the first-beginnings of things, joining air to fire and earth to water, and those who think that all things can grow out of four: out of fire, earth, breath, and rain. Of these, foremost is Empedocles of Acragas, whom the island bore upon its three-cornered shores, around which the Ionian sea, flowing in great windings, sprinkles its brine from the gray-green waves, and the racing sea, with its narrow strait, parts off the Aeolian coasts from the borders of his land. Here is devouring Charybdis, and here the rumblings of Aetna threaten that the wrath of the flames is gathering once more, so that its force may again vomit the fires burst from its throat and hurl the lightning of flame to the sky once more. And though this region seems in many ways great and to be wondered at by the peoples of mankind, and is said to be worth the seeing, rich in good things, fortified with much manhood’s force, yet it seems to have held in it nothing more illustrious than this man, nothing more holy, more wonderful and dear. Nay more, the songs of his divine breast cry aloud and set forth his glorious discoveries, so that he scarcely seems born of mortal stock.
Quapropter qui materiem rerum esse putarunt ignem atque ex igni summam consistere posse, et qui principium gignundis aera rebus constituere aut umorem qui cumque putarunt fingere res ipsum per se terramve creare omnia et in rerum naturas vertier omnis, magno opere a vero longe derrasse videntur.
Yet he, and those lesser men we named above— by many great degrees lesser, and far below him— although, finding out much well and as if by divine gift, they gave their answers from the inmost shrine of the heart, more holy and far surer in reasoning than the Pythia who speaks from Phoebus’s tripod and laurel, yet over the first-beginnings of things they came to ruin, and, great as they were, fell there gravely, in a great fall.
adde etiam qui conduplicant primordia rerum aera iungentes igni terramque liquori, et qui quattuor ex rebus posse omnia rentur ex igni terra atque anima procrescere et imbri. quorum Acragantinus cum primis Empedocles est, insula quem triquetris terrarum gessit in oris, quam fluitans circum magnis anfractibus aequor Ionium glaucis aspargit virus ab undis angustoque fretu rapidum mare dividit undis Aeoliae terrarum oras a finibus eius. hic est vasta Charybdis et hic Aetnaea minantur murmura flammarum rursum se colligere iras, faucibus eruptos iterum vis ut vomat ignis ad caelumque ferat flammai fulgura rursum. quae cum magna modis multis miranda videtur gentibus humanis regio visendaque fertur rebus opima bonis, multa munita virum vi, nil tamen hoc habuisse viro praeclarius in se nec sanctum magis et mirum carumque videtur. carmina quin etiam divini pectoris eius vociferantur et exponunt praeclara reperta, ut vix humana videatur stirpe creatus.
First, because they set up motion with void taken from things, and leave things soft and rare— air, sun, fire, earth, animals, crops— and yet mix no void into their body; then, because they make there be no end at all to the cutting of bodies, nor any halt set to the breaking, nor any least thing whatever to abide among things, though we see that the last point of each thing is that which seems the least to our senses, so that from this you may infer that, in things you cannot see, the last point that they have is the least of things.
Hic tamen et supra quos diximus inferiores partibus egregie multis multoque minores, quamquam multa bene ac divinitus invenientes ex adyto tam quam cordis responsa dedere sanctius et multo certa ratione magis quam Pythia quae tripodi a Phoebi lauroque profatur, principiis tamen in rerum fecere ruinas et graviter magni magno cecidere ibi casu.
Add to this, likewise, that since they make the first-beginnings of things soft—which we see to be things born, and of mortal body—the whole sum of things must then go back utterly to nothing, and from nothing the store of things grow strong, reborn; how far each of these stands from the truth, you will see.
Primum quod motus exempto rebus inani constituunt et res mollis rarasque relinquunt aera solem ignem terras animalia frugis nec tamen admiscent in eorum corpus inane; deinde quod omnino finem non esse secandis corporibus facient neque pausam stare fragori nec prorsum in rebus minimum consistere qui cquam, cum videamus id extremum cuiusque cacumen esse quod ad sensus nostros minimum esse videtur, conicere ut possis ex hoc, quae cernere non quis extremum quod habent, minimum consistere rerum.
Then, they are in many ways hostile to one another, and poison each to each; so that, met together, either they will perish, or they will fly asunder, as we see, when a storm has gathered, the thunderbolts fly asunder, and the rains and winds.
Huc accedit item, quoniam primordia rerum mollia constituunt, quae nos nativa videmus esse et mortali cum corpore, funditus ut qui debeat ad nihilum iam rerum summa reverti de nihiloque renata vigescere copia rerum; quorum utrumque quid a vero iam distet habebis.
Lastly, if all things are created out of four things, and into those four all things are again dissolved, how can those any more be called the first-beginnings of things than, conversely, these be thought the first-beginnings of those? For by turns they are begotten and change their color and their whole nature, one into another, from all time. The thunderbolts fly asunder, and the rains and winds.
Deinde inimica modis multis sunt atque veneno ipsa sibi inter se; quare aut congressa peribunt aut ita diffugient, ut tempestate coacta fulmina diffugere atque imbris ventosque videmus. Denique quattuor ex rebus si cuncta creantur atque in eas rursum res omnia dissoluuntur, qui magis illa queunt rerum primordia dici quam contra res illorum retroque putari? alternis gignuntur enim mutantque colorem et totam inter se naturam tempore ab omni. fulmina diffugere atque imbris ventosque videmus.
But if perhaps you think that the body of fire and earth and the airy breezes and the dew of moisture come together in such a way that none of them changes its nature in the union, no thing will be able to be created for you from them, no living thing, nor one of lifeless body, like a tree; for each, in the mixing of the varying heap, will show its own nature, and air will be seen blended with earth, and to remain together with a certain moisture. But the first-beginnings, in begetting things, ought to bring a hidden and an unseen nature, lest something stand out that fights against and blocks whatever is created from being properly itself.
sin ita forte putas ignis terraeque coire corpus et aerias auras roremque liquoris, nil in concilio naturam ut mutet eorum, nulla tibi ex illis poterit res esse creata, non animans, non exanimo cum corpore, ut arbos; quippe suam quicque in coetu variantis acervi naturam ostendet mixtusque videbitur aer cum terra simul et quodam cum rore manere. at primordia gignundis in rebus oportet naturam clandestinam caecamque adhibere, emineat ne quid, quod contra pugnet et obstet quo minus esse queat proprie quodcumque creatur.
Nay more, they trace things back to the sky and its fires, and first make fire turn itself into the breezes of air; from this is rain begotten, and earth created out of rain, and from earth all things return backward— moisture first, then air, then heat— and these never cease to change among themselves, and to pass from sky to earth, from earth to the stars of the world. But this the first-beginnings ought in no way to do. For something unchangeable must survive, lest all things be reduced utterly to nothing; for whatever, changed, departs from its own bounds, this at once is the death of what was before. Therefore, since the things we named a little before do come into change, they must consist of others which can never be turned about, lest all things return for you utterly to nothing; rather you should set up certain bodies of such a nature that, if they should chance to have made fire, the same can, with a few taken away and a few put in, with order and motion changed, make the breezes of air, and so all things be changed into all the rest.
Quin etiam repetunt a caelo atque ignibus eius et primum faciunt ignem se vertere in auras aeris, hinc imbrem gigni terramque creari ex imbri retroque a terra cuncta reverti, umorem primum, post aera, deinde calorem, nec cessare haec inter se mutare, meare a caelo ad terram, de terra ad sidera mundi. quod facere haud ullo debent primordia pacto. immutabile enim quiddam superare necessest, ne res ad nihilum redigantur funditus omnes; nam quod cumque suis mutatum finibus exit, continuo hoc mors est illius quod fuit ante. quapropter quoniam quae paulo diximus ante in commutatum veniunt, constare necessest ex aliis ea, quae nequeant convertier usquam, ne tibi res redeant ad nilum funditus omnis; quin potius tali natura praedita quaedam corpora constituas, ignem si forte crearint, posse eadem demptis paucis paucisque tributis, ordine mutato et motu, facere aeris auras, sic alias aliis rebus mutarier omnis?
"But the plain fact openly shows," you say, "that all things grow and are fed out of the earth into the breezes of air; and unless the weather, at a kindly season, indulges them with rains, so that the trees rock with the streaming clouds, and the sun, for its part, warms them and gives its heat, crops, trees, and living things could never grow." True—and unless dry food and tender moisture gave us aid, our body once lost, all our life too would be loosed from every sinew and bone; for past doubt we are helped and nourished by fixed things, and other and other beings by theirs. Plainly because many first-beginnings, common in many ways to many things, are mixed within things, therefore various things are fed by various things. And it often matters greatly with what other first-beginnings those same ones are bound, and in what arrangement, and what motions they give and take among themselves; for the same ones make up sky, sea, lands, rivers, the sun, the same make up crops, trees, and living things, but mingled with others, and in another way, they move. Nay more, here and there in these very verses of mine you see many letters common to many words, and yet you must confess that verses and words differ, one from another, in substance and in ringing sound. So much can letters do by mere change of order; but the first-beginnings of things can bring more to bear, from which the various things can each be created.
’At manifesta palam res indicat’ inquis ’in auras aeris e terra res omnis crescere alique; et nisi tempestas indulget tempore fausto imbribus, ut tabe nimborum arbusta vacillent, solque sua pro parte fovet tribuitque calorem, crescere non possint fruges arbusta animantis.’ scilicet et nisi nos cibus aridus et tener umor adiuvet, amisso iam corpore vita quoque omnis omnibus e nervis atque ossibus exsoluatur; adiutamur enim dubio procul atque alimur nos certis ab rebus, certis aliae atque aliae res. ni mirum quia multa modis communia multis multarum rerum in rebus primordia mixta sunt, ideo variis variae res rebus aluntur. atque eadem magni refert primordia saepe cum quibus et quali positura contineantur et quos inter se dent motus accipiantque; namque eadem caelum mare terras flumina solem constituunt, eadem fruges arbusta animantis, verum aliis alioque modo commixta moventur. quin etiam passim nostris in versibus ipsis multa elementa vides multis communia verbis, cum tamen inter se versus ac verba necessest confiteare et re et sonitu distare sonanti. tantum elementa queunt permutato ordine solo; at rerum quae sunt primordia, plura adhibere possunt unde queant variae res quaeque creari.
Now let us examine too the homoeomeria of Anaxagoras, as the Greeks name it—a word our tongue does not let us render, given the poverty of our native speech, yet the thing itself is easy to set forth in words. First, this "homoeomeria of things" which he speaks of: he holds that bones are made of tiny and minute bones, and that flesh is begotten of tiny and minute bits of flesh, and that blood is created of many drops of blood coming together among themselves, and he thinks gold can consist of grains of gold, and earth grow together out of little earths, fire out of fires, and moisture be of moistures, and the rest he imagines and supposes on like reasoning. Yet he grants that there is no void at all anywhere in things, nor any end to the cutting of bodies. On both counts, therefore, he seems to me alike to go astray, as do those we named before.
Nunc et Anaxagorae scrutemur homoeomerian quam Grai memorant nec nostra dicere lingua concedit nobis patrii sermonis egestas, sed tamen ipsam rem facilest exponere verbis. principio, rerum quam dicit homoeomerian, ossa videlicet e pauxillis atque minutis ossibus hic et de pauxillis atque minutis visceribus viscus gigni sanguenque creari sanguinis inter se multis coeuntibus guttis ex aurique putat micis consistere posse aurum et de terris terram concrescere parvis, ignibus ex ignis, umorem umoribus esse, cetera consimili fingit ratione putatque. nec tamen esse ulla de parte in rebus inane concedit neque corporibus finem esse secandis. quare in utraque mihi pariter ratione videtur errare atque illi, supra quos diximus ante.
Add that he imagines the first-beginnings too feeble; if those are first-beginnings which are endowed with a nature like the things themselves, and equally suffer and perish, with nothing curbing them from ruin. For which of them will hold out under a strong crushing, to escape death beneath the very teeth of doom? Fire, or moisture, or breath? Which of these? Blood or bones? None, I think, where every thing alike will be utterly as mortal as those we plainly see perish before our eyes, overcome by some force. But that things can neither fall back to nothing, nor grow from nothing, I call to witness the truths proved before.
Adde quod inbecilla nimis primordia fingit; si primordia sunt, simili quae praedita constant natura atque ipsae res sunt aequeque laborant et pereunt, neque ab exitio res ulla refrenat. nam quid in oppressu valido durabit eorum, ut mortem effugiat, leti sub dentibus ipsis? ignis an umor an aura? quid horum? sanguen an ossa? nil ut opinor, ubi ex aequo res funditus omnis tam mortalis erit quam quae manifesta videmus ex oculis nostris aliqua vi victa perire. at neque reccidere ad nihilum res posse neque autem crescere de nihilo testor res ante probatas.
Besides, since food increases the body and feeds it, you may know that our veins and blood and bones * * * or, if they say that all foods are of a mingled body and have within them small bodies of sinews and bones, and in short veins and parts of gore, it will follow that all food, both the dry and the liquid itself, must be thought to consist of things of alien kind, of bones and sinews and matter and blood commingled.
Praeterea quoniam cibus auget corpus alitque, scire licet nobis venas et sanguen et ossa * * * sive cibos omnis commixto corpore dicent esse et habere in se nervorum corpora parva ossaque et omnino venas partisque cruoris, fiet uti cibus omnis et aridus et liquor ipse ex alienigenis rebus constare putetur, ossibus et nervis sanieque et sanguine mixto.
Besides, whatever bodies grow out of the earth, if they are in the earth, the earth must consist of things of alien kind, which spring up out of the earth. Transfer it likewise—you may use the very same words: if flame lies hidden in wood, and smoke and ash, the wood must consist of things of alien kind, and besides, the earth, which feeds and swells all bodies, must consist of alien kinds, which spring out of the wood.
Praeterea quae cumque e terra corpora crescunt, si sunt in terris, terram constare necessest ex alienigenis, quae terris exoriuntur. transfer item, totidem verbis utare licebit: in lignis si flamma latet fumusque cinisque, ex alienigenis consistant ligna necessest, praeterea tellus quae corpora cumque alit auget ex alienigenis, quae lignis ex oriuntur.
Here is left a certain thin chance of hiding, which Anaxagoras takes for himself: that all things lie hidden, mixed in all things, but that one alone shows itself, of which the most are mixed in, and which is set more ready to hand and foremost in front. But this is far thrust back from true reasoning; for it would be fitting that grain too should often, when it is crushed by the threatening force of a stone, give some sign of blood, or of something of those by which our body is fed. When we grind stone on stone, blood ought likewise to flow; and grasses too should often, on like reasoning, give out sweet drops of liquid, of a savor like the milk in the udder of the woolly sheep; and surely, when the clods of earth are often crumbled, kinds of grasses and crops and leaves should be seen lurking, parceled out minutely among the earth; at last, in wood, ash and smoke should be seen, when it was broken, and tiny fires lie hidden. Since the plain fact teaches that none of this happens, you may know that things are not so mixed in things, but rather that seeds, mixed in manifold ways, must lie hidden, common to many things, within things.
Linquitur hic quaedam latitandi copia tenvis, id quod Anaxagoras sibi sumit, ut omnibus omnis res putet inmixtas rebus latitare, sed illud apparere unum, cuius sint plurima mixta et magis in promptu primaque in fronte locata. quod tamen a vera longe ratione repulsumst; conveniebat enim fruges quoque saepe, minaci robore cum in saxi franguntur, mittere signum sanguinis aut aliquid, nostro quae corpore aluntur. cum lapidi in lapidem terimus, manare cruorem consimili ratione herbis quoque saepe decebat, et latices dulcis guttas similique sapore mittere, lanigerae quali sunt ubere lactis, scilicet et glebis terrarum saepe friatis herbarum genera et fruges frondesque videri dispertita inter terram latitare minute, postremo in lignis cinerem fumumque videri, cum praefracta forent, ignisque latere minutos. quorum nil fieri quoniam manifesta docet res, scire licet non esse in rebus res ita mixtas, verum semina multimodis inmixta latere multarum rerum in rebus communia debent.
"But it often happens on the great mountains," you say, "that the topmost crowns of tall trees, set close, are rubbed together among themselves, the strong south winds forcing them to it, until they blaze with the flower of flame breaking forth." True—and yet fire is not implanted in the wood, but there are many seeds of heat, which by the rubbing, when they have flowed together, breed fires in the woods. But if a ready-made flame lay hidden in the woods, the fires could not be concealed for any time, they would commonly consume the woods and burn the trees. Do you see now, then, what I said a little before, that it often matters very greatly with what others the same first-beginnings are held, and in what arrangement, and what motions they give and take among themselves, and that the same, a little altered among themselves, create fires and wood? Just as the very words differ, one from another, by a few letters changed, when we mark off "wood" and "fires" with distinct sound.
’At saepe in magnis fit montibus’ inquis ’ut altis arboribus vicina cacumina summa terantur inter se validis facere id cogentibus austris, donec flammai fulserunt flore coorto.’ scilicet et non est lignis tamen insitus ignis, verum semina sunt ardoris multa, terendo quae cum confluxere, creant incendia silvis. quod si facta foret silvis abscondita flamma, non possent ullum tempus celarier ignes, conficerent volgo silvas, arbusta cremarent. iamne vides igitur, paulo quod diximus ante, permagni referre eadem primordia saepe cum quibus et quali positura contineantur et quos inter se dent motus accipiantque, atque eadem paulo inter se mutata creare ignes et lignum? quo pacto verba quoque ipsa inter se paulo mutatis sunt elementis, cum ligna atque ignes distincta voce notemus.
Lastly, whatever you discern in things laid open, if you think it cannot come about unless you imagine the bodies of matter endowed with a like nature, by this reasoning the first-beginnings of things perish for you: it will come to pass that they, shaken with quivering laughter, cackle, and wet their faces and their cheeks with salt tears.
Denique iam quae cumque in rebus cernis apertis si fieri non posse putas, quin materiai corpora consimili natura praedita fingas, hac ratione tibi pereunt primordia rerum: fiet uti risu tremulo concussa cachinnent et lacrimis salsis umectent ora genasque.
Now come, learn what remains, and hear it more clearly. Nor does it escape my mind how dark these matters are; but the keen hope of praise has struck my heart with its sharp thyrsus, and at once has struck into my breast a sweet love of the Muses, by which, spurred now with quickened mind, I range the pathless haunts of the Pierides, trodden before by no one’s foot. It is sweet to approach untouched springs and to drink, and sweet to pluck new flowers and seek from there a glorious crown for my head, from which the Muses have veiled no one’s brow before; first, because I teach of great matters, and press on to free the mind from the tight knots of superstition, then because on a dark subject I fashion such lucid songs, touching all of it with the Muses’ charm. For that too is seen to be not without reason; but just as healers, when they try to give children foul wormwood, first touch around the rim of the cup with the sweet golden liquid of honey, so that the unwary age of children may be beguiled as far as the lips, and meanwhile drink down whole the bitter draught of wormwood, and, deceived, not be entrapped, but rather by such a deed be restored and made strong, so I now, since this doctrine commonly seems too grim to those who have not handled it, and the crowd shrinks back from it, have wished to set forth my teaching to you in sweet-speaking Pierian song, and to touch it, as it were, with the sweet honey of the Muses, if perhaps in such a way I might hold your mind upon my verses, while you see through the whole nature of things, and in what fashioned shape it stands.
Nunc age, quod super est, cognosce et clarius audi. nec me animi fallit quam sint obscura; sed acri percussit thyrso laudis spes magna meum cor et simul incussit suavem mi in pectus amorem Musarum, quo nunc instinctus mente vigenti avia Pieridum peragro loca nullius ante trita solo. iuvat integros accedere fontis atque haurire iuvatque novos decerpere flores insignemque meo capiti petere inde coronam, unde prius nulli velarint tempora Musae; primum quod magnis doceo de rebus et artis religionum animum nodis exsolvere pergo, deinde quod obscura de re tam lucida pango carmina musaeo contingens cuncta lepore. id quoque enim non ab nulla ratione videtur; sed vel uti pueris absinthia taetra medentes cum dare conantur, prius oras pocula circum contingunt mellis dulci flavoque liquore, ut puerorum aetas inprovida ludificetur labrorum tenus, interea perpotet amarum absinthi laticem deceptaque non capiatur, sed potius tali facto recreata valescat, sic ego nunc, quoniam haec ratio plerumque videtur tristior esse quibus non est tractata, retroque volgus abhorret ab hac, volui tibi suaviloquenti carmine Pierio rationem exponere nostram et quasi musaeo dulci contingere melle, si tibi forte animum tali ratione tenere versibus in nostris possem, dum perspicis omnem naturam rerum, qua constet compta figura.
But since I have taught that the most solid bodies of matter fly about unconquered, forever, through the ages, now come, let us unfold whether there is some limit to their sum or not; likewise the void that has been found, or place and space, in which all things are carried on, let us see through, whether the whole stands utterly bounded or lies open immense and vastly deep.
Sed quoniam docui solidissima materiai corpora perpetuo volitare invicta per aevom, nunc age, summai quaedam sit finis eorum nec ne sit, evolvamus; item quod inane repertumst seu locus ac spatium, res in quo quaeque gerantur, pervideamus utrum finitum funditus omne constet an immensum pateat vasteque profundum.
The whole that is, then, is bounded in no quarter of its ways; for it would have to have an outermost point. But it is plain that nothing can have an outermost point, unless there is something beyond to bound it, so that there appears a place past which this nature, our sense, cannot follow. Now, since it must be confessed that there is nothing outside the sum, it has no outermost point; it lacks, then, end and measure. Nor does it matter in what region of it you take your stand; so thoroughly, whatever place a man holds, he leaves the whole infinite stretching just as far on every side.
Omne quod est igitur nulla regione viarum finitumst; namque extremum debebat habere. extremum porro nullius posse videtur esse, nisi ultra sit quod finiat, ut videatur quo non longius haec sensus natura sequatur. nunc extra summam quoniam nihil esse fatendum, non habet extremum, caret ergo fine modoque. nec refert quibus adsistas regionibus eius; usque adeo, quem quisque locum possedit, in omnis tantundem partis infinitum omne relinquit.
Besides, suppose now that all the space which is were set down as bounded; if a man should run forward to the utmost edges, to the farthest shores, and hurl a flying spear, do you choose that it, flung with mighty force, should go where it was sent, and fly far off, or do you think something could check it and stand in its way? For one or the other you must grant and take. And each of them shuts off your escape, and compels you to grant that the whole lies open, its boundary removed. For whether there is something that hinders, and brings it about that the spear does not reach where it was sent and plant itself at the goal, or whether it is borne out beyond, it did not set out from a boundary. In this way I shall pursue you, and wherever you set the farthest shores, I shall ask: what becomes of the spear at last? It will come to pass that the boundary can nowhere stand, and room for flight will always prolong the escape.
Praeterea si iam finitum constituatur omne quod est spatium, si quis procurrat ad oras ultimus extremas iaciatque volatile telum, id validis utrum contortum viribus ire quo fuerit missum mavis longeque volare, an prohibere aliquid censes obstareque posse? alterutrum fatearis enim sumasque necessest. quorum utrumque tibi effugium praecludit et omne cogit ut exempta concedas fine patere. nam sive est aliquid quod probeat efficiatque quo minus quo missum est veniat finique locet se, sive foras fertur, non est a fine profectum. hoc pacto sequar atque, oras ubi cumque locaris extremas, quaeram: quid telo denique fiet? fiet uti nusquam possit consistere finis effugiumque fugae prolatet copia semper.
Besides, if all the space of the entire sum stood enclosed on every side within fixed shores and were bounded, by now the store of matter would have flowed together, by its solid weights, from all sides to the bottom, nor could anything be carried on beneath the cover of the sky, nor would there be any sky at all, nor the light of the sun, since all matter would lie heaped together, settling down through infinite time already past. But as it is, past doubt, no rest has been given to the bodies of the first-beginnings, because there is no utter bottom where, as it were, they might flow together and set their seats. All things are carried on forever in ceaseless motion on every side, and from below are supplied swift bodies of matter out of the infinite.
Praeterea spatium summai totius omne undique si inclusum certis consisteret oris finitumque foret, iam copia materiai undique ponderibus solidis confluxet ad imum nec res ulla geri sub caeli tegmine posset nec foret omnino caelum neque lumina solis, quippe ubi materies omnis cumulata iaceret ex infinito iam tempore subsidendo. at nunc ni mirum requies data principiorum corporibus nullast, quia nil est funditus imum, quo quasi confluere et sedes ubi ponere possint. semper in adsiduo motu res quaeque geruntur partibus in cunctis, infernaque suppeditantur ex infinito cita corpora materiai.
Finally, before our eyes one thing is seen to bound another; air parts off the hills, and the mountains the air, earth bounds the sea, and the sea in turn bounds all the lands; but the whole, in truth—there is nothing to bound it from outside. There is, then, a nature of place and a space of the deep, which neither the bright thunderbolts could traverse in their course, gliding through the everlasting stretch of time, nor make it, by their traveling, that there remains the less to go; so utterly, far and wide, the huge room lies open to things, its bounds removed in all directions, on every side.
Postremo ante oculos res rem finire videtur; aer dissaepit collis atque aera montes, terra mare et contra mare terras terminat omnis; omne quidem vero nihil est quod finiat extra. est igitur natura loci spatiumque profundi, quod neque clara suo percurrere fulmina cursu perpetuo possint aevi labentia tractu nec prorsum facere ut restet minus ire meando; usque adeo passim patet ingens copia rebus finibus exemptis in cunctas undique partis.
Moreover, nature herself keeps the sum of things from being able to set a measure to itself—she who forces body to be bounded by void, and what is void, in turn, by body, so that by these alternations she makes all things infinite; or else, even if one of the two did not bound the other, still, by its single nature, it would stretch without measure. Neither sea nor earth nor the bright regions of heaven, nor the mortal race, nor the holy bodies of the gods, could hold together for one brief hour of time; for, driven apart from its union, the store of matter would be borne, dissolved, through the great void, or rather, indeed, would never have joined to create any thing at all, since, scattered, it could never have been driven together.
Ipsa modum porro sibi rerum summa parare ne possit, natura tenet, quae corpus inane et quod inane autem est finiri corpore cogit, ut sic alternis infinita omnia reddat, aut etiam alterutrum, nisi terminet alterum eorum, simplice natura pateat tamen inmoderatum, nec mare nec tellus neque caeli lucida templa nec mortale genus nec divum corpora sancta exiguum possent horai sistere tempus; nam dispulsa suo de coetu materiai copia ferretur magnum per inane soluta, sive adeo potius numquam concreta creasset ullam rem, quoniam cogi disiecta nequisset.
For surely the first-beginnings of things did not, by design, each set itself in its own order with a keen mind, nor, to be sure, did they bargain what motions each should give, but because, many and changed in many ways throughout the whole, they are harried from the infinite, driven on by blows, by trying every kind of motion and of meeting they come at last into such arrangements as those by which this created sum of things stands; and, preserved through many great years as well, once it was cast into fitting motions, it brings it about that the greedy sea is filled by the rivers’ lavish waves, and that the earth, warmed by the sun’s heat, renews its yields, and the race of living things, sent up, flourishes, and the gliding fires of heaven live on. Which they would in no way do, unless a store of matter could rise up out of the infinite, from which all things are wont to repair, in season, what they lose. For just as the nature of living things, robbed of food, wastes away, losing its body, so must all things dissolve, as soon as matter has failed to keep supply, turned aside in some way from its path. Nor can blows from outside, on every side, keep safe the whole sum, whatever has been gathered together. For they can hammer on it often and delay a part, until others come and the sum can be filled out; yet at times they are forced to leap back, and at once to grant the first-beginnings of things room and time for flight, so that they can be borne off free from the union. Therefore, again and again, many must rise up; and yet, that the blows themselves too may suffice, there is need of an infinite force of matter on every side.
nam certe neque consilio primordia rerum ordine se suo quaeque sagaci mente locarunt nec quos quaeque darent motus pepigere profecto sed quia multa modis multis mutata per omne ex infinito vexantur percita plagis, omne genus motus et coetus experiundo tandem deveniunt in talis disposituras, qualibus haec rerum consistit summa creata, et multos etiam magnos servata per annos ut semel in motus coniectast convenientis, efficit ut largis avidum mare fluminis undis integrent amnes et solis terra vapore fota novet fetus summissaque gens animantum floreat et vivant labentis aetheris ignes. quod nullo facerent pacto, nisi materiai ex infinito suboriri copia posset, unde amissa solent reparare in tempore quaeque. nam vel uti privata cibo natura animantum diffluit amittens corpus, sic omnia debent dissolui simul ac defecit suppeditare materies aliqua ratione aversa viai. nec plagae possunt extrinsecus undique summam conservare omnem, quae cumque est conciliata. cudere enim crebro possunt partemque morari, dum veniant aliae ac suppleri summa queatur; inter dum resilire tamen coguntur et una principiis rerum spatium tempusque fugai largiri, ut possint a coetu libera ferri. quare etiam atque etiam suboriri multa necessest, et tamen ut plagae quoque possint suppetere ipsae, infinita opus est vis undique materiai.
In these matters, Memmius, flee far from believing what some say: that all things press toward the center of the sum, and that for this reason the nature of the world stands fast without any blows from outside, and cannot be undone, top or bottom, because all things press toward the center— if you believe that anything can rest upon itself, and that the weights which are beneath the earth all press upward and rest against the earth, set there reversed, like the images of things we now see through water; and in like manner they contend that living things wander upside-down and cannot fall out of the earth into the regions of the sky beneath them any more than our own bodies can of their own accord fly up into the temples of the sky; that when they see the sun, we behold the stars of night, and they share with us, by turns, the seasons of the sky, and pass nights matched against equal days. But empty error has won these fools * * * because they have embraced a warped account * * * for there can be no center * * * in the infinite; nor at all, even were there a center, could anything come to rest there * * * any more than, by some far different reasoning, it should be driven off * * * for all place and space, which we call void, must, through center and through non-center alike, give way equally to weights, wherever their motions are borne. Nor is there any place where, when bodies have come, having lost the force of weight, they can stand still in the void; nor again ought the void to hold anything up, but, as its nature demands, it must go on giving way. Things cannot, then, be held together in such a way, won into union by a craving for the center.
Illud in his rebus longe fuge credere, Memmi, in medium summae quod dicunt omnia niti atque ideo mundi naturam stare sine ullis ictibus externis neque quoquam posse resolvi summa atque ima, quod in medium sint omnia nixa, ipsum si quicquam posse in se sistere credis, et quae pondera sunt sub terris omnia sursum nitier in terraque retro requiescere posta, ut per aquas quae nunc rerum simulacra videmus; et simili ratione animalia suppa vagari contendunt neque posse e terris in loca caeli reccidere inferiora magis quam corpora nostra sponte sua possint in caeli templa volare; illi cum videant solem, nos sidera noctis cernere et alternis nobiscum tempora caeli dividere et noctes parilis agitare diebus. sed vanus stolidis haec * * * amplexi quod habent perv * * * nam medium nihil esse potest * * * infinita; neque omnino, si iam medium sit, possit ibi quicquam consistere * * * quam quavis alia longe ratione * * * omnis enim locus ac spatium, quod in ane vocamus, per medium, per non medium, concedere debet aeque ponderibus, motus qua cumque feruntur. nec quisquam locus est, quo corpora cum venerunt, ponderis amissa vi possint stare in inani; nec quod inane autem est ulli subsistere debet, quin, sua quod natura petit, concedere pergat. haud igitur possunt tali ratione teneri res in concilium medii cuppedine victae.
Besides, since they imagine that not all bodies press toward the center, but those of earth and of liquid— the moisture of the sea and the great waves from the mountains— and the things, as it were, held fast by an earthy body, while, on the other hand, they set forth that the thin breezes of air and the hot fires are borne apart from the center at once, and that for this reason the whole ether round about quivers with stars, and the sun’s flame is fed through the blue of the sky, because the heat, fleeing the center, gathers itself all there, nor at all could the topmost boughs of trees put forth their leaves, unless little by little there were food for each from the earth— they fail to see that, in the winged manner of flames, the ramparts of the world might suddenly fly apart, dissolved through the great void, and that the rest might follow on like reasoning, and the thundering regions of the sky rush down from on high, and the earth swiftly slip from beneath our feet, and, amid the mingled ruins of things and of the sky, loosing its bodies, depart through the deep void, so that in a point of time nothing of the remnants would be left, nothing but deserted space and the unseen first-beginnings. For on whatever side you first establish that bodies fail, this will be for things the gate of death, through it the whole throng of matter will fling itself out.
Praeterea quoniam non omnia corpora fingunt in medium niti, sed terrarum atque liquoris umorem ponti magnasque e montibus undas, et quasi terreno quae corpore contineantur, at contra tenuis exponunt aeris auras et calidos simul a medio differrier ignis, atque ideo totum circum tremere aethera signis et solis flammam per caeli caerula pasci, quod calor a medio fugiens se ibi conligat omnis, nec prorsum arboribus summos frondescere ramos posse, nisi a terris paulatim cuique cibatum ne volucri ritu flammarum moenia mundi diffugiant subito magnum per inane soluta et ne cetera consimili ratione sequantur neve ruant caeli tonitralia templa superne terraque se pedibus raptim subducat et omnis inter permixtas rerum caelique ruinas corpora solventes abeat per inane profundum, temporis ut puncto nihil extet reliquiarum desertum praeter spatium et primordia caeca. nam qua cumque prius de parti corpora desse constitues, haec rebus erit pars ianua leti, hac se turba foras dabit omnis materiai.
These things you will come to know thoroughly, led on with little effort; for one thing will grow clear from another, nor will blind night snatch the path from you, and keep you from seeing through to the uttermost of nature: so will things kindle the light for things.
Haec sic pernosces parva perductus opella; namque alid ex alio clarescet nec tibi caeca nox iter eripiet, quin ultima naturai pervideas: ita res accendent lumina rebus.
Sweet it is, when on the great sea the winds are stirring the waters, to watch from land the great struggle of another; not because it is a pleasing delight that anyone be troubled, but because it is sweet to see what ills you are yourself spared. Sweet too it is to look upon the great contests of war, ranged across the plains, with no share of the danger yours; but nothing is more delightful than to hold the serene heights, the temples well fortified by the teaching of the wise, from which you may look down on others and see them everywhere wandering, straying as they seek the path of life, contending in talent, vying in nobility of birth, striving night and day with surpassing toil to climb to the heights of wealth and to master affairs. O wretched minds of men, O blind hearts! In what darkness of life, in what great dangers is passed this little span, whatever it is! Do you not see that nature barks for nothing else but this: that pain be sundered from the body and kept away, and that the mind enjoy a sense of delight, withdrawn from care and fear? And so we see that for the body’s nature few things are needed at all: only such as take away pain, and can also spread beneath us many delights the more agreeably; nor does nature herself ask for more, if there are no golden statues of youths throughout the halls holding fire-bearing torches in their right hands to furnish light for the feasts of night, nor does the house gleam with silver and shine with gold, nor do lyres echo through panelled and gilded halls, when nonetheless, stretched out together on the soft grass beside a running stream under the branches of a tall tree, at no great cost they pleasantly refresh their bodies, above all when the weather smiles and the season of the year sprinkles the greening grass with flowers. Nor do hot fevers leave the body any sooner if you toss on figured tapestries and blushing purple, than if you must lie under a commoner’s blanket. Therefore, since for our body treasures profit nothing, nor noble birth, nor the glory of a kingdom, we must hold, for what remains, that they profit the mind nothing either; unless perhaps, when you see your legions seething across the spaces of the plain, stirring up the semblances of war, made steadfast with great reserves and the force of resources, the squadrons decked with arms and filled alike with spirit— unless then, struck with terror at these sights, your superstitions flee frightened from your mind, and the fears of death then leave your breast empty and freed from care. But if we see that this is laughable, a mere mockery, and that in truth men’s fears and the cares that dog them fear neither the clash of arms nor savage weapons, but move boldly among kings and the masters of affairs, and stand in awe of neither the glitter of gold nor the bright splendour of purple raiment, how can you doubt that all this power belongs to reason, above all since the whole of life labours in darkness? For just as children tremble and dread everything in the blind dark, so we, even in the light, are afraid at times of things no more to be feared than what children shudder at in the dark and imagine will come. This terror of the mind, then, and this darkness must be scattered not by the rays of the sun nor the bright shafts of day, but by the outward face of nature and her law.
Suave, mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis e terra magnum alterius spectare laborem; non quia vexari quemquamst iucunda voluptas, sed quibus ipse malis careas quia cernere suavest. suave etiam belli certamina magna tueri per campos instructa tua sine parte pericli; sed nihil dulcius est, bene quam munita tenere edita doctrina sapientum templa serena, despicere unde queas alios passimque videre errare atque viam palantis quaerere vitae, certare ingenio, contendere nobilitate, noctes atque dies niti praestante labore ad summas emergere opes rerumque potiri. o miseras hominum mentes, o pectora caeca! qualibus in tenebris vitae quantisque periclis degitur hoc aevi quod cumquest! nonne videre nihil aliud sibi naturam latrare, nisi ut qui corpore seiunctus dolor absit, mente fruatur iucundo sensu cura semota metuque? ergo corpoream ad naturam pauca videmus esse opus omnino: quae demant cumque dolorem, delicias quoque uti multas substernere possint gratius inter dum, neque natura ipsa requirit, si non aurea sunt iuvenum simulacra per aedes lampadas igniferas manibus retinentia dextris, lumina nocturnis epulis ut suppeditentur, nec domus argento fulget auroque renidet nec citharae reboant laqueata aurataque templa, cum tamen inter se prostrati in gramine molli propter aquae rivum sub ramis arboris altae non magnis opibus iucunde corpora curant, praesertim cum tempestas adridet et anni tempora conspergunt viridantis floribus herbas. nec calidae citius decedunt corpore febres, textilibus si in picturis ostroque rubenti iacteris, quam si in plebeia veste cubandum est. quapropter quoniam nihil nostro in corpore gazae proficiunt neque nobilitas nec gloria regni, quod super est, animo quoque nil prodesse putandum; si non forte tuas legiones per loca campi fervere cum videas belli simulacra cientis, subsidiis magnis et opum vi constabilitas, ornatas armis stlattas pariterque animatas, his tibi tum rebus timefactae religiones effugiunt animo pavidae mortisque timores tum vacuum pectus lincunt curaque solutum. quod si ridicula haec ludibriaque esse videmus, re veraque metus hominum curaeque sequaces nec metuunt sonitus armorum nec fera tela audacterque inter reges rerumque potentis versantur neque fulgorem reverentur ab auro nec clarum vestis splendorem purpureai, quid dubitas quin omnis sit haec rationis potestas, omnis cum in tenebris praesertim vita laboret? nam vel uti pueri trepidant atque omnia caecis in tenebris metuunt, sic nos in luce timemus inter dum, nihilo quae sunt metuenda magis quam quae pueri in tenebris pavitant finguntque futura. hunc igitur terrorem animi tenebrasque necessest non radii solis neque lucida tela diei discutiant, sed naturae species ratioque.
Now come, by what motion the generative bodies of matter beget the various things and, once begotten, dissolve them, and by what force they are driven to do it, and what mobility is granted them for travelling through the great void, I will set forth: remember to lend yourself to my words. For surely matter does not cohere packed tight together, since we see each thing grow less, and perceive all things, as it were, ebb away with length of time and age withdraw them from our eyes, while yet the sum of things seems to remain unharmed, because the bodies that depart from each thing diminish that from which they go, and enrich with increase that to which they come. They force the one to grow old, the other to flower in turn, and do not linger there. So the sum of things is made new forever, and mortals live by mutual exchange among themselves. Some races wax, others wane, and in a brief span the generations of living things are changed, and like runners they pass on the torch of life.
Nunc age, quo motu genitalia materiai corpora res varias gignant genitasque resolvant et qua vi facere id cogantur quaeque sit ollis reddita mobilitas magnum per inane meandi, expediam: tu te dictis praebere memento. nam certe non inter se stipata cohaeret materies, quoniam minui rem quamque videmus et quasi longinquo fluere omnia cernimus aevo ex oculisque vetustatem subducere nostris, cum tamen incolumis videatur summa manere propterea quia, quae decedunt corpora cuique, unde abeunt minuunt, quo venere augmine donant. illa senescere, at haec contra florescere cogunt, nec remorantur ibi. sic rerum summa novatur semper, et inter se mortales mutua vivunt. augescunt aliae gentes, aliae minuuntur, inque brevi spatio mutantur saecla animantum et quasi cursores vitai lampada tradunt.
If you think the first-beginnings of things can come to rest, and by resting beget new motions of things, you stray far and wide from true reasoning. For since they wander through the void, all the first-beginnings of things must be borne along either by their own weight or by the chance blow of another. For when, moving swiftly, they have often met and collided, it comes about that they leap apart suddenly in different directions; no wonder, since they are hardest, of solid weight, and nothing blocks them from behind. And that you may see the more how all the bodies of matter are tossed about, call to mind that there is no bottom to the universe at all, and that the first bodies have nowhere to come to rest, since space is without end or measure and stretches immeasurable on every side in all directions, as I have shown at length and proved by sure reasoning. Since this is established, surely no rest is granted to the first bodies throughout the deep void, but rather, driven by ceaseless and varied motion, some rebound, thrust back at great intervals, while others are buffeted at short distances by the blow. And all those that, brought together in a denser union, rebound at tiny intervals, entangled by their own interlocking shapes, these make up the strong roots of rock and the fierce bodies of iron and the rest of this kind. The few, further, that wander through the great void, the rest, leap far apart and recoil far back at great intervals; these supply us with the thin air and the bright light of the sun. And many besides wander through the great void, cast out from the unions of things, and nowhere, once received, could they link their motions in.
Si cessare putas rerum primordia posse cessandoque novos rerum progignere motus, avius a vera longe ratione vagaris. nam quoniam per inane vagantur, cuncta necessest aut gravitate sua ferri primordia rerum aut ictu forte alterius. nam cum cita saepe obvia conflixere, fit ut diversa repente dissiliant; neque enim mirum, durissima quae sint ponderibus solidis neque quicquam a tergibus obstet. et quo iactari magis omnia materiai corpora pervideas, reminiscere totius imum nil esse in summa, neque habere ubi corpora prima consistant, quoniam spatium sine fine modoquest inmensumque patere in cunctas undique partis pluribus ostendi et certa ratione probatumst. quod quoniam constat, ni mirum nulla quies est reddita corporibus primis per inane profundum, sed magis adsiduo varioque exercita motu partim intervallis magnis confulta resultant, pars etiam brevibus spatiis vexantur ab ictu. et quae cumque magis condenso conciliatu exiguis intervallis convecta resultant, indupedita suis perplexis ipsa figuris, haec validas saxi radices et fera ferri corpora constituunt et cetera de genere horum. paucula quae porro magnum per inane vagantur, cetera dissiliunt longe longeque recursant in magnis intervallis; haec aera rarum sufficiunt nobis et splendida lumina solis. multaque praeterea magnum per inane vagantur, conciliis rerum quae sunt reiecta nec usquam consociare etiam motus potuere recepta.
Of this, as I describe it, a likeness and image is always at play before our eyes and presses upon us. For look closely whenever the sun’s beams let in pour their light through the dark rooms of a house: you will see many tiny bodies mingling in many ways through the void within the very light of the beams, and, as in everlasting strife, waging battles and combats, contending squadron against squadron without pause, kept busy by unions and partings without end; so that from this you may guess what it is for the first-beginnings of things to be forever tossed in the great void. So far, at least, a small thing can give an instance of great ones, and traces toward understanding.
Cuius, uti memoro, rei simulacrum et imago ante oculos semper nobis versatur et instat. contemplator enim, cum solis lumina cumque inserti fundunt radii per opaca domorum: multa minuta modis multis per inane videbis corpora misceri radiorum lumine in ipso et vel ut aeterno certamine proelia pugnas edere turmatim certantia nec dare pausam, conciliis et discidiis exercita crebris; conicere ut possis ex hoc, primordia rerum quale sit in magno iactari semper inani. dum taxat, rerum magnarum parva potest res exemplare dare et vestigia notitiai.
It is fitting you should turn your mind the more to these bodies that are seen in turmoil within the sun’s rays, because such turmoils signify that motions of matter, hidden and unseen, lie beneath as well. For there you will see many, driven by unseen blows, change their course and, thrust back, turn again, now this way, now that, in all directions everywhere. This wandering, of course, comes to them all from the first-beginnings. For the first-beginnings of things move first of themselves; then those bodies that are of a small union and are, as it were, nearest to the forces of the first-beginnings, are set astir, struck by their unseen blows, and these in turn provoke bodies a little larger. So the motion rises from the first-beginnings and emerges little by little to our senses, until those bodies move too which we can see in the light of the sun, though by what blows they do it is not plainly seen.
Hoc etiam magis haec animum te advertere par est corpora quae in solis radiis turbare videntur, quod tales turbae motus quoque materiai significant clandestinos caecosque subesse. multa videbis enim plagis ibi percita caecis commutare viam retroque repulsa reverti nunc huc nunc illuc in cunctas undique partis. scilicet hic a principiis est omnibus error. prima moventur enim per se primordia rerum, inde ea quae parvo sunt corpora conciliatu et quasi proxima sunt ad viris principiorum, ictibus illorum caecis inpulsa cientur, ipsaque pro porro paulo maiora lacessunt. sic a principiis ascendit motus et exit paulatim nostros ad sensus, ut moveantur illa quoque, in solis quae lumine cernere quimus nec quibus id faciant plagis apparet aperte.
Now what mobility is granted to the bodies of matter you may learn from this in few words, Memmius. First, when dawn scatters new light over the lands and the various birds, flitting through the trackless woods, fill the soft air, the open places, with their liquid songs, how suddenly the risen sun is wont, at such a time, to clothe all things, flooding them with its light— this we see is plain and manifest to all. But that heat which the sun sends out, and its serene light, do not travel through empty void; and so they are forced to go the slower, as they beat their way through waves of air; nor do the little bodies of heat travel singly, each apart, but interlaced among themselves and balled into one; and so at once they are held back among themselves and hindered from without, so that they are forced to go more slowly. But the first-beginnings, which are of solid singleness, when they travel through the empty void and nothing holds them back from outside, and themselves, being a unity made of their own parts, are borne, straining, toward the one place they set out for, must surely excel in mobility, and be borne far more swiftly than the light of the sun, and run across many times the stretch of space in the same time in which the flashes of the sun sweep through the sky. nor to track down each single first-beginning, to see by what reasoning each thing is carried on.
Nunc quae mobilitas sit reddita materiai corporibus, paucis licet hinc cognoscere, Memmi. primum aurora novo cum spargit lumine terras et variae volucres nemora avia pervolitantes aera per tenerum liquidis loca vocibus opplent, quam subito soleat sol ortus tempore tali convestire sua perfundens omnia luce, omnibus in promptu manifestumque esse videmus. at vapor is, quem sol mittit, lumenque serenum non per inane meat vacuum; quo tardius ire cogitur, aerias quasi dum diverberat undas; nec singillatim corpuscula quaeque vaporis sed complexa meant inter se conque globata; qua propter simul inter se retrahuntur et extra officiuntur, uti cogantur tardius ire. at quae sunt solida primordia simplicitate, cum per inane meant vacuum nec res remoratur ulla foris atque ipsa suis e partibus unum, unum, in quem coepere, locum conixa feruntur, debent ni mirum praecellere mobilitate et multo citius ferri quam lumina solis multiplexque loci spatium transcurrere eodem tempore quo solis pervolgant fulgura caelum. nec persectari primordia singula quaeque, ut videant qua quicque geratur cum ratione.
But some, against this, ignorant of matter, hold that nature cannot, without the will of the gods, in such fine accord with the needs of men, change the seasons of the years and bring the crops to birth, and the rest, which divine pleasure, the guide of life, persuades mortals to approach, and herself leads them on, and through the works of Venus coaxes, that they propagate their kinds, lest the human race die out. When they imagine that the gods established all these things for the sake of men, in all respects they seem to have fallen far from true reasoning. For however ignorant I might be of what the first-beginnings are, yet this I would dare affirm from the very workings of heaven, and make good from many other things besides, that by no means was the nature of the world made for us by divine power: so great is the fault it stands beset with. These things I will make clear to you later, Memmius; now let me set forth what remains concerning motions.
At quidam contra haec, ignari materiai, naturam non posse deum sine numine reddunt tanto opere humanis rationibus atmoderate tempora mutare annorum frugesque creare et iam cetera, mortalis quae suadet adire ipsaque deducit dux vitae dia voluptas et res per Veneris blanditur saecla propagent, ne genus occidat humanum. quorum omnia causa constituisse deos cum fingunt, omnibus rebus magno opere a vera lapsi ratione videntur. nam quamvis rerum ignorem primordia quae sint, hoc tamen ex ipsis caeli rationibus ausim confirmare aliisque ex rebus reddere multis, nequaquam nobis divinitus esse creatam naturam mundi: tanta stat praedita culpa. quae tibi posterius, Memmi, faciemus aperta; nunc id quod super est de motibus expediemus.
Now is the place, I think, among these matters to confirm this too for you: that no bodily thing can by its own force be borne upward and travel upward. Let not the bodies of flames deceive you in this; for upward they are begotten and take their increase, and upward the shining crops and trees grow tall, though all weights, so far as in them lies, are borne downward. Nor, when fires leap up to the roofs of houses and with swift flame lick at the rafters and the beams, must we think they do this of their own accord, with no force beneath. It is the same when blood, let from our body, spurts out leaping high and scatters its gore. Do you not see, too, with how great a force the water’s moisture spits up beams and timbers? For the more we have pressed them straight down deep and forced them under, many together, hard and with great strain, the more eagerly it heaves them up again and sends them back, so that they surge out and leap clear by more than half their length. Yet we do not doubt, I think, that these things, so far as in them lies, are all borne downward through the empty void. So too, then, flames must be able, when squeezed out, to climb upward through the breezes of the air, although their weights, so far as in them lies, fight to drag them down. And the torches of night flying high in the sky— do you not see them draw long trails of flame in whatever quarters nature has given them passage? Do you not behold stars and constellations falling to earth? The sun, too, from the summit of heaven scatters all its heat abroad and sows the fields with light; to the earth, therefore, the sun’s heat also inclines. And you see lightnings fly aslant through the rains; now from here, now from there, the fires, bursting from the clouds, rush together; the force of flame falls to earth on every side.
Nunc locus est, ut opinor, in his illud quoque rebus confirmare tibi, nullam rem posse sua vi corpoream sursum ferri sursumque meare. ne tibi dent in eo flammarum corpora frudem; sursus enim versus gignuntur et augmina sumunt et sursum nitidae fruges arbustaque crescunt, pondera, quantum in se est, cum deorsum cuncta ferantur. nec cum subsiliunt ignes ad tecta domorum et celeri flamma degustant tigna trabesque, sponte sua facere id sine vi subiecta putandum est. quod genus e nostro com missus corpore sanguis emicat exultans alte spargitque cruorem. nonne vides etiam quanta vi tigna trabesque respuat umor aquae? nam quo magis ursimus altum derecta et magna vi multi pressimus aegre, tam cupide sursum removet magis atque remittit, plus ut parte foras emergant exiliantque. nec tamen haec, quantum est in se, dubitamus, opinor, quin vacuum per inane deorsum cuncta ferantur. sic igitur debent flammae quoque posse per auras aeris expressae sursum succedere, quamquam pondera, quantum in se est, deorsum de ducere pugnent. nocturnasque faces caeli sublime volantis nonne vides longos flammarum ducere tractus in quas cumque dedit partis natura meatum? non cadere in terras stellas et sidera cernis? sol etiam caeli de vertice dissipat omnis ardorem in partis et lumine conserit arva; in terras igitur quoque solis vergitur ardor. transversosque volare per imbris fulmina cernis, nunc hinc nunc illinc abrupti nubibus ignes concursant; cadit in terras vis flammea volgo.
This too in these matters I am eager you should learn: that when bodies are borne straight down through the void by their own weights, at times quite undetermined and in undetermined places they swerve a little from their course— just so much as you might call a change of movement. For did they not tend to swerve, all would fall downward like drops of rain through the deep void, and no collision would arise, no blow be dealt among the first-beginnings; so nature would never have made a thing.
Illud in his quoque te rebus cognoscere avemus, corpora cum deorsum rectum per inane feruntur ponderibus propriis, incerto tempore ferme incertisque locis spatio depellere paulum, tantum quod momen mutatum dicere possis. quod nisi declinare solerent, omnia deorsum imbris uti guttae caderent per inane profundum nec foret offensus natus nec plaga creata principiis; ita nihil umquam natura creasset.
But if anyone happens to believe that heavier bodies, because they are borne the more swiftly straight through the void, can fall from above upon the lighter, and so beget the blows that can give rise to the generative motions, he wanders far astray and recedes from true reasoning. For whatever falls through water and through thin air, these must speed their fall in proportion to their weights, because the body of water and the thin nature of air cannot hold back each thing equally, but yield the quicker, overcome by what is heavier; whereas, on the contrary, at no point, from no side, at no time can the empty void withstand any thing, but must give way continually, as its own nature demands; and therefore all things, through the unresisting void, must be borne, though of unequal weights, with equal speed. The heavier, then, can never fall from above upon the lighter, nor of themselves beget the blows that vary the motions through which nature carries on her work. Therefore again and again the bodies must incline a little; yet no more than the least, lest we seem to imagine slantwise motions, and the truth of the matter refute it. For this we see is plain and manifest, that weights, so far as in them lies, cannot move aslant when they plunge from above—as you can see for yourself; but that nothing at all swerves from the straight line of its path— who is there that can see this with his eyes?
Quod si forte aliquis credit graviora potesse corpora, quo citius rectum per inane feruntur, incidere ex supero levioribus atque ita plagas gignere, quae possint genitalis reddere motus, avius a vera longe ratione recedit. nam per aquas quae cumque cadunt atque aera rarum, haec pro ponderibus casus celerare necessest propterea quia corpus aquae naturaque tenvis aeris haud possunt aeque rem quamque morari, sed citius cedunt gravioribus exsuperata; at contra nulli de nulla parte neque ullo tempore inane potest vacuum subsistere rei, quin, sua quod natura petit, concedere pergat; omnia qua propter debent per inane quietum aeque ponderibus non aequis concita ferri. haud igitur poterunt levioribus incidere umquam ex supero graviora neque ictus gignere per se, qui varient motus, per quos natura gerat res. quare etiam atque etiam paulum inclinare necessest corpora; nec plus quam minimum, ne fingere motus obliquos videamur et id res vera refutet. namque hoc in promptu manifestumque esse videmus, pondera, quantum in se est, non posse obliqua meare, ex supero cum praecipitant, quod cernere possis; sed nihil omnino recta regione viai declinare quis est qui possit cernere sese?
Lastly, if all motion is forever linked together, and new motion arises from old in fixed order, and the first-beginnings do not, by swerving, make some beginning of motion that breaks the covenants of fate, so that cause should not follow cause from infinity, whence comes this free will for living things throughout the earth, whence, I say, comes this will wrested from the fates, through which we go forward wherever pleasure leads each of us, and swerve our motions too, at no fixed time nor fixed region of place, but where the mind itself has borne us? For beyond doubt it is each one’s own will that gives the beginning to these things, and from it motion is poured through the limbs. Do you not see, too, that though the starting-gates are flung open at a point of time, the eager force of the horses cannot burst forth so suddenly as the mind itself desires? For the whole store of matter throughout the body must be roused, so that, roused through all the frame, it may, straining, follow the mind’s eager purpose; so that you may see the start of motion arise from the heart, and proceed first from the will of the mind, and thence be passed onward through the whole body and limbs. Nor is it the same as when we move forward, driven by a blow, by the great strength and great compulsion of another; for then it is plain that all the matter of the whole body goes and is swept along against our will, until the will has reined it in throughout the limbs. Do you see now, then, that although an outward force drives many on and often compels them, unwilling, to go forward and be swept headlong, yet there is in our breast something that can fight against it and withstand it? At whose bidding too the store of matter is forced at times to be turned through the limbs, through the frame, and, thrust forward, is reined back and settles down again. Therefore in the seeds too you must confess the same, that there is, besides blows and weights, another cause of motions, from which this power is born in us, since we see that nothing can come from nothing. For weight prevents all things from coming about by blows, as by an outward force; but that the mind itself should not bear an inner necessity in all its doings, and, as if overmastered, be forced to endure and suffer, this is the work of the tiny swerve of the first-beginnings, at no fixed region of place nor fixed time.
Denique si semper motu conectitur omnis et vetere exoritur motus novus ordine certo nec declinando faciunt primordia motus principium quoddam, quod fati foedera rumpat, ex infinito ne causam causa sequatur, libera per terras unde haec animantibus exstat, unde est haec, inquam, fatis avolsa voluntas, per quam progredimur quo ducit quemque voluptas, declinamus item motus nec tempore certo nec regione loci certa, sed ubi ipsa tulit mens? nam dubio procul his rebus sua cuique voluntas principium dat et hinc motus per membra rigantur. nonne vides etiam patefactis tempore puncto carceribus non posse tamen prorumpere equorum vim cupidam tam de subito quam mens avet ipsa? omnis enim totum per corpus materiai copia conciri debet, concita per artus omnis ut studium mentis conixa sequatur; ut videas initum motus a corde creari ex animique voluntate id procedere primum, inde dari porro per totum corpus et artus. nec similest ut cum inpulsi procedimus ictu viribus alterius magnis magnoque coactu; nam tum materiem totius corporis omnem perspicuumst nobis invitis ire rapique, donec eam refrenavit per membra voluntas. iamne vides igitur, quamquam vis extera multos pellat et invitos cogat procedere saepe praecipitesque rapi, tamen esse in pectore nostro quiddam quod contra pugnare obstareque possit? cuius ad arbitrium quoque copia materiai cogitur inter dum flecti per membra per artus et proiecta refrenatur retroque residit. quare in seminibus quoque idem fateare necessest, esse aliam praeter plagas et pondera causam motibus, unde haec est nobis innata potestas, de nihilo quoniam fieri nihil posse videmus. pondus enim prohibet ne plagis omnia fiant externa quasi vi; sed ne res ipsa necessum intestinum habeat cunctis in rebus agendis et devicta quasi cogatur ferre patique, id facit exiguum clinamen principiorum nec regione loci certa nec tempore certo.
Nor was the store of matter ever more tightly packed, nor again held apart at greater intervals; for nothing is added to it and nothing perishes from it. And so, in whatever motion the bodies of the first-beginnings are now, in that same they were in the ages gone by, and hereafter will always be borne in like fashion, and the things wont to be begotten will be begotten on the same terms, and will be, and grow, and be strong in their force, as much as is granted to each by the covenants of nature. And no force can change the sum of things; for there is nothing outside the whole into which any kind of matter might escape, nor whence a new force might arise and break into the whole and change the whole nature of things and overturn its motions.
Nec stipata magis fuit umquam materiai copia nec porro maioribus intervallis; nam neque adaugescit quicquam neque deperit inde. qua propter quo nunc in motu principiorum corpora sunt, in eodem ante acta aetate fuere et post haec semper simili ratione ferentur, et quae consuerint gigni gignentur eadem condicione et erunt et crescent vique valebunt, quantum cuique datum est per foedera naturai. nec rerum summam commutare ulla potest vis; nam neque quo possit genus ullum materiai effugere ex omni quicquam est extra, neque in omne unde coorta queat nova vis inrumpere et omnem naturam rerum mutare et vertere motus.
In these matters it is no marvel why, though all the first-beginnings of things are in motion, the sum yet seems to stand in utter stillness, except where something gives motion by its own body. For the whole nature of the first bodies lies far beneath our senses; and so, since you cannot discern the bodies themselves, they must withdraw their motions too from sight; especially since even the things we can discern often hide their motions when set apart by a stretch of space. For often on a hill, cropping the glad pasture, the woolly sheep move on, wherever the grass, jewelled with fresh dew, calls and invites each one, and the lambs, well fed, play and butt in fun; all which to us, far off, seem blurred into one, and like a white patch at rest upon the green hill. Besides, when great legions fill the spaces of the plains with their running, stirring up the semblances of war, when the gleam rises to the sky and all the earth around shines back with bronze, and beneath the feet of men a din is roused by their force, and the mountains, struck by the shouting, fling the voices back to the stars of the world, and the horsemen wheel and of a sudden gallop across the middle of the plains, shaking them with their mighty charge; and yet there is a certain place, high in the mountains, from which they seem to stand still, and the gleam to rest upon the plains.
Illud in his rebus non est mirabile, quare, omnia cum rerum primordia sint in motu, summa tamen summa videatur stare quiete, praeter quam siquid proprio dat corpore motus. omnis enim longe nostris ab sensibus infra primorum natura iacet; qua propter, ubi ipsa cernere iam nequeas, motus quoque surpere debent; praesertim cum, quae possimus cernere, celent saepe tamen motus spatio diducta locorum. nam saepe in colli tondentes pabula laeta lanigerae reptant pecudes, quo quamque vocantes invitant herbae gemmantes rore recenti, et satiati agni ludunt blandeque coruscant; omnia quae nobis longe confusa videntur et velut in viridi candor consistere colli. praeterea magnae legiones cum loca cursu camporum complent belli simulacra cientes, fulgor ubi ad caelum se tollit totaque circum aere renidescit tellus supterque virum vi excitur pedibus sonitus clamoreque montes icti reiectant voces ad sidera mundi et circum volitant equites mediosque repente tramittunt valido quatientes impete campos; et tamen est quidam locus altis montibus, unde stare videntur et in campis consistere fulgor.
Now come, learn next of what kind are the beginnings of all things, and how far apart in their shapes, how varied with forms of many a kind; not that many are not endowed with a like form, but because they are not, as a rule, all alike to all. No wonder; for since their store is so great that there is, as I have shown, no limit nor any sum, they cannot surely all of them, one and all, be of one thread and fashioned in a single shape. Besides, the human race, and the mute swimming herds of the scaly kind, and the glad cattle, and the wild beasts, and the various birds—those that throng the gladdening places of the waters about the banks and springs and lakes, and those that flit and crowd the trackless woods— take any one of these you please, kind by kind: you will find, even so, that they differ among themselves in shape. Nor in any other way could the offspring know its mother, nor the mother her offspring; yet we see that they can, and are known to one another no less than men are. For often before the gods’ fair shrines a calf, slain beside the incense-burning altars, falls, breathing out from its breast a warm stream of blood; but the bereaved mother, ranging the green glades, knows the footprints pressed in the ground by the cloven hoofs, scanning all places with her eyes, if she might somewhere catch sight of her lost young; and she fills the leafy grove with her plaints, standing still, and again and again comes back to the stall, pierced through with longing for her calf, nor can the tender willows and the grasses fresh with dew and the rivers gliding level with their banks delight her heart and turn aside the sudden care, nor can the sight of other calves throughout the glad pastures draw off her mind and lighten her of care; so much does she seek that one thing, her own and known. Besides, the tender kids with their tremulous cries know their horned dams, and the butting lambs the bleating flocks; so, as nature demands, each, for the most part, runs to its own udder of milk. Lastly, take any grain you will: you will not see each one even of its own kind so like the rest but that some difference of shape runs between them. And the kind of shells we see in like manner paint the bosom of the earth, where with its soft waves the sea has fed the thirsty sand of the curving shore. Wherefore again and again, by the same reasoning, it must be that, since the first-beginnings of things consist by nature and are not made by hand to one fixed form, some of them fly about with shapes unlike each other.
Nunc age, iam deinceps cunctarum exordia rerum qualia sint et quam longe distantia formis, percipe, multigenis quam sint variata figuris; non quo multa parum simili sint praedita forma, sed quia non volgo paria omnibus omnia constant. nec mirum; nam cum sit eorum copia tanta, ut neque finis, uti docui, neque summa sit ulla, debent ni mirum non omnibus omnia prorsum esse pari filo similique adfecta figura. Praeterea genus humanum mutaeque natantes squamigerum pecudes et laeta armenta feraeque et variae volucres, laetantia quae loca aquarum concelebrant circum ripas fontisque lacusque, et quae pervolgant nemora avia pervolitantes, quorum unum quidvis generatim sumere perge; invenies tamen inter se differre figuris. nec ratione alia proles cognoscere matrem nec mater posset prolem; quod posse videmus nec minus atque homines inter se nota cluere. nam saepe ante deum vitulus delubra decora turicremas propter mactatus concidit aras sanguinis expirans calidum de pectore flumen; at mater viridis saltus orbata peragrans novit humi pedibus vestigia pressa bisulcis, omnia convisens oculis loca, si queat usquam conspicere amissum fetum, completque querellis frondiferum nemus adsistens et crebra revisit ad stabulum desiderio perfixa iuvenci, nec tenerae salices atque herbae rore vigentes fluminaque ulla queunt summis labentia ripis oblectare animum subitamque avertere curam, nec vitulorum aliae species per pabula laeta derivare queunt animum curaque levare; usque adeo quiddam proprium notumque requirit. praeterea teneri tremulis cum vocibus haedi cornigeras norunt matres agnique petulci balantum pecudes; ita, quod natura resposcit, ad sua quisque fere decurrunt ubera lactis. Postremo quodvis frumentum non tamen omne quidque suo genere inter se simile esse videbis, quin intercurrat quaedam distantia formis. concharumque genus parili ratione videmus pingere telluris gremium, qua mollibus undis litoris incurvi bibulam pavit aequor harenam. quare etiam atque etiam simili ratione necessest, natura quoniam constant neque facta manu sunt unius ad certam formam primordia rerum, dissimili inter se quaedam volitare figura.
It is very easy for us, by reasoning of the mind, to resolve why the fire of lightning is far more piercing than ours that flows, arisen from earthly torches; for you might say that the heavenly fire of the lightning is finer, made of smaller shapes, and so passes through openings that this fire of ours, arisen from wood and made of the pine-torch, cannot. Besides, light passes through horn, but rain is spat back. Why, unless the bodies of light are smaller than those that make up the nourishing liquid of the waters? And however quickly we see wines flow through a strainer, the sluggish olive-oil, by contrast, lingers and holds back, either because, no doubt, it is of larger elements, or of ones more hooked and more interlaced among themselves, and so it comes about that the single first-beginnings cannot be drawn so suddenly apart from one another, each to seep through each of the openings.
Perfacile est animi ratione exsolvere nobis quare fulmineus multo penetralior ignis quam noster fluat e taedis terrestribus ortus; dicere enim possis caelestem fulminis ignem subtilem magis e parvis constare figuris atque ideo transire foramina quae nequit ignis noster hic e lignis ortus taedaque creatus. praeterea lumen per cornum transit, at imber respuitur. quare, nisi luminis illa minora corpora sunt quam de quibus est liquor almus aquarum? et quamvis subito per colum vina videmus perfluere, at contra tardum cunctatur olivom, aut quia ni mirum maioribus est elementis aut magis hamatis inter se perque plicatis, atque ideo fit uti non tam diducta repente inter se possint primordia singula quaeque singula per cuiusque foramina permanare.
Add to this that the liquids of honey and milk are handled with pleasant sensation by the tongue in the mouth; but, by contrast, the foul nature of wormwood and of harsh centaury twist the mouth awry with their loathsome taste; so that you may easily recognize that of smooth and round elements are those things that can touch the senses pleasantly, but that, by contrast, whatever seems bitter and rough, these are held bound together by more hooked elements, and for that reason are wont to tear open the passages to our senses and to break into the body at their entrance. In short, all things good to the senses and bad to the touch are at war among themselves, being made of unlike shape; lest you should think the harsh shudder of the screeching saw is made of elements as smooth as the music of the Muses, which the player shapes upon the strings, waking it with nimble fingers; nor think that first-beginnings of like shape pierce into the nostrils of men, when foul corpses are burning, and when the stage is freshly sprinkled with Cilician saffron and the altar nearby breathes out Panchaean perfumes; nor suppose that the good colours of things are made of like seed, those that can feast the eyes, and those that prick the sight and force it to weep, or that, foul to look on, seem hideous and base. For everything that soothes the senses, whatever it be, has been created with some smoothness in its first elements; but, by contrast, whatever is harsh and troublesome is found to be made with some roughness of its matter.
Huc accedit uti mellis lactisque liquores iucundo sensu linguae tractentur in ore; at contra taetra absinthi natura ferique centauri foedo pertorquent ora sapore; ut facile agnoscas e levibus atque rutundis esse ea quae sensus iucunde tangere possunt, at contra quae amara atque aspera cumque videntur, haec magis hamatis inter se nexa teneri proptereaque solere vias rescindere nostris sensibus introituque suo perrumpere corpus. omnia postremo bona sensibus et mala tactu dissimili inter se pugnant perfecta figura; ne tu forte putes serrae stridentis acerbum horrorem constare elementis levibus aeque ac musaea mele, per chordas organici quae mobilibus digitis expergefacta figurant; neu simili penetrare putes primordia forma in nares hominum, cum taetra cadavera torrent, et cum scena croco Cilici perfusa recens est araque Panchaeos exhalat propter odores; neve bonos rerum simili constare colores semine constituas, oculos qui pascere possunt, et qui conpungunt aciem lacrimareque cogunt aut foeda specie foedi turpesque videntur. omnis enim, sensus quae mulcet cumque, tibi res haut sine principiali aliquo levore creatast; at contra quae cumque molesta atque aspera constat, non aliquo sine materiae squalore repertast.
There are also some that are rightly thought neither smooth nor altogether hooked with bent points, but rather with little angles slightly projecting, such as can tickle the senses rather than hurt them— of which kind are the lees of wine and the flavours of elecampane.
Sunt etiam quae iam nec levia iure putantur esse neque omnino flexis mucronibus unca, sed magis angellis paulum prostantibus, ut quae titillare magis sensus quam laedere possint, fecula iam quo de genere est inulaeque sapores.
Lastly, that the hot fires and the icy frost prick the senses of the body, jagged in different ways, the touch of each is proof to us. For touch, touch—by the holy powers of the gods!— is the sense of the body, whether when something from outside makes its way in, or when something born within the body hurts, or gives delight as it goes out in the generative works of Venus, or when, from a collision, the seeds are thrown into turmoil within the body itself, and, set astir, confound the sense among themselves; as if you should chance to strike with your own hand some part of your body and put it to the test. Wherefore the shapes of the first-beginnings must differ widely, such as can give rise to varied sensations.
Denique iam calidos ignis gelidamque pruinam dissimili dentata modo conpungere sensus corporis, indicio nobis est tactus uterque. tactus enim, tactus, pro divum numina sancta, corporis est sensus, vel cum res extera sese insinuat, vel cum laedit quae in corpore natast aut iuvat egrediens genitalis per Veneris res, aut ex offensu cum turbant corpore in ipso, semina confundunt inter se concita sensum; ut si forte manu quamvis iam corporis ipse tute tibi partem ferias atque experiare. qua propter longe formas distare necessest principiis, varios quae possint edere sensus.
Lastly, the things that seem to us hardened and dense, these must be the more hooked among themselves and held deeply compacted, as if with branching parts. In which kind, first of all, the adamantine rocks stand in the front rank, wont to scorn blows, and the strong flints and the strength of hard iron and the bronze that cries out as it resists the bolts. Those things, indeed, must be the more of smooth and round elements which stand liquid, of flowing body. For a draught of poppy-seed is as easy as one of water; for the little rounded grains do not hold one another back, and each, when struck, rolls readily down the slope. In short, all the things you see scatter in a point of time, like smoke, clouds, and flames, must, if they are not wholly of smooth and round elements, yet at least not be entangled with interlocking ones, so that they can prick the body and pierce through rocks, yet not cleave to one another; so that whatever we see to be jagged to the senses, you may easily recognize is made not of interlocking but of sharp elements. But that you see the same things bitter which stand fluid, as the sweat of the sea is, ought to be no marvel at all For what is fluid is of smooth and round elements, but mingled with the smooth are hooked bodies that bring pain. Yet these need not be hooked and held together: they may, of course, be globular though rough, so that they can roll along and at once hurt the senses. And that you may the more believe that rough are mixed with smooth first-beginnings, from which comes the bitter body of Neptune, there is a way of parting them and seeing them apart: when the sweet water, the same, is filtered again and again through the earth, so that it flows into a pit and grows mild; for it leaves behind, above, the first-beginnings of the foul brine, since the rough ones can the more readily stick fast in the earth.
Denique quae nobis durata ac spissa videntur, haec magis hamatis inter sese esse necessest et quasi ramosis alte compacta teneri. in quo iam genere in primis adamantina saxa prima acie constant ictus contemnere sueta et validi silices ac duri robora ferri aeraque quae claustris restantia vociferantur. illa quidem debent e levibus atque rutundis esse magis, fluvido quae corpore liquida constant. namque papaveris haustus itemst facilis quod aquarum; nec retinentur enim inter se glomeramina quaeque et perculsus item proclive volubilis exstat. omnia postremo quae puncto tempore cernis diffugere ut fumum nebulas flammasque, necessest, si minus omnia sunt e levibus atque rotundis, at non esse tamen perplexis indupedita, pungere uti possint corpus penetrareque saxa, nec tamen haerere inter se; quod cumque videmus sensibus dentatum, facile ut cognoscere possis non e perplexis, sed acutis esse elementis. sed quod amara vides eadem quae fluvida constant, sudor uti maris est, minime mirabile debet nam quod fluvidus est, e levibus atque rotundis est, sed levibus sunt hamata admixta doloris corpora. nec tamen haec retineri hamata necessust: scilicet esse globosa tamen, cum squalida constent, provolvi simul ut possint et laedere sensus. et quo mixta putes magis aspera levibus esse principiis, unde est Neptuni corpus acerbum, est ratio secernendi seorsumque videndi, umor dulcis ubi per terras crebrius idem percolatur, ut in foveam fluat ac mansuescat; linquit enim supera taetri primordia viri, aspera quo magis in terris haerescere possint.
Since I have shown this, I will go on to link to it a matter that, hanging on this, draws conviction from it: that the first-beginnings of things vary by a finite reckoning of shapes. For if it were not so, then again certain seeds would have to be of infinite bodily increase. For within the one same smallness of any single body the shapes cannot vary much among themselves. For suppose the first bodies to be of three least parts, or add a few more; then, when you have tried in every way all those parts of one body—placing top and bottom, shifting right for left— and learned what look of form each arrangement gives to the whole of that body, for what remains, if you should wish to vary the shapes further, you will have to add other parts. From this it will follow that in like manner the arrangement calls for still others, if you should wish to vary the shapes yet again. So an increase of body follows on each new form. Therefore there is no way you can believe that the seeds differ in infinite forms, lest you force some of them to be of monstrous hugeness, which, as I have already shown above, cannot be proved possible. For then the barbaric robes and the gleaming Meliboean purple, dyed with the Thessalian colour of the shellfish, and the golden breeds of peacocks, steeped in laughing charm, would lie outdone by some new colour of things, and the scent of myrrh and the flavours of honey would be scorned, and the swan’s song and the songs of Phoebus, intricate upon the strings, in like manner overborne would fall silent; for one thing after another, more excellent, would keep arising. Likewise all things could pass back the other way into worse, just as we have said they could into better; for one thing after another, going backward too, would be fouler to the nostrils, the ears, the eyes, and the taste of the mouth. Since these things are not so, but a fixed limit on either side holds fast the sum assigned to things, you must confess that matter too differs by a finite range of shapes. Lastly, from fires to the icy frosts of winter the range is finite, and back again, by like measure, retraced. For all heat and cold and the lukewarm states between lie between the two, filling out the sum in order. So created things differ by a finite range, since they are marked off at both ends by a two-edged point, on this side beset by flames, on that by stiff frosts.
Quod quoniam docui, pergam conectere rem quae ex hoc apta fidem ducat, primordia rerum finita variare figurarum ratione. quod si non ita sit, rursum iam semina quaedam esse infinito debebunt corporis auctu. namque in eadem una cuiusvis iam brevitate corporis inter se multum variare figurae non possunt. fac enim minimis e partibus esse corpora prima tribus, vel paulo pluribus auge; nempe ubi eas partis unius corporis omnis, summa atque ima locans, transmutans dextera laevis, omnimodis expertus eris, quam quisque det ordo formai speciem totius corporis eius, quod super est, si forte voles variare figuras, addendum partis alias erit. inde sequetur, adsimili ratione alias ut postulet ordo, si tu forte voles etiam variare figuras. ergo formarum novitatem corporis augmen subsequitur. quare non est ut credere possis esse infinitis distantia semina formis, ne quaedam cogas inmani maximitate esse, supra quod iam docui non posse probari. iam tibi barbaricae vestes Meliboeaque fulgens purpura Thessalico concharum tacta colore, aurea pavonum ridenti imbuta lepore saecla novo rerum superata colore iacerent et contemptus odor smyrnae mellisque sapores, et cycnea mele Phoebeaque daedala chordis carmina consimili ratione oppressa silerent; namque aliis aliud praestantius exoreretur. cedere item retro possent in deteriores omnia sic partis, ut diximus in melioris; namque aliis aliud retro quoque taetrius esset naribus auribus atque oculis orisque sapori. quae quoniam non sunt, sed rebus reddita certa finis utrimque tenet summam, fateare necessest materiem quoque finitis differe figuris. denique ab ignibus ad gelidas hiemum usque pruinas finitumst retroque pari ratione remensumst. omnis enim calor ac frigus mediique tepores interutrasque iacent explentes ordine summam. ergo finita distant ratione creata, ancipiti quoniam mucroni utrimque notantur, hinc flammis illinc rigidis infesta pruinis.
Since I have shown this, I will go on to link to it a matter that, hanging on this, draws conviction from it: that the first-beginnings of things which are made of like shape among themselves are infinite in number. For since the difference of forms is finite, those that are alike must of necessity be infinite, or else the sum of matter must stand finite—which I have proved is not so. in my verses I will show that the little bodies of matter out of infinity uphold the sum of things forever, by an unbroken succession of blows on every side. For though you see that certain creatures are rarer, and discern a less fruitful nature in them, yet in another region and place and in lands far off many of that kind may exist and the number be filled out; as among four-footed beasts in the first rank we see the snake-handed elephants, by whose many thousands India is walled about with a rampart of ivory, so that it cannot be pierced to the heart: so great is the host of beasts, of which we see but very few examples. But yet, even granting this too, let there be, if you like, some one single thing alone with a body born unique, to which there is nothing like in the whole round of the world; yet unless there is an infinite supply of matter from which it could be conceived and brought to birth, it will not be able to be created nor, for the rest, to grow and be fed. For indeed, suppose others assume that finite bodies, the generative bodies of a single thing, are tossed through the all, whence, where, by what force, and in what way will they meet and unite, in so great a sea of matter, in a throng of alien stuff? They have, I think, no means of coming together: but just as, when great shipwrecks, and many, have arisen, the great sea is wont to scatter abroad benches, ribs, yard-arms, prow, masts, and floating oars, so that along all the shores of the lands the floating stern-pieces are seen, and give a warning to mortals to shun the snares and the force and the guile of the treacherous sea, and never to trust it at any time, when the cunning allurement of the calm deep smiles— so for you, if once you set up certain finite first-beginnings, the diverse tides of matter, scattering them through all time, must fling them apart, so that, driven together, they can never come into union, nor linger in union, nor grow by increase; yet that each of these does happen, plain fact teaches openly— that things can both be begotten and, once begotten, grow. It is plain, therefore, that in any kind whatever the first-beginnings of things are infinite, from which all things are supplied.
Quod quoniam docui, pergam conectere rem quae ex hoc apta fidem ducat, primordia rerum, inter se simili quae sunt perfecta figura, infinita cluere. etenim distantia cum sit formarum finita, necesse est quae similes sint esse infinitas aut summam materiai finitam constare, id quod non esse probavi. versibus ostendam corpuscula materiai ex infinito summam rerum usque tenere undique protelo plagarum continuato. nam quod rara vides magis esse animalia quaedam fecundamque magis naturam cernis in illis, at regione locoque alio terrisque remotis multa licet genere esse in eo numerumque repleri; sicut quadripedum cum primis esse videmus in genere anguimanus elephantos, India quorum milibus e multis vallo munitur eburno, ut penitus nequeat penetrari: tanta ferarum vis est, quarum nos perpauca exempla videmus. sed tamen id quoque uti concedam, quam lubet esto unica res quaedem nativo corpore sola, cui similis toto terrarum non sit, in orbi; infinita tamen nisi erit vis materiai, unde ea progigni possit concepta, creari non poterit neque, quod super est, procrescere alique. quippe etenim sumant alii finita per omne corpora iactari unius genitalia rei, unde ubi qua vi et quo pacto congressa coibunt materiae tanto in pelago turbaque aliena? non, ut opinor, habent rationem conciliandi: sed quasi naufragiis magnis multisque coortis disiactare solet magnum mare transtra cavernas antemnas prorem malos tonsasque natantis, per terrarum omnis oras fluitantia aplustra ut videantur et indicium mortalibus edant, infidi maris insidias virisque dolumque ut vitare velint, neve ullo tempore credant, subdola cum ridet placidi pellacia ponti, sic tibi si finita semel primordia quaedam constitues, aevom debebunt sparsa per omnem disiectare aestus diversi materiai, numquam in concilium ut possint compulsa coire nec remorari in concilio nec crescere adaucta; quorum utrumque palam fieri manifesta docet res, et res progigni et genitas procrescere posse. esse igitur genere in quovis primordia rerum infinita palam est, unde omnia suppeditantur.
And so the motions of destruction cannot prevail forever, nor bury safety for eternity, nor again can the generative and increasing motions of things preserve forever what is created. So in even contest is waged the war of the first-beginnings, drawn out from time without end. Now here, now there, the life-forces of things prevail and are overcome in turn. With the funeral mingles the wailing cry that children raise as they look upon the shores of light; and no night ever followed day, nor dawn the night, that has not heard, mingled with the sickly wailings, the laments that attend death and the black funeral.
Nec superare queunt motus itaque exitiales perpetuo neque in aeternum sepelire salutem, nec porro rerum genitales auctificique motus perpetuo possunt servare creata. sic aequo geritur certamine principiorum ex infinito contractum tempore bellum. nunc hic nunc illic superant vitalia rerum et superantur item. miscetur funere vagor, quem pueri tollunt visentis luminis oras; nec nox ulla diem neque noctem aurora secutast, quae non audierit mixtos vagitibus aegris ploratus, mortis comites et funeris atri.
This too in these matters it is fitting to hold sealed, and to keep entrusted to a mindful memory: that there is nothing, of those whose nature lies open to view, which consists of first-beginnings of a single kind, nor anything that is not made of mingled seed. And whatever possesses in itself the more forces and powers, the more it shows that it holds within it the most kinds of first-beginnings and varied shapes.
Illud in his obsignatum quoque rebus habere convenit et memori mandatum mente tenere, nil esse, in promptu quorum natura videtur, quod genere ex uno consistat principiorum, nec quicquam quod non permixto semine constet. et quod cumque magis vis multas possidet in se atque potestates, ita plurima principiorum in sese genera ac varias docet esse figuras.
First, the earth has within it the first bodies from which the springs, rolling coolness, may ceaselessly renew the measureless sea; it has those from which fires may rise; for in many places the soils of the earth, set ablaze, burn, and from its lowest depths the onrush of Aetna rages with fire. Then, further, it has wherewith to raise up the shining crops and the glad orchards for the races of men, whence too it can furnish rivers, foliage, and glad pastures to the mountain-roaming kind of wild beasts. Wherefore she alone has been called the great mother of the gods, and mother of the wild beasts, and parent of our body.
Principio tellus habet in se corpora prima, unde mare inmensum volventes frigora fontes adsidue renovent, habet ignes unde oriantur; nam multis succensa locis ardent sola terrae, ex imis vero furit ignibus impetus Aetnae. tum porro nitidas fruges arbustaque laeta gentibus humanis habet unde extollere possit, unde etiam fluvios frondes et pabula laeta montivago generi possit praebere ferarum. quare magna deum mater materque ferarum et nostri genetrix haec dicta est corporis una.
Her the learned poets of the Greeks of old sang as driving, from her seat, a pair of yoked lions in a car, teaching thereby that the great earth hangs in the space of air and that earth cannot rest upon earth. They yoked wild beasts, because offspring, however savage, ought to be softened, overcome by the kind offices of parents. And they girt the top of her head with a mural crown, because, fortified in chosen places, she upholds cities. With which emblem now, adorned, through great lands the image of the divine mother is borne in awe-inspiring state. Her the various nations, in the ancient rite of worship, call the Idaean mother, and give her Phrygian bands for company, because from those borders, they declare, grain first began to be created throughout the round of the lands. They assign her the Galli, because those who have violated the godhead of the Mother, and been found thankless to their parents, they mean to mark as men to be judged unworthy to bring living offspring into the shores of light. Taut drums thunder under their palms, and cymbals all around, hollow, and horns threaten with harsh-sounding blare, and the hollow pipe goads their minds with its Phrygian measure, and they carry weapons before them, signs of violent frenzy, such as can terrify, by the goddess’s power, with dread the thankless minds and impious hearts of the throng. So when first, borne in through great cities, she silently enriches mortals with a wordless blessing, they strew all the way of the roads with bronze and silver, enriching her with bountiful largesse, and snow down roses, shading with the blossoms the mother and her band of attendants. Here an armed band, whom the Greeks call by the name of Curetes, when by chance they sport among the Phrygian companies and leap in measure, glad with blood, shaking with a nod the terrifying crests upon their heads, recall the Dictaean Curetes, who once in Crete, the story goes, hid that crying of Jupiter, when the boys around the boy, in nimble dance, armed, and in measure, in a nimble dance, in arms beat bronze upon bronze in time, lest Saturn should seize him and consign him to his jaws and deal the mother an everlasting wound beneath her heart. For this reason armed men attend the great mother; or because they signify that the goddess bids them be willing to defend their native land with arms and valour, and to make themselves a guard and a grace to their parents. All which, though finely and excellently set forth, are yet cast far back from true reasoning. For the whole nature of the gods must of itself enjoy its deathless age in the deepest peace, withdrawn from our affairs and far set apart; for, free of every pain, free of every danger, strong in its own resources, needing nothing of ours, it is neither won by good deeds nor touched by anger. The earth, indeed, in truth lacks sensation at all times, and because it possesses the first-beginnings of many things, it brings forth many, in many ways, into the light of the sun. Here, if anyone resolves to call the sea Neptune, and the crops Ceres, and chooses to misuse the name of Bacchus rather than utter the proper term for the liquid, let us grant that he may keep calling the round of the lands the mother of the gods, provided that in very truth he himself forbear to taint his mind with base superstition.
Hanc veteres Graium docti cecinere poetae sedibus in curru biiugos agitare leones, aeris in spatio magnam pendere docentes tellurem neque posse in terra sistere terram. adiunxere feras, quia quamvis effera proles officiis debet molliri victa parentum. muralique caput summum cinxere corona, eximiis munita locis quia sustinet urbes. quo nunc insigni per magnas praedita terras horrifice fertur divinae matris imago. hanc variae gentes antiquo more sacrorum Idaeam vocitant matrem Phrygiasque catervas dant comites, quia primum ex illis finibus edunt per terrarum orbes fruges coepisse creari. Gallos attribuunt, quia, numen qui violarint Matris et ingrati genitoribus inventi sint, significare volunt indignos esse putandos, vivam progeniem qui in oras luminis edant. tympana tenta tonant palmis et cymbala circum concava, raucisonoque minantur cornua cantu, et Phrygio stimulat numero cava tibia mentis, telaque praeportant, violenti signa furoris, ingratos animos atque impia pectora volgi conterrere metu quae possint numine divae. ergo cum primum magnas invecta per urbis munificat tacita mortalis muta salute, aere atque argento sternunt iter omne viarum largifica stipe ditantes ninguntque rosarum floribus umbrantes matrem comitumque catervam. hic armata manus, Curetas nomine Grai quos memorant, Phrygias inter si forte catervas ludunt in numerumque exultant sanguine laeti terrificas capitum quatientes numine cristas, Dictaeos referunt Curetas, qui Iovis illum vagitum in Creta quondam occultasse feruntur, cum pueri circum puerum pernice chorea armat et in numerum pernice chorea armati in numerum pulsarent aeribus aera, ne Saturnus eum malis mandaret adeptus aeternumque daret matri sub pectore volnus. propterea magnam armati matrem comitantur, aut quia significant divam praedicere ut armis ac virtute velint patriam defendere terram praesidioque parent decorique parentibus esse. quae bene et eximie quamvis disposta ferantur, longe sunt tamen a vera ratione repulsa. omnis enim per se divom natura necessest inmortali aevo summa cum pace fruatur semota ab nostris rebus seiunctaque longe; nam privata dolore omni, privata periclis, ipsa suis pollens opibus, nihil indiga nostri, nec bene promeritis capitur neque tangitur ira. terra quidem vero caret omni tempore sensu, et quia multarum potitur primordia rerum, multa modis multis effert in lumina solis. hic siquis mare Neptunum Cereremque vocare constituet fruges et Bacchi nomine abuti mavolt quam laticis proprium proferre vocamen, concedamus ut hic terrarum dictitet orbem esse deum matrem, dum vera re tamen ipse religione animum turpi contingere parcat.
So often, cropping the grass from one same field, the woolly sheep and the warlike breed of horses and the horned herds, under the same covering of heaven, and slaking their thirst from one same river of water, live with unlike appearance, and keep the nature of their parents and imitate, each kind, their ways. So great is the diversity of matter in any kind of grass, so great too in any river.
Saepe itaque ex uno tondentes gramina campo lanigerae pecudes et equorum duellica proles buceriaeque greges eodem sub tegmine caeli ex unoque sitim sedantes flumine aquai dissimili vivont specie retinentque parentum naturam et mores generatim quaeque imitantur. tanta est in quovis genere herbae materiai dissimilis ratio, tanta est in flumine quoque.
Hence, further, any one living creature you please, out of them all, bones, blood, veins, heat, moisture, flesh, sinews compose—and these, again, are widely different, made of first-beginnings of unlike shape.
Hinc porro quamvis animantem ex omnibus unam ossa cruor venae calor umor viscera nervi constituunt, quae sunt porro distantia longe, dissimili perfecta figura principiorum.
Then, further, whatever things are set ablaze and burned by fire, if nothing else, yet store within their body the means whereby they can cast out fire and send up light and drive sparks and scatter ash far and wide. Ranging over the rest with like reasoning of the mind, you will find, then, that they hide within their body the seeds of many things and hold varied shapes.
Tum porro quae cumque igni flammata cremantur. si nil praeterea, tamen haec in corpore tradunt, unde ignem iacere et lumen submittere possint scintillasque agere ac late differre favillam. cetera consimili mentis ratione peragrans invenies igitur multarum semina rerum corpore celare et varias cohibere figuras.
Lastly, you see many things to which both colour and taste are given together with scent—most of all, very many fruits. These, therefore, must consist of varied shapes; for the smell penetrates where the colour does not enter the frame, the colour likewise apart, apart the taste makes its way into the senses; so that you may know they differ in their first shapes. Unlike forms, therefore, come together into one cluster, and things consist of mingled seed.
Denique multa vides, quibus et color et sapor una reddita sunt cum odore in primis pleraque poma. haec igitur variis debent constare figuris; nidor enim penetrat qua fucus non it in artus, fucus item sorsum, sorsum sapor insinuatur sensibus; ut noscas primis differre figuris. dissimiles igitur formae glomeramen in unum conveniunt et res permixto semine constant.
Nay more, here and there in these very verses of mine you see many letters common to many words, though you must confess that the verses and words among themselves are made, the one from the other, of different letters; not that few letters in common run through them, or that no two of them all are made of the same throughout, but because they are not, as a rule, all alike to all. So in other things likewise, though many first-beginnings are common to many things, yet they can stand together in an unlike sum among themselves; so that with reason the human race may be said to be made of others than the crops and the glad orchards are.
Quin etiam passim nostris in versibus ipsis multa elementa vides multis communia verbis, cum tamen inter se versus ac verba necesse est confiteare alia ex aliis constare elementis; non quo multa parum communis littera currat aut nulla inter se duo sint ex omnibus isdem, sed quia non volgo paria omnibus omnia constant. sic aliis in rebus item communia multa multarum rerum cum sint, primordia rerum dissimili tamen inter se consistere summa possunt; ut merito ex aliis constare feratur humanum genus et fruges arbustaque laeta.
Yet we must not think that all things can be linked together in every way; for else you would see monsters arise everywhere, half-beast shapes of men coming into being, and tall branches sometimes growing out from a living body, and many limbs of land creatures joined to those of the sea, and nature, throughout the all-parent lands, feeding Chimaeras that breathe flame from a foul mouth. That none of this happens is plain, since we see that all things, created from fixed seeds by a fixed parent, can preserve their kind as they grow. This, of course, must come about by a fixed law. For from all foods the bodies proper to each depart within into the limbs, and, joined together, produce the fitting motions; but, by contrast, we see nature cast the alien back onto the earth, and many things flee the body, driven out by unseen bodies through blows, things that could neither be linked anywhere nor within fall in with the motions of life and imitate them. But lest you should think that living things alone are held by these laws, one same principle bounds all things. For just as, in their whole nature, all begotten things are unlike one another, so each must consist of first-beginnings of an unlike shape; not that many are not endowed with a like form, but because they are not, as a rule, all alike to all. Since the seeds, moreover, differ, there must differ too their intervals, paths, unions, weights, blows, meetings, motions; which not only set apart the bodies of living things, but sunder the lands and the whole sea, and hold all the heaven apart from the lands.
Nec tamen omnimodis conecti posse putandum est omnia; nam volgo fieri portenta videres, semiferas hominum species existere et altos inter dum ramos egigni corpore vivo multaque conecti terrestria membra marinis, tum flammam taetro spirantis ore Chimaeras pascere naturam per terras omniparentis. quorum nil fieri manifestum est, omnia quando seminibus certis certa genetrice creata conservare genus crescentia posse videmus. scilicet id certa fieri ratione necessust. nam sua cuique cibis ex omnibus intus in artus corpora discedunt conexaque convenientis efficiunt motus; at contra aliena videmus reicere in terras naturam, multaque caecis corporibus fugiunt e corpore percita plagis, quae neque conecti quoquam potuere neque intus vitalis motus consentire atque imitari. sed ne forte putes animalia sola teneri legibus his, quaedam ratio res terminat omnis nam vel uti tota natura dissimiles sunt inter se genitae res quaeque, ita quamque necessest dissimili constare figura principiorum; non quo multa parum simili sint praedita forma, sed quia non volgo paria omnibus omnia constant. semina cum porro distent, differre necessust intervalla vias conexus pondera plagas concursus motus; quae non animalia solum corpora seiungunt, sed terras ac mare totum secernunt caelumque a terris omne retentant.
Now come, take in the words sought out by my sweet toil, lest perhaps you think that these white things you see before your eyes are made of white first-beginnings, or that those which are black are born of black seed; nor, of whatever other colour things are steeped in, believe they bear that colour because the bodies of matter are dyed with a colour like their own; for there is no colour at all in the bodies of matter, neither like to things nor, in the end, unlike. And if into these bodies it seems to you that no cast of the mind can be made, you wander far astray. For since those born blind, who have never looked upon the light of the sun, yet recognize bodies by touch from the beginning of their life, with no colour joined to them, you may know that to our mind too bodies can be brought into knowledge though smeared with no tint about them. In short, whatever we ourselves touch in the blind dark, we do not feel to be tinged with any colour.
Nunc age dicta meo dulci quaesita labore percipe, ne forte haec albis ex alba rearis principiis esse, ante oculos quae candida cernis, aut ea quae nigrant nigro de semine nata; nive alium quemvis quae sunt inbuta colorem, propterea gerere hunc credas, quod materiai corpora consimili sint eius tincta colore; nullus enim color est omnino materiai corporibus, neque par rebus neque denique dispar. in quae corpora si nullus tibi forte videtur posse animi iniectus fieri, procul avius erras. nam cum caecigeni, solis qui lumina numquam dispexere, tamen cognoscant corpora tactu ex ineunte aevo nullo coniuncta colore, scire licet nostrae quoque menti corpora posse vorti in notitiam nullo circum lita fuco. denique nos ipsi caecis quaecumque tenebris tangimus, haud ullo sentimus tincta colore.
Since I have won the point that this can be so, now I will teach that it is so. For every colour, without exception, is changed into every other; which the first-beginnings ought in no way to do; for something unchangeable must remain over, lest all things be utterly reduced to nothing; for whatever, changed, passes out of its own bounds, this at once is the death of what was before. Therefore beware of touching the seeds of things with colour, lest all things return for you utterly to nothing.
Quod quoniam vinco fieri, nunc esse docebo. omnis enim color omnino mutatur in omnis; quod facere haud ullo debent primordia pacto; immutabile enim quiddam superare necessest, ne res ad nihilum redigantur funditus omnes; nam quod cumque suis mutatum finibus exit, continuo hoc mors est illius quod fuit ante. proinde colore cave contingas semina rerum, ne tibi res redeant ad nihilum funditus omnes.
Besides, if no nature of colour is given to the first-beginnings, and they are endowed with varied forms, from which they beget and vary colours of every kind, because it matters greatly with what other seeds each seed is held together, and in what position, and what motions they give and take among themselves, you can very easily, on the spot, give the reason why things that were of a black colour a little before can suddenly become of marble whiteness, as the sea, when great winds have stirred its level waters, turns into white waves of gleaming marble; for you might say that what we often see as black, when its matter is mingled and the arrangement of its first-beginnings is changed, and some are added and some taken away, forthwith comes to look gleaming and white. But if the level waters of the deep were made of blue seeds, in no way could they whiten; for in whatever way you stir up things that are blue, they can never pass over into the marble colour. But if the seeds that make the one pure sheen of the sea are dyed with one colour and another, as often out of different forms and varied shapes something square is made, of a single figure, it would be fitting that, just as in the square we discern unlike forms to be, so we should discern in the level of the deep, or in any other single pure sheen, colours widely unlike one another and varied. Besides, the unlike shapes in no way hinder or obstruct the whole from being square on the outside; but the varied colours of things hinder and forbid the whole thing from being of one sheen.
Praeterea si nulla coloris principiis est reddita natura et variis sunt praedita formis, e quibus omnigenus gignunt variantque colores, propterea magni quod refert, semina quaeque cum quibus et quali positura contineantur et quos inter se dent motus accipiantque, perfacile extemplo rationem reddere possis, cur ea quae nigro fuerint paulo ante colore, marmoreo fieri possint candore repente, ut mare, cum magni commorunt aequora venti, vertitur in canos candenti marmore fluctus; dicere enim possis, nigrum quod saepe videmus, materies ubi permixta est illius et ordo principiis mutatus et addita demptaque quaedam, continuo id fieri ut candens videatur et album. quod si caeruleis constarent aequora ponti seminibus, nullo possent albescere pacto; nam quo cumque modo perturbes caerula quae sint, numquam in marmoreum possunt migrare colorem. sin alio atque alio sunt semina tincta colore, quae maris efficiunt unum purumque nitorem, ut saepe ex aliis formis variisque figuris efficitur quiddam quadratum unaque figura, conveniebat, ut in quadrato cernimus esse dissimiles formas, ita cernere in aequore ponti aut alio in quovis uno puroque nitore dissimiles longe inter se variosque colores. praeterea nihil officiunt obstantque figurae dissimiles, quo quadratum minus omne sit extra; at varii rerum inpediunt prohibentque colores, quo minus esse uno possit res tota nitore.
Then, further, the reason that draws and entices us sometimes to assign colours to the first-beginnings of things falls away, since white things are not created from white, nor those that are called black from black, but from varied ones. For indeed white things will far more readily arise born of no colour than of black, or of any other that would fight against and obstruct them.
Tum porro quae ducit et inlicit ut tribuamus principiis rerum non numquam causa colores, occidit, ex albis quoniam non alba creantur, nec quae nigra cluent de nigris, sed variis ex. quippe etenim multo proclivius exorientur candida de nullo quam nigro nata colore aut alio quovis, qui contra pugnet et obstet.
Besides, since colours cannot be without light, and the first-beginnings of things do not come forth into the light, you may know how they are veiled in no colour; for what colour could there be in the blind dark? Nay, colour itself is changed in the very light, because it flashes back struck by light direct or slanting; as the plumage of doves is seen in the sun, the plumage that, set about, crowns their necks and throats; for at one time it comes to be red with bright fire-bronze, at another, by a certain trick of sight, it comes to seem to blend green emeralds amid the blue. And the peacock’s tail, when filled with abundant light, changes its colours in like manner as it is turned; and since these are begotten by a certain stroke of light, you may know that without it they cannot be thought to come to be.
Praeterea quoniam nequeunt sine luce colores esse neque in lucem existunt primordia rerum, scire licet quam sint nullo velata colore; qualis enim caecis poterit color esse tenebris? lumine quin ipso mutatur propterea quod recta aut obliqua percussus luce refulget; pluma columbarum quo pacto in sole videtur, quae sita cervices circum collumque coronat; namque alias fit uti claro sit rubra pyropo, inter dum quodam sensu fit uti videatur inter caeruleum viridis miscere zmaragdos. caudaque pavonis, larga cum luce repleta est, consimili mutat ratione obversa colores; qui quoniam quodam gignuntur luminis ictu, scire licet, sine eo fieri non posse putandum est.
And since the pupil receives in itself one kind of blow when it is said to feel the colour white, and another, again, when it feels black and the rest, and it matters not with what colour the things you touch are endowed, but rather with what fitting shape, you may know that the first-beginnings have no need of colour, but with their varied forms give rise to varying touches.
Et quoniam plagae quoddam genus excipit in se pupula, cum sentire colorem dicitur album, atque aliud porro, nigrum cum et cetera sentit, nec refert ea quae tangas quo forte colore praedita sint, verum quali magis apta figura, scire licet nihil principiis opus esse colore, sed variis formis variantes edere tactus.
Besides, since no fixed nature of colour belongs to fixed shapes, and all the formations of the first-beginnings can be of any sheen whatever, why are not the things made of them likewise suffused with colours of every kind in every kind? For it would be fitting that crows too, often as they fly, should throw off a white colour from white feathers, and that black swans should be born of black seed, or of any other colour, single or varied.
Praeterea quoniam non certis certa figuris est natura coloris et omnia principiorum formamenta queunt in quovis esse nitore, cur ea quae constant ex illis non pariter sunt omnigenus perfusa coloribus in genere omni? conveniebat enim corvos quoque saepe volantis ex albis album pinnis iactare colorem et nigros fieri nigro de semine cycnos aut alio quovis uno varioque colore.
Nay more, the more each thing is drawn apart into minute parts, the more you can perceive the colour fade little by little and be quenched; as happens when purple is torn into small parts: the purple and the scarlet, by far the brightest of colours, when it is pulled apart thread by thread, is all destroyed; so that from this you may know that the particles breathe out all their colour before they break apart into the seeds of things.
Quin etiam quanto in partes res quaeque minutas distrahitur magis, hoc magis est ut cernere possis evanescere paulatim stinguique colorem; ut fit ubi in parvas partis discerpitur austrum: purpura poeniceusque color clarissimus multo, filatim cum distractum est, disperditur omnis; noscere ut hinc possis prius omnem efflare colorem particulas, quam discedant ad semina rerum.
Lastly, since you grant that not all bodies give off a sound or a smell, it comes about that you do not assign sounds and smells to all: so, since we cannot discern all things with the eyes, you may know that some things are as bereft of colour as certain others are without any smell or far removed from sound, and that the keen mind can know these no less than it marks the things deprived of other qualities.
Postremo quoniam non omnia corpora vocem mittere concedis neque odorem, propterea fit ut non omnibus adtribuas sonitus et odores: sic oculis quoniam non omnia cernere quimus, scire licet quaedam tam constare orba colore quam sine odore ullo quaedam sonituque remota, nec minus haec animum cognoscere posse sagacem quam quae sunt aliis rebus privata notare.
But lest you should think the first bodies remain stripped of colour alone, they are also set apart from warmth and cold and hot vapour altogether, and are borne along barren of sound and empty of savour, and cast no smell of their own from their body. Just as, when you set about to make the soothing liquid of marjoram and myrrh-oil, and the flower of nard that breathes nectar to the nostrils, it is fitting first of all to seek, so far as is allowed and you can find it, the nature of scentless oil, which sends no breath to the nostrils, so that it may as little as possible, by handling, spoil with its own strength the scents mingled and steeped within it— for the same reason the first-beginnings of things must not bring their own smell to the things they beget, nor sound, since they can give off nothing from themselves, nor, in like manner, any taste at all, nor cold, nor likewise hot or lukewarm vapour, and the rest, which, being such that they are made as mortal things— soft things pliant, crumbling things brittle, porous things hollow— all these must of necessity be kept apart from the first-beginnings, if we wish to lay beneath things immortal foundations on which the sum of their safety may rest; lest all things return for you utterly to nothing.
Sed ne forte putes solo spoliata colore corpora prima manere, etiam secreta teporis sunt ac frigoris omnino calidique vaporis, et sonitu sterila et suco ieiuna feruntur, nec iaciunt ullum proprium de corpore odorem. sicut amaracini blandum stactaeque liquorem et nardi florem, nectar qui naribus halat, cum facere instituas, cum primis quaerere par est, quod licet ac possis reperire, inolentis olivi naturam, nullam quae mittat naribus auram, quam minime ut possit mixtos in corpore odores concoctosque suo contractans perdere viro, propter eandem rem debent primordia rerum non adhibere suum gignundis rebus odorem nec sonitum, quoniam nihil ab se mittere possunt, nec simili ratione saporem denique quemquam nec frigus neque item calidum tepidumque vaporem, cetera, quae cum ita sunt tamen ut mortalia constent, molli lenta, fragosa putri, cava corpore raro, omnia sint a principiis seiuncta necessest, inmortalia si volumus subiungere rebus fundamenta, quibus nitatur summa salutis; ne tibi res redeant ad nihilum funditus omnes.
Now whatever things we see to have sensation, you must nevertheless confess that they all consist of insensible first-beginnings. Nor do the facts plain to view refute this, nor fight against it, the things known and ready to hand, but rather they lead us by the hand and compel us to believe that living things, as I say, are born from the insensible. For indeed one may see living worms come forth from foul dung, when the rain-soaked earth has got itself a rottenness from untimely rains.
Nunc ea quae sentire videmus cumque necessest ex insensilibus tamen omnia confiteare principiis constare. neque id manufesta refutant nec contra pugnant, in promptu cognita quae sunt, sed magis ipsa manu ducunt et credere cogunt ex insensilibus, quod dico, animalia gigni. quippe videre licet vivos existere vermes stercore de taetro, putorem cum sibi nacta est intempestivis ex imbribus umida tellus.
Besides, all things in like manner change themselves. The rivers, the leaves, and the glad pastures change themselves into cattle, the cattle change their nature into our bodies, and often from our body the strength of wild beasts and the bodies of the strong-winged birds increase. So nature turns all foods into living bodies, and from this begets all the senses of living things, in no far other way than she unfolds dry wood into flames and turns it all into fire. Do you see now, then, that it matters greatly in what arrangement the first-beginnings of things are each set, and with what others, mingled, they give motions and take them?
Praeterea cunctas itidem res vertere sese. vertunt se fluvii in frondes et pabula laeta in pecudes, vertunt pecudes in corpora nostra naturam, et nostro de corpore saepe ferarum augescunt vires et corpora pennipotentum. ergo omnes natura cibos in corpora viva vertit et hinc sensus animantum procreat omnes, non alia longe ratione atque arida ligna explicat in flammas et in ignis omnia versat. iamne vides igitur magni primordia rerum referre in quali sint ordine quaeque locata et commixta quibus dent motus accipiantque?
Then, further, what is it that strikes the mind itself, that moves it and forces it to bring forth varied feelings, that you should not believe the sentient born from the insensible? Doubtless because stones and wood and earth, even when mixed together, still cannot yield vital sensation. This, then, in these matters it will be fitting to remember: that I do not say sensation is begotten forthwith out of all things whatsoever that create sentient beings, but that it matters greatly, first, how small are those that make the sentient thing, and with what shape they are endowed, and what, in short, they are in motions, arrangements, positions. None of which things we see in wood and clods; and yet these, when they are as if rotted by the rains, bring forth little worms, because the bodies of matter, stirred from their ancient arrangements by a new condition, are brought together as they must be for living things to be born.
Tum porro, quid id est, animum quod percutit, ipsum, quod movet et varios sensus expromere cogit, ex insensilibus ne credas sensile gigni? ni mirum lapides et ligna et terra quod una mixta tamen nequeunt vitalem reddere sensum. illud in his igitur rebus meminisse decebit, non ex omnibus omnino, quaecumque creant res sensilia, extemplo me gigni dicere sensus, sed magni referre ea primum quantula constent, sensile quae faciunt, et qua sint praedita forma, motibus ordinibus posituris denique quae sint. quarum nil rerum in lignis glaebisque videmus; et tamen haec, cum sunt quasi putrefacta per imbres, vermiculos pariunt, quia corpora materiai antiquis ex ordinibus permota nova re conciliantur ita ut debent animalia gigni.
Next, those who hold that the sentient can be created out of sentient things—and these, in turn, wont to feel from others— when they make them soft; for all sensation is bound up with flesh, sinews, veins—all things which we see to stand soft, made of mortal body, born to die. But yet, suppose now that these could remain eternal; still they must surely either have the sensation of a part or be thought like to whole living creatures. But the parts, by themselves, cannot feel, of necessity: for all sensation of the limbs depends upon the mind, nor can the hand, severed from us, nor any part of the body at all, hold sensation by itself alone. It remains that they be likened to whole living creatures, so that they can share, on every side, in vital sensation. How, then, can they be called the first-beginnings of things, and shun the paths of death, if they are living creatures, and living creatures are one and the same as mortal things? Yet even granting they could, still by their meeting and union they will make nothing but a common crowd and throng of living things, just as men and herds and wild beasts cannot beget any single thing by coming together among themselves. So in the same way they too would have to feel just as we feel. But if perchance they give up their own sensation from the body and take on another, what need was there to assign what is taken away again? Then besides, as we set forth before— inasmuch as we see the eggs of birds turn into living chicks, and worms swarm forth from the earth when rottenness has seized it from untimely rains— you may know that sensations can be born from things not sentient.
Deinde ex sensilibus qui sensile posse creari constituunt, porro ex aliis sentire sueti mollia cum faciunt; nam sensus iungitur omnis visceribus nervis venis, quae cumque videmus mollia mortali consistere corpore creta. sed tamen esto iam posse haec aeterna manere; nempe tamen debent aut sensum partis habere aut similis totis animalibus esse putari. at nequeant per se partes sentire necesse est: namque animus sensus membrorum respuit omnis, nec manus a nobis potis est secreta neque ulla corporis omnino sensum pars sola tenere. linquitur ut totis animantibus adsimulentur, vitali ut possint consentire undique sensu. qui poterunt igitur rerum primordia dici et leti vitare vias, animalia cum sint, atque animalia sint mortalibus una eademque? quod tamen ut possint, at coetu concilioque nil facient praeter volgum turbamque animantum, scilicet ut nequeant homines armenta feraeque inter sese ullam rem gignere conveniundo. sic itidem quae sentimus sentire necessest. quod si forte suum dimittunt corpore sensum atque alium capiunt, quid opus fuit adtribui id quod detrahitur? tum praeterea, quod fudimus ante, quatinus in pullos animalis vertier ova cernimus alituum vermisque effervere terra, intempestivos quam putor cepit ob imbris, scire licet gigni posse ex non sensibus sensus.
But if anyone should say that sensation can arise from non-sensation only by some change, or as it were by some birth, whereby it is brought forth outside, to him it will be enough to make this plain and prove it: that no birth comes about unless a union has first been forced together, and that nothing is changed without a coming-together.
Quod si forte aliquis dicet, dum taxat oriri posse ex non sensu sensus mutabilitate, aut aliquo tamquam partu quod proditur extra, huic satis illud erit planum facere atque probare, non fieri partum nisi concilio ante coacto, nec quicquam commutari sine conciliatu.
In the first place, there can be no sensations of any body before the very nature of the living thing has been begotten, doubtless because the matter is held scattered in air, in rivers, in lands, and in the things sprung from the land, and has not, merely by meeting, brought together among themselves the fitting vital motions by which the all-watching senses, kindled, keep guard over each living thing.
Principio nequeunt ullius corporis esse sensus ante ipsam genitam naturam animantis, ni mirum quia materies disiecta tenetur aere fluminibus terris terraque creatis, nec congressa modo vitalis convenientes contulit inter se motus, quibus omnituentes accensi sensus animantem quamque tuentur.
Besides, a blow too great for its nature to bear suddenly strikes down any living thing whatever, and goes on to confound all the senses of body and of mind. For the positions of the first-beginnings are dissolved, and deep within the vital motions are blocked, until the matter, all shaken through the limbs, loosens the vital knots of the soul from the body and casts it out, scattered, through all the pores; for what else can we think a blow, once dealt, can do but shatter and dissolve each thing? It happens, too, that when the blow is dealt less sharply, the remaining vital motions are often wont to prevail, to prevail and still the great tumult of the blow, and to call back each thing again into its own channels, and to shake off the motion of death now mastering the body, and to kindle anew the senses almost lost; for why else should they be able, gathering their wits, to return to life from the very threshold of death, rather than go on and pass away to where the course is now almost run?
Praeterea quamvis animantem grandior ictus, quam patitur natura, repente adfligit et omnis corporis atque animi pergit confundere sensus. dissoluuntur enim positurae principiorum et penitus motus vitales inpediuntur, donec materies omnis concussa per artus vitalis animae nodos a corpore solvit dispersamque foras per caulas eiecit omnis; nam quid praeterea facere ictum posse reamur oblatum, nisi discutere ac dissolvere quaeque? fit quoque uti soleant minus oblato acriter ictu reliqui motus vitalis vincere saepe, vincere et ingentis plagae sedare tumultus inque suos quicquid rursus revocare meatus et quasi iam leti dominantem in corpore motum discutere ac paene amissos accendere sensus; nam qua re potius leti iam limine ab ipso ad vitam possint conlecta mente reverti, quam quo decursum prope iam siet ire et abire?
Besides, since pain is there, when the bodies of matter, disturbed by some force throughout the living flesh and limbs, quiver within in their own seats, and, when they move back into place, a soothing pleasure comes, you may know that the first-beginnings can be assailed by no pain, and take no pleasure from themselves; since they are not made of any first-beginnings by whose newness of motion they might suffer, or from which they might take some fruit of kindly sweetness. They ought not, therefore, to be endowed with any sensation.
Praeterea, quoniam dolor est, ubi materiai corpora vi quadam per viscera viva per artus sollicitata suis trepidant in sedibus intus, inque locum quando remigrant, fit blanda voluptas, scire licet nullo primordia posse dolore temptari nullamque voluptatem capere ex se; quandoquidem non sunt ex ullis principiorum corporibus, quorum motus novitate laborent aut aliquem fructum capiant dulcedinis almae. haut igitur debent esse ullo praedita sensu.
Lastly, that all living creatures may be able to feel— if sensation must now be assigned to their first-beginnings— what of those, in particular, from which the human race is grown? Doubtless, shaken with tremulous laughter, they too cackle, and sprinkle their faces and cheeks with dewy tears, and have the skill to say much about the mixture of things, and inquire, in their turn, what their own first-beginnings are; since, likened to whole mortal beings, they too must be made of other elements, and these of others again, so that you would dare halt nowhere; for I will press you: whatever you say can talk and laugh and think, must be made of others that do these same things. But if we see that this is raving and frenzied, and that a man can laugh though not built of laughing things, and can think and render reasoned account in learned words though not made of wise and eloquent seeds, why should the things we see to have sensation be any less made of seeds mingled that lack sensation utterly?
Denique uti possint sentire animalia quaeque, principiis si iam est sensus tribuendus eorum, quid, genus humanum propritim de quibus auctumst? scilicet et risu tremulo concussa cachinnant et lacrimis spargunt rorantibus ora genasque multaque de rerum mixtura dicere callent et sibi proporro quae sint primordia quaerunt; quando quidem totis mortalibus adsimulata ipsa quoque ex aliis debent constare elementis, inde alia ex aliis, nusquam consistere ut ausis; quippe sequar, quod cumque loqui ridereque dices et sapere, ex aliis eadem haec facientibus ut sit. quod si delira haec furiosaque cernimus esse et ridere potest non ex ridentibus auctus, et sapere et doctis rationem reddere dictis non ex seminibus sapientibus atque disertis, qui minus esse queant ea quae sentire videmus seminibus permixta carentibus undique sensu?
Lastly, we are all sprung from celestial seed; for all there is that same one father, from whom, when mother earth has received the dripping drops of flowing moisture, she, made fruitful, brings forth the shining crops and glad orchards and the human race, brings forth all the generations of wild beasts, when she furnishes the pastures on which all feed their bodies and lead a sweet life and propagate their offspring; wherefore with reason she has won the name of mother. Likewise that which was before from the earth passes back into the lands, and what was sent down from the shores of aether, that, carried back again, the precincts of heaven receive. Nor does death so destroy things as to make away with the bodies of matter, but only scatters their union; then it joins one with another and brings it about that all things alter their forms and change their colours and take on sensations and, in a point of time, give them back; so that you may know it matters, for the first-beginnings of things, with what others and in what position they are held together, and what motions they give and take among themselves, and may not think that what we see floating on the surface of things, and now and then being born and suddenly perishing, can reside in the first bodies as something eternal. Nay, even in these very verses of mine it matters with what others and in what order each thing is placed; for the same letters signify sky, sea, lands, rivers, sun, the same signify crops, trees, living things; if not all are alike, yet by far the greatest part is much the same; but by their position things are told apart. So in things themselves likewise, when the intervals, paths, unions, weights, blows of matter, its meetings, motions, order, position, shapes are interchanged, things too must change.
Denique caelesti sumus omnes semine oriundi; omnibus ille idem pater est, unde alma liquentis umoris guttas mater cum terra recepit, feta parit nitidas fruges arbustaque laeta et genus humanum, parit omnia saecla ferarum, pabula cum praebet, quibus omnes corpora pascunt et dulcem ducunt vitam prolemque propagant; qua propter merito maternum nomen adepta est. cedit item retro, de terra quod fuit ante, in terras, et quod missumst ex aetheris oris, id rursum caeli rellatum templa receptant. nec sic interemit mors res ut materiai corpora conficiat, sed coetum dissupat ollis; inde aliis aliud coniungit et efficit, omnis res ut convertant formas mutentque colores et capiant sensus et puncto tempore reddant; ut noscas referre earum primordia rerum cum quibus et quali positura contineantur et quos inter se dent motus accipiantque, neve putes aeterna penes residere potesse corpora prima quod in summis fluitare videmus rebus et interdum nasci subitoque perire. quin etiam refert nostris in versibus ipsis cum quibus et quali sint ordine quaeque locata; namque eadem caelum mare terras flumina solem significant, eadem fruges arbusta animantis; si non omnia sunt, at multo maxima pars est consimilis; verum positura discrepitant res. sic ipsis in rebus item iam materiai intervalla vias conexus pondera plagas concursus motus ordo positura figurae cum permutantur, mutari res quoque debent.
Now turn your mind, for us, to true reasoning. For a strange matter strives mightily to reach your ears, and a new face of things to show itself. But there is nothing so easy that at first it does not stand the harder to believe; and likewise nothing so great, nothing so wonderful, that all do not little by little leave off marvelling at it. First, the bright clear colour of the sky, and all it holds within itself—the stars wandering here and there, the moon, and the sheen of the sun with its surpassing light; all of which, if they now were for the first time for mortals, if they were flung before them suddenly, unforeseen, what could be called more wonderful than these things, or what would the nations have less dared believe could be? Nothing, I think; so marvellous would this sight have been. Yet now, weary with the surfeit of seeing it, no one deigns to look up into the bright precincts of heaven. Cease, therefore, frightened off by the very newness of it, to spit reason from your mind, but rather weigh it with keen judgement, and if it seems true to you, yield your hands; or, if it is false, gird yourself against it. For the mind seeks the reason, since the sum of space is infinite out beyond, outside these ramparts of the world, what there may be further there, whither the mind would gaze on and on, and whither the free flight of the spirit may fly of itself.
Nunc animum nobis adhibe veram ad rationem. nam tibi vehementer nova res molitur ad auris accedere et nova se species ostendere rerum. sed neque tam facilis res ulla est, quin ea primum difficilis magis ad credendum constet, itemque nil adeo magnum neque tam mirabile quicquam, quod non paulatim minuant mirarier omnes, principio caeli clarum purumque colorem quaeque in se cohibet, palantia sidera passim, lunamque et solis praeclara luce nitorem; omnia quae nunc si primum mortalibus essent ex improviso si sint obiecta repente, quid magis his rebus poterat mirabile dici, aut minus ante quod auderent fore credere gentes? nil, ut opinor; ita haec species miranda fuisset. quam tibi iam nemo fessus satiate videndi, suspicere in caeli dignatur lucida templa. desine qua propter novitate exterritus ipsa expuere ex animo rationem, sed magis acri iudicio perpende, et si tibi vera videntur, dede manus, aut, si falsum est, accingere contra. quaerit enim rationem animus, cum summa loci sit infinita foris haec extra moenia mundi, quid sit ibi porro, quo prospicere usque velit mens atque animi iactus liber quo pervolet ipse.
In the first place, for us on every side, in all directions, and on either flank, above and below, throughout the whole, there is no end; as I have shown, and the thing itself of itself cries out, and the nature of the deep shines clear. In no way now must it be thought likely, when on every side space lies open, infinite, and the seeds in numberless number, throughout the unfathomed sum, fly in many ways, driven by eternal motion, that this one round of lands and this one sky alone were made, and that beyond, all those bodies of matter do nothing; especially since this world was made by nature, and the seeds of things of their own accord, by chance, colliding, driven together in many ways, at random, in vain and to no purpose, at last came together into those which, suddenly cast together, became always the beginnings of great things— of earth and sea and sky and the race of living things. Wherefore again and again you must confess that there are elsewhere other gatherings of matter, such as this is, which the aether holds in its greedy embrace.
Principio nobis in cunctas undique partis et latere ex utroque supra supterque per omne nulla est finis; uti docui, res ipsaque per se vociferatur, et elucet natura profundi. nullo iam pacto veri simile esse putandumst, undique cum vorsum spatium vacet infinitum seminaque innumero numero summaque profunda multimodis volitent aeterno percita motu, hunc unum terrarum orbem caelumque creatum, nil agere illa foris tot corpora materiai; cum praesertim hic sit natura factus et ipsa sponte sua forte offensando semina rerum multimodis temere in cassum frustraque coacta tandem coluerunt ea quae coniecta repente magnarum rerum fierent exordia semper, terrai maris et caeli generisque animantum. quare etiam atque etiam talis fateare necesse est esse alios alibi congressus materiai, qualis hic est, avido complexu quem tenet aether.
Besides, when much matter is at hand, when place is ready and no thing and no cause delays, things must surely be carried on and brought to pass. Now if there is so great a store of seeds as the whole age of living things could not count up, and the same nature abides, which could cast the seeds of things together into each place in like manner as they were cast together here, you must confess that there are other worlds in other regions of space, and various races of men and generations of wild beasts.
Praeterea cum materies est multa parata, cum locus est praesto nec res nec causa moratur ulla, geri debent ni mirum et confieri res. nunc et seminibus si tanta est copia, quantam enumerare aetas animantum non queat omnis, quis eadem natura manet, quae semina rerum conicere in loca quaeque queat simili ratione atque huc sunt coniecta, necesse est confiteare esse alios aliis terrarum in partibus orbis et varias hominum gentis et saecla ferarum.
Add to this that in the sum there is no single thing that is begotten one and only, and grows up one and alone, but each belongs to some kind, and very many are of the same kind. First, in living things, with the mind as your guide, you will find that thus the mountain-roaming kind of wild beasts exists, thus the twofold offspring of men, thus, in short, the mute herds of the scaly kind and all the bodies of flying things. Wherefore by like reasoning we must confess that the sky, the earth, the sun, the moon, the sea, and all else that is, are not unique, but rather of a number numberless; since the deep-driven boundary-stone of life awaits these as surely, and they consist of a body born to die as surely, as does every kind that here abounds in things after its sort.
Huc accedit ut in summa res nulla sit una, unica quae gignatur et unica solaque crescat, quin aliquoius siet saecli permultaque eodem sint genere. in primis animalibus indice mente invenies sic montivagum genus esse ferarum, sic hominum geminam prolem, sic denique mutas squamigerum pecudes et corpora cuncta volantum. qua propter caelum simili ratione fatendumst terramque et solem, lunam mare cetera quae sunt, non esse unica, sed numero magis innumerali; quando quidem vitae depactus terminus alte tam manet haec et tam nativo corpore constant quam genus omne, quod his generatimst rebus abundans.
If you hold these things well learned, nature appears forthwith free, stripped of her haughty masters, doing all things of herself, by her own accord, with no part for the gods. For—by the holy hearts of the gods that in tranquil peace pass a placid age and a serene life— who is able to rule the sum of the measureless, who to hold in his hand, with control, the strong reins of the deep? who to turn all the heavens alike, and to warm with the fires of aether all the fruitful lands, and to be present in all places at all times, to make darkness with clouds and shake the calm of heaven with thunder, then to hurl lightnings and often throw down his own temples, and, withdrawing into the wastes, rage there, plying that bolt which often passes by the guilty and slays the undeserving and the innocent?
Quae bene cognita si teneas, natura videtur libera continuo, dominis privata superbis, ipsa sua per se sponte omnia dis agere expers. nam pro sancta deum tranquilla pectora pace quae placidum degunt aevom vitamque serenam, quis regere immensi summam, quis habere profundi indu manu validas potis est moderanter habenas, quis pariter caelos omnis convertere et omnis ignibus aetheriis terras suffire feracis, omnibus inve locis esse omni tempore praesto, nubibus ut tenebras faciat caelique serena concutiat sonitu, tum fulmina mittat et aedis saepe suas disturbet et in deserta recedens saeviat exercens telum, quod saepe nocentes praeterit exanimatque indignos inque merentes?
And many bodies, after the world’s birth-time and the first day of the sea and the earth and the rising of the sun, have been added from outside, seeds added round about, which the great all, hurling them, brought together, whence the sea and the lands might grow, and whence the space of the sky’s house might appear and lift its high roofs far from the lands, and the air rise up. For from all places the bodies proper to each are dealt out to each by blows, and withdraw to their own kinds: moisture to moisture, earth grows by earthy body, and fires forge fire, and aether aether, until creative nature, the maker of things, has brought all to the utmost finishing limit of growth; as happens when there is now no more given within the vital veins than what flows away and recedes. Here the age of all things must come to a stand, here nature by her own forces reins in their growth. For whatever you see growing great with glad increase and climbing little by little the steps of adult age, these take to themselves more bodies than they send from themselves, while all the food is easily put into the veins, and while they are not so widely spread out that they give off much and make more waste than their age feeds on. For surely it must be granted that many bodies flow and recede from things; but more must be added, until they have touched the highest peak of growth. Then little by little age breaks their strength and grown vigour, and melts away into the worse part. For indeed the larger a thing is, once its increase is taken away, and the broader it is, the more, in all directions on every side, it now scatters and sends bodies off from itself, nor is all its food easily distributed into its veins, nor is it enough, in proportion to the lavish exhalations it seethes out, to let so much rise up afresh and be supplied. With justice, then, they perish, when they have been rarefied by flowing, and when all things succumb to blows from without, since at length, in great age, food fails them, nor do the bodies cease, hammering from outside, to wear any thing away and master it with hostile blows.
Multaque post mundi tempus genitale diemque primigenum maris et terrae solisque coortum addita corpora sunt extrinsecus, addita circum semina, quae magnum iaculando contulit omne, unde mare et terrae possent augescere et unde appareret spatium caeli domus altaque tecta tolleret a terris procul et consurgeret aer. nam sua cuique, locis ex omnibus, omnia plagis corpora distribuuntur et ad sua saecla recedunt, umor ad umorem, terreno corpore terra crescit et ignem ignes procudunt aetheraque aether, donique ad extremum crescendi perfica finem omnia perduxit rerum natura creatrix; ut fit ubi nihilo iam plus est quod datur intra vitalis venas quam quod fluit atque recedit. omnibus hic aetas debet consistere rebus, hic natura suis refrenat viribus auctum. nam quae cumque vides hilaro grandescere adauctu paulatimque gradus aetatis scandere adultae, plura sibi adsumunt quam de se corpora mittunt, dum facile in venas cibus omnis inditur et dum non ita sunt late dispessa, ut multa remittant et plus dispendi faciant quam vescitur aetas. nam certe fluere atque recedere corpora rebus multa manus dandum est; sed plura accedere debent, donec alescendi summum tetigere cacumen. inde minutatim vires et robur adultum frangit et in partem peiorem liquitur aetas. quippe etenim quanto est res amplior, augmine adempto, et quo latior est, in cunctas undique partis plura modo dispargit et a se corpora mittit, nec facile in venas cibus omnis diditur ei nec satis est, pro quam largos exaestuat aestus, unde queat tantum suboriri ac subpeditare. iure igitur pereunt, cum rarefacta fluendo sunt et cum externis succumbunt omnia plagis, quando quidem grandi cibus aevo denique defit, nec tuditantia rem cessant extrinsecus ullam corpora conficere et plagis infesta domare.
So, then, the ramparts too of the great world all around, stormed and taken, will give way to decay and crumbling ruin; for food must make all things whole by renewing them, food must prop them up, food must sustain them all, all in vain, since neither do the veins endure what is enough, nor does nature furnish as much as is needed. And now indeed the age is broken, and the worn-out earth scarcely creates small animals—she who created all the kinds, and gave forth the huge bodies of wild beasts in birth. For not, I think, did any golden chain let down the mortal generations from on high, from heaven, into the fields, nor did the sea, nor the waves that beat the rocks, create them, but the same earth begot them which now feeds them from herself. Besides, the shining crops and the glad vineyards she herself first created of her own accord for mortals, she herself gave the sweet fruits and the glad pastures; which now scarcely grow great, though increased by our toil, and we wear out the oxen and the strength of farmers, and wear away the iron, scarcely supplied by the fields: so sparing are they of their yield, so do they multiply our toil. And now, shaking his head, the aged ploughman sighs the oftener that his great labours have fallen out in vain, and when he compares the present times with the times gone by, he often praises the fortunes of his father. Sadly too the planter of the old and withered vine arraigns the drift of the time and wearies the age with reproach, and grumbles how the men of old, filled full of piety, very easily bore their life within narrow bounds, when each man’s portion of land was far smaller than now; and he does not grasp that all things little by little waste away and go to the grave, worn out by the long lapse of time.
Sic igitur magni quoque circum moenia mundi expugnata dabunt labem putrisque ruinas; omnia debet enim cibus integrare novando et fulcire cibus, cibus omnia sustentare, ne quiquam, quoniam nec venae perpetiuntur quod satis est, neque quantum opus est natura ministrat. Iamque adeo fracta est aetas effetaque tellus vix animalia parva creat, quae cuncta creavit saecla deditque ferarum ingentia corpora partu. haud, ut opinor, enim mortalia saecla superne aurea de caelo demisit funis in arva nec mare nec fluctus plangentis saxa crearunt, sed genuit tellus eadem quae nunc alit ex se. praeterea nitidas fruges vinetaque laeta sponte sua primum mortalibus ipsa creavit, ipsa dedit dulcis fetus et pabula laeta; quae nunc vix nostro grandescunt aucta labore, conterimusque boves et viris agricolarum, conficimus ferrum vix arvis suppeditati: usque adeo parcunt fetus augentque laborem. iamque caput quassans grandis suspirat arator crebrius, in cassum magnos cecidisse labores, et cum tempora temporibus praesentia confert praeteritis, laudat fortunas saepe parentis. tristis item vetulae vitis sator atque vietae temporis incusat momen saeclumque fatigat, et crepat, antiquum genus ut pietate repletum perfacile angustis tolerarit finibus aevom, cum minor esset agri multo modus ante viritim; nec tenet omnia paulatim tabescere et ire ad capulum spatio aetatis defessa vetusto.
You who first, out of darkness so great, were able to raise a light so clear, illuminating the goods of life, you I follow, O glory of the Greek race, and now I plant my own footsteps firm in the prints you pressed, not so much from a longing to contend as for the love that makes me ache to imitate you; for how should the swallow vie with swans, or what could kids on their trembling limbs do that is like the running power of a strong horse? You, father, are the discoverer of truth, you supply a father’s precepts to us, and from your pages, illustrious one, as bees in flowering glades sip from everything, so we likewise feed on all your golden words— golden, and ever most worthy of everlasting life. For as soon as your reasoning begins to proclaim aloud the nature of things, sprung from your divine mind, the terrors of the spirit flee, the walls of the world part asunder, and I see things move through all the void. The divinity of the gods appears, and their tranquil seats, which neither winds shake nor clouds drench with rain, nor does snow, hardened by sharp frost, falling white, violate them; an ever-cloudless sky roofs them over and laughs with light spread wide: nature, moreover, supplies all things, nor does anything gnaw at the peace of their mind at any time. But on the other hand the halls of Acheron appear nowhere, nor does the earth stand in the way of seeing all that goes on below, beneath our feet, through the void. At these things a certain divine delight takes hold of me and a shudder, that thus by your power nature lies so manifestly open, uncovered on every side.
E tenebris tantis tam clarum extollere lumen qui primus potuisti inlustrans commoda vitae, te sequor, o Graiae gentis decus, inque tuis nunc ficta pedum pono pressis vestigia signis, non ita certandi cupidus quam propter amorem quod te imitari aveo; quid enim contendat hirundo cycnis, aut quid nam tremulis facere artubus haedi consimile in cursu possint et fortis equi vis? tu, pater, es rerum inventor, tu patria nobis suppeditas praecepta, tuisque ex, inclute, chartis, floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant, omnia nos itidem depascimur aurea dicta, aurea, perpetua semper dignissima vita. nam simul ac ratio tua coepit vociferari naturam rerum divina mente coorta diffugiunt animi terrores, moenia mundi discedunt. totum video per inane geri res. apparet divum numen sedesque quietae, quas neque concutiunt venti nec nubila nimbis aspergunt neque nix acri concreta pruina cana cadens violat semper que innubilus aether integit et large diffuso lumine ridet: omnia suppeditat porro natura neque ulla res animi pacem delibat tempore in ullo. at contra nusquam apparent Acherusia templa, nec tellus obstat quin omnia dispiciantur, sub pedibus quae cumque infra per inane geruntur. his ibi me rebus quaedam divina voluptas percipit atque horror, quod sic natura tua vi tam manifesta patens ex omni parte retecta est.
And since I have taught what the first-beginnings of all things are like, and how, differing in their varied shapes, they fly of their own accord, driven on by everlasting motion, and in what way each thing can be created out of them, the nature of the mind and of the spirit must next, after these things, be made clear, it seems, in my verses now, and that dread of Acheron must be driven headlong out, which troubles human life from its very depths, suffusing all things with the blackness of death, and leaves no pleasure clear and pure. For as to what men often claim—that diseases and a life of disgrace are more to be feared than the Tartarus of death, and that they know the spirit’s nature to be of blood, or even of wind, if their fancy happens to take them so, and that they have no need at all of our reasoning— from this you may perceive that all of it is paraded for the sake of praise, not because the thing itself is believed. These same men, banished from their country and driven far from the sight of men, befouled by some foul charge, afflicted in short with every misery, still live on, and wherever, in their wretchedness, they have come, they make offerings to the dead, slaughter black cattle, and to the gods below send down their dues, and amid their bitter circumstances turn their minds far more keenly to superstition. The more reason, then, to watch a man in doubtful dangers, and to learn in adversity who he is; for then at last true words are drawn up from the bottom of the heart, the mask is torn away, the thing itself remains. Then greed, too, and the blind lust for honors, which drive wretched men to overstep the bounds of right, and sometimes as partners and ministers of crime to strive night and day with surpassing toil to climb to the summit of wealth—these wounds of life are nourished, in no small part, by the dread of death. For shameful scorn and biting want seem to stand far from a sweet and settled life, and to linger already, as it were, before the gates of death; and men, driven on by a false terror, longing to flee far from these and to remove them far away, pile up their fortunes by the blood of citizens, and greedily double their riches, heaping slaughter upon slaughter; cruelly they rejoice at a brother’s grievous death, and hate and fear the tables of their kin. In like fashion, and from the same fear, often envy eats at them: that this man, before their eyes, holds power, that man is gazed upon, who walks in bright honor, while they complain that they themselves roll in darkness and mire. Some perish for the sake of statues and a name. And often, through dread of death, so deep a hatred of life and of looking upon the light takes hold of men that with grieving heart they bring their own destruction on, forgetting that this fear is the fountain of their cares: it urges one to violate his honor, another to burst the bonds of friendship, and, in sum, to overturn all piety; for often before now men have betrayed their country and beloved parents, seeking to shun the halls of Acheron. For just as children tremble and dread everything in the blind dark, so we, even in the light, are sometimes afraid of things that are no more to be feared than what children shudder at in the dark and imagine will come. This terror of the mind, then, and this darkness must be scattered not by the rays of the sun nor the bright shafts of day, but by the outward face of nature and her law.
Et quoniam docui, cunctarum exordia rerum qualia sint et quam variis distantia formis sponte sua volitent aeterno percita motu, quove modo possint res ex his quaeque creari, hasce secundum res animi natura videtur atque animae claranda meis iam versibus esse et metus ille foras praeceps Acheruntis agendus, funditus humanam qui vitam turbat ab imo omnia suffundens mortis nigrore neque ullam esse voluptatem liquidam puramque relinquit. nam quod saepe homines morbos magis esse timendos infamemque ferunt vitam quam Tartara leti et se scire animi naturam sanguinis esse, aut etiam venti, si fert ita forte voluntas, nec prosum quicquam nostrae rationis egere, hinc licet advertas animum magis omnia laudis iactari causa quam quod res ipsa probetur. extorres idem patria longeque fugati conspectu ex hominum, foedati crimine turpi, omnibus aerumnis adfecti denique vivunt, et quo cumque tamen miseri venere parentant et nigras mactant pecudes et manibus divis inferias mittunt multoque in rebus acerbis acrius advertunt animos ad religionem. quo magis in dubiis hominem spectare periclis convenit adversisque in rebus noscere qui sit; nam verae voces tum demum pectore ab imo eliciuntur et eripitur persona amanare. denique avarities et honorum caeca cupido, quae miseros homines cogunt transcendere fines iuris et inter dum socios scelerum atque ministros noctes atque dies niti praestante labore ad summas emergere opes, haec vulnera vitae non minimam partem mortis formidine aluntur. turpis enim ferme contemptus et acris egestas semota ab dulci vita stabilique videtur et quasi iam leti portas cunctarier ante; unde homines dum se falso terrore coacti effugisse volunt longe longeque remosse, sanguine civili rem conflant divitiasque conduplicant avidi, caedem caede accumulantes, crudeles gaudent in tristi funere fratris et consanguineum mensas odere timentque. consimili ratione ab eodem saepe timore macerat invidia ante oculos illum esse potentem, illum aspectari, claro qui incedit honore, ipsi se in tenebris volvi caenoque queruntur. intereunt partim statuarum et nominis ergo. et saepe usque adeo, mortis formidine, vitae percipit humanos odium lucisque videndae, ut sibi consciscant maerenti pectore letum obliti fontem curarum hunc esse timorem: hunc vexare pudorem, hunc vincula amicitiai rumpere et in summa pietate evertere suadet: nam iam saepe homines patriam carosque parentis prodiderunt vitare Acherusia templa petentes. nam vel uti pueri trepidant atque omnia caecis in tenebris metuunt, sic nos in luce timemus inter dum, nihilo quae sunt metuenda magis quam quae pueri in tenebris pavitant finguntque futura. hunc igitur terrorem animi tenebrasque necessest non radii solis neque lucida tela diei discutiant, sed naturae species ratioque.
First, I say that the mind, which we often call the intellect, in which the counsel and the governance of life are seated, is no less a part of a man than the hand and the foot and the eyes are parts that belong to the whole living thing. Some would have it that the mind’s sense is lodged in no fixed part, but is a certain vital condition of the body— a harmony, as the Greeks call it—which makes us live with sense, though the mind itself is in no part at all; just as good health is often said to belong to the body, and yet it is no one part of the man who is well, so they set the sense of the mind in no fixed part; and in this those who differ seem to me to wander far astray.
Primum animum dico, mentem quem saepe vocamus, in quo consilium vitae regimenque locatum est, esse hominis partem nihilo minus ac manus et pes atque oculei partes animantis totius extant. sensum animi certa non esse in parte locatum, verum habitum quendam vitalem corporis esse, harmoniam Grai quam dicunt, quod faciat nos vivere cum sensu, nulla cum in parte siet mens; ut bona saepe valetudo cum dicitur esse corporis, et non est tamen haec pars ulla valentis, sic animi sensum non certa parte reponunt; magno opere in quo mi diversi errare videntur.
And so often the body, which is seen in plain view, is sick, while from some other, hidden part we still feel glad; and the reverse happens, conversely, in turn, when a man wretched in mind is glad in all his body— no otherwise than if, when a sick man’s foot is in pain, his head meanwhile happens to be in no pain at all.
Saepe itaque, in promptu corpus quod cernitur, aegret, cum tamen ex alia laetamur parte latenti; et retro fit ubi contra sit saepe vicissim, cum miser ex animo laetatur corpore toto; non alio pacto quam si, pes cum dolet aegri, in nullo caput interea sit forte dolore.
Besides, when the limbs are given over to soft sleep and the body lies sprawled and heavy without sense, there is yet something else in us which at that very time is stirred in many ways and takes into itself all the motions of gladness and the empty cares of the heart.
Praeterea molli cum somno dedita membra effusumque iacet sine sensu corpus honustum, est aliud tamen in nobis quod tempore in illo multimodis agitatur et omnis accipit in se laetitiae motus et curas cordis inanis.
Now, that you may know that the spirit too is in the limbs, and that the body does not feel by means of a harmony, consider first: it often happens that, with much of the body taken away, yet life still lingers for us in the limbs;
Nunc animam quoque ut in membris cognoscere possis esse neque harmonia corpus sentire solere, principio fit uti detracto corpore multo saepe tamen nobis in membris vita moretur.
and again that same life, when a few bodies of heat have scattered and air has been driven out through the mouth, at once forsakes the veins and abandons the bones— so that from this you may know that not all bodies have equal parts, nor uphold our welfare equally, but rather these, the seeds of wind and warm vapor, see to it that life lingers in the limbs. There is, then, a vital heat and wind within the body itself, which forsakes our dying frame. Wherefore, since the nature of the mind and of the spirit has been found to be, as it were, a part of man, give back the name of harmony, brought down to the musicians from high Helicon— or else they themselves drew it from somewhere further off and transferred it to that thing which then lacked a name of its own. Whatever it is, let them keep it: do you take in the rest of my words.
Atque eadem rursum, cum corpora pauca caloris diffugere forasque per os est editus aer, deserit extemplo venas atque ossa relinquit; noscere ut hinc possis non aequas omnia partis corpora habere neque ex aequo fulcire salutem, sed magis haec, venti quae sunt calidique vaporis semina, curare in membris ut vita moretur. est igitur calor ac ventus vitalis in ipso corpore, qui nobis moribundos deserit artus. quapropter quoniam est animi natura reperta atque animae quasi pars hominis, redde harmoniai nomen, ad organicos alto delatum Heliconi, sive aliunde ipsi porro traxere et in illam transtulerunt, proprio quae tum res nomine egebat. quidquid id est, habeant: tu cetera percipe dicta.
Now I say that the mind and the spirit are held joined together, and make of themselves one nature, but that the head, as it were, and what rules in the whole body is the counsel, which we call the mind and the intellect. And it sits fixed in the middle region of the breast. For here it is that dread and fear leap up; about these places gladnesses soothe; here, then, are the intellect and the mind. The rest of the spirit, scattered through the whole body, obeys, and is moved at the nod and impulse of the mind. The mind alone, by itself, has understanding and rejoices for itself, when no thing stirs the spirit and the body together. And as, when our head or eye is hurt by an assailing pain, we are not tortured at once in the whole body, so the mind is sometimes hurt of itself, or thrives with gladness, while the rest of the spirit through limbs and frame is roused by nothing new; but when the mind is shaken by a more violent fear, we see the whole spirit feel it through the limbs, and so sweat and pallor arise over the whole body, the tongue is broken and the voice fails, the eyes grow dark, the ears ring, the limbs give way, and at last we often see men collapse from terror of the mind; so that anyone may easily learn from this that the spirit is joined together with the mind, and that, struck by the mind’s force, it then drives the body on and strikes it.
Nunc animum atque animam dico coniuncta teneri inter se atque unam naturam conficere ex se, sed caput esse quasi et dominari in corpore toto consilium, quod nos animum mentemque vocamus. idque situm media regione in pectoris haeret. hic exultat enim pavor ac metus, haec loca circum laetitiae mulcent: hic ergo mens animusquest. cetera pars animae per totum dissita corpus paret et ad numen mentis momenque movetur. idque sibi solum per se sapit et sibi gaudet, cum neque res animam neque corpus commovet una. et quasi, cum caput aut oculus temptante dolore laeditur in nobis, non omni concruciamur corpore, sic animus nonnumquam laeditur ipse laetitiaque viget, cum cetera pars animai per membra atque artus nulla novitate cietur; verum ubi vementi magis est commota metu mens, consentire animam totam per membra videmus sudoresque ita palloremque existere toto corpore et infringi linguam vocemque aboriri, caligare oculos, sonere auris, succidere artus, denique concidere ex animi terrore videmus saepe homines; facile ut quivis hinc noscere possit esse animam cum animo coniunctam, quae cum animi vi percussa est, exim corpus propellit et icit.
This same reasoning teaches that the nature of the mind and spirit is bodily; for when it is seen to drive the limbs, to snatch the body from sleep, to change the countenance, and to govern and turn the whole man about— none of which, we see, can come to pass without touch, nor touch, in turn, without body—must we not confess that the mind and the spirit consist of bodily nature? Besides, you see the mind suffer along with the body and feel together with us within the body. If the dread force of a weapon, driven within with bones and sinews laid open, does not strike at life, yet there follows a faintness and a sweet sinking toward the ground, and on the ground a turmoil of mind that rises, and from time to time a wavering will, as it were, to get up. Therefore the nature of the mind must be bodily, since it suffers under bodily weapons and blows.
Haec eadem ratio naturam animi atque animai corpoream docet esse; ubi enim propellere membra, corripere ex somno corpus mutareque vultum atque hominem totum regere ac versare videtur, quorum nil fieri sine tactu posse videmus nec tactum porro sine corpore, nonne fatendumst corporea natura animum constare animamque? praeterea pariter fungi cum corpore et una consentire animum nobis in corpore cernis. si minus offendit vitam vis horrida teli ossibus ac nervis disclusis intus adacta, at tamen insequitur languor terraeque petitus suavis et in terra mentis qui gignitur aestus inter dumque quasi exsurgendi incerta voluntas. ergo corpoream naturam animi esse necessest, corporeis quoniam telis ictuque laborat.
Now I will go on to render account in words of what body this mind of yours is, and from what it has been composed. First, I say it is exceedingly subtle, and made to consist of exceedingly minute bodies. That this is so you may mark, by turning your mind to it here, so as to know it through.
Is tibi nunc animus quali sit corpore et unde constiterit pergam rationem reddere dictis. principio esse aio persuptilem atque minutis perquam corporibus factum constare. id ita esse hinc licet advertas animum, ut pernoscere possis.
Nothing at all is seen to come about so swiftly as when the mind proposes it to happen and itself begins it; the mind, then, bestirs itself faster than any of the things whose nature is plain before our eyes. But what is so mobile must consist of seeds exceedingly round and exceedingly minute, so that, when struck, they can be moved by a slight impulse. For water is moved and flows at ever so slight an impulse, since it is created of rolling, little shapes. But the nature of honey, on the other hand, is more stable, its liquid more sluggish, its motion more hesitant: for the whole store of its matter clings together more, no doubt because it is not made of bodies so smooth, nor so subtle and round. For a light, hanging breath can make a high heap of poppy-seed pour down from the top for you, but a heap of stones or of ears of grain it cannot. Therefore the smaller and smoother bodies are, the more they enjoy mobility; but on the other hand, whatever are found heavier and rougher, the more steadfast they are. Now, then, since the nature of the mind has been found remarkably mobile, it must consist of bodies exceedingly small and smooth and round. This fact, once known to you, my good man, in many matters will be found useful and will prove of service.
Nil adeo fieri celeri ratione videtur, quam si mens fieri proponit et inchoat ipsa; ocius ergo animus quam res se perciet ulla, ante oculos quorum in promptu natura videtur. at quod mobile tanto operest, constare rutundis perquam seminibus debet perquamque minutis, momine uti parvo possint inpulsa moveri. namque movetur aqua et tantillo momine flutat, quippe volubilibus parvisque creata figuris. at contra mellis constantior est natura et pigri latices magis et cunctantior actus: haeret enim inter se magis omnis materiai copia, ni mirum quia non tam levibus extat corporibus neque tam suptilibus atque rutundis. namque papaveris aura potest suspensa levisque cogere ut ab summo tibi diffluat altus acervus, at contra lapidum coniectum spicarumque noenu potest. igitur parvissima corpora pro quam et levissima sunt, ita mobilitate fruuntur; at contra quae cumque magis cum pondere magno asperaque inveniuntur, eo stabilita magis sunt. nunc igitur quoniamst animi natura reperta mobilis egregie, perquam constare necessest corporibus parvis et levibus atque rutundis. quae tibi cognita res in multis, o bone, rebus utilis invenietur et opportuna cluebit.
This fact, too, declares the nature of the mind— of how fine a texture it consists, and in how small a place it would be held, could it be gathered into a ball: that the moment the untroubled quiet of death has seized a man, and the nature of the mind and spirit has withdrawn, you can see nothing taken from the whole body to the sight, nothing in weight: death furnishes all save the vital sense and the warm vapor. Therefore the whole spirit must consist of very small seeds, knit through the veins, the flesh, the sinews, inasmuch as, when it has now wholly gone from the body, the outermost contour of the limbs nonetheless keeps itself unharmed, and not a jot of weight is wanting. Just so, when the bloom of wine has vanished, or when the sweet breath of an ointment has scattered into the air, or when the savor has now gone from some body, yet the thing itself seems no smaller to the eyes on that account, nor is anything taken from its weight— no doubt because many and minute seeds make up the savors and the smell in the whole body of things. Wherefore again and again you may know that the nature of the mind and spirit is made of exceedingly tiny seeds, since in fleeing it carries off no weight.
Haec quoque res etiam naturam dedicat eius, quam tenui constet textura quamque loco se contineat parvo, si possit conglomerari, quod simul atque hominem leti secura quies est indepta atque animi natura animaeque recessit, nil ibi libatum de toto corpore cernas ad speciem, nihil ad pondus: mors omnia praestat, vitalem praeter sensum calidumque vaporem. ergo animam totam perparvis esse necessest seminibus nexam per venas viscera nervos, qua tenus, omnis ubi e toto iam corpore cessit, extima membrorum circumcaesura tamen se incolumem praestat nec defit ponderis hilum. quod genus est, Bacchi cum flos evanuit aut cum spiritus unguenti suavis diffugit in auras aut aliquo cum iam sucus de corpore cessit; nil oculis tamen esse minor res ipsa videtur propterea neque detractum de pondere quicquam, ni mirum quia multa minutaque semina sucos efficiunt et odorem in toto corpore rerum. quare etiam atque etiam mentis naturam animaeque scire licet perquam pauxillis esse creatam seminibus, quoniam fugiens nil ponderis aufert.
Yet we must not think this nature simple. For a certain thin breath forsakes the dying, mixed with vapor, and the vapor in turn draws air with it; nor is there any heat that has not air mixed in it too; for since the nature of heat is rare, many first-beginnings of air must needs move about within it. Already, then, the nature of the mind is found to be threefold; yet all these together are not enough to create sensation, since the mind grants that none of these can create the sense-bearing motions, much less what it turns over in thought. A fourth nature, therefore, must also be assigned to these; and it is altogether without a name; than which nothing exists more mobile or more thin, nor made of smaller and smoother elements; it first distributes the sense-bearing motions through the frame. For it is first set in motion, being formed of small shapes; then heat and the unseen power of wind take up the motion, then air, then all things are made mobile: the blood is stirred, then all the flesh feels it through, and last of all the feeling is given to the bones and marrow, whether it be pleasure or the opposite, a burning heat. Nor can pain pierce thus far at random, nor a sharp ill seep through, but that all things are so disturbed that no room is left for life, and the parts of the spirit scatter abroad through all the pores of the body. But for the most part a limit is set, as it were, on the surface of the body, to these motions: and for this reason we are able to hold to our life.
Nec tamen haec simplex nobis natura putanda est. tenvis enim quaedam moribundos deserit aura mixta vapore, vapor porro trahit aera aëra secum; nec calor est quisquam, cui non sit mixtus et aer; rara quod eius enim constat natura, necessest aeris inter eum primordia multa moveri. iam triplex animi est igitur natura reperta; nec tamen haec sat sunt ad sensum cuncta creandum, nil horum quoniam recipit mens posse creare sensiferos motus, quae denique mente volutat. quarta quoque his igitur quaedam natura necessest adtribuatur; east omnino nominis expers; qua neque mobilius quicquam neque tenvius extat nec magis e parvis et levibus ex elementis; sensiferos motus quae didit prima per artus. prima cietur enim, parvis perfecta figuris, inde calor motus et venti caeca potestas accipit, inde aer, inde omnia mobilitantur: concutitur sanguis, tum viscera persentiscunt omnia, postremis datur ossibus atque medullis sive voluptas est sive est contrarius ardor. nec temere huc dolor usque potest penetrare neque acre permanare malum, quin omnia perturbentur usque adeo ut vitae desit locus atque animai diffugiant partes per caulas corporis omnis. sed plerumque fit in summo quasi corpore finis motibus: hanc ob rem vitam retinere valemus.
Now, by what manner these are mixed among themselves, and by what arrangement they hold their force, a longing to render account of it the poverty of my native tongue drags me back from, unwilling; yet, so far as I shall be able to touch it in sum, I will touch. For the first-beginnings course among themselves with their motions, so that no single one can be sundered off, nor can its power act apart, divided by an interval of space, but they are like the many powers of a single body. As in the flesh of any living creature there is, in general, smell and a certain color and savor, and yet out of all these one full bulk of body is made, so heat and air and the unseen power of wind, mingled, create one nature, together with that mobile force which imparts from itself the beginning of motion to them, whence the sense-bearing motion first arises through the flesh. For this nature lies deep and far within and beneath, nor is there anything lower than it in our body, and it is itself in turn the very soul of the whole spirit. Just as, in our limbs and in the whole body, the force of the mind and the power of the spirit lie mingled and hidden, because they are made of bodies few and small, so this nameless force, made of minute bodies, lies hidden, and is itself, as it were, the very soul of the whole spirit, and lords it over the whole body. In like manner the wind and the air and the heat must keep their force alive, mixed together through the frame, and one lie lower, another rise higher, so that some one thing may seem made of them all, lest the heat and the wind apart, and apart the power of the air, destroy the sense and dissolve it by being parted. There is also in the mind that heat which it takes on when it boils up in anger and the blaze flashes sharper from the eyes; there is, too, much cold breath, the companion of fear, which stirs a shudder in the limbs and rouses the frame; there is also that state of settled air, which comes when the breast is calm and the face serene. But there is more of the hot in those whose hearts are sharp and whose angry mind easily boils over in wrath; foremost in this kind is the violent force of lions, who often break their breasts with roaring as they groan, and cannot hold in their breast the waves of their rage. But the cold mind of stags is more windy, and more swiftly rouses chill breaths through the flesh, which make a trembling motion arise in the limbs. But the nature of cattle lives by a more peaceful air, nor does the smoking torch of anger, thrust beneath, ever stir it too far, suffusing it with the shadow of blind gloom, nor is it pierced and benumbed by the cold shafts of fear; it is set midway between the stags and the savage lions. So it is with the race of men: however much teaching may polish some to a like smoothness, it yet leaves the first traces of each one’s nature in the mind. Nor must we think the roots of these evils can be plucked out, but that this man will run the more readily into sharp anger, that one be assailed a little sooner by fear, while a third, the last, will take some things more mildly than is fair. And in many other matters the varied natures of men must differ, and the habits that follow from them; whose hidden causes I cannot now set forth, nor find names enough for the shapes that are in the first-beginnings, whence this variety of things arises. This much, in these matters, I see I can affirm: that the traces of our natures left behind, which reason cannot drive away from us, are so very slight that nothing hinders our living a life worthy of the gods.
Nunc ea quo pacto inter sese mixta quibusque compta modis vigeant rationem reddere aventem abstrahit invitum patrii sermonis egestas; sed tamen, ut potero summatim attingere, tangam. inter enim cursant primordia principiorum motibus inter se, nihil ut secernier unum possit nec spatio fieri divisa potestas, sed quasi multae vis unius corporis extant. quod genus in quovis animantum viscere volgo est odor et quidam color et sapor, et tamen ex his omnibus est unum perfectum corporis augmen, sic calor atque aer et venti caeca potestas mixta creant unam naturam et mobilis illa vis, initum motus ab se quae dividit ollis, sensifer unde oritur primum per viscera motus. nam penitus prorsum latet haec natura subestque nec magis hac infra quicquam est in corpore nostro atque anima est animae proporro totius ipsa. quod genus in nostris membris et corpore toto mixta latens animi vis est animaeque potestas, corporibus quia de parvis paucisque creatast, sic tibi nominis haec expers vis, facta minutis corporibus, latet atque animae quasi totius ipsa proporrost anima et dominatur corpore toto. consimili ratione necessest ventus et aer et calor inter se vigeant commixta per artus atque aliis aliud subsit magis emineatque, ut quiddam fieri videatur ab omnibus unum, ni calor ac ventus seorsum seorsumque potestas aeris interemant sensum diductaque solvant. est etiam calor ille animo, quem sumit, in ira cum fervescit et ex oculis micat acrius ardor; est et frigida multa, comes formidinis, aura, quae ciet horrorem membris et concitat artus; est etiam quoque pacati status aeris ille, pectore tranquillo fit qui voltuque sereno. sed calidi plus est illis quibus acria corda iracundaque mens facile effervescit in ira, quo genere in primis vis est violenta leonum, pectora qui fremitu rumpunt plerumque gementes nec capere irarum fluctus in pectore possunt. at ventosa magis cervorum frigida mens est et gelidas citius per viscera concitat auras, quae tremulum faciunt membris existere motum. at natura boum placido magis aere vivit nec nimis irai fax umquam subdita percit fumida, suffundens caecae caliginis umbra, nec gelidis torpet telis perfixa pavoris; interutrasque sitast cervos saevosque leones. sic hominum genus est: quamvis doctrina politos constituat pariter quosdam, tamen illa relinquit naturae cuiusque animi vestigia prima. nec radicitus evelli mala posse putandumst, quin proclivius hic iras decurrat ad acris, ille metu citius paulo temptetur, at ille tertius accipiat quaedam clementius aequo. inque aliis rebus multis differre necessest naturas hominum varias moresque sequacis; quorum ego nunc nequeo caecas exponere causas nec reperire figurarum tot nomina quot sunt principiis, unde haec oritur variantia rerum. illud in his rebus video firmare potesse, usque adeo naturarum vestigia linqui parvola, quae nequeat ratio depellere nobis, ut nihil inpediat dignam dis degere vitam.
This nature, then, is held in by the whole body, and is itself the body’s guardian and the cause of its welfare; for they cling together by common roots, nor, it seems, can they be torn apart without ruin. As it is no easy thing to draw the scent from lumps of frankincense without its very nature perishing too, so it is no easy thing to draw out the nature of the mind and spirit from the whole body without all being dissolved. With first-beginnings so interwoven from their earliest origin are they, that they live a life of shared partnership, nor, it seems, can the power of body or of mind feel anything by itself, apart from the other’s force; but by motions common to both, kindled on either side, sensation is fanned to flame in us through the flesh.
Haec igitur natura tenetur corpore ab omni ipsaque corporis est custos et causa salutis; nam communibus inter se radicibus haerent nec sine pernicie divelli posse videntur. quod genus e thuris glaebis evellere odorem haud facile est, quin intereat natura quoque eius, sic animi atque animae naturam corpore toto extrahere haut facile est, quin omnia dissoluantur. inplexis ita principiis ab origine prima inter se fiunt consorti praedita vita, nec sibi quaeque sine alterius vi posse videtur corporis atque animi seorsum sentire potestas, sed communibus inter eas conflatur utrimque motibus accensus nobis per viscera sensus.
Besides, the body is never of itself begotten, nor grows, nor seems to last on after death. For not as the moisture of water often gives off the heat given to it, and is not for that cause torn apart itself, but stays unharmed—not so, I say, can the limbs endure the sundering of the spirit, once it is left them, but, torn through, they utterly perish and rot away. So from the first beginning of life the body and the spirit learn the vital motions by mutual contact, even while still lodged in the mother’s limbs and womb, so that no parting can come about without harm and ruin; that you may see that, since the cause of their welfare is joined, their nature too must stand joined together.
Praeterea corpus per se nec gignitur umquam nec crescit neque post mortem durare videtur. non enim, ut umor aquae dimittit saepe vaporem, qui datus est, neque ea causa convellitur ipse, sed manet incolumis, non, inquam, sic animai discidium possunt artus perferre relicti, sed penitus pereunt convulsi conque putrescunt. ex ineunte aevo sic corporis atque animai mutua vitalis discunt contagia motus, maternis etiam membris alvoque reposta, discidium ut nequeat fieri sine peste maloque; ut videas, quoniam coniunctast causa salutis, coniunctam quoque naturam consistere eorum.
For what remains: if anyone denies that the body feels, and believes that it is the spirit, mingled through the whole body, that takes up this motion which we name sensation, he fights against things manifest and true. For who will ever explain what it is for the body to feel, if not the plain thing itself which has given and taught it us? "But when the spirit is gone, the body lacks all sense." Yes—for it loses what was not its own while it lived, and much else besides it loses when it is driven out of life.
Quod super est, siquis corpus sentire refutat atque animam credit permixtam corpore toto suscipere hunc motum quem sensum nominitamus, vel manifestas res contra verasque repugnat. quid sit enim corpus sentire quis adferet umquam, si non ipsa palam quod res dedit ac docuit nos? ’at dimissa anima corpus caret undique sensu.’ perdit enim quod non proprium fuit eius in aevo multaque praeterea perdit quom expellitur aevo.
To say, further, that the eyes can see nothing, but that through them the mind looks out, as through open doors, is hard—since the very sense of the eyes leads the other way; for that sense draws us and thrusts us to the pupils themselves, above all when we often cannot see things that are bright, because our eyes are blocked by the light. With doors that does not happen; nor do the doors, through which we ourselves see, undergo any toil by being thrown open. Besides, if our eyes are as doors, then the mind, with the eyes taken out, ought rather to see things the better, the very door-posts removed.
Dicere porro oculos nullam rem cernere posse, sed per eos animum ut foribus spectare reclusis, difficilest, contra cum sensus ducat eorum; sensus enim trahit atque acies detrudit ad ipsas, fulgida praesertim cum cernere saepe nequimus, lumina luminibus quia nobis praepediuntur. quod foribus non fit; neque enim, qua cernimus ipsi, ostia suscipiunt ullum reclusa laborem. praeterea si pro foribus sunt lumina nostra, iam magis exemptis oculis debere videtur cernere res animus sublatis postibus ipsis.
In these matters you can by no means take up what the holy judgment of the man Democritus lays down— that the first-beginnings of body and of mind are set single by single, alternating, and so braid the limbs together. For since the elements of the spirit are far smaller than those of which our body and flesh consist, they fall short, too, in number, and are scattered thin through the frame; so that you can promise only this much: that the first-beginnings of the spirit hold intervals apart as great as the smallest bodies which, cast into us, can stir the sense-bearing motions in the body. For at times we do not feel the cling of dust upon the body, nor chalk shaken and settled on the limbs, nor mist by night, nor the fine threads of the spider that meet us, when we are caught up in them as we go, nor the withered web that has fallen upon our head, nor the feathers of birds, nor the flying down of thistles, which from their excess of lightness mostly fall with difficulty, nor the going of every creeping creature whatsoever, nor the several footprints which gnats and the rest set upon our body. So much must first be stirred in us before the first-beginnings of the spirit, sown among our bodies through the frame, feel themselves shaken, and before, in these intervals, they can, by jolting, run together, meet, and leap apart in turn.
Illud in his rebus nequaquam sumere possis, Democriti quod sancta viri sententia ponit, corporis atque animi primordia singula primis adposita alternis, variare ac nectere membra. nam cum multo sunt animae elementa minora quam quibus e corpus nobis et viscera constant, tum numero quoque concedunt et rara per artus dissita sunt, dum taxat ut hoc promittere possis, quantula prima queant nobis iniecta ciere corpora sensiferos motus in corpore, tanta intervalla tenere exordia prima animai. nam neque pulveris inter dum sentimus adhaesum corpore nec membris incussam sidere cretam, nec nebulam noctu neque arani tenvia fila obvia sentimus, quando obretimur euntes, nec supera caput eiusdem cecidisse vietam vestem nec plumas avium papposque volantis, qui nimia levitate cadunt plerumque gravatim, nec repentis itum cuiusvis cumque animantis sentimus nec priva pedum vestigia quaeque, corpore quae in nostro culices et cetera ponunt. usque adeo prius est in nobis multa ciendum quam primordia sentiscant concussa animai, semina corporibus nostris inmixta per artus, et quam in his intervallis tuditantia possint concursare coire et dissultare vicissim.
And the mind is more the keeper of life’s barriers, and holds more sway over life than the power of the spirit. For without the intellect and the mind no part of the spirit can stay in the frame for the briefest part of time, but follows after as companion, and easily departs into the air, and leaves the chill limbs in the cold of death. But he in whom the intellect and the mind have stayed remains in life, however he be mangled, his limbs lopped away all round; the trunk, the spirit taken away and the limbs removed about it, lives and draws in the life-giving breaths of heaven; if not in every way, yet, robbed of a great part of the spirit, it still lingers and clings to life. As, when the eye is torn round about, if the pupil has stayed unharmed, the living power of sight stands firm, provided you do not destroy the whole orb of the eye and cut round the pupil and leave it alone; for that, too, will not happen without ruin to them. But if that little middle part of the eye is eaten through, at once the light is gone and darkness follows, however unharmed the bright orb is otherwise. By such a covenant are the spirit and the mind forever bound.
Et magis est animus vitai claustra coercens et dominantior ad vitam quam vis animai. nam sine mente animoque nequit residere per artus temporis exiguam partem pars ulla animai, sed comes insequitur facile et discedit in auras et gelidos artus in leti frigore linquit. at manet in vita cui mens animusque remansit, quamvis est circum caesis lacer undique membris; truncus adempta anima circum membrisque remota vivit et aetherias vitalis suscipit auras; si non omnimodis, at magna parte animai privatus, tamen in vita cunctatur et haeret; ut, lacerato oculo circum si pupula mansit incolumis, stat cernundi vivata potestas, dum modo ne totum corrumpas luminis orbem et circum caedas aciem solamque relinquas; id quoque enim sine pernicie non fiet eorum. at si tantula pars oculi media illa peresa est, occidit extemplo lumen tenebraeque secuntur, incolumis quamvis alioqui splendidus orbis. hoc anima atque animus vincti sunt foedere semper.
Now come, that you may know that the minds and the light spirits of living creatures are born and are mortal, I will go on to set in order verses worthy of your life, sought out long and found by sweet toil. Do you take care to gather both under one name of theirs, and when, for argument’s sake, I go on to speak of the spirit, teaching it mortal, believe I speak of the mind too, inasmuch as they are one and a thing conjoined between themselves.
Nunc age, nativos animantibus et mortalis esse animos animasque levis ut noscere possis, conquisita diu dulcique reperta labore digna tua pergam disponere carmina vita. tu fac utrumque uno subiungas nomine eorum atque animam verbi causa cum dicere pergam, mortalem esse docens, animum quoque dicere credas, qua tenus est unum inter se coniunctaque res est.
First, since I have taught that it is fine, made to consist of minute bodies, and of first-beginnings far smaller than the clear moisture of water, or mist, or smoke—for it far surpasses them in mobility, and is moved when struck by a slighter cause, since indeed it is moved by the very images of smoke and mist; as when, sunk in sleep, we see altars breathe up steam on high and give off smoke; for beyond doubt these likenesses are borne to us— now therefore, since you see, when vessels are shattered on every side, the water flow away and the liquid depart, and since mist and smoke depart into the air, believe that the spirit too is shed abroad, and perishes far more swiftly, and is dissolved the sooner into its first bodies, once it has been taken from a man’s limbs and withdrawn. For indeed, when the body, which is as it were its vessel, cannot hold it in, being shattered from some cause and rarefied by the drawing-off of blood from the veins, how could you believe it could be held in by any air, which is rarer than our body and less able to contain?
Principio quoniam tenuem constare minutis corporibus docui multoque minoribus esse principiis factam quam liquidus umor aquai aut nebula aut fumus —; nam longe mobilitate praestat et a tenui causa magis icta movetur, quippe ubi imaginibus fumi nebulaeque movetur; quod genus in somnis sopiti ubi cernimus alte exhalare vaporem altaria ferreque fumum; nam procul haec dubio nobis simulacra geruntur nunc igitur quoniam quassatis undique vasis diffluere umorem et laticem discedere cernis, et nebula ac fumus quoniam discedit in auras, crede animam quoque diffundi multoque perire ocius et citius dissolvi in corpora prima, cum semel ex hominis membris ablata recessit; quippe etenim corpus, quod vas quasi constitit eius, cum cohibere nequit conquassatum ex aliqua re ac rarefactum detracto sanguine venis, aere qui credas posse hanc cohiberier ullo, corpore qui nostro rarus magis incohibens sit?
Besides, we feel that the mind is begotten together with the body, and grows along with it, and ages along with it. For as children wander about with a body weak and tender, so a slight judgment of mind goes with them. Then, when their age has grown to robust strength, their counsel too is greater and the force of their mind enlarged. Afterward, when the body has now been shaken by the strong forces of age, and the frame has sunk with its powers blunted, the wit limps, the tongue raves, the mind totters, all things fail and give way at one and the same time. And so it is fitting that the whole nature of the spirit be dissolved too, like smoke, into the high breezes of the air; since we see it begotten together with the body, and grow together, and, as I have shown, give way together, worn out with age.
Praeterea gigni pariter cum corpore et una crescere sentimus pariterque senescere mentem. nam vel ut infirmo pueri teneroque vagantur corpore, sic animi sequitur sententia tenvis. inde ubi robustis adolevit viribus aetas, consilium quoque maius et auctior est animi vis. post ubi iam validis quassatum est viribus aevi corpus et obtusis ceciderunt viribus artus, claudicat ingenium, delirat lingua labat mens, omnia deficiunt atque uno tempore desunt. ergo dissolui quoque convenit omnem animai naturam, ceu fumus, in altas aeris auras; quando quidem gigni pariter pariterque videmus crescere et, ut docui, simul aevo fessa fatisci.
Add to this, that as we see the body itself take on monstrous diseases and harsh pain, so the mind takes on sharp cares and grief and fear; wherefore it is fitting that it share in death as well. Nay, in diseases of the body the mind often wanders astray; for it grows demented and speaks deliriously, and from time to time is borne off into a deep and everlasting sleep by a heavy lethargy, with eyes and head drooping; from which it neither hears the voices nor can recognize the faces of those who, calling it back to life, stand round with cheeks and faces wet with tears. Wherefore you must confess that the mind too is dissolved, since the contagions of disease pierce into it; for pain and disease are both fashioners of death, as we have been well taught before by the death of many. And since, when the keen force of wine has pierced a man and its heat, spread abroad, has passed into the veins, there follows a heaviness of the limbs, the legs are tangled as he reels, the tongue grows slow, the mind is sodden, the eyes swim, shouting, hiccupping, and brawling swell up, and now whatever else of this kind follows— why is this so, unless because the violent force of wine is wont to confound the spirit within the body itself? But whatever things can be confounded and hindered show that, if a somewhat harsher cause should work its way in, they will perish, robbed of any time to come.
Huc accedit uti videamus, corpus ut ipsum suscipere inmanis morbos durumque dolorem, sic animum curas acris luctumque metumque; quare participem leti quoque convenit esse. quin etiam morbis in corporis avius errat saepe animus; dementit enim deliraque fatur, inter dumque gravi lethargo fertur in altum aeternumque soporem oculis nutuque cadenti; unde neque exaudit voces nec noscere voltus illorum potis est, ad vitam qui revocantes circum stant lacrimis rorantes ora genasque. quare animum quoque dissolui fateare necessest, quandoquidem penetrant in eum contagia morbi; nam dolor ac morbus leti fabricator uterquest, multorum exitio perdocti quod sumus ante. et quoniam mentem sanari corpus ut aegrum et pariter mentem sanari corpus inani denique cor, hominem cum vini vis penetravit acris et in venas discessit diditus ardor, consequitur gravitas membrorum, praepediuntur crura vacillanti, tardescit lingua, madet mens, nant oculi, clamor singultus iurgia gliscunt, et iam cetera de genere hoc quae cumque secuntur, cur ea sunt, nisi quod vehemens violentia vini conturbare animam consuevit corpore in ipso? at quae cumque queunt conturbari inque pediri, significant, paulo si durior insinuarit causa, fore ut pereant aevo privata futuro.
Nay more, often a man, seized suddenly by the force of disease, falls before our eyes, as by a stroke of lightning, and foams, groans, and trembles in his limbs, loses his wits, strains his sinews, is twisted, gasps fitfully, and wearies his limbs with tossing about— no doubt because the force of the disease, scattered through the frame, drives and confounds the spirit, as on the salt sea the waves seethe under the strong forces of the winds. The groan, moreover, is forced out because the limbs are gripped with pain, and altogether because the seeds of the voice are driven out and carried in a mass through the mouth, abroad, along the way they are, as it were, accustomed to and fortified. Loss of wits comes about because the force of the mind and spirit is confounded and, as I have shown, divided apart, torn asunder by that same venom. Then, when the cause of the disease has now ebbed back, and the keen humor of the corrupted body has returned to its hiding-places, then, reeling as it were, the man first rises, and little by little returns to all his senses, and recovers his spirit. Since, then, the mind and spirit are tossed by such great diseases within the body itself, and torn apart, labor in wretched ways, why do you believe that, without a body, in the open air, amid the strong winds, they could pass their span of life?
Quin etiam subito vi morbi saepe coactus ante oculos aliquis nostros, ut fulminis ictu, concidit et spumas agit, ingemit et tremit artus, desipit, extentat nervos, torquetur, anhelat inconstanter, et in iactando membra fatigat, ni mirum quia vis morbi distracta per artus turbat agens animam, spumans ut in aequore salso ventorum validis fervescunt viribus undae. exprimitur porro gemitus, quia membra dolore adficiuntur et omnino quod semina vocis eliciuntur et ore foras glomerata feruntur qua quasi consuerunt et sunt munita viai. desipientia fit, quia vis animi atque animai conturbatur et, ut docui, divisa seorsum disiectatur eodem illo distracta veneno. inde ubi iam morbi reflexit causa, reditque in latebras acer corrupti corporis umor, tum quasi vaccillans primum consurgit et omnis paulatim redit in sensus animamque receptat. haec igitur tantis ubi morbis corpore in ipso iactentur miserisque modis distracta laborent, cur eadem credis sine corpore in aere aperto cum validis ventis aetatem degere posse?
And since we see the mind, like a sick body, be healed, and see that it can be bent by medicine, this too foretells that the mind lives a mortal life. For whoever sets about to alter the mind, or seeks to bend any other nature, must needs add parts, or shift their order, or take from the whole some little jot. But what is immortal will not have its parts transferred, nor anything added, nor a jot flow away; for whatever, changed, passes beyond its own bounds, this is at once the death of what was before. Therefore the mind, whether it sickens, sends out mortal signs, as I have shown, or is bent by medicine. So thoroughly is the false reasoning seen to be met by the true, which closes off escape to one who flees, and convicts the falsehood with a double refutation.
Et quoniam mentem sanari corpus ut aegrum cernimus et flecti medicina posse videmus, id quoque praesagit mortalem vivere mentem. addere enim partis aut ordine traiecere aecumst aut aliquid prosum de summa detrahere hilum, commutare animum qui cumque adoritur et infit aut aliam quamvis naturam flectere quaerit. at neque transferri sibi partis nec tribui vult inmortale quod est quicquam neque defluere hilum; nam quod cumque suis mutatum finibus exit, continuo hoc mors est illius quod fuit ante. ergo animus sive aegrescit, mortalia signa mittit, uti docui, seu flectitur a medicina. usque adeo falsae rationi vera videtur res occurrere et effugium praecludere eunti ancipitique refutatu convincere falsum.
Lastly, often we see a man go little by little, and lose his vital sense limb by limb; first on the feet the toes and the nails grow livid, then the feet and legs die, then through the other parts, step by step, go the footprints of cold death. And since this nature of the spirit is split, nor comes forth whole at one time, it must be held mortal. But if perhaps you think that it could draw itself inward through the frame, and gather its parts into one, and so withdraw sense from all the limbs, yet that place, into which so great a store of the spirit is gathered, ought to be seen with greater sense; and since this is nowhere, then no doubt, as we said before, it is torn to pieces and scattered abroad, and so perishes. Nay, even if it should please us to grant the false, and to allow that the spirit could be massed in the body of those who leave the light by dying piecemeal, yet you must confess that the spirit is mortal, nor does it matter whether it perish dispersed through the air, or be made dull, drawn together out of its own parts, since more and more, on every side, sense fails the whole man, and less and less of life remains on every side.
Denique saepe hominem paulatim cernimus ire et membratim vitalem deperdere sensum; in pedibus primum digitos livescere et unguis, inde pedes et crura mori, post inde per artus ire alios tractim gelidi vestigia leti. scinditur atque animae haec quoniam natura nec uno tempore sincera existit, mortalis habendast. quod si forte putas ipsam se posse per artus introsum trahere et partis conducere in unum atque ideo cunctis sensum diducere membris, at locus ille tamen, quo copia tanta animai cogitur, in sensu debet maiore videri; qui quoniam nusquamst, ni mirum, ut diximus ante, dilaniata foras dispargitur, interit ergo. quin etiam si iam libeat concedere falsum et dare posse animam glomerari in corpore eorum, lumina qui lincunt moribundi particulatim, mortalem tamen esse animam fateare necesse nec refert utrum pereat dispersa per auras an contracta suis e partibus obbrutescat, quando hominem totum magis ac magis undique sensus deficit et vitae minus et minus undique restat.
And since the mind is one part of a man, and stays fixed in a fixed place, just as the ears and eyes are, and the other senses that anywhere govern life, and just as the hand and eye and nostrils, apart, sundered from us, cannot feel nor be, but rather in a little time melt away, so the mind cannot, of itself, be without the body and the man himself, which is, as it were, its vessel— or whatever closer thing than this you may choose to imagine, since the body cleaves to it by close-knit bond.
Et quoniam mens est hominis pars una locoque fixa manet certo, vel ut aures atque oculi sunt atque alii sensus qui vitam cumque gubernant, et vel uti manus atque oculus naresve seorsum secreta ab nobis nequeunt sentire neque esse, sed tamen in parvo lincuntur tempore tali, sic animus per se non quit sine corpore et ipso esse homine, illius quasi quod vas esse videtur, sive aliud quid vis potius coniunctius ei fingere, quandoquidem conexu corpus adhaeret.
Lastly, the living powers of body and mind prevail conjoined together and enjoy life; for the nature of the mind cannot, of itself, alone, without the body give forth the vital motions, nor again can the body, bereft of the spirit, endure and use the senses. Just as the eye, plucked out by the roots, cannot of itself see any thing apart from the whole body, so the spirit and the mind, it seems, can do nothing by themselves. No doubt because, mingled through the veins and the flesh, through the sinews and the bones, they are held in by the whole body, nor can the first-beginnings leap freely apart at great intervals; and so, enclosed, they move with sense-bearing motions, which, cast out beyond the body into the breezes of the air after death, they cannot make, because they are not held together in like manner; for the air will be a body and a living thing, if the spirit can hold itself together and enclose itself within those motions which it carried on before in the sinews and the body itself. Wherefore, again and again, when the whole covering of the body is undone and the vital breaths are cast forth abroad, you must confess that the senses of the mind are dissolved, and the spirit, since the cause of the two is conjoined.
Denique corporis atque animi vivata potestas inter se coniuncta valent vitaque fruuntur; nec sine corpore enim vitalis edere motus sola potest animi per se natura nec autem cassum anima corpus durare et sensibus uti. scilicet avolsus radicibus ut nequit ullam dispicere ipse oculus rem seorsum corpore toto, sic anima atque animus per se nil posse videtur. ni mirum quia per venas et viscera mixtim, per nervos atque ossa tenentur corpore ab omni nec magnis intervallis primordia possunt libera dissultare, ideo conclusa moventur sensiferos motus, quos extra corpus in auras aeris haut possunt post mortem eiecta moveri propterea quia non simili ratione tenentur; corpus enim atque animans erit aer, si cohibere sese anima atque in eos poterit concludere motus, quos ante in nervis et in ipso corpore agebat. quare etiam atque etiam resoluto corporis omni tegmine et eiectis extra vitalibus auris dissolui sensus animi fateare necessest atque animam, quoniam coniunctast causa duobus.
Lastly, since the body cannot bear the sundering of the spirit without rotting away in a foul stench, why do you doubt that the force of the spirit, gathered up from the inmost depths, has oozed out and, spread abroad like smoke, and that the body, changed by so great a collapse, has crumbled to decay, because its foundations have been moved from their place and ooze out abroad, the spirit through the limbs and through all the winding ways that are in the body, and through its pores? In many ways you may know that the nature of the spirit has gone out parceled through the frame, and that it was torn apart within the body itself before it slipped forth and swam out into the breezes of the air.
Denique cum corpus nequeat perferre animai discidium, quin in taetro tabescat odore, quid dubitas quin ex imo penitusque coorta emanarit uti fumus diffusa animae vis, atque ideo tanta mutatum putre ruina conciderit corpus, penitus quia mota loco sunt fundamenta foras manant animaeque per artus perque viarum omnis flexus, in corpore qui sunt, atque foramina? multimodis ut noscere possis dispertitam animae naturam exisse per artus et prius esse sibi distractam corpore in ipso, quam prolapsa foras enaret in aeris auras.
Nay more, while the bound of life is still turning within, often the spirit, shaken from some cause, seems to go, and to be loosed wholly from the whole body, and the face seems to grow faint as at the last hour, and all the limbs to droop on the bloodless frame. This is what happens when, as we say, a man has fainted, or "lost his spirit"; when now there is panic, and all desire to catch the last bond of life; for then the mind and all the power of the spirit is shaken; and these collapse together with the body itself, so that a slightly heavier cause could dissolve them.
Quin etiam finis dum vitae vertitur intra, saepe aliqua tamen e causa labefacta videtur ire anima ac toto solui de corpore tota et quasi supremo languescere tempore voltus molliaque exsangui cadere omnia corpore membra. quod genus est, animo male factum cum perhibetur aut animam liquisse; ubi iam trepidatur et omnes extremum cupiunt vitae reprehendere vinclum; conquassatur enim tum mens animaeque potestas omnis. et haec ipso cum corpore conlabefiunt, ut gravior paulo possit dissolvere causa.
Why, then, do you doubt that the spirit, once thrust outside the body, weak, in the open, its covering stripped away, not only cannot last through all time, but cannot hold together for the least moment whatever? For no one, dying, feels his spirit go forth whole from the whole body, nor first come up to the throat and the gullet above, but rather fail, lodged in its own fixed region; just as he knows that the other senses are dissolved each in its own part. But if our mind were immortal, it would not, in dying, complain so of being dissolved, but rather of going forth and leaving its garment, like a snake.
Quid dubitas tandem quin extra prodita corpus inbecilla foras in aperto, tegmine dempto, non modo non omnem possit durare per aevom, sed minimum quodvis nequeat consistere tempus? nec sibi enim quisquam moriens sentire videtur ire foras animam incolumem de corpore toto, nec prius ad iugulum et supera succedere fauces, verum deficere in certa regione locatam; ut sensus alios in parti quemque sua scit dissolui. quod si inmortalis nostra foret mens, non tam se moriens dissolvi conquereretur, sed magis ire foras vestemque relinquere, ut anguis.
Lastly, why is the mind’s intellect and counsel never begotten in the head or the feet or the hands, but cleaves, in all men, to one seat and to fixed regions, if not because fixed places are assigned to each thing for its birth, and where, once created, each can endure, and so be ordered in members parceled in many ways, that the order of the limbs may never come out reversed? So thoroughly does thing follow thing: neither is flame wont to be created from rivers, nor cold to be born in fire.
Denique cur animi numquam mens consiliumque gignitur in capite aut pedibus manibusve, sed unis sedibus et certis regionibus omnibus haeret, si non certa loca ad nascendum reddita cuique sunt, et ubi quicquid possit durare creatum atque ita multimodis partitis artubus esse, membrorum ut numquam existat praeposterus ordo? usque adeo sequitur res rem, neque flamma creari fluminibus solitast neque in igni gignier algor.
Besides, if the nature of the spirit is immortal and can feel when sundered from our body, it must, I think, be furnished with the five senses. Nor in any other way can we picture to ourselves the souls below wandering in Acheron. And so the painters and the earlier generations of writers have brought in souls furnished with senses. But neither eyes nor nostrils nor the hand itself can be the spirit’s apart, nor the tongue apart, nor the ears; therefore by themselves they can neither feel nor be.
Praeterea si inmortalis natura animaist et sentire potest secreta a corpore nostro, quinque, ut opinor, eam faciundum est sensibus auctam. nec ratione alia nosmet proponere nobis possumus infernas animas Acherunte vagare. pictores itaque et scriptorum saecla priora sic animas intro duxerunt sensibus auctas. at neque sorsum oculi neque nares nec manus ipsa esse potest animae neque sorsum lingua neque aures; haud igitur per se possunt sentire neque esse.
And since we feel that the vital sense is present in the whole body, and see that the whole is living, if suddenly some force, with a swift stroke, cut it through the middle, so as to sever each part apart, beyond doubt the force of the spirit too, divided and cleft, will be cast asunder together with the body. But what is split and parts into any portions plainly disowns that its nature is eternal. They tell how scythed chariots, hot with slaughter dealt at random, often lop off limbs so suddenly that the part which falls, cut off, is seen to quiver on the ground, while yet the mind and force of the man, through the swiftness of the hurt, cannot feel the pain; and because his mind is given over wholly to the zeal of battle, with the rest of his body he seeks the fray and the slaughter, and often does not notice that his left arm, with its shield, has been dragged away among the horses by the wheels and the ravening scythes, nor another that his right has fallen, as he climbs and presses on. Then another tries to rise, his leg taken off, while close by on the ground the dying foot twitches its toes. And a head, cut off from the warm and living trunk, keeps on the ground its living look and open eyes, until it has yielded up all the remnants of the spirit. Nay more, if you choose—a serpent with quivering tongue, threatening tail, and long body—to cut both asunder with the steel into many parts, you will see all the severed pieces, with the wound fresh, writhe apart and bespatter the ground with gore, and the fore part seek itself backward with its mouth, that, smitten, it may press the wound with the burning bite of pain. Shall we say, then, that there are whole souls in all those little parts? But on that reasoning it will follow that one living creature had many souls in its body. Therefore the soul that was one has been divided together with the body; wherefore both must be thought mortal, since each alike is cut into many parts.
Et quoniam toto sentimus corpore inesse vitalem sensum et totum esse animale videmus, si subito medium celeri praeciderit ictu vis aliqua, ut sorsum partem secernat utramque, dispertita procul dubio quoque vis animai et discissa simul cum corpore dissicietur. at quod scinditur et partis discedit in ullas, scilicet aeternam sibi naturam abnuit esse. falciferos memorant currus abscidere membra saepe ita de subito permixta caede calentis, ut tremere in terra videatur ab artubus id quod decidit abscisum, cum mens tamen atque hominis vis mobilitate mali non quit sentire dolorem; et simul in pugnae studio quod dedita mens est, corpore relicuo pugnam caedesque petessit, nec tenet amissam laevam cum tegmine saepe inter equos abstraxe rotas falcesque rapaces, nec cecidisse alius dextram, cum scandit et instat. inde alius conatur adempto surgere crure, cum digitos agitat propter moribundus humi pes. et caput abscisum calido viventeque trunco servat humi voltum vitalem oculosque patentis, donec reliquias animai reddidit omnes. quin etiam tibi si, lingua vibrante, minanti serpentis cauda, procero corpore, utrumque sit libitum in multas partis discidere ferro, omnia iam sorsum cernes ancisa recenti volnere tortari et terram conspargere tabo, ipsam seque retro partem petere ore priorem, volneris ardenti ut morsu premat icta dolore. omnibus esse igitur totas dicemus in illis particulis animas? at ea ratione sequetur unam animantem animas habuisse in corpore multas. ergo divisast ea quae fuit una simul cum corpore; quapropter mortale utrumque putandumst, in multas quoniam partis disciditur aeque.
Besides, if the nature of the spirit is immortal and steals into the body at our birth, why can we not remember the time lived before, nor keep any traces of things done? For if the power of the mind is so far changed that all retention of past deeds has fallen away, that, I think, does not now stray far from death; wherefore you must confess that the spirit which was before has perished, and that which is now has now been created.
Praeterea si inmortalis natura animai constat et in corpus nascentibus insinuatur, cur super ante actam aetatem meminisse nequimus nec vestigia gestarum rerum ulla tenemus? nam si tanto operest animi mutata potestas, omnis ut actarum exciderit retinentia rerum, non, ut opinor, id ab leto iam longius errat; qua propter fateare necessest quae fuit ante interiisse, et quae nunc est nunc esse creatam.
Besides, if the living power of the mind were wont to be brought into us when the body is already formed, at the time we are born and cross the threshold of life, it would not be fitting that it should seem to grow with the body and along with the limbs in the very blood, but rather to live alone, by itself, as in a cage, while yet the whole body overflows with sense. Wherefore, again and again, we must not think the souls are without an origin, nor freed from the law of death; for it must not be thought that, slipped in from without, they could have been so closely knit to our bodies— for the plain fact teaches that the whole is otherwise: so interwoven is the soul through veins, flesh, sinews, and bones, that the very teeth share in sense, as toothache shows, and the twinge of cold water, and a rough grain bitten on, caught from the bread— nor, so closely woven as they are, do they seem able to come out unharmed and to free themselves whole from all the sinews and bones and joints. But if perhaps you think the spirit, slipped in from without, is wont to ooze through our limbs, so much the more will it perish, fused with the body; for what oozes through is dissolved, and so perishes; for it is parceled out through all the pores of the body. As food, when it is distributed into all the limbs and frame, perishes and supplies another nature from itself, so the spirit and the mind, though they go whole and fresh into a new body, yet in oozing through are dissolved, while, as through pores, into all the limbs are distributed the particles of which this nature of the mind is created, which now holds sway in our body, born from that which then perished, parceled out through the frame. Wherefore the nature of the spirit seems neither bereft of a birthday nor exempt from the grave.
Praeterea si iam perfecto corpore nobis inferri solitast animi vivata potestas tum cum gignimur et vitae cum limen inimus, haud ita conveniebat uti cum corpore et una cum membris videatur in ipso sanguine cresse, sed vel ut in cavea per se sibi vivere solam convenit, ut sensu corpus tamen affluat omne. quare etiam atque etiam neque originis esse putandumst expertis animas nec leti lege solutas; nam neque tanto opere adnecti potuisse putandumst corporibus nostris extrinsecus insinuatas, quod fieri totum contra manifesta docet res atque ita conexa est per venas viscera nervos ossaque, uti dentes quoque sensu participentur; morbus ut indicat et gelidai stringor aquai et lapis oppressus subitis e frugibus asperae nec, tam contextae cum sint, exire videntur incolumes posse et salvas exsolvere sese omnibus e nervis atque ossibus articulisque, quod si forte putas extrinsecus insinuatam permanare animam nobis per membra solere, tanto quique magis cum corpore fusa peribit; quod permanat enim, dissolvitur, interit ergo; dispertitur enim per caulas corporis omnis. ut cibus, in membra atque artus cum diditur omnis, disperit atque aliam naturam sufficit ex se, sic anima atque animus quamvis est integra recens in corpus eunt, tamen in manando dissoluuntur, dum quasi per caulas omnis diduntur in artus particulae quibus haec animi natura creatur, quae nunc in nostro dominatur corpore nata ex illa quae tunc periit partita per artus. quapropter neque natali privata videtur esse die natura animae nec funeris expers.
Besides, are seeds of the spirit left in the lifeless body, or not? For if they are left and are within, the spirit cannot rightly be held immortal, since it has withdrawn diminished, with parts lost. But if it has fled, carried off with its members so entire that it has left no parts of itself in the body, whence do corpses, when the flesh is now rank, breathe out worms, and whence does so great a store of living things, boneless and bloodless, surge through the swollen limbs? But if perhaps you believe that souls are slipped in from without into the worms, and can come each into its own body, and do not consider why many thousands of souls should gather where one has withdrawn, yet this much seems worth asking, and bringing to the test: whether, after all, the souls hunt out the seeds of each of the little worms and fashion for themselves a dwelling, or are slipped, as it were, into bodies already formed. But why they should make them, or take such trouble, there is no saying. For when they are without a body, they do not flit about troubled by diseases and cold and hunger; the body rather labors under these ills, akin to them, and the mind suffers many evils by contact with it. But grant it be ever so useful for them to make a body to enter; yet by what way they could, there is no seeing. Souls, then, do not make themselves bodies and limbs. Nor can it be that they are slipped into bodies already formed; for they will not be able to be subtly interwoven, nor will contact arise through a shared feeling.
Semina praeterea linquontur necne animai corpore in exanimo? quod si lincuntur et insunt, haut erit ut merito inmortalis possit haberi, partibus amissis quoniam libata recessit. sin ita sinceris membris ablata profugit, ut nullas partis in corpore liquerit ex se, unde cadavera rancenti iam viscere vermes expirant atque unde animantum copia tanta exos et exanguis tumidos perfluctuat artus? quod si forte animas extrinsecus insinuari? vermibus et privas in corpora posse venire credis nec reputas cur milia multa animarum conveniant unde una recesserit, hoc tamen est ut quaerendum videatur et in discrimen agendum, utrum tandem animae venentur semina quaeque vermiculorum ipsaeque sibi fabricentur ubi sint, an quasi corporibus perfectis insinuentur. at neque cur faciant ipsae quareve laborent dicere suppeditat. neque enim, sine corpore cum sunt, sollicitae volitant morbis alguque fameque; corpus enim magis his vitiis adfine laborat, et mala multa animus contage fungitur eius. sed tamen his esto quamvis facere utile corpus, cum subeant; at qua possint via nulla videtur. haut igitur faciunt animae sibi corpora et artus. nec tamen est ut qui cum perfectis insinuentur corporibus; neque enim poterunt suptiliter esse conexae neque consensu contagia fient.
Lastly, why does fierce violence attend the grim breed of lions, cunning the foxes, and flight the deer— why is fear given them by their sires and goads their limbs— and now why do all the rest of this kind grow in their members from the first of life, and in their disposition, if not because a fixed force of mind grows with each according to its own seed and breed, along with the whole body? But if it were immortal and wont to change its bodies, living creatures would be of mixed habits: the dog of Hyrcanian seed would often flee the onset of the antlered stag, the hawk would tremble through the breezes of the air, fleeing as the dove came on, men would be without sense, the wild tribes of beasts have reason. For that is urged on false reasoning, when they say that an immortal soul is bent by a change of body; for what is changed is dissolved, and so perishes; for the parts are transposed and shift from their order; wherefore they must be able to be dissolved too through the frame, so as in the end to perish, all of them, together with the body. But if they say that the souls of men always pass into human bodies, still I will ask why a foolish soul can come from a wise one, why no child is prudent, and why the foal of the mare is not so well-schooled as the strong horse’s might. No doubt they will take refuge in this: that in a tender body the mind grows tender. But if that indeed comes about, you must confess that the soul is mortal, since, so changed throughout the frame, it loses so much of its former life and sense. Or how will the force of the mind be able, along with each body, to be strengthened and to reach the longed-for flower of age, unless it be a partner from the first origin? Or what does it mean to wish to go forth from the aged limbs? Does it fear to stay shut up in a rotting body, and that its house, worn out by the long span of age, should fall upon it? But for the immortal there are no perils.
Denique cur acris violentia triste leonum seminium sequitur, volpes dolus, et fuga cervos? a patribus datur et a patrius pavor incitat artus, et iam cetera de genere hoc cur omnia membris ex ineunte aevo generascunt ingenioque, si non, certa suo quia semine seminioque vis animi pariter crescit cum corpore quoque? quod si inmortalis foret et mutare soleret corpora, permixtis animantes moribus essent, effugeret canis Hyrcano de semine saepe cornigeri incursum cervi tremeretque per auras aeris accipiter fugiens veniente columba, desiperent homines, saperent fera saecla ferarum. illud enim falsa fertur ratione, quod aiunt inmortalem animam mutato corpore flecti; quod mutatur enim, dissolvitur, interit ergo; traiciuntur enim partes atque ordine migrant; quare dissolui quoque debent posse per artus, denique ut intereant una cum corpore cunctae. sin animas hominum dicent in corpora semper ire humana, tamen quaeram cur e sapienti stulta queat fieri, nec prudens sit puer ullus, si non, certa suo quia semine seminioque nec tam doctus equae pullus quam fortis equi vis. scilicet in tenero tenerascere corpore mentem confugient. quod si iam fit, fateare necessest mortalem esse animam, quoniam mutata per artus tanto opere amittit vitam sensumque priorem. quove modo poterit pariter cum corpore quoque confirmata cupitum aetatis tangere florem vis animi, nisi erit consors in origine prima? quidve foras sibi vult membris exire senectis? an metuit conclusa manere in corpore putri et domus aetatis spatio ne fessa vetusto obruat? at non sunt immortali ulla pericla.
Lastly, that souls should stand ready at the matings of Venus and the births of beasts seems a thing to laugh at— that immortals should wait for mortal limbs in number numberless, and contend in headlong haste among themselves which shall be slipped in first and foremost; unless perhaps the covenants of the souls are so struck that the one which flying arrives first is slipped in first, and they do not strive among themselves with any force at all.
Denique conubia ad Veneris partusque ferarum esse animas praesto deridiculum esse videtur, expectare immortalis mortalia membra innumero numero certareque praeproperanter inter se quae prima potissimaque insinuetur; si non forte ita sunt animarum foedera pacta, ut quae prima volans advenerit insinuetur prima neque inter se contendant viribus hilum.
Lastly, no tree can be in the upper air, nor clouds in the deep sea, nor fish live in the fields, nor blood be in wood, nor sap in stones. It is fixed and ordained where each thing may grow and have its place. So the nature of the mind cannot arise without the body, alone, nor be far from the sinews and the blood. For if it could, then far sooner could the very force of the mind be in the head or the shoulders or the bottoms of the heels, and be wont to be born in any part whatever, provided it stayed at last in the same man and the same vessel. But since even in our body it is seen to be fixed and ordained where the spirit and the mind, apart, can be and grow, all the more must we deny that it could last and be begotten wholly outside the body. Wherefore, when the body has perished, you must confess that the spirit too has perished, torn apart through the whole body. Indeed, to join the mortal to the eternal, and to think that they can feel together and act upon each other, is folly; for what can be thought more at variance, more disjoined and discordant between themselves, than that what is mortal, joined to the immortal and everlasting, should bear together the raging storms? Besides, whatever things abide eternal must either, because they are of solid body, repel blows and let nothing pass within that could unloose their close-packed parts inwardly—such as are the bodies of matter, whose nature we have shown before— or be able to last through all time because they are exempt from blows, as is the void, which stays untouched and suffers nothing from a stroke, or else because there is no store of room around into which things might, as it were, depart and be dissolved— as the sum of sums is eternal, and there is no place outside into which they may scatter, nor are there bodies which could fall upon them and dissolve them with a strong blow.
Denique in aethere non arbor, non aequore in alto nubes esse queunt nec pisces vivere in arvis nec cruor in lignis neque saxis sucus inesse. certum ac dispositumst ubi quicquid crescat et insit. sic animi natura nequit sine corpore oriri sola neque a nervis et sanguine longius esse. quod si posset enim, multo prius ipsa animi vis in capite aut umeris aut imis calcibus esse posset et innasci quavis in parte soleret, tandem in eodem homine atque in eodem vase manere. quod quoniam nostro quoque constat corpore certum dispositumque videtur ubi esse et crescere possit sorsum anima atque animus, tanto magis infitiandum totum posse extra corpus durare genique. quare, corpus ubi interiit, periisse necessest confiteare animam distractam in corpore toto. quippe etenim mortale aeterno iungere et una consentire putare et fungi mutua posse desiperest; quid enim diversius esse putandumst aut magis inter se disiunctum discrepitansque, quam mortale quod est inmortali atque perenni iunctum in concilio saevas tolerare procellas? praeterea quaecumque manent aeterna necessest aut quia sunt solido cum corpore respuere ictus nec penetrare pati sibi quicquam quod queat artas dissociare intus partis, ut materiai corpora sunt, quorum naturam ostendimus ante, aut ideo durare aetatem posse per omnem, plagarum quia sunt expertia sicut inanest, quod manet intactum neque ab ictu fungitur hilum, aut etiam quia nulla loci sit copia circum, quo quasi res possint discedere dissoluique, sicut summarum summast aeterna, neque extra quis locus est quo diffugiant neque corpora sunt quae possint incidere et valida dissolvere plaga.
But if perhaps the spirit is to be held immortal rather because it is kept fenced off from things that destroy, or because the things that come do not come at all hostile to its welfare, or because those that come somehow recede, beaten back before we can feel what harm they do— this is false; for besides that it sickens with the body’s diseases, there comes upon it that which often racks it about things to be, and keeps it ill at ease in fear, and wearies it with cares, and, for misdeeds admitted in the past, the sins gnaw it with remorse. Add the mind’s own madness, and the forgetting of things, add that it is plunged into the black waves of lethargy.
Quod si forte ideo magis inmortalis habendast, quod vitalibus ab rebus munita tenetur, aut quia non veniunt omnino aliena salutis, aut quia quae veniunt aliqua ratione recedunt pulsa prius quam quid noceant sentire queamus, praeter enim quam quod morbis cum corporis aegret, advenit id quod eam de rebus saepe futuris macerat inque metu male habet curisque fatigat, praeteritisque male admissis peccata remordent. adde furorem animi proprium atque oblivia rerum, adde quod in nigras lethargi mergitur undas.
Nothing, then, is death to us, nor does it touch us a jot, since the nature of the mind is held to be mortal. And just as in time gone by we felt no distress, when the Carthaginians came from every side to the clash, when all things, shaken by the trembling tumult of war, shuddered in horror beneath the high coasts of heaven, and it was in doubt to whose rule both peoples must fall, all mankind, by land and sea— so, when we shall be no more, when the parting of body and spirit, of which we are knit into one, has come, nothing at all will be able to befall us, who shall not then be, or to stir our sense, not though earth be mingled with sea and sea with sky. And even if the nature of the mind and the power of the spirit do feel, once they have been torn from our body, yet it is nothing to us, who are made one being by the wedded union of body and spirit, knit together. Nor, if time should gather up our matter again after death and bring it back as it now is set, and the light of life be given to us once more, would even that concern us at all, once the remembrance of ourselves had been broken off. And now it is nothing to us concerning the selves we were before, nor does any anguish about them now touch us. For when you look back on all the past stretch of measureless time, and how manifold are the motions of matter, you may readily come to believe this: that these same seeds, of which we now are made, have often been set before in the very order they now hold. Yet we cannot recall this with our remembering mind; for a pause of life has been thrown between, and all the motions have strayed everywhere, far from the senses. For if there is to be wretchedness and pain in time to come, the man himself too must then exist at that time for the ill to befall. Since death takes this away, and forbids him to be, to whom the troubles might be heaped, we may know that there is nothing for us to fear in death, and that he who is not cannot be made wretched, and that it makes no difference at all whether he was ever born at another time, once death the deathless has taken his mortal life.
Nil igitur mors est ad nos neque pertinet hilum, quandoquidem natura animi mortalis habetur. et vel ut ante acto nihil tempore sensimus aegri, ad confligendum venientibus undique Poenis, omnia cum belli trepido concussa tumultu horrida contremuere sub altis aetheris auris, in dubioque fuere utrorum ad regna cadendum omnibus humanis esset terraque marique, sic, ubi non erimus, cum corporis atque animai discidium fuerit, quibus e sumus uniter apti, scilicet haud nobis quicquam, qui non erimus tum, accidere omnino poterit sensumque movere, non si terra mari miscebitur et mare caelo. et si iam nostro sentit de corpore postquam distractast animi natura animaeque potestas, nil tamen est ad nos, qui comptu coniugioque corporis atque animae consistimus uniter apti. nec, si materiem nostram collegerit aetas post obitum rursumque redegerit ut sita nunc est, atque iterum nobis fuerint data lumina vitae, pertineat quicquam tamen ad nos id quoque factum, interrupta semel cum sit repetentia nostri. et nunc nil ad nos de nobis attinet, ante qui fuimus, neque iam de illis nos adficit angor. nam cum respicias inmensi temporis omne praeteritum spatium, tum motus materiai multimodi quam sint, facile hoc adcredere possis, semina saepe in eodem, ut nunc sunt, ordine posta haec eadem, quibus e nunc nos sumus, ante fuisse. nec memori tamen id quimus reprehendere mente; inter enim iectast vitai pausa vageque deerrarunt passim motus ab sensibus omnes. debet enim, misere si forte aegreque futurumst; ipse quoque esse in eo tum tempore, cui male possit accidere. id quoniam mors eximit, esseque prohibet illum cui possint incommoda conciliari, scire licet nobis nihil esse in morte timendum nec miserum fieri qui non est posse, neque hilum differre an nullo fuerit iam tempore natus, mortalem vitam mors cum inmortalis ademit.
So, when you see a man chafe at his lot, that after death he will either rot, his body laid out, or perish in the flames or the jaws of beasts, you may know that he does not ring true, and that some hidden goad is at his heart, however much he himself denies that he believes any sense will be his in death; for he does not, I think, grant what he professes, nor its ground, nor does he root himself up and cast himself wholly out of life, but, unawares, makes something of himself survive. For when, in life, a man pictures it to himself, that birds and beasts will mangle his body in death, he pities himself; for he does not part himself from that, nor withdraw himself enough from the cast-off body, but fancies himself to be it, and, standing by, taints it with his own sense. Hence he chafes that he was created mortal, and does not see that in real death there will be no second self, to live and stand and, surviving, mourn himself destroyed, or grieve, as he stands there, that he lies torn or burned. For if it is an ill in death to be mauled by the teeth and jaws of beasts, I do not see how it is not bitter to be laid on the hot flames and scorched, or to be set in honey and stifled, or to stiffen with cold, lying on the top of a slab of chill stone, or to be crushed, weighed down under a load of earth above. "Now no more shall your glad house receive you, nor your best of wives, nor shall sweet children run to snatch your kisses and touch your heart with a silent sweetness. No more can you flourish in your affairs and be a guard to your own. Wretch," they say, "wretchedly has one hateful day taken from you all the many prizes of life." But this they do not add: "nor does there abide with you any longing for these things any more." And if they saw this clearly in mind, and followed it in words, they would loose themselves from great anguish and fear of mind. "You, indeed, as you now lie sunk in the sleep of death, so shall you be for all the rest of time, freed from every aching pain; but we, who stood by while you turned to ashes on the dreadful pyre, have wept for you insatiably, and no day shall take from our breast the everlasting grief." Of such a one, then, this must be asked: what is there so bitter, if it comes round to sleep and rest, that anyone should pine away in everlasting sorrow?
Proinde ubi se videas hominem indignarier ipsum, post mortem fore ut aut putescat corpore posto aut flammis interfiat malisve ferarum, scire licet non sincerum sonere atque subesse caecum aliquem cordi stimulum, quamvis neget ipse credere se quemquam sibi sensum in morte futurum; non, ut opinor, enim dat quod promittit et unde nec radicitus e vita se tollit et eicit, sed facit esse sui quiddam super inscius ipse. vivus enim sibi cum proponit quisque futurum, corpus uti volucres lacerent in morte feraeque, ipse sui miseret; neque enim se dividit illim nec removet satis a proiecto corpore et illum se fingit sensuque suo contaminat astans. hinc indignatur se mortalem esse creatum nec videt in vera nullum fore morte alium se, qui possit vivus sibi se lugere peremptum stansque iacentem se lacerari urive dolere. nam si in morte malumst malis morsuque ferarum tractari, non invenio qui non sit acerbum ignibus inpositum calidis torrescere flammis aut in melle situm suffocari atque rigere frigore, cum summo gelidi cubat aequore saxi, urgerive superne obrutum pondere terrae. ’Iam iam non domus accipiet te laeta neque uxor optima, nec dulces occurrent oscula nati praeripere et tacita pectus dulcedine tangent. non poteris factis florentibus esse tuisque praesidium. misero misere’ aiunt ’omnia ademit una dies infesta tibi tot praemia vitae.’ illud in his rebus non addunt ’nec tibi earum iam desiderium rerum super insidet una.’ quod bene si videant animo dictisque sequantur, dissoluant animi magno se angore metuque. ’tu quidem ut es leto sopitus, sic eris aevi quod super est cunctis privatus doloribus aegris; at nos horrifico cinefactum te prope busto insatiabiliter deflevimus, aeternumque nulla dies nobis maerorem e pectore demet.’ illud ab hoc igitur quaerendum est, quid sit amari tanto opere, ad somnum si res redit atque quietem, cur quisquam aeterno possit tabescere luctu.
This, too, men do, when they have reclined and hold their cups, often, and shade their brows with garlands, and say from the heart: "Brief is this enjoyment for poor little men; soon it will have been, and never after may it be called back." As if, in death, this were to be foremost among their ills, that thirst would parch and burn the wretches, scorched and dry, or that the longing for some other thing should beset them. For no one feels the want of himself and of life, when mind and body alike rest sunk in sleep; for all we care, that sleep might be everlasting, nor does any longing for ourselves then touch us. And yet, at that time, those first-beginnings, through our limbs, stray nowise far from the sense-bearing motions, when a man, snatched from sleep, gathers himself together again. Much less, then, must we think that death is anything to us, if there can be anything less than what we see to be nothing; for a greater scattering of the disordered matter follows upon death, and no one wakes and rises whom the cold pause of life has once overtaken.
Hoc etiam faciunt ubi discubuere tenentque pocula saepe homines et inumbrant ora coronis, ex animo ut dicant: ’brevis hic est fructus homullis; iam fuerit neque post umquam revocare licebit.’ tam quam in morte mali cum primis hoc sit eorum, quod sitis exurat miseros atque arida torrat, aut aliae cuius desiderium insideat rei. nec sibi enim quisquam tum se vitamque requiret, cum pariter mens et corpus sopita quiescunt; nam licet aeternum per nos sic esse soporem, nec desiderium nostri nos adficit ullum, et tamen haud quaquam nostros tunc illa per artus longe ab sensiferis primordia motibus errant, cum correptus homo ex somno se colligit ipse. multo igitur mortem minus ad nos esse putandumst, si minus esse potest quam quod nihil esse videmus; maior enim turbae disiectus materiai consequitur leto nec quisquam expergitus extat, frigida quem semel est vitai pausa secuta.
Lastly, if the nature of things should suddenly send forth a voice, and herself thus upbraid some one of us: "What is so great a matter to you, mortal, that you indulge overmuch in sick laments? Why groan and weep at death? For if the life you led before, now past, was dear to you, and not all your blessings, as though heaped into a leaking jar, have flowed away and perished thankless, why not, like a guest filled with life, withdraw, and take your carefree rest, you fool, with an even mind? But if all that you enjoyed has been poured away and lost, and life is a grievance, why seek to add yet more, which would again all perish ill and fall away thankless? Why not rather make an end of life and toil? For there is nothing more that I can devise and find to please you: all things are ever the same. If your body is not yet withered with the years, and your limbs do not droop, worn out, yet all things remain the same, even should you outlast all generations by living on, and the more so, were you never to die"— what do we answer, but that nature brings a just suit and in her words sets forth a true cause? But if one now older and more advanced in years should complain, and lament his death, the wretch, more than is fair, would she not the more rightly cry out and rebuke him with sharp voice: "Away with your tears, you glutton, and check your complaints. You have enjoyed all the prizes of life, and now you wither; but because you ever crave what is absent, and scorn what is at hand, life has slipped from you unfulfilled and thankless, and, unlooked-for, death has stood at your head before you could depart filled and sated with things. Now, though, let go of all that is unfit for your years, and with an even mind—come now—yield to your years, as you must." With justice, I think, would she plead, with justice rebuke and chide. For the old, thrust out by the newness of things, ever gives way, and one thing must ever be restored from another.
Denique si vocem rerum natura repente. mittat et hoc alicui nostrum sic increpet ipsa: ’quid tibi tanto operest, mortalis, quod nimis aegris luctibus indulges? quid mortem congemis ac fles? nam si grata fuit tibi vita ante acta priorque et non omnia pertusum congesta quasi in vas commoda perfluxere atque ingrata interiere; cur non ut plenus vitae conviva recedis aequo animoque capis securam, stulte, quietem? sin ea quae fructus cumque es periere profusa vitaque in offensost, cur amplius addere quaeris, rursum quod pereat male et ingratum occidat omne, non potius vitae finem facis atque laboris? nam tibi praeterea quod machiner inveniamque, quod placeat, nihil est; eadem sunt omnia semper. si tibi non annis corpus iam marcet et artus confecti languent, eadem tamen omnia restant, omnia si perges vivendo vincere saecla, atque etiam potius, si numquam sis moriturus’, quid respondemus, nisi iustam intendere litem naturam et veram verbis exponere causam? grandior hic vero si iam seniorque queratur atque obitum lamentetur miser amplius aequo, non merito inclamet magis et voce increpet acri: ’aufer abhinc lacrimas, baratre, et compesce querellas. omnia perfunctus vitai praemia marces; sed quia semper aves quod abest, praesentia temnis, inperfecta tibi elapsast ingrataque vita, et nec opinanti mors ad caput adstitit ante quam satur ac plenus possis discedere rerum. nunc aliena tua tamen aetate omnia mitte aequo animoque, age dum, magnis concede necessis?’ iure, ut opinor, agat, iure increpet inciletque; cedit enim rerum novitate extrusa vetustas semper, et ex aliis aliud reparare necessest.
Nor is any man given over to the pit, nor to black Tartarus; matter is needed, that the coming generations may grow; yet all of them, when their life is done, will follow you; and so, no less than you, these before you have fallen, and will fall. Thus one thing will never cease to rise from another, and life is given to none in freehold, to all in use. Look back, too: how the bygone ages of everlasting time, before we are born, have been nothing to us. This, then, is the mirror that nature holds up to us of the time to come, after our death at last. Is there anything there that looks dreadful, anything that seems gloomy? Does it not stand more free of care than any sleep?
Nec quisquam in barathrum nec Tartara deditur atra; materies opus est, ut crescant postera saecla; quae tamen omnia te vita perfuncta sequentur; nec minus ergo ante haec quam tu cecidere cadentque. sic alid ex alio numquam desistet oriri vitaque mancipio nulli datur, omnibus usu. respice item quam nil ad nos ante acta vetustas temporis aeterni fuerit, quam nascimur ante. hoc igitur speculum nobis natura futuri temporis exponit post mortem denique nostram. numquid ibi horribile apparet, num triste videtur quicquam, non omni somno securius exstat?
And no doubt all those things which are said to be in deep Acheron are, all of them, here in our life. No wretched Tantalus fears the great rock overhanging him in the air, as the tale goes, numbed with empty dread; but rather in this life a vain dread of the gods presses upon mortals, and they fear the chance fall that fortune may bring to each. Nor do birds make their way into Tityos, laid out in Acheron, nor can they find, in truth, through all eternity, anything to grope for under his great breast. However vast the outstretched sprawl of his body— who covers, with his outspread limbs, not nine acres only, but the whole orb of the earth— he will not be able to endure everlasting pain, nor furnish food forever from his own body. But Tityos is here, among us—the man who, lying in love, is mangled by birds, devoured by gnawing anguish, or torn by cares from some other craving.
Atque ea ni mirum quae cumque Acherunte profundo prodita sunt esse, in vita sunt omnia nobis. nec miser inpendens magnum timet aere saxum Tantalus, ut famast, cassa formidine torpens; sed magis in vita divom metus urget inanis mortalis casumque timent quem cuique ferat fors. nec Tityon volucres ineunt Acherunte iacentem nec quod sub magno scrutentur pectore quicquam perpetuam aetatem possunt reperire profecto. quam libet immani proiectu corporis exstet, qui non sola novem dispessis iugera membris optineat, sed qui terrai totius orbem, non tamen aeternum poterit perferre dolorem nec praebere cibum proprio de corpore semper. sed Tityos nobis hic est, in amore iacentem quem volucres lacerant atque exest anxius angor aut alia quavis scindunt cuppedine curae.
Sisyphus, too, is here in life, before our eyes, the man who thirsts to seek from the people the rods and cruel axes, and ever withdraws beaten and downcast. For to seek power, which is empty and never given, and in that pursuit ever to endure hard toil— this is to push, with straining shoulder, up against the hill a stone, which yet from the very summit rolls back again and rushes headlong to the level floor of the plain. Then, to feed forever the ungrateful nature of the mind, and to fill it with good things, and never satisfy it— which the seasons of the years do for us, when they come round and bring their fruits and their various delights, and yet we are never filled with the enjoyments of life— this, I think, is the tale of the maidens in the flower of their years, who pour water into a leaking vessel, which yet can by no means be filled.
Sisyphus in vita quoque nobis ante oculos est, qui petere a populo fasces saevasque secures imbibit et semper victus tristisque recedit. nam petere imperium, quod inanest nec datur umquam, atque in eo semper durum sufferre laborem, hoc est adverso nixantem trudere monte saxum, quod tamen e summo iam vertice rusum volvitur et plani raptim petit aequora campi. deinde animi ingratam naturam pascere semper atque explere bonis rebus satiareque numquam, quod faciunt nobis annorum tempora, circum cum redeunt fetusque ferunt variosque lepores, nec tamen explemur vitai fructibus umquam, hoc, ut opinor, id est, aevo florente puellas quod memorant laticem pertusum congerere in vas, quod tamen expleri nulla ratione potestur.
Cerberus, too, and the Furies now, and the want of light, Tartarus belching horrid flames from his jaws— these are nowhere, nor can they be, in truth; but there is in life the fear of punishment for evil deeds, fear notable for deeds notable, and the atoning for crime— the prison, and the dreadful hurling down from the rock, the floggings, the executioners, the rack, the pitch, the plate, the torches; and even though these are absent, yet the mind, aware of its deeds, in dread before the time, applies the goads and scorches itself with whips, nor sees meanwhile what end there can be to its ills, nor what limit at last to its punishments, and fears that these same things grow heavier in death. Here, in the end, the life of fools becomes a hell on earth.
Cerberus et Furiae iam vero et lucis egestas, Tartarus horriferos eructans faucibus aestus! qui neque sunt usquam nec possunt esse profecto; sed metus in vita poenarum pro male factis est insignibus insignis scelerisque luela, carcer et horribilis de saxo iactus deorsum, verbera carnifices robur pix lammina taedae; quae tamen etsi absunt, at mens sibi conscia factis praemetuens adhibet stimulos torretque flagellis, nec videt interea qui terminus esse malorum possit nec quae sit poenarum denique finis, atque eadem metuit magis haec ne in morte gravescant. hic Acherusia fit stultorum denique vita.
This, too, you may sometimes say to yourself: "Even good Ancus left the light with his eyes, who was better than you, shameless one, in many things. Then many other kings and lords of affairs have fallen, who ruled over great nations. He, too, that very one who once paved a way over the great sea and made a path for his legions to go across the deep, and taught them to cross the salt lagoons on foot, and, prancing on horseback, scorned the roarings of the deep— he, the light taken from him, poured out his soul from a dying body. Scipio, the thunderbolt of war, the terror of Carthage, gave his bones to the earth, as though he had been the lowest slave. Add the discoverers of doctrines and of graces, add the companions of the Heliconian sisters; among whom Homer, who alone held the scepter, has been laid to rest like the rest. Then Democritus, when a ripe old age warned him that the remembering motions of his mind were failing, of his own accord brought his head forward to meet death. Epicurus himself died, when the light of his life was run out— he who surpassed the human race in genius and quenched all their stars, as the risen sun of heaven quenches the stars. And will you hesitate and chafe to die?— you for whom life is well-nigh dead while you live and see, who waste the greater part of your span in sleep, and snore awake, and never cease to see dreams, and carry a mind troubled with empty dread, and often cannot find what ails you, when, drunk, you are pressed, poor wretch, by many cares on every side, and drift, wavering, in the aimless wandering of your mind."
Hoc etiam tibi tute interdum dicere possis. ’lumina sis oculis etiam bonus Ancus reliquit, qui melior multis quam tu fuit, improbe, rebus. inde alii multi reges rerumque potentes occiderunt, magnis qui gentibus imperitarunt. ille quoque ipse, viam qui quondam per mare magnum stravit iterque dedit legionibus ire per altum ac pedibus salsas docuit super ire lucunas et contempsit equis insultans murmura ponti, lumine adempto animam moribundo corpore fudit. Scipiadas, belli fulmen, Carthaginis horror, ossa dedit terrae proinde ac famul infimus esset. adde repertores doctrinarum atque leporum, adde Heliconiadum comites; quorum unus Homerus sceptra potitus eadem aliis sopitus quietest. denique Democritum post quam matura vetustas admonuit memores motus languescere mentis, sponte sua leto caput obvius optulit ipse. ipse Epicurus obit decurso lumine vitae, qui genus humanum ingenio superavit et omnis restinxit stellas exortus ut aetherius sol. tu vero dubitabis et indignabere obire? mortua cui vita est prope iam vivo atque videnti, qui somno partem maiorem conteris aevi, et viligans stertis nec somnia cernere cessas sollicitamque geris cassa formidine mentem nec reperire potes tibi quid sit saepe mali, cum ebrius urgeris multis miser undique curis atque animo incerto fluitans errore vagaris.’
If men, even as they seem to feel that there is a weight upon their mind, which wearies them with its heaviness, could also know from what causes it comes, and whence so great a mass of ill lies, as it were, upon their breast, they would not live their lives as we mostly see them now— each not knowing what he wants for himself, and ever seeking to change his place, as though he could lay down the load. Often the man who is sick of being at home goes out from his great house, and suddenly returns, since he feels no better outside. He drives his ponies headlong, racing to his country house, as though hurrying to bring help to a burning roof; he yawns at once, the moment he has touched its threshold, or sinks heavily into sleep and seeks oblivion, or even, in haste, makes for the city and revisits it. In this way each man flees himself; but that self, of course, as happens, he cannot escape; against his will he clings to it and hates it, because, sick, he does not grasp the cause of his disease; which, if he saw it clearly, every man would leave all else and study first to learn the nature of things, since it is the state of everlasting time, not of one hour, that is in question—the state in which all the age of mortals must abide, that remains for them after death.
Si possent homines, proinde ac sentire videntur pondus inesse animo, quod se gravitate fatiget, e quibus id fiat causis quoque noscere et unde tanta mali tam quam moles in pectore constet, haut ita vitam agerent, ut nunc plerumque videmus quid sibi quisque velit nescire et quaerere semper, commutare locum, quasi onus deponere possit. exit saepe foras magnis ex aedibus ille, esse domi quem pertaesumst, subitoque revertit, quippe foris nihilo melius qui sentiat esse. currit agens mannos ad villam praecipitanter auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans; oscitat extemplo, tetigit cum limina villae, aut abit in somnum gravis atque oblivia quaerit, aut etiam properans urbem petit atque revisit. hoc se quisque modo fugit, at quem scilicet, ut fit, effugere haut potis est: ingratius haeret et odit propterea, morbi quia causam non tenet aeger; quam bene si videat, iam rebus quisque relictis naturam primum studeat cognoscere rerum, temporis aeterni quoniam, non unius horae, ambigitur status, in quo sit mortalibus omnis aetas, post mortem quae restat cumque manendo.
Lastly, what so great an evil desire of life drives us to tremble so in doubtful dangers? For surely a fixed end of life awaits mortals, nor can death be shunned, but we must go to meet it. Besides, we move about and dwell amid the same things always, nor is any new pleasure forged by living on; but while what we crave is absent, that seems to surpass all else; afterward, when we have got it, we crave another thing, and an equal thirst of life holds us, ever agape. And it is in doubt what fortune the coming age may bring, what chance may carry to us, or what end is at hand. Nor, by prolonging life, do we take away one jot from the time of death, nor can we subtract anything, that we might perhaps be the less long dead. Therefore, though you live to close out as many generations as you will, none the less that everlasting death will still await, and for no shorter time will he be no more, who today has made the end of his life, than he who fell many months and years before.
Denique tanto opere in dubiis trepidare periclis quae mala nos subigit vitai tanta cupido? certe equidem finis vitae mortalibus adstat nec devitari letum pote, quin obeamus. praeterea versamur ibidem atque insumus usque nec nova vivendo procuditur ulla voluptas; sed dum abest quod avemus, id exsuperare videtur cetera; post aliud, cum contigit illud, avemus et sitis aequa tenet vitai semper hiantis. posteraque in dubiost fortunam quam vehat aetas, quidve ferat nobis casus quive exitus instet. nec prorsum vitam ducendo demimus hilum tempore de mortis nec delibare valemus, quo minus esse diu possimus forte perempti. proinde licet quod vis vivendo condere saecla, mors aeterna tamen nihilo minus illa manebit, nec minus ille diu iam non erit, ex hodierno lumine qui finem vitai fecit, et ille, mensibus atque annis qui multis occidit ante.
I range the trackless haunts of the Pierides, trodden before by no man’s foot. It is a joy to come upon untouched springs and drink them dry, a joy to pluck fresh flowers and from them seek a glorious garland for my head, with which the Muses have veiled no man’s brow before; first, because I teach about great matters, and press on to free the mind from the tight knots of superstition, and next, because on so dark a theme I fashion such lucid verses, touching all things with the Muses’ charm. For this too is seen to be not without reason: just as healers, when they try to give foul wormwood to children, first touch the rim around the cup with the sweet golden liquid of honey, so that the children’s unwary age may be beguiled as far as the lips, and meanwhile drink down the bitter draught of wormwood, and, deceived, not be taken in, but rather, restored by such a trick, grow strong—so I now, since this doctrine commonly seems too grim to those who have not handled it, and the crowd shrinks back from it, have wished to set forth our reasoning to you in sweet-tongued Pierian song, and to touch it, as it were, with the sweet honey of the Muses—in the hope that by such means I might hold your mind on our verses, while you grasp the whole nature of things and feel through and through its usefulness.
Avia Pieridum peragro loca nullius ante trita solo. iuvat integros accedere fontis atque haurire, iuvatque novos decerpere flores insignemque meo capiti petere inde coronam, unde prius nulli velarint tempora musae; primum quod magnis doceo de rebus et artis religionum animum nodis exsolvere pergo, deinde quod obscura de re tam lucida pango carmina musaeo contingens cuncta lepore. id quoque enim non ab nulla ratione videtur; nam vel uti pueris absinthia taetra medentes cum dare conantur, prius oras pocula circum contingunt mellis dulci flavoque liquore, ut puerorum aetas inprovida ludificetur labrorum tenus, interea perpotet amarum absinthi laticem deceptaque non capiatur, sed potius tali facto recreata valescat, sic ego nunc, quoniam haec ratio plerumque videtur tristior esse quibus non est tractata, retroque volgus abhorret ab hac, volui tibi suaviloquenti carmine Pierio rationem exponere nostram et quasi musaeo dulci contingere melle; si tibi forte animum tali ratione tenere versibus in nostris possem, dum percipis omnem naturam rerum ac persentis utilitatem.
But since I have taught what the first-beginnings of all things are like, and how, differing in their varied shapes, they fly of their own accord, driven on by everlasting motion, and in what way each thing can be created out of them, now I shall begin to treat what bears strongly on these matters: the being of what we call the images of things, which must be named, as it were, films or rind; and since I have taught what the nature of the mind was, and from what things, joined with the body, it drew its vigor, and in what way, torn apart, it returned into its first elements, now I shall begin to treat what bears strongly on these matters: the being of what we call the images of things— since the image bears a look and shape like that of whatever it be from whose body it is said to be shed and to go wandering; these, like films stripped from the surface of things, fly to and fro through the air, and these same, meeting us while we wake, terrify our minds, and in sleep too, when often we behold strange shapes and the images of those who have lost the light, which have often roused us in horror as we lay slack in slumber—lest we should think that souls escape from Acheron, or that shades flit among the living, or that anything of us can be left behind after death, when body and the nature of the mind together, destroyed, have each departed into their own first-beginnings. I say, then, that effigies and thin shapes of things are sent off from things, from their outermost rind; this one may learn from what follows, however dull of wit.
Sed quoniam docui cunctarum exordia rerum qualia sint et quam variis distantia formis sponte sua volitent aeterno percita motu quoque modo possit res ex his quaeque creari, nunc agere incipiam tibi quod vehementer ad has res attinet esse ea quae rerum simulacra vocamus, quae quasi membranae vel cortex nominitandast, atque animi quoniam docui natura quid esset et quibus e rebus cum corpore compta vigeret quove modo distracta rediret in ordia prima, nunc agere incipiam tibi, quod vehementer ad has res attinet esse ea quae rerum simulacra vocamus, quod speciem ac formam similem gerit eius imago, cuius cumque cluet de corpore fusa vagari; quae quasi membranae summo de corpore rerum dereptae volitant ultroque citroque per auras, atque eadem nobis vigilantibus obvia mentes terrificant atque in somnis, cum saepe figuras contuimur miras simulacraque luce carentum, quae nos horrifice languentis saepe sopore excierunt ne forte animas Acherunte reamur effugere aut umbras inter vivos volitare neve aliquid nostri post mortem posse relinqui, cum corpus simul atque animi natura perempta in sua discessum dederint primordia quaeque. dico igitur rerum effigias tenuisque figuras mittier ab rebus summo de cortice eorum; id licet hinc quamvis hebeti cognoscere corde.
First, since many things, in cases plain to see, give off bodies—some loosely diffused, as logs give off smoke and fires give off heat, and some more closely woven and dense, as when in summer the cicadas lay aside their smooth coats, and when calves at birth give off the caul from the surface of their body, and likewise when the slippery serpent sheds its garment among the thorns; for often we see the brambles enriched with their flying spoils— since these things happen, a thin image too must be given off from things, from the surface of things. For why these should fall and depart from things rather than what is thin, there is no power to say; above all since on the surface of things there are many minute bodies, which can be thrown off in the same order in which they stood, and keep the shape of their form, and far more quickly, inasmuch as, being few and set in the front rank, they can be the less hindered. For surely we see that many things throw off and lavish bodies, not only from deep within, as we said before, but often the very color too from their surface. And commonly the yellow and red and rust-dark awnings do this, when, stretched over great theaters, spread along the poles and beams, they flutter and quiver; for there they dye the assembly in the hollow below, and all the show of the stage, and the fathers and mothers, from above, and force them to ripple with their color. And the more the theater’s walls are enclosed round about, so much the more do all things within, bathed in that charm, laugh together, now the light of day is caught and penned. Therefore, since the canvases give off dye from their surface, each thing too must give off thin effigies, since both are hurled from the surface. There are, then, sure traces of shapes, which commonly fly about, endowed with a fine thread, and cannot be seen singly, apart.
Principio quoniam mittunt in rebus apertis corpora res multae, partim diffusa solute, robora ceu fumum mittunt ignesque vaporem, et partim contexta magis condensaque, ut olim cum teretis ponunt tunicas aestate cicadae, et vituli cum membranas de corpore summo nascentes mittunt, et item cum lubrica serpens exuit in spinis vestem; nam saepe videmus illorum spoliis vepres volitantibus auctas. quae quoniam fiunt, tenuis quoque debet imago ab rebus mitti summo de corpore rerum. nam cur illa cadant magis ab rebusque recedant quam quae tenvia sunt, hiscendist nulla potestas; praesertim cum sint in summis corpora rebus multa minuta, iaci quae possint ordine eodem quo fuerint et formai servare figuram, et multo citius, quanto minus indupediri pauca queunt et quae sunt prima fronte locata. nam certe iacere ac largiri multa videmus, non solum ex alto penitusque, ut diximus ante, verum de summis ipsum quoque saepe colorem. et volgo faciunt id lutea russaque vela et ferrugina, cum magnis intenta theatris per malos volgata trabesque trementia flutant; namque ibi consessum caveai supter et omnem scaenai speciem patrum matrumque deorsum inficiunt coguntque suo fluitare colore. et quanto circum mage sunt inclusa theatri moenia, tam magis haec intus perfusa lepore omnia conrident correpta luce diei. ergo lintea de summo cum corpore fucum mittunt, effigias quoque debent mittere tenvis res quaeque, ex summo quoniam iaculantur utraque. sunt igitur iam formarum vestigia certa, quae volgo volitant subtili praedita filo nec singillatim possunt secreta videri.
Besides, every smell, smoke, heat, and other like things stream forth abundantly from things, for this reason: because, while they come from deep within, arising inside, they are torn along their winding path, and there are no straight mouths of passages by which they may strive to go out once they have risen. But on the other hand, when the thin film of surface color is thrown off, there is nothing that can tear it apart, since it lies ready, set in the front rank.
Praeterea omnis odor fumus vapor atque aliae res consimiles ideo diffusae rebus abundant, ex alto quia dum veniunt extrinsecus ortae scinduntur per iter flexum, nec recta viarum ostia sunt, qua contendant exire coortae. at contra tenuis summi membrana coloris cum iacitur, nihil est quod eam discerpere possit, in promptu quoniam est in prima fronte locata.
Lastly, whatever images appear to us in mirrors, in water, in every bright surface, must, since they are endowed with a look like that of things, consist of images sent off from them. For why these should fall and depart from things rather than what is thin, there is no power to say. There are, then, thin effigies of shapes, like them, which, though no one can see them singly, yet, flung back by constant and repeated rebounding, give back a sight from the mirror’s level face, nor do they seem able to be preserved in any other way, so exactly are they rendered like to each shape.
Postremo speculis in aqua splendoreque in omni quae cumque apparent nobis simulacra, necessest, quandoquidem simili specie sunt praedita rerum, exin imaginibus missis consistere eorum. nam cur illa cadant magis ab rebusque recedant quam quae tenuia sunt, hiscendist nulla potestas. sunt igitur tenues formarum illis similesque effigiae, singillatim quas cernere nemo cum possit, tamen adsiduo crebroque repulsu reiectae reddunt speculorum ex aequore visum, nec ratione alia servari posse videntur, tanto opere ut similes reddantur cuique figurae.
Come now, grasp of how fine a nature the image is made. And first of all, since the first-beginnings are so far below our senses, and so much smaller than the things which our eyes first begin to be unable to see, yet now, that I may establish this too, learn in a few words how fine are the first-beginnings of all things. First, there are living creatures already so tiny that a third part of them could by no means be seen. What must any entrail of these be thought to be like! What of the round of the heart, or the eyes? what of the limbs? what of the joints? how tiny they are! And besides, the several first-beginnings, of which the soul and the nature of the mind must be composed— do you not see how fine they are, how minute? Moreover, whatever things breathe out a sharp smell from their body—all-heal, foul wormwood, strong southernwood, and bitter centaury— any one of which, if you chance to rub it lightly between two fingers * * * nay rather, you may know that the images of things go wandering, many, in many ways, with no force, and void of sense.
Nunc age, quam tenui natura constet imago percipe. et in primis, quoniam primordia tantum sunt infra nostros sensus tantoque minora quam quae primum oculi coeptant non posse tueri, nunc tamen id quoque uti confirmem, exordia rerum cunctarum quam sint subtilia percipe paucis. primum animalia sunt iam partim tantula, corum tertia pars nulla possit ratione videri. horum intestinum quodvis quale esse putandumst! quid cordis globus aut oculi? quid membra? quid artus? quantula sunt! quid praeterea primordia quaeque, unde anima atque animi constet natura necessumst, nonne vides quam sint subtilia quamque minuta? praeterea quaecumque suo de corpore odorem expirant acrem, panaces absinthia taetra habrotonique graves et tristia centaurea, quorum unum quidvis leviter si forte duobus quin potius noscas rerum simulacra vagari multa modis multis, nulla vi cassaque sensu?
But lest you think that those alone go wandering which, as images, depart from things, there are also some begotten of their own accord and formed by themselves in this sky which we call air, which, shaped in many ways, are borne aloft, as at times we see clouds easily thicken on high and mar the serene face of the world, stroking the air with their motion; for often the faces of Giants seem to fly and to draw their shadow wide, at times great mountains and rocks torn from the mountains seem to go before and to pass beneath the sun, and then some monster to drag on and bring up other storm-clouds. Nor, melting, do they cease to change their look and to turn into the outlines of shapes of every kind.
Sed ne forte putes ea demum sola vagari, quae cumque ab rebus rerum simulacra recedunt, sunt etiam quae sponte sua gignuntur et ipsa constituuntur in hoc caelo, qui dicitur aer, quae multis formata modis sublime feruntur, ut nubes facile inter dum concrescere in alto cernimus et mundi speciem violare serenam aëra mulcentes motu; nam saepe Gigantum ora volare videntur et umbram ducere late, inter dum magni montes avolsaque saxa montibus ante ire et solem succedere praeter, inde alios trahere atque inducere belua nimbos. nec speciem mutare suam liquentia cessant et cuiusque modi formarum vertere in oras.
Now by how easy and swift a means they are begotten and flow perpetually from things and, slipping, depart— for always whatever overflows from the surface of things is what they hurl off. And when this reaches other things, it passes through, as above all through cloth; but when it reaches rough rocks or the stuff of wood, there at once it is torn, so that it can give back no image. But when bright and dense things are set in its way, as above all a mirror is, none of these things happens; for they can neither pass through, as through cloth, nor be torn: the smoothness remembers to grant them safety. And so it comes about that images stream back to us from here. And however suddenly, at whatever moment, you set any thing before the mirror, an image appears; so that you may know that from the surface of bodies there flow perpetually thin textures and thin shapes of things. Therefore many images are begotten in a brief span, so that their origin is rightly called swift. And just as the sun must send up many beams of light in a brief span, that all things may be perpetually full, so likewise from things, in like manner, the images of things must in a point of time be borne off, many, in many ways, into all parts on every side; since, to whatever face we turn the mirror, the things answer there with like shape and color.
Nunc ea quam facili et celeri ratione genantur perpetuoque fluant ab rebus lapsaque cedant semper enim summum quicquid de rebus abundat, quod iaculentur. et hoc alias cum pervenit in res, transit, ut in primis vestem; sed ubi aspera saxa aut in materiam ligni pervenit, ibi iam scinditur, ut nullum simulacrum reddere possit. at cum splendida quae constant opposta fuerunt densaque, ut in primis speculum est, nihil accidit horum; nam neque, uti vestem, possunt transire, neque autem scindi; quam meminit levor praestare salutem. qua propter fit ut hinc nobis simulacra redundent. et quamvis subito quovis in tempore quamque rem contra speculum ponas, apparet imago; perpetuo fluere ut noscas e corpore summo texturas rerum tenuis tenuisque figuras. ergo multa brevi spatio simulacra genuntur, ut merito celer his rebus dicatur origo. et quasi multa brevi spatio summittere debet lumina sol, ut perpetuo sint omnia plena, sic ab rebus item simili ratione necessest temporis in puncto rerum simulacra ferantur multa modis multis in cunctas undique partis; quandoquidem speculum quo cumque obvertimus oris, res ibi respondent simili forma atque colore.
Besides, when but now the weather of the sky was clearest, all at once it grows foully troubled, so that you might think all the darkness everywhere had left Acheron and filled the great caverns of the sky. So thickly, when the foul night of storm-clouds has risen, do the faces of black Dread hang overhead; of which how small a part the image is, there is no one who could say, nor render that account in words.
Praeterea modo cum fuerit liquidissima caeli tempestas, perquam subito fit turbida foede, undique uti tenebras omnis Acherunta rearis liquisse et magnas caeli complesse cavernas. usque adeo taetra nimborum nocte coorta inpendent atrae Formidinis ora superne; quorum quantula pars sit imago dicere nemost qui possit neque eam rationem reddere dictis.
Come now, with how swift a motion the images are borne, and what mobility is given them as they swim across the air, so that a brief hour is spent upon a long stretch, toward whatever place each strains with its differing impulse— this I will tell in sweet-speaking rather than in many verses; as the swan’s small song is better than that clamor of cranes scattered amid the airy clouds of the south wind.
Nunc age, quam celeri motu simulacra ferantur, et quae mobilitas ollis tranantibus auras reddita sit, longo spatio ut brevis hora teratur, in quem quaeque locum diverso numine tendunt, suavidicis potius quam multis versibus edam; parvus ut est cycni melior canor, ille gruum quam clamor in aetheriis dispersus nubibus austri.
First, one may very often see that light things, made of minute bodies, are swift. In this class already are the sun’s light and its heat, because they are made of minute first elements, which are, as it were, hammered onward and do not hesitate to pass across the space of air, driven by the blow that follows; for light is supplied at once by light, and gleam is goaded on by gleam, as if in a team. And so the images, in like manner, must be able to run across an unspeakable space in a point of time, first, because there is a tiny cause far behind to carry them on and drive them forward, since they are borne with so winged a lightness; and next because they are sent off endowed with so rare a texture that they can easily penetrate any things, and, as it were, soak through the space of air.
Principio persaepe levis res atque minutis corporibus factas celeris licet esse videre. in quo iam genere est solis lux et vapor eius, propterea quia sunt e primis facta minutis, quae quasi cuduntur perque aëris intervallum non dubitant transire sequenti concita plaga; suppeditatur enim confestim lumine lumen et quasi protelo stimulatur fulgere fulgur. qua propter simulacra pari ratione necessest inmemorabile per spatium transcurrere posse temporis in puncto, primum quod parvola causa est procul a tergo quae provehat atque propellat, quod super est, ubi tam volucri levitate ferantur, deinde quod usque adeo textura praedita rara mittuntur, facile ut quasvis penetrare queant res et quasi permanare per aëris intervallum.
Besides, if any little bodies of things are sent out from deep within and from below, as the sun’s light and heat, these are seen, in a point of daytime, to glide and spread themselves through the whole space of the sky, and to fly across the sea and lands and to drench the heaven. What then of those already prepared in the very front, when they are hurled, and nothing delays them once let go? Do you not see that they must go more swiftly and farther, and run across a manifold space of ground in the same time in which the sun’s beams range over the sky?
Praeterea si quae penitus corpuscula rerum ex altoque foras mittuntur, solis uti lux ac vapor, haec puncto cernuntur lapsa diei per totum caeli spatium diffundere sese perque volare mare ac terras caelumque rigare. quid quae sunt igitur iam prima fronte parata, cum iaciuntur et emissum res nulla moratur? quone vides citius debere et longius ire multiplexque loci spatium transcurrere eodem tempore quo solis pervolgant lumina caelum?
This too, above all, seems a true proof of how swiftly the images of things are borne: that as soon as the brightness of water is set out under the open sky, at once, when the sky is starry and clear, the radiant stars of the firmament answer in the water. Now do you see, then, in how brief a point of time the image falls from the shores of heaven to the shores of earth? Wherefore again and again you must confess that bodies are sent off which strike the eyes and provoke sight. And smells flow perpetually from certain things, as cold from rivers, heat from the sun, spray from the waves of the sea, the eater of walls along the shores, nor do varied voices cease to fly through the air. Lastly, a moisture of salt savor often comes into the mouth, when we walk beside the sea, and on the other hand, when we watch wormwood diluted and mixed, the bitterness touches us. So thoroughly from all things does each thing stream and is sent abroad on every side, and no delay, no rest in the flowing is granted between, since we feel perpetually, and at all times may see and smell and hear all things sound.
Hoc etiam in primis specimen verum esse videtur, quam celeri motu rerum simulacra ferantur, quod simul ac primum sub diu splendor aquai ponitur, extemplo caelo stellante serena sidera respondent in aqua radiantia mundi. iamne vides igitur quam puncto tempore imago aetheris ex oris in terrarum accidat oras? quare etiam atque etiam mitti fateare necessest corpora quae feriant oculos visumque lacessant. perpetuoque fluunt certis ab rebus odores, frigus ut a fluviis, calor ab sole, aestus ab undis aequoris, exesor moerorum litora circum, nec variae cessant voces volitare per auras. denique in os salsi venit umor saepe saporis, cum mare versamur propter, dilutaque contra cum tuimur misceri absinthia, tangit amaror. usque adeo omnibus ab rebus res quaeque fluenter fertur et in cunctas dimittitur undique partis nec mora nec requies interdatur ulla fluendi, perpetuo quoniam sentimus et omnia semper cernere odorari licet et sentire sonare.
Besides, since a shape handled with the hands in the dark is known to be the same as is seen in the light and clear brightness, touch and sight must be moved by a closely similar cause. Now therefore, if we feel a square thing and it moves us in the dark, what thing in the light could fall upon our sight as square, except its image? Wherefore the cause of seeing seems to lie in images, nor can anything be seen without them.
Praeterea quoniam manibus tractata figura in tenebris quaedam cognoscitur esse eadem quae cernitur in luce et claro candore, necessest consimili causa tactum visumque moveri. nunc igitur si quadratum temptamus et id nos commovet in tenebris, in luci quae poterit res accidere ad speciem quadrata, nisi eius imago? esse in imaginibus qua propter causa videtur cernundi neque posse sine his res ulla videri.
Now these images of things that I speak of are borne everywhere and, scattered, are hurled into all parts; but because we can see with the eyes alone, it comes about that, wherever we turn our sight, all things there strike it back with their shape and color. And how far each thing is from us, the image brings it about that we see, and takes care that we tell apart; for when it is sent off, at once it pushes and drives the air that lies between itself and the eyes, and that air glides through all our gaze and, as it were, wipes the pupils and so passes on. And so it comes about that we see how far off each thing is. And the more air is driven before, and the longer the breath that wipes our eyes, so much the more does each thing seem set far away. Of course these things are done with the utmost speed, so that we see at once what a thing is like, and how far off.
Nunc ea quae dico rerum simulacra feruntur undique et in cunctas iaciuntur didita partis; verum nos oculis quia solis cernere quimus, propterea fit uti, speciem quo vertimus, omnes res ibi eam contra feriant forma atque colore. et quantum quaeque ab nobis res absit, imago efficit ut videamus et internoscere curat; nam cum mittitur, extemplo protrudit agitque aëra qui inter se cumque est oculosque locatus, isque ita per nostras acies perlabitur omnis et quasi perterget pupillas atque ita transit. propterea fit uti videamus quam procul absit res quaeque. et quanto plus aëris ante agitatur et nostros oculos perterget longior aura, tam procul esse magis res quaeque remota videtur. scilicet haec summe celeri ratione geruntur, quale sit ut videamus, et una quam procul absit.
In these matters this is least to be wondered at: why, though the single images that strike the eyes cannot be seen, the things themselves are clearly perceived. For when the wind too lashes little by little, and when sharp cold streams, we are not wont to feel each separate particle of that wind and cold, but rather the whole at once, and we see blows then made upon our body, just as if some thing were lashing it and giving from outside the sensation of its own body. Besides, when we strike a stone with the finger, we touch the very outermost of the rock and its surface color, yet do not feel that by touch, but rather feel the very hardness of the stone deep within.
Illud in his rebus minime mirabile habendumst, cur, ea quae feriant oculos simulacra videri singula cum nequeant, res ipsae perspiciantur. ventus enim quoque paulatim cum verberat et cum acre fluit frigus, non privam quamque solemus particulam venti sentire et frigoris eius, sed magis unorsum, fierique perinde videmus corpore tum plagas in nostro tam quam aliquae res verberet atque sui det sensum corporis extra. praeterea lapidem digito cum tundimus, ipsum tangimus extremum saxi summumque colorem nec sentimus eum tactu, verum magis ipsam duritiem penitus saxi sentimus in alto.
Come now, learn why the image seems to be beyond the mirror: for surely it seems set deep within, far removed. It is just as with those things outside that are truly seen through a doorway, when the door of itself offers an open view and makes many things outside the house to be seen; for that sight too is made by a double and twin air. For first the air on this side of the doorposts is seen, then the doors themselves on right and left follow, afterward the outer light wipes the eyes, and a second air, and those things outside which are truly seen through. So when the image of the mirror has first thrown itself forth, while it comes to our gaze, it pushes and drives the air that lies between itself and the eyes, and brings it about that we can feel all of this before we feel the mirror; but when we have perceived the mirror itself too, straightway the image that is borne from us to it arrives, and, flung back, returns to our eyes and rolls before it another air, driving it on, and brings it about that we see this air before we see the image itself, and for that reason it seems removed and to stand so far back from the mirror. Wherefore again and again it is right not at all to wonder at those things that give back a sight from the mirror’s level face, since each effect is brought about by a twofold air.
Nunc age, cur ultra speculum videatur imago percipe: nam certe penitus remmota videtur. quod genus illa foris quae vere transpiciuntur, ianua cum per se transpectum praebet apertum, multa facitque foris ex aedibus ut videantur; is quoque enim duplici geminoque fit aëre visus. primus enim citra postes tum cernitur aër, inde fores ipsae dextra laevaque secuntur, post extraria lux oculos perterget et aër alter, et illa foris quae vere transpiciuntur. sic ubi se primum speculi proiecit imago, dum venit ad nostras acies, protrudit agitque aëra qui inter se cumquest oculosque locatus, et facit, ut prius hunc omnem sentire queamus quam speculum; sed ubi in speculum quoque sensimus ipsum, continuo a nobis in eum quae fertur imago pervenit, et nostros oculos reiecta revisit atque alium prae se propellens aëra volvit, et facit ut prius hunc quam se videamus, eoque distare ab speculo tantum semota videtur. quare etiam atque etiam minime mirarier est par illis quae reddunt speculorum ex aequore visum, aëribus binis quoniam res confit utraque.
Now what is the right part of our limbs comes to be seen in mirrors on the left, because when the image, coming to the flat of the mirror, strikes it, it is not turned back unharmed, but is dashed straight backward, as if someone, before a mask of plaster is dry, should dash it against a pillar or a beam, and it should at once keep its shape straight in front and mold itself, dashed backward, in reverse. It will come about that the eye which was the right before is now the left, and from the left in turn becomes the right.
Nunc ea quae nobis membrorum dextera pars est, in speculis fit ut in laeva videatur eo quod planitiem ad speculi veniens cum offendit imago, non convertitur incolumis, sed recta retrorsum sic eliditur, ut siquis, prius arida quam sit cretea persona, adlidat pilaeve trabive, atque ea continuo rectam si fronte figuram servet et elisam retro sese exprimat ipsa. fiet ut, ante oculus fuerit qui dexter, ut idem nunc sit laevus et e laevo sit mutua dexter.
It comes about too that the image is passed from mirror to mirror, so that even five or six images are wont to be made. For whatever things lie hidden back in an inner part, from there nonetheless, though set crookedly and deep away, all may be led out through winding approaches, and by means of several mirrors be seen to be in the house. So thoroughly does the image shine through from mirror to mirror, and when a left has been given, it comes again to be a right, then turns back once more and reverses to the same.
Fit quoque de speculo in speculum ut tradatur imago, quinque etiam aut sex ut fieri simulacra suërint. nam quae cumque retro parte interiore latebunt, inde tamen, quamvis torte penitusque remota, omnia per flexos aditus educta licebit pluribus haec speculis videantur in aedibus esse. usque adeo speculo in speculum translucet imago, et cum laeva data est, fit rusum ut dextera fiat, inde retro rursum redit et convertit eodem.
Moreover, whatever little curved mirrors there are, endowed with a bend of side like our own, for that reason send back to us right-handed images, either because the image is carried from mirror to mirror, and thence, twice dashed off, flies to us, or else because, when it comes, the image is turned about, for this reason: that the curved shape of the mirror teaches it to turn toward us.
Quin etiam quae cumque latuscula sunt speculorum adsimili lateris flexura praedita nostri, dextera ea propter nobis simulacra remittunt, aut quia de speculo in speculum transfertur imago, inde ad nos elisa bis advolat, aut etiam quod circum agitur, cum venit, imago propterea quod flexa figura docet speculi convertier ad nos.
Further, you would believe that the images step along beside us and set foot with us and imitate our gesture, for this reason: that from whatever part of the mirror you withdraw, straightway the images cannot return from there; since nature compels all things to be carried back and to leap back from things, rendered at equal angles.
Indugredi porro pariter simulacra pedemque ponere nobiscum credas gestumque imitari propterea quia, de speculi qua parte recedas, continuo nequeunt illinc simulacra reverti; omnia quandoquidem cogit natura referri ac resilire ab rebus ad aequos reddita flexus.
Bright things, moreover, the eyes flee and shun to look upon. The sun even blinds, if you keep on striving against it, because its force is great, and from on high through the clear air its images are borne and strike the eyes, throwing their arrangements into disorder. Besides, whatever brightness is sharp often burns the eyes, because it possesses many seeds of fire, which by working their way in beget pain for the eyes. Moreover, whatever the jaundiced look upon turns sallow, because from their body many seeds of sallowness flow to meet the images of things, and many besides are mixed in their eyes, which by their contagion paint all things with pallor.
Splendida porro oculi fugitant vitantque tueri. sol etiam caecat, contra si tendere pergas, propterea quia vis magnast ipsius et alte aëra per purum simulacra feruntur et feriunt oculos turbantia composituras. Praeterea splendor qui cumque est acer adurit saepe oculos ideo quod semina possidet ignis multa, dolorem oculis quae gignunt insinuando. lurida praeterea fiunt quae cumque tuentur arquati, quia luroris de corpore eorum semina multa fluunt simulacris obvia rerum, multaque sunt oculis in eorum denique mixta, quae contage sua palloribus omnia pingunt.
But from the darkness we behold the things that are in the light, because, when the nearer black air of gloom enters the eyes first and has taken possession of them open, there follows at once the glowing bright air, which, as it were, cleanses them and scatters the black shadows of that other air; for this is by many degrees more mobile, by many more minute, and more powerful. And as soon as it has filled the paths of the eyes with light and thrown open what the black air had besieged before, straightway the images of things follow, which are set in the light, and provoke us to see. But the reverse we cannot do, from light into darkness, because the later air of gloom, thicker, follows after, which fills all the openings and besieges the paths of the eyes, so that the images of any things, though thrown, cannot stir them.
E tenebris autem quae sunt in luce tuemur propterea quia, cum propior caliginis aër ater init oculos prior et possedit apertos, insequitur candens confestim lucidus aër, qui quasi purgat eos ac nigras discutit umbras aëris illius; nam multis partibus hic est mobilior multisque minutior et mage pollens. qui simul atque vias oculorum luce replevit atque pate fecit, quas ante obsederat aër ater, continuo rerum simulacra secuntur, quae sita sunt in luce, lacessuntque ut videamus. quod contra facere in tenebris e luce nequimus propterea quia posterior caliginis aër crassior insequitur, qui cuncta foramina complet obsiditque vias oculorum, ne simulacra possint ullarum rerum coniecta moveri.
And when we descry from afar the square towers of a city, it comes about that they often seem round, because every angle is seen blunted at a distance, or rather is not seen at all, and its blow perishes, nor does its stroke glide through to our gaze, because, while the images are borne through much air, the air forces it to grow dull by its frequent collisions. When in this way every angle alike has escaped the sense, it comes about that the stone-built structures are looked upon as though turned on a lathe; yet not as things that are truly round and close at hand, but they seem feigned, a little, as if in outline shadow.
Quadratasque procul turris cum cernimus urbis, propterea fit uti videantur saepe rutundae, angulus optusus quia longe cernitur omnis sive etiam potius non cernitur ac perit eius plaga nec ad nostras acies perlabitur ictus, aëra per multum quia dum simulacra feruntur, cogit hebescere eum crebris offensibus aër. hoc ubi suffugit sensum simul angulus omnis. fit quasi ut ad turnum saxorum structa tuantur; non tamen ut coram quae sunt vereque rutunda, sed quasi adumbratim paulum simulata videntur.
Likewise our shadow seems to us to move in the sun and to follow our steps and imitate our gesture, if you believe that air deprived of light can walk along, following the movements and gesture of men; for that which we are wont to call a shadow can be nothing else than air bereft of light. No wonder: because the ground in fixed places in turn is deprived of the sun’s light wherever, as we move, we block it, and the part of it we have left is filled again, and so it comes about that what was the shadow of our body seems to have followed us all along in the same line. For ever new lights of rays pour themselves forth, and the first perish, as wool drawn into the fire. And so the ground is easily both stripped of light and filled again, and washes away from itself the black shadows.
Umbra videtur item nobis in sole moveri et vestigia nostra sequi gestumque imitari, aëra si credis privatum lumine posse indugredi, motus hominum gestumque sequentem; nam nihil esse potest aliud nisi lumine cassus aër id quod nos umbram perhibere suëmus. ni mirum, quia terra locis ex ordine certis lumine privatur solis qua cumque meantes officimus, repletur item quod liquimus eius, propterea fit uti videatur, quae fuit umbra corporis, e regione eadem nos usque secuta. semper enim nova se radiorum lumina fundunt primaque dispereunt, quasi in ignem lana trahatur. propterea facile et spoliatur lumine terra et repletur item nigrasque sibi abluit umbras.
And yet here we do not grant a whit that the eyes are deceived. For it is their task to observe in what place there is light and shadow; but whether the lights are the same or not, and whether the shadow that was here is the same that now passes there, or whether rather it happens as we said a little before— this in the end the reasoning of the mind must discern, nor can the eyes know the nature of things. Therefore do not fasten this fault of the mind upon the eyes.
Nec tamen hic oculos falli concedimus hilum. nam quo cumque loco sit lux atque umbra tueri illorum est; eadem vero sint lumina necne, umbraque quae fuit hic eadem nunc transeat illuc, an potius fiat paulo quod diximus ante, hoc animi demum ratio discernere debet, nec possunt oculi naturam noscere rerum. proinde animi vitium hoc oculis adfingere noli.
The ship in which we are carried moves, though it seems to stand; one that stays at its mooring is believed to go past. And the hills and plains seem to flee toward the stern, which we drive past the ship and fly by under sail.
Qua vehimur navi, fertur, cum stare videtur; quae manet in statione, ea praeter creditur ire. et fugere ad puppim colles campique videntur, quos agimus praeter navem velisque volamus.
The stars all seem to rest, fixed in the heavenly vaults, yet all are in unceasing motion, since, having risen, they revisit their far settings, when they have traversed the sky with their bright body. And in like manner the sun and moon seem to stay at their station, which the fact itself shows to be carried on.
Sidera cessare aetheriis adfixa cavernis cuncta videntur, et adsiduo sunt omnia motu, quandoquidem longos obitus exorta revisunt, cum permensa suo sunt caelum corpore claro. solque pari ratione manere et luna videtur in statione, ea quae ferri res indicat ipsa.
And mountains rising far off from the midst of the flood, between which there lies open a vast free passage for fleets, yet seem one island made of them joined together. The halls seem to whirl and the columns to run round— so much so does it come to children that, when they themselves have stopped spinning, they can scarcely now believe that all the roofs do not threaten to fall upon them.
Exstantisque procul medio de gurgite montis classibus inter quos liber patet exitus ingens, insula coniunctis tamen ex his una videtur. atria versari et circum cursare columnae usque adeo fit uti pueris videantur, ubi ipsi desierunt verti, vix ut iam credere possint non supra sese ruere omnia tecta minari.
And now, when nature begins to raise the red radiance high with its quivering fires and to lift it above the mountains, those mountains, above which the sun then seems to you to be, the burning sun itself touching them close at hand with its fire, are scarcely two thousand bowshots away from us, often scarcely five hundred casts of a javelin; between them and the sun lie the immense levels of the sea, spread out beneath the vast shores of heaven, and many thousands of lands are set between, which various nations and the tribes of wild beasts possess.
Iamque rubrum tremulis iubar ignibus erigere alte cum coeptat natura supraque extollere montes, quos tibi tum supra sol montis esse videtur comminus ipse suo contingens fervidus igni, vix absunt nobis missus bis mille sagittae, vix etiam cursus quingentos saepe veruti; inter eos solemque iacent immania ponti aequora substrata aetheriis ingentibus oris, interiectaque sunt terrarum milia multa, quae variae retinent gentes et saecla ferarum.
But a gathering of water, no deeper than a single finger, which stands among the stones along the paved roads, offers a view downward beneath the earth with as great a plunge as the high gulf of heaven opens upward from the earth, so that you seem to look down on the clouds and to see the sky, and bodies wondrously hidden beneath the earth in a sky below.
At coniectus aquae digitum non altior unum, qui lapides inter sistit per strata viarum, despectum praebet sub terras inpete tanto, a terris quantum caeli patet altus hiatus, nubila despicere et caelum ut videare videre, corpora mirande sub terras abdita caelo.
Lastly, when our spirited horse has halted midstream in a river and we have looked down into the rushing waves of the current, a force seems to carry the body of the standing horse sideways and to thrust it swiftly against the stream, and wherever we cast our eyes, all things seem to be borne and to flow in like manner with us.
Denique ubi in medio nobis ecus acer obhaesit flumine et in rapidas amnis despeximus undas, stantis equi corpus transversum ferre videtur vis et in adversum flumen contrudere raptim, et quo cumque oculos traiecimus omnia ferri et fluere adsimili nobis ratione videntur.
A colonnade, though it runs with even draught and stands throughout supported on equal columns, yet, when its whole length is seen from the far end, little by little draws together into the peak of a narrow cone, joining roof to floor, and all the right to the left, until it has gathered them into the dim point of a cone.
Porticus aequali quamvis est denique ductu stansque in perpetuum paribus suffulta columnis, longa tamen parte ab summa cum tota videtur, paulatim trahit angusti fastigia coni, tecta solo iungens atque omnia dextera laevis donec in obscurum coni conduxit acumen.
On the deep it comes about for sailors that the sun seems to rise from the waves and in the waves to set and bury its light, since they look on nothing but water and sky; so do not lightly believe that the senses are everywhere shaken. But to those ignorant of the sea, the ships in harbor seem crippled, to strive against the waves with broken sterns. For whatever part of the oars is raised above the salt brine is straight, and straight the rudders above; but the parts that go under, plunged in the water, all seem broken and turned about and bent back upward, lying supine, and, bent back, almost to float on the surface.
In pelago nautis ex undis ortus in undis sol fit uti videatur obire et condere lumen; quippe ubi nil aliud nisi aquam caelumque tuentur; ne leviter credas labefactari undique sensus. at maris ignaris in portu clauda videntur navigia aplustris fractis obnitier undis. nam quae cumque supra rorem salis edita pars est remorum, recta est, et recta superne guberna; quae demersa liquore obeunt, refracta videntur omnia converti sursumque supina reverti et reflexa prope in summo fluitare liquore.
And when the winds carry thin clouds across the sky at night, then the bright constellations seem to glide against the storm-clouds and to move on high in a quite other direction than that in which they are truly borne.
Raraque per caelum cum venti nubila portant tempore nocturno, tum splendida signa videntur labier adversum nimbos atque ire superne longe aliam in partem ac vera ratione feruntur
But if a hand placed beneath one eye has pressed it, by a certain sense it comes about that all things we look at seem then to become double in the seeing, double the lights of the lamps, blossoming with flames, and the furniture throughout the whole house to be doubled, and the faces of men twofold and their bodies twin.
At si forte oculo manus uni subdita supter pressit eum, quodam sensu fit uti videantur omnia quae tuimur fieri tum bina tuendo, bina lucernarum florentia lumina flammis binaque per totas aedis geminare supellex et duplicis hominum facies et corpora bina.
Lastly, when sleep has bound the limbs with sweet drowsiness and the whole body lies in deepest rest, yet then we seem to ourselves to be awake and to move our limbs, and in the blind gloom of night we think we discern the sun and the light of day, and, in a closed place, we seem to change sky, sea, rivers, mountains, and to cross plains on foot, and to hear sounds, though the stern silences of night stand fast on every side, and, keeping silent, to utter words.
Denique cum suavi devinxit membra sopore somnus et in summa corpus iacet omne quiete, tum vigilare tamen nobis et membra movere nostra videmur, et in noctis caligine caeca cernere censemus solem lumenque diurnum, conclusoque loco caelum mare flumina montis mutare et campos pedibus transire videmur, et sonitus audire, severa silentia noctis undique cum constent, et reddere dicta tacentes.
Many other marvels of this kind we see, which all seem to seek, as it were, to violate the credit of the senses—in vain, since the greatest part of these deceive on account of the opinions of the mind, which we ourselves add, so that things are taken as seen which have not been seen by the senses; for nothing is harder than to separate plain things from the doubtful, which the mind straightway adds of itself.
Cetera de genere hoc mirande multa videmus, quae violare fidem quasi sensibus omnia quaerunt, ne quiquam, quoniam pars horum maxima fallit propter opinatus animi, quos addimus ipsi, pro visis ut sint quae non sunt sensibus visa; nam nihil aegrius est quam res secernere apertas ab dubiis, animus quas ab se protinus addit.
Lastly, if anyone thinks that nothing is known, he does not know that either—whether it can be known— since he confesses he knows nothing. Against him, then, I will forbear to press my case, who has himself planted his own footprints upon his head. And yet, granting that he knows even this, I will ask this: since he has seen nothing of truth in things before, whence does he know what knowing and not-knowing in turn are, what thing has created the notion of true and false, what thing has proved the doubtful to differ from the certain? You will find that the notion of truth was created first from the senses, and that the senses cannot be refuted. For that must be found of greater trust which of itself can overcome the false with the true. What, then, ought to be held of greater trust than the senses? Shall reason, sprung from a false sense, avail to speak against them, when it is wholly sprung from the senses? And unless they are true, all reason too becomes false.
Denique nil sciri siquis putat, id quoque nescit an sciri possit, quoniam nil scire fatetur. hunc igitur contra minuam contendere causam, qui capite ipse suo in statuit vestigia sese. et tamen hoc quoque uti concedam scire, at id ipsum quaeram, cum in rebus veri nil viderit ante, unde sciat quid sit scire et nescire vicissim, notitiam veri quae res falsique crearit et dubium certo quae res differre probarit. invenies primis ab sensibus esse creatam notitiem veri neque sensus posse refelli. nam maiore fide debet reperirier illud, sponte sua veris quod possit vincere falsa. quid maiore fide porro quam sensus haberi debet? an ab sensu falso ratio orta valebit dicere eos contra, quae tota ab sensibus orta est? qui nisi sunt veri, ratio quoque falsa fit omnis.
Or will the ears be able to reprehend the eyes, or touch the ears? will the taste of the mouth, further, refute this touch, or will the nostrils confute it, or the eyes prove it wrong? It is not so, I think. For to each a separate power is assigned, each has its own force, and so it must be that what is soft and what is cold or hot is perceived apart, and the various colors of things are felt apart, and whatever is joined with colors. Likewise the taste of the mouth has its force apart, apart smells arise, apart sounds. And so it must be that the senses cannot convict one another. Nor, further, will they be able to reprehend themselves, since equal trust must always be held in them. Therefore whatever has appeared to each of these at any time is true.
An poterunt oculos aures reprehendere, an aures tactus? an hunc porro tactum sapor arguet oris, an confutabunt nares oculive revincent? non, ut opinor, ita est. nam seorsum cuique potestas divisast, sua vis cuiquest, ideoque necesse est et quod molle sit et gelidum fervensve videre et seorsum varios rerum sentire colores et quae cumque coloribus sint coniuncta necessest. seorsus item sapor oris habet vim, seorsus odores nascuntur, seorsum sonitus. ideoque necesse est non possint alios alii convincere sensus. nec porro poterunt ipsi reprehendere sese, aequa fides quoniam debebit semper haberi. proinde quod in quoquest his visum tempore, verumst.
And if reasoning cannot resolve the cause why the things that were square close at hand are seen round at a distance, still it is better, in want of reasoning, to give faulty causes for either shape, than to let slip from one’s hands anywhere the things that are plain, and to violate the primal trust, and to tear up all the foundations on which life and safety rest. For not only would all reasoning fall, but life itself would collapse at once, unless you dared trust the senses and avoid precipitous places and the rest that are to be shunned of this kind, and follow what is opposite. That whole muster of words, then, drawn up and arrayed against the senses, is empty for you.
Et si non poterit ratio dissolvere causam, cur ea quae fuerint iuxtim quadrata, procul sint visa rutunda, tamen praestat rationis egentem reddere mendose causas utriusque figurae, quam manibus manifesta suis emittere quoquam et violare fidem primam et convellere tota fundamenta quibus nixatur vita salusque. non modo enim ratio ruat omnis, vita quoque ipsa concidat extemplo, nisi credere sensibus ausis praecipitisque locos vitare et cetera quae sint in genere hoc fugienda, sequi contraria quae sint. illa tibi est igitur verborum copia cassa omnis, quae contra sensus instructa paratast.
Lastly, as in building, if the first rule is crooked, and if the square comes out false in its right lines, and if the level limps a whit in any part, all must be made faulty and askew—the building crooked, sagging, leaning forward, leaning back, and discordant, so that some parts seem already to wish to fall, and do fall, all betrayed by the first false judgments— so therefore your reasoning about things must be crooked and false, whatever has sprung from false senses.
Denique ut in fabrica, si pravast regula prima, normaque si fallax rectis regionibus exit, et libella aliqua si ex parti claudicat hilum, omnia mendose fieri atque obstipa necessu est prava cubantia prona supina atque absona tecta, iam ruere ut quaedam videantur velle, ruantque prodita iudiciis fallacibus omnia primis, sic igitur ratio tibi rerum prava necessest falsaque sit, falsis quae cumque ab sensibus ortast.
Now in what way each of the other senses perceives its own object— by no means is the reasoning left rugged. First, all sound and voice is heard, when, stealing into the ears, they have struck the sense with their body. For one must confess that voice and sound too are bodily, since they can strike the senses. Besides, the voice often scrapes the throat, and a shout, going outward, makes the windpipe rougher, since, when the first-beginnings of the voice, risen in greater throng, have begun to go out through the narrow passage. To be sure, the gateway of the mouth, when full, is scraped as well. There is no doubt, then, that voices and words consist of bodily first-beginnings, since they can hurt. Nor does it escape you, likewise, how much of body continuous talk takes away and draws off from men’s sinews and very strength, when prolonged from the rising brightness of dawn to the shadow of black night, especially if it has been poured out at the top of the voice. Therefore the voice must be bodily, since one who speaks much loses a portion of his body.
Nunc alii sensus quo pacto quisque suam rem sentiat, haud quaquam ratio scruposa relicta est. Principio auditur sonus et vox omnis, in auris insinuata suo pepulere ubi corpore sensum. corpoream quoque enim vocem constare fatendumst et sonitum, quoniam possunt inpellere sensus. Praeterea radit vox fauces saepe facitque asperiora foras gradiens arteria clamor, quippe per angustum turba maiore coorta ire foras ubi coeperunt primordia vocum. scilicet expletis quoque ianua raditur oris. haud igitur dubiumst quin voces verbaque constent corporeis e principiis, ut laedere possint. nec te fallit item quid corporis auferat et quid detrahat ex hominum nervis ac viribus ipsis perpetuus sermo nigrai noctis ad umbram aurorae perductus ab exoriente nitore, praesertim si cum summost clamore profusus. ergo corpoream vocem constare necessest, multa loquens quoniam amittit de corpore partem.
But roughness of voice comes from roughness of first-beginnings, and likewise smoothness is created by smoothness; nor do the first-beginnings penetrate the ears in like shape, when the trumpet bellows heavily with deep-sunk murmur, and the swift barbiton re-echoes back a hoarse booming, and when the daughters of Daulis, from the gardens of Helicon, raise their liquid plaint with mournful voice.
Asperitas autem vocis fit ab asperitate principiorum et item levor levore creatur; nec simili penetrant auris primordia forma, cum tuba depresso graviter sub murmure mugit et reboat raucum retro cita barbita bombum, et iam Dauliades natae hortis ex Heliconis cum liquidam tollunt lugubri voce querellam.
These voices, then, when we press them out from deep within our body and send them forth straight from the mouth, the nimble, cunning tongue, framer of sounds, articulates, and the shaping of the lips for its part gives them form. When the distance from which each voice, setting out, arrives is not long, the words themselves too must be plainly heard and distinguished joint by joint; for the voice keeps its forming and keeps its shape. But if the space set between be longer than is fair, the words must be confounded through much air, and the voice thrown into disorder, while it flies across the breezes. And so it comes about that you can perceive the sound, but not make out what the sense of the words may be; so confounded and entangled does the voice come.
Hasce igitur penitus voces cum corpore nostro exprimimus rectoque foras emittimus ore, mobilis articulat nervorum daedala lingua, formaturaque labrorum pro parte figurat. hoc ubi non longum spatiumst unde illa profecta perveniat vox quaeque, necessest verba quoque ipsa plane exaudiri discernique articulatim; servat enim formaturam servatque figuram. at si inter positum spatium sit longius aequo, aëra per multum confundi verba necessest et conturbari vocem, dum transvolat auras. ergo fit, sonitum ut possis sentire neque illam internoscere, verborum sententia quae sit; usque adeo confusa venit vox inque pedita.
Besides, often one single word sent from the herald’s mouth strikes the ears of all in the crowd. Into many voices, then, one voice suddenly scatters, since it divides itself among the several ears, sealing upon the words their shape and clear sound. But the part of the voices that does not fall upon the ears themselves, carried past, perishes, vainly diffused through the breezes. Part, dashed against solid places, flung back, gives back its sound, and at times mocks with the echo of a word.
Praeterea verbum saepe unum perciet auris omnibus in populo missum praeconis ab ore. in multas igitur voces vox una repente diffugit, in privas quoniam se dividit auris obsignans formam verbis clarumque sonorem. at quae pars vocum non auris incidit ipsas, praeter lata perit frustra diffusa per auras. pars solidis adlisa locis reiecta sonorem reddit et inter dum frustratur imagine verbi.
When you see these things well, you can render the account to yourself and to others, in what way through lonely places the rocks give back the like shapes of words in order. As, when we seek our straying companions among the shadowy mountains and call the scattered ones with a great cry, I have seen even six or seven places give back the voice, when you cast but one: so the hills themselves, throwing the words back to the hills, repeated them, bidding the sayings be carried again. These places the neighboring folk imagine the goat-footed Satyrs and the Nymphs to hold, and say there are Fauns, by whose night-wandering din and sportive play, they commonly affirm, the taciturn silences are broken, and the sounds of strings arise and sweet plaints, which the flute pours forth, struck by the fingers of the players, and the race of farmers far and wide perceives, when Pan, shaking the pine coverings of his half-beast head, often runs over the gaping reeds with his curved lip, so that the pipe may not cease to pour forth its woodland muse. Other prodigies and portents of this kind they tell, lest perchance their deserted places be thought to be held lonely even by the gods. And so they boast marvels in their tales, or are led by some other reason, as all the human race is too greedy of the ears.
Quae bene cum videas, rationem reddere possis tute tibi atque aliis, quo pacto per loca sola saxa paris formas verborum ex ordine reddant. palantis comites com montis inter opacos quaerimus et magna dispersos voce ciemus. sex etiam aut septem loca vidi reddere vocis, unam cum iaceres: ita colles collibus ipsi verba repulsantes iterabant dicta referri. haec loca capripedes Satyros Nymphasque tenere finitimi fingunt et Faunos esse locuntur, quorum noctivago strepitu ludoque iocanti adfirmant volgo taciturna silentia rumpi chordarumque sonos fieri dulcisque querellas, tibia quas fundit digitis pulsata canentum, et genus agricolum late sentiscere, quom Pan pinea semiferi capitis velamina quassans unco saepe labro calamos percurrit hiantis, fistula silvestrem ne cesset fundere musam. cetera de genere hoc monstra ac portenta loquontur, ne loca deserta ab divis quoque forte putentur sola tenere. ideo iactant miracula dictis aut aliqua ratione alia ducuntur, ut omne humanum genus est avidum nimis auricularum.
For the rest, it is not to be wondered by what means, through places where the eyes cannot see things openly, voices come through these places and assail the ears. We often see conversation even through closed doors; no wonder, because the voice can pass unharmed through the winding openings of things, while the images refuse; for they are torn apart, unless they swim through straight openings, such as are those of glass, through which every sight flies across. Besides, the voice is divided into all parts, since some are begotten from others, when one, once it has leapt asunder, has risen into many, as a spark of fire is often wont to scatter itself into its own fires. And so the places hidden away behind are filled with voices, all that seethe around and are stirred with sound. But the images all hold their course in straight ways, as they were once sent; wherefore no one can often see over a wall, but can catch voices from beyond. And yet even this voice itself, while it passes through the closed parts of houses, is blunted, and enters the ears confused, and we seem to hear a sound rather than words.
Quod super est, non est mirandum qua ratione, per loca quae nequeunt oculi res cernere apertas, haec loca per voces veniant aurisque lacessant, conloquium clausis foribus quoque saepe videmus; ni mirum quia vox per flexa foramina rerum incolumis transire potest, simulacra renutant; perscinduntur enim, nisi recta foramina tranant, qualia sunt vitrei, species qua travolat omnis. praeterea partis in cunctas dividitur vox, ex aliis aliae quoniam gignuntur, ubi una dissuluit semel in multas exorta, quasi ignis saepe solet scintilla suos se spargere in ignis. ergo replentur loca vocibus abdita retro, omnia quae circum fervunt sonituque cientur. at simulacra viis derectis omnia tendunt, ut sunt missa semel; qua propter cernere nemo saepe supra potis est, at voces accipere extra. et tamen ipsa quoque haec, dum transit clausa domorum vox optunditur atque auris confusa penetrat et sonitum potius quam verba audire videmur.
In this—how we perceive savor—the tongue and the palate have rather more reason in them, more work. First we feel the savor in the mouth, when by chewing we press out the food, as if someone had chanced to begin to squeeze and dry with his hand a sponge full of water. Then what we press out is all distributed through the channels of the palate and through the winding openings of the porous tongue. When the bodies of the flowing savor are smooth, they touch sweetly and sweetly handle all the moist, sweating precincts around the tongue; but on the other hand they prick and tear the sense as they rise, the more each is filled with roughness. Then the pleasure from the savor reaches its limit at the palate; but when it has plunged downward through the throat, there is no pleasure, while it is all distributed into the frame; nor does it matter at all with what food the body is nourished, provided only that you can digest what you take and distribute it to the frame and keep the moist tenor of the stomach.
Hoc, qui sentimus sucum, lingua atque palatum plusculum habent in se rationis, plus operai. principio sucum sentimus in ore, cibum cum mandendo exprimimus, ceu plenam spongiam aquai siquis forte manu premere ac siccare coëpit. inde quod exprimimus per caulas omne palati diditur et rarae per flexa foramina linguae, hoc ubi levia sunt manantis corpora suci, suaviter attingunt et suaviter omnia tractant umida linguai circum sudantia templa; at contra pungunt sensum lacerantque coorta, quanto quaeque magis sunt asperitate repleta. deinde voluptas est e suco fine palati; cum vero deorsum per fauces praecipitavit, nulla voluptas est, dum diditur omnis in artus; nec refert quicquam quo victu corpus alatur, dum modo quod capias concoctum didere possis artubus et stomachi tumidum servare tenorem.
Now, that we may see why one food is for some creatures and another for others, and why what is harsh and bitter to some can yet seem most sweet to others, I will set forth— and so great is the distance and difference in these matters, that what is food to some is to others a sharp poison; there is, for instance, a serpent which, touched by a man’s spittle, perishes and makes an end of itself by biting itself. Besides, hellebore is a sharp poison to us, but to goats and quails it adds fat. That you may know by what means this comes about, first it is fitting to remember what we said before: that seeds are held mixed in things in manifold ways. Further, all living things that take food, as they are unlike outwardly, and the outer contour of their limbs bounds them by kind, so too consist of seeds and vary in shape. And since the seeds differ, the intervals and passages, which we call openings, must differ in all the limbs and in the mouth and the palate itself. So some must be smaller and some larger, some three-cornered for these, square for those of necessity, many round, and some many-angled in many ways. For as the scheme of shapes and the motions demand, so the shapes of the openings must differ, and the passages vary, just as their texture bounds them. So when what is sweet to some becomes bitter to others, for him to whom it is sweet, the smoothest bodies must enter caressingly the channels of the palate, but on the other hand, for those to whom the same thing is bitter within, rough and hooked bodies, no wonder, penetrate the throat. Now it is easy from these things to understand each case. Indeed, when a fever has risen in someone through an excess of bile, or in some other way a force of disease has been roused, the whole body is then disturbed, and all the positions of the first-beginnings are then changed; it comes about that the bodies which before suited the sense now do not suit, and the others are more fit, which, once they have penetrated, can beget a bitter sensation; for both kinds are mixed in the savor of honey— a thing which we have already often shown you above.
Nunc aliis alius qui sit cibus ut videamus, expediam, quareve, aliis quod triste et amarumst, hoc tamen esse aliis possit perdulce videri, tantaque in his rebus distantia differitasque est, ut quod aliis cibus est aliis fuat acre venenum; est itaque ut serpens, hominis quae tacta salivis disperit ac sese mandendo conficit ipsa. praeterea nobis veratrum est acre venenum, at capris adipes et cocturnicibus auget. id quibus ut fiat rebus cognoscere possis, principio meminisse decet quae diximus ante, semina multimodis in rebus mixta teneri. porro omnes quae cumque cibum capiunt animantes, ut sunt dissimiles extrinsecus et generatim extima membrorum circumcaesura coërcet, proinde et seminibus constant variantque figura. semina cum porro distent, differre necessest intervalla viasque, foramina quae perhibemus, omnibus in membris et in ore ipsoque palato. esse minora igitur quaedam maioraque debent, esse triquetra aliis quadrata necessest, multa rutunda, modis multis multangula quaedam. namque figurarum ratio ut motusque reposcunt, proinde foraminibus debent differe figurae et variare viae proinde ac textura coërcet. hoc ubi quod suave est aliis fit amarum, illi, cui suave est, levissima corpora debent contractabiliter caulas intrare palati, at contra quibus est eadem res intus acerba, aspera ni mirum penetrant hamataque fauces. nunc facile est ex his rebus cognoscere quaeque. quippe ubi cui febris bili superante coorta est aut alia ratione aliquast vis excita morbi, perturbatur ibi iam totum corpus et omnes commutantur ibi positurae principiorum; fit prius ad sensum ut quae corpora conveniebant nunc non conveniant, et cetera sint magis apta, quae penetrata queunt sensum progignere acerbum; utraque enim sunt in mellis commixta sapore; id quod iam supera tibi saepe ostendimus ante.
Come now, I will tell in what way the approach of smell touches the nostrils. First, there must be many things from which a varied stream of smells rolls flowing forth, and we must suppose them to flow and be sent off and scattered everywhere; but one smell is more suited to one kind of living thing than to another, because of their unlike shapes. And so through the breezes the bees are drawn however far by the smell of honey, and vultures by carcasses; then the released strength of the hounds leads them whither the cloven hoof of wild beasts has carried its step, and the white goose, guardian of the citadel of the sons of Romulus, scents from afar the smell of man. So a different scent, given to different creatures, leads each to its own pasture and forces it to recoil from foul poison, and in this way the tribes of wild beasts are preserved.
Nunc age, quo pacto naris adiectus odoris tangat agam. primum res multas esse necessest unde fluens volvat varius se fluctus odorum, et fluere et mitti volgo spargique putandumst; verum aliis alius magis est animantibus aptus, dissimilis propter formas. ideoque per auras mellis apes quamvis longe ducuntur odore, volturiique cadaveribus; tum fissa ferarum ungula quo tulerit gressum promissa canum vis ducit, et humanum longe praesentit odorem Romulidarum arcis servator, candidus anser. sic aliis alius nidor datus ad sua quemque pabula ducit et a taetro resilire veneno cogit, eoque modo servantur saecla ferarum.
This smell itself, then, whatever assails the nostrils, is such that one may be wafted farther than another; but yet none of them is borne so far as sound, as voice— to say nothing now of the things that strike the gaze of the eyes and provoke sight. For it comes slowly, wandering, and perishes first, easily pulled apart little by little into the breezes of the air; first, because it is scarcely sent out from deep within the thing; for that smells flow and recede from deep within things is shown by the fact that all things seem to smell more when broken, when crushed, when dissolved by fire. Next, one may see that it is made of larger first-beginnings than voice, since it does not penetrate through stone walls, where voice and sound are commonly borne. Wherefore you will see, too, that it is not so easy to track in what region the thing that smells is placed; for the blow cools as it lingers through the breezes, nor do the messengers of things run warm to the sense. And so dogs often err and cast about for the trail.
Hic odor ipse igitur, naris qui cumque lacessit, est alio ut possit permitti longius alter; sed tamen haud quisquam tam longe fertur eorum quam sonitus, quam vox, mitto iam dicere quam res quae feriunt oculorum acies visumque lacessunt. errabundus enim tarde venit ac perit ante paulatim facilis distractus in aëris auras; ex alto primum quia vix emittitur ex re; nam penitus fluere atque recedere rebus odores significat quod fracta magis redolere videntur omnia, quod contrita, quod igni conlabefacta. deinde videre licet maioribus esse creatum principiis quam vox, quoniam per saxea saepta non penetrat, qua vox volgo sonitusque feruntur. quare etiam quod olet non tam facile esse videbis investigare in qua sit regione locatum; refrigescit enim cunctando plaga per auras nec calida ad sensum decurrunt nuntia rerum. errant saepe canes itaque et vestigia quaerunt.
Nor is this so in smells alone and in the class of savors, but likewise the looks of things and colors do not so suit the senses, all of them to all, but that some are more sharp to the sight for some. Nay, the cock, wont with clapping wings to clap out the night and call the dawn with clear voice—the fierce lions cannot stand up against him and gaze upon him: so straightway do they bethink them of flight. No wonder, because there are in the body of cocks certain seeds which, when they are sent into the eyes of lions, pierce through the pupils and furnish sharp pain, so that, fierce though they are, they cannot hold out against him, while yet these things can in no way hurt our gaze, either because they do not penetrate, or because, when they do penetrate, a free exit from the eyes is given them, so that by lingering they cannot hurt the eyes in any part.
Nec tamen hoc solis in odoribus atque saporum in generest, sed item species rerum atque colores non ita conveniunt ad sensus omnibus omnes, ut non sint aliis quaedam magis acria visu. quin etiam gallum noctem explaudentibus alis auroram clara consuetum voce vocare, noenu queunt rapidi contra constare leones inque tueri: ita continuo meminere fugai. ni mirum quia sunt gallorum in corpore quaedam semina, quae cum sunt oculis inmissa leonum, pupillas interfodiunt acremque dolorem praebent, ut nequeant contra durare feroces, cum tamen haec nostras acies nil laedere possint, aut quia non penetrant aut quod penetrantibus illis exitus ex oculis liber datur, in remorando laedere ne possint ex ulla lumina parte.
Come now, learn what things move the mind, and grasp in a few words whence the things that come, come into the mind. First I say this: that the images of things go wandering, many, in many ways, into all parts on every side, thin, which easily join with one another in the air, when they come to meet, like a spider’s web and gold-leaf. For indeed these are far thinner in their weave than those that catch the eyes and provoke sight, since these penetrate through the body’s pores and stir the thin nature of the mind within and provoke its sense. And so we see Centaurs and the limbs of Scyllas and the dog-faces of Cerberus, and the images of those whose bones, when death is met, the earth embraces; since images of every kind are borne about everywhere, partly those that come to be of their own accord in the air itself, partly those that depart from various things, and those that are made up, formed from the shapes of these. For surely the image of a Centaur is not made from a living one, since no such living nature ever existed; but when the image of a horse and of a man have met by chance, it readily sticks at once, as we said before, because of their subtle nature and thin web. The rest of this kind are created in the same way. And since they are borne nimbly with the utmost lightness, as I showed before, any one subtle image easily moves our mind with a single stroke; for the mind is thin and itself wondrously mobile. That these things happen as I relate, you can easily learn from this. Inasmuch as what we see with the mind is like what we see with the eyes, it must come about in a like manner.
Nunc age, quae moveant animum res accipe, et unde quae veniunt veniant in mentem percipe paucis. principio hoc dico, rerum simulacra vagari multa modis multis in cunctas undique partis tenvia, quae facile inter se iunguntur in auris, obvia cum veniunt, ut aranea bratteaque auri. quippe etenim multo magis haec sunt tenvia textu quam quae percipiunt oculos visumque lacessunt, corporis haec quoniam penetrant per rara cientque tenvem animi naturam intus sensumque lacessunt. Centauros itaque et Scyllarum membra videmus Cerbereasque canum facies simulacraque eorum quorum morte obita tellus amplectitur ossa; omnigenus quoniam passim simulacra feruntur, partim sponte sua quae fiunt aëre in ipso, partim quae variis ab rebus cumque recedunt et quae confiunt ex horum facta figuris. nam certe ex vivo Centauri non fit imago, nulla fuit quoniam talis natura animata; verum ubi equi atque hominis casu convenit imago, haerescit facile extemplo, quod diximus ante, propter subtilem naturam et tenvia texta. cetera de genere hoc eadem ratione creantur. quae cum mobiliter summa levitate feruntur, ut prius ostendi, facile uno commovet ictu quae libet una animum nobis subtilis imago; tenvis enim mens est et mire mobilis ipsa. haec fieri ut memoro, facile hinc cognoscere possis. quatinus hoc simile est illi, quod mente videmus atque oculis, simili fieri ratione necessest.
Now therefore, since I have taught that I happen to see lions by their images, whatever assail the eyes, one may know that the mind is moved in like manner by the images of lions and the rest that it sees, just as much, no less than the eyes, except that it discerns finer ones. Nor by any other means, when sleep has let the limbs sink, does the mind of the spirit keep watch, except that the same images assail our minds as when we wake, so thoroughly that we certainly seem to see one whom, his life left behind, death and earth have now possessed. Nature compels this to happen because all the senses of the body, hindered, are at rest throughout the limbs and cannot convict the false by true things. Besides, the memory lies down and droops with slumber, nor does it object that he, whom the mind believes it sees alive, was long since possessed by death and destruction. For the rest, it is no wonder that the images move and toss their arms in measure and the other limbs; for it happens that in dreams the image seems to do this. Indeed, when the first perishes and another is born thereafter in a different posture, the former seems to have changed its gesture. Of course this must be thought to happen swiftly: so great is the mobility, and so great the store of things, and so great, at any one perceptible moment, the store of particles, that it can keep up the supply.
Nunc igitur docui quoniam me forte leonum cernere per simulacra, oculos quae cumque lacessunt, scire licet mentem simili ratione moveri per simulacra leonum et cetera quae videt aeque nec minus atque oculi, nisi quod mage tenvia cernit. nec ratione alia, cum somnus membra profudit, mens animi vigilat, nisi quod simulacra lacessunt haec eadem nostros animos quae cum vigilamus, usque adeo, certe ut videamur cernere eum quem rellicta vita iam mors et terra potitast. hoc ideo fieri cogit natura, quod omnes corporis offecti sensus per membra quiescunt nec possunt falsum veris convincere rebus. praeterea meminisse iacet languetque sopore, nec dissentit eum mortis letique potitum iam pridem, quem mens vivom se cernere credit. quod super est, non est mirum simulacra moveri bracchiaque in numerum iactare et cetera membra; nam fit ut in somnis facere hoc videatur imago. quippe, ubi prima perit alioque est altera nata inde statu, prior hic gestum mutasse videtur. scilicet id fieri celeri ratione putandumst: tanta est mobilitas et rerum copia tanta tantaque sensibili quovis est tempore in uno copia particularum, ut possit suppeditare.
And many things are asked in these matters, and much must be made clear by us, if we desire to set it forth plainly. It is asked first why, whatever desire has come upon each, the mind straightway thinks of that very thing. Do the images watch our will, and as soon as we wish, does the image meet us, whether the sea, whether the land, whether at last the sky is in our heart? Gatherings of men, a procession, banquets, battles—does nature create and prepare all things at a word? Especially since, for others in the same region and place, the mind thinks of wholly dissimilar things. What, further, when we see the images advance in measure in our dreams and move their supple limbs, when they nimbly throw out their supple arms by turns and repeat the gesture to the eyes with answering foot? Of course the images are steeped in art and wander schooled, that they may be able to make their sport in the nighttime. Or will this rather be true? that in one time, when we feel— that is, when a single utterance is sent forth— many times lie hidden, which reason finds to exist, and so it comes about that at any time the several images are ready, prepared in each place. So great is the mobility, and so great the store of things. So when the first perishes and another is born thereafter in a different posture, the former seems to have changed its gesture. And because they are thin, the mind cannot discern sharply except what it strains for; therefore all the rest perish, except those for which it has itself made ready. It prepares itself, further, and hopes it will come to pass that it sees what follows upon each thing: and so it happens. Do you not see that the eyes too, when they begin to discern things that are fine, strain themselves and make ready, and that without this it cannot come about that we see sharply? And yet, even in plain things, you may learn that, if you do not turn your mind to them, it is just as if the thing had been removed all the time and set far away. Why then is it a wonder if the mind loses all the rest, save those things to which it is itself given over? Then we guess great matters from small signs and lead ourselves into the deceit of self-delusion.
Multaque in his rebus quaeruntur multaque nobis clarandumst, plane si res exponere avemus. quaeritur in primis quare, quod cuique libido venerit, extemplo mens cogitet eius id ipsum. anne voluntatem nostram simulacra tuentur et simul ac volumus nobis occurrit imago, si mare, si terram cordist, si denique caelum? conventus hominum, pompam, convivia, pugnas, omnia sub verbone creat natura paratque? cum praesertim aliis eadem in regione locoque longe dissimilis animus res cogitet omnis. quid porro, in numerum procedere cum simulacra cernimus in somnis et mollia membra movere, mollia mobiliter cum alternis bracchia mittunt et repetunt oculis gestum pede convenienti? scilicet arte madent simulacra et docta vagantur, nocturno facere ut possint in tempore ludos. an magis illud erit verum? quia tempore in uno, cum sentimus, id est cum vox emittitur una, tempora multa latent, ratio quae comperit esse, propterea fit uti quovis in tempore quaeque praesto sint simulacra locis in quisque parata. tanta est mobilitas et rerum copia tanta. hoc ubi prima perit alioque est altera nata inde statu, prior hic gestum mutasse videtur. et quia tenvia sunt, nisi quae contendit, acute cernere non potis est animus; proinde omnia quae sunt praeterea pereunt, nisi quae ex se ipse paravit. ipse parat sese porro speratque futurum ut videat quod consequitur rem quamque: fit ergo. nonne vides oculos etiam, cum tenvia quae sunt praeterea pereunt, nisi quae ex se ipse paravit cernere coeperunt, contendere se atque parare, nec sine eo fieri posse ut cernamus acute? et tamen in rebus quoque apertis noscere possis, si non advertas animum, proinde esse quasi omni tempore semotum fuerit longeque remotum. cur igitur mirumst, animus si cetera perdit praeter quam quibus est in rebus deditus ipse? deinde adopinamur de signis maxima parvis ac nos in fraudem induimus frustraminis ipsi.
It comes about too that at times an image of the same kind is not supplied, but what was a woman before seems, in our arms, to have become a man and to be there, or one face and age follows from another. But that we should not wonder at this, sleep and forgetfulness see to.
Fit quoque ut inter dum non suppeditetur imago eiusdem generis, sed femina quae fuit ante, in manibus vir uti factus videatur adesse, aut alia ex alia facies aetasque sequatur. quod ne miremur sopor atque oblivia curant.
In these matters you must vehemently flee this fault, shun this error with foresight: do not suppose the bright lights of the eyes were created that we might be able to look ahead, and that, that we might be able to put forth long strides, therefore the tops of the calves and thighs, founded on the feet, can be bent, and again that the arms were fitted from strong shoulders, and hands given as servants on either side, that we might do for life what should be needful. All the rest of this kind that are so interpreted are perverse, back-to-front in their reasoning, since nothing was born in the body that we might use it, but what is born begets its use. Nor did the seeing exist before the lights of the eyes were born, nor pleading in words before the tongue was created, but rather the origin of the tongue far preceded speech, and the ears were created much before sound was heard, and all the limbs, in short, existed before, I think, their use was there; they could not, then, have grown for the sake of being used. But on the other hand, to join the contests of battle hand to hand, and tear the limbs and foul them with gore, existed long before shining weapons flew, and nature compelled men to avoid a wound before the left arm offered the shield’s guard by art. Of course, too, to commit the tired body to rest is far older than the soft coverings of a couch, and to slake thirst was born before cups. These things, then, can be believed to be known for the sake of use, which were found from use and life. But those are all apart, which, themselves born first, gave afterward the knowledge of their usefulness; of which kind we see above all the senses and the limbs. Wherefore again and again it is far from possible for you to believe that they could be created for the office of usefulness.
Illud in his rebus vitium vehementer äinesse effugere errorem vitareque praemetuenter, lumina ne facias oculorum clara creata, prospicere ut possimus, et ut proferre queamus proceros passus, ideo fastigia posse surarum ac feminum pedibus fundata plicari, bracchia tum porro validis ex apta lacertis esse manusque datas utraque ex parte ministras, ut facere ad vitam possemus quae foret usus. cetera de genere hoc inter quae cumque pretantur, omnia perversa praepostera sunt ratione, nil ideo quoniam natumst in corpore ut uti possemus, sed quod natumst id procreat usum. nec fuit ante videre oculorum lumina nata, nec dictis orare prius quam lingua creatast, sed potius longe linguae praecessit origo sermonem multoque creatae sunt prius aures quam sonus est auditus, et omnia denique membra ante fuere, ut opinor, eorum quam foret usus; haud igitur potuere utendi crescere causa. at contra conferre manu certamina pugnae et lacerare artus foedareque membra cruore ante fuit multo quam lucida tela volarent, et volnus vitare prius natura coëgit quam daret obiectum parmai laeva per artem. scilicet et fessum corpus mandare quieti multo antiquius est quam lecti mollia strata, et sedare sitim prius est quam pocula natum. haec igitur possunt utendi cognita causa credier, ex usu quae sunt vitaque reperta. illa quidem seorsum sunt omnia, quae prius ipsa nata dedere suae post notitiam utilitatis. quo genere in primis sensus et membra videmus; quare etiam atque etiam procul est ut credere possis utilitatis ob officium potuisse creari.
Likewise this is no wonder, that the very nature of the body seeks food for each living thing. For indeed I have taught that bodies flow and recede from things, many in many ways, but most must come from living creatures; which, because they are tried by motion, many are exhaled through the mouth, when they pant wearily, and many, pressed up from the deep, are borne off through sweat. By these things, then, the body grows rare, and its whole nature is undermined, which thing pain follows. And so food is taken, to prop up the limbs and, given in between, renew the strength, and to stop the craving of eating that lies open through the limbs and veins. Moisture, likewise, departs into all the places that demand moisture; and the many gathered bodies of heat, which furnish burnings to our stomach, the incoming liquid scatters and quenches like fire, that the dry heat may no longer be able to burn the limbs. So, then, the panting thirst is washed from our body, so the hungry craving is filled.
Illud item non est mirandum, corporis ipsa quod natura cibum quaerit cuiusque animantis. quippe etenim fluere atque recedere corpora rebus multa modis multis docui, sed plurima debent ex animalibus; quae quia sunt exercita motu, multa per os exhalantur, cum languida anhelant, multaque per sudorem ex alto pressa feruntur. his igitur rebus rarescit corpus et omnis subruitur natura, dolor quam consequitur rem. propterea capitur cibus, ut suffulciat artus et recreet vires inter datus, atque patentem per membra ac venas ut amorem opturet edendi. umor item discedit in omnia quae loca cumque poscunt umorem; glomerataque multa vaporis corpora, quae stomacho praebent incendia nostro, dissupat adveniens liquor ac restinguit ut ignem, urere ne possit calor amplius aridus artus. sic igitur tibi anhela sitis de corpore nostro abluitur, sic expletur ieiuna cupido.
Now how it comes that we can put forth our steps when we will, and why it is given to move the limbs, and what thing has been used to thrust forward this great load of our body, I will tell: do you grasp my words. I say that first the images of walking fall upon our mind and strike the mind, as we said before. Thence comes the will; for no one begins to do any thing before the mind has foreseen what it wills. Of that which it foresees, the image exists. Therefore, when the mind so stirs itself that it wills to go and step forward, it strikes at once the force of the soul that is scattered through the whole body, through limbs and frame; and it is easy to do, since it is held joined. Then the soul in turn strikes the body, and so the whole mass, little by little, is thrust forward and moved. Besides, then the body too grows rare, and air, of course, as it must, being ever mobile, comes in abundant through the opened pores and penetrates, and is scattered to all the minute parts of the body. By these two things, then, on either side, it comes about that the body is borne like a ship by sails and wind. Nor yet is this a wonder in these matters, that such tiny bodies can twist so great a body and turn about our whole load; for indeed the wind, thin of subtle body, thrusting drives a great ship with great effort, and one hand steers it, however great the force with which it goes, and twists the single rudder wherever it pleases, and a machine, by pulleys and wheels, moves and lifts many things of great weight with light strain.
Nunc qui fiat uti passus proferre queamus, cum volumus, quareque datum sit membra movere et quae res tantum hoc oneris protrudere nostri corporis insuerit, dicam: tu percipe dicta. dico animo nostro primum simulacra meandi accidere atque animum pulsare, ut diximus ante. inde voluntas fit; neque enim facere incipit ullam rem quisquam, quam mens providit quid velit ante. id quod providet, illius rei constat imago, ergo animus cum sese ita commovet ut velit ire inque gredi, ferit extemplo quae in corpore toto per membra atque artus animai dissita vis est; et facilest factu, quoniam coniuncta tenetur. inde ea proporro corpus ferit, atque ita tota paulatim moles protruditur atque movetur. praeterea tum rarescit quoque corpus et aër, scilicet ut debet qui semper mobilis extat, per patefacta venit penetratque foramina largus, et dispargitur ad partis ita quasque minutas corporis. hic igitur rebus fit utrimque duabus, corpus ut ac navis velis ventoque feratur. nec tamen illud in his rebus mirabile constat, tantula quod tantum corpus corpuscula possunt contorquere et onus totum convertere nostrum; quippe etenim ventus subtili corpore tenvis trudit agens magnam magno molimine navem et manus una regit quanto vis impete euntem atque gubernaclum contorquet quo libet unum, multaque per trocleas et tympana pondere magno commovet atque levi sustollit machina nisu.
Now by what means that sleep irrigates rest through the limbs and looses the cares of the spirit from the breast, I will tell in sweet-speaking rather than in many verses, as the swan’s small song is better than that clamor of cranes scattered amid the airy clouds of the south wind. Do you give me fine ears and a keen mind, lest you deny that what I shall say can be, and depart with a breast that thrusts back the truth I speak, when you yourself are at fault and cannot see.
Nunc quibus ille modis somnus per membra quietem inriget atque animi curas e pectore solvat, suavidicis potius quom multis versibus edam, parvus ut est cycni melior canor, ille gruum quam clamor in aetheriis dispersus nubibus austri. tu mihi da tenuis auris animumque sagacem, ne fieri negites quae dicam posse retroque vera repulsanti discedas pectore dicta, tutemet in culpa cum sis neque cernere possis.
First, sleep comes when the force of the soul has been pulled apart through the limbs, and partly, cast out, has withdrawn, and partly, thrust together, has retired deeper within; for then at last the limbs are loosened and droop. For there is no doubt that this sense in us is the work of the soul, and when slumber hinders it from being, then we must suppose the soul disturbed and cast out— not the whole; for otherwise the body would lie drenched in the eternal cold of death. Indeed, where no hidden part of the soul remained in the limbs, as fire lies hidden, buried, in much ash, whence could sense be suddenly rekindled through the limbs, as flame can rise from hidden fire?
Principio somnus fit ubi est distracta per artus vis animae partimque foras eiecta recessit et partim contrusa magis concessit in altum; dissoluuntur enim tum demum membra fluuntque. nam dubium non est, animai quin opera sit sensus hic in nobis, quem cum sopor inpedit esse, tum nobis animam perturbatam esse putandumst eiectamque foras, non omnem; namque iaceret aeterno corpus perfusum frigore leti. quippe ubi nulla latens animai pars remaneret in membris, cinere ut multa latet obrutus ignis, unde reconflari sensus per membra repente possit, ut ex igni caeco consurgere flamma?
But by what means this change is wrought, and whence the soul can be disturbed and the body grow faint, I will explain: do you see that I do not pour my words to the winds. First, the body on its outer part must, since it is touched, neighbor to the airy breezes, be buffeted and beaten by their repeated blow, and for this reason nearly all things are covered either with hide, or even with shells, or with callus, or bark. The inner part too this same air lashes in breathing things, when it is drawn in and breathed back. Wherefore, since the body is beaten on both sides, and since the blows reach through the small openings to our body’s first parts and first elements, there is, as it were, a gradual ruin through our limbs. For the positions of the first-beginnings of body and of mind are thrown into confusion. It comes about that part of the soul is then drawn out, and part, hidden, withdraws within, and part, pulled apart through the limbs, cannot be joined together with itself nor perform mutual motion; for nature fences off their meetings and ways between. And so sense departs deep, its motions changed. And since there is nothing, as it were, to prop the limbs, the body becomes weak and all the limbs grow faint, the arms and eyelids fall, and the hams, even as one lies down, often sink nonetheless and loose their strength.
Sed quibus haec rebus novitas confiat et unde perturbari anima et corpus languescere possit, expediam: tu fac ne ventis verba profundam. Principio externa corpus de parte necessum est, aëriis quoniam vicinum tangitur auris, tundier atque eius crebro pulsarier ictu, proptereaque fere res omnes aut corio sunt aut etiam conchis aut callo aut cortice tectae. interiorem etiam partem spirantibus aër verberat hic idem, cum ducitur atque reflatur. quare utrimque secus cum corpus vapulet et cum perveniant plagae per parva foramina nobis corporis ad primas partis elementaque prima, fit quasi paulatim nobis per membra ruina. conturbantur enim positurae principiorum corporis atque animi. fit uti pars inde animai eliciatur et introrsum pars abdita cedat, pars etiam distracta per artus non queat esse coniuncta inter se neque motu mutua fungi; inter enim saepit coetus natura viasque. ergo sensus abit mutatis motibus alte. et quoniam non est quasi quod suffulciat artus, debile fit corpus languescuntque omnia membra, bracchia palpebraeque cadunt poplitesque cubanti saepe tamen summittuntur virisque resolvunt.
Next, sleep follows food, because what air does, the same does food, while it is distributed into all the veins. And that slumber stands far the heaviest which you take full or weary, because then very many bodies throw themselves into confusion, bruised by great toil. By the same reasoning there comes a deeper thrusting-in of part of the soul, and a more abundant casting-out of it, and a greater dividing and pulling-apart of it within.
Deinde cibum sequitur somnus, quia, quae facit aër, haec eadem cibus, in venas dum diditur omnis, efficit. et multo sopor ille gravissimus exstat, quem satur aut lassus capias, quia plurima tum se corpora conturbant magno contusa labore. fit ratione eadem coniectus parte animai altior atque foras eiectus largior eius, et divisior inter se ac distractior intus.
And whatever pursuit each is mostly bound and clings to, or in what things we have long before lingered, and on which the mind has been the more intent, in dreams we mostly seem to be busy at the same: pleaders plead their cases and draw up laws, commanders fight and go to battle, sailors wage the war they have joined with the winds, while we do this work and ever seek the nature of things and, once found, set it forth in our native pages. So the other pursuits and arts mostly seem in sleep to hold the minds of men deluded. And whoever for many days in a row have given constant attention to the games, we mostly see that, even when they have ceased to take them in by the senses, the ways nonetheless lie open in the mind by which the same images of things can come. And so for many days those same things hover before their eyes, so that even waking they seem to see dancers and moving supple limbs, and to catch with the ears the liquid song of the cithara and its speaking strings, and to see the same assembly and at once the varied splendors of the stage shine. So greatly do pursuit and will matter, and the things in which they have been wont to be occupied— not men alone but truly all animals. Indeed you will see strong horses, when their limbs lie down, yet in sleep sweat and ever pant, and strain their utmost strength as if for the prize, or, as if the barriers were thrown open, give voice. And hunters’ dogs in soft rest often toss their legs suddenly, and suddenly give voice, and again and again draw in scents through the nostrils, as if they held the found tracks of wild beasts, and, roused, often pursue the empty images of stags, as if they saw them given over to flight, until, the errors shaken off, they come back to themselves. But the fawning brood of pups, reared at home, are quick to shake themselves and snatch their body from the ground, just as if they gazed on unknown faces and features. And the rougher each is in its breed of seeds, so much the more must the same rage in sleep. But various birds flee and on a sudden, with their wings, disturb at night the groves of the gods, if in gentle sleep they have seen hawks pressing on, giving battle and seen flying. Further, the minds of men, which with great motions perform great things, likewise often in sleep do and perform the same: they storm kings, are captured, mix in battle, raise a cry as if their throats were cut on the spot. Many fight it out and give groans from their pains, and as if by the bite of a panther or savage lion they were being chewed, fill all about with great cries. Many speak in their sleep of great matters and have very often been the informers of their own deed. Many meet death. Many, as if they were plunging from high mountains to the ground with their whole body, are terrified, and from sleep, as if seized in their wits, scarcely return to themselves, shaken by the body’s turmoil. Likewise a thirsty man sits by a river or a pleasant spring and almost takes the whole stream down his throat. The clean, often, if bound in sleep beside a basin and squat jars, believe they lift their garment, and pour out the strained moisture of their whole body, while the Babylonian coverlets of magnificent splendor are drenched. Then those into whose limbs the seed of ripening age first makes its way, when the very day has created it ripe in the limbs, images come together from outside, from some body too, heralds of a glorious face and beautiful color, which stirs and provokes the regions swollen with much seed, so that, as if all had been accomplished, they often pour forth great floods and stain their garment.
Et quo quisque fere studio devinctus adhaeret aut quibus in rebus multum sumus ante morati atque in ea ratione fuit contenta magis mens, in somnis eadem plerumque videmur obire: causidici causas agere et componere leges, induperatores pugnare ac proelia obire, nautae contractum cum ventis degere bellum, nos agere hoc autem et naturam quaerere rerum semper et inventam patriis exponere chartis. cetera sic studia atque artes plerumque videntur in somnis animos hominum frustrata tenere. et qui cumque dies multos ex ordine ludis adsiduas dederunt operas, plerumque videmus, cum iam destiterunt ea sensibus usurpare, relicuas tamen esse vias in mente patentis, qua possint eadem rerum simulacra venire; per multos itaque illa dies eadem obversantur ante oculos, etiam vigilantes ut videantur cernere saltantis et mollia membra moventis et citharae liquidum carmen chordasque loquentis auribus accipere et consessum cernere eundem scenaique simul varios splendere decores. usque adeo magni refert studium atque voluntas, et quibus in rebus consuerint esse operati non homines solum sed vero animalia cuncta. quippe videbis equos fortis, cum membra iacebunt, in somnis sudare tamen spirareque semper et quasi de palma summas contendere viris aut quasi carceribus patefactis edere voces venantumque canes in molli saepe quiete iactant crura tamen subito vocisque repente mittunt et crebro redducunt naribus auras. ut vestigia si teneant inventa ferarum, expergefactique secuntur inania saepe cervorum simulacra, fugae quasi dedita cernant, donec discussis redeant erroribus ad se. at consueta domi catulorum blanda propago discutere et corpus de terra corripere instant, iactant crura tamen subito vocisque repente mittunt et crebro redducunt naribus auras ut vestigia si teneant inventa ferarum expergefactique secuntur inania saepe proinde quasi ignotas facies atque ora tuantur. et quo quaeque magis sunt aspera seminiorum, tam magis in somnis eadem saevire necessust. at variae fugiunt volucres pinnisque repente sollicitant divom nocturno tempore lucos, accipitres somno in leni si proelia pugnas edere sunt persectantes visaeque volantes. porro hominum mentes, magnis quae motibus edunt magna, itidem saepe in somnis faciuntque geruntque, reges expugnant, capiuntur, proelia miscent, tollunt clamorem, quasi si iugulentur ibidem. multi depugnant gemitusque doloribus edunt et quasi pantherae morsu saevive leonis mandantur, magnis clamoribus omnia complent. multi de magnis per somnum rebus loquuntur indicioque sui facti persaepe fuere. multi mortem obeunt. multi, de montibus altis ut quasi praecipitent ad terram corpore toto, exterruntur et ex somno quasi mentibus capti vix ad se redeunt permoti corporis aestu. flumen item sitiens aut fontem propter amoenum adsidet et totum prope faucibus occupat amnem. puri saepe lacum propter si ac dolia curta somno devincti credunt se extollere vestem, totius umorem saccatum corporis fundunt, cum Babylonica magnifico splendore rigantur. tum quibus aetatis freta primitus insinuatur semen, ubi ipsa dies membris matura creavit, conveniunt simulacra foris e corpore quoque, nuntia praeclari voltus pulchrique coloris, qui ciet inritans loca turgida semine multo, ut quasi transactis saepe omnibus rebus profundant fluminis ingentis fluctus vestemque cruentent.
That seed in us, of which we spoke before, is stirred when the grown age first strengthens the limbs. For one thing stirs and provokes one, another another; the human seed is roused only by the force of a human. And as soon as it, cast out, goes forth from its seats, it withdraws through the limbs and frame from the whole body, gathering into certain regions of the sinews, and straightway rouses the very generative parts of the body. The provoked regions swell with seed, and the will arises to eject it whither dread lust strains itself; it urges on, provoking the regions swollen with much seed, and seeks that body from which the mind is wounded with love; for all generally fall toward the wound, and the blood spurts out toward that part from which we are struck by the blow, and if he is at close quarters, the red moisture covers the foe. So then he who takes the blows from the weapons of Venus— whether a boy with girlish limbs hurls them at him, or a woman casting love from her whole body— strains toward that whence he is struck, and longs to unite and to cast the fluid, drawn from body, into body; for the speechless desire forebodes its pleasure.
Sollicitatur id in nobis, quod diximus ante, semen, adulta aetas cum primum roborat artus. namque alias aliud res commovet atque lacessit; ex homine humanum semen ciet una hominis vis. quod simul atque suis eiectum sedibus exit, per membra atque artus decedit corpore toto, in loca conveniens nervorum certa cietque continuo partis genitalis corporis ipsas. inritata tument loca semine fitque voluntas eicere id quo se contendit dira lubido, incitat inritans loca turgida semine multo idque petit corpus, mens unde est saucia amore; namque omnes plerumque cadunt in vulnus et illam emicat in partem sanguis, unde icimur ictu, et si comminus est, hostem ruber occupat umor. sic igitur Veneris qui telis accipit ictus, sive puer membris muliebribus hunc iaculatur seu mulier toto iactans e corpore amorem, unde feritur, eo tendit gestitque coire et iacere umorem in corpus de corpore ductum; namque voluptatem praesagit muta cupido.
This is Venus for us; from this, moreover, comes the name of Love; from this first that drop of Venus’s sweetness trickled into the heart, and chill care followed after; for if what you love is absent, still its images are at hand, and its sweet name hovers at the ears. But it is fitting to flee the images, and to scare from oneself the food of love, and to turn the mind elsewhere, and to cast the gathered fluid into any bodies whatever, and not to keep it, once turned to the love of one, and store up for oneself care and assured pain; for the ulcer quickens and grows inveterate by feeding, and day by day the madness swells and the misery grows heavy, unless you confound the first wounds with new blows, and, roaming, treat them while fresh with a common, wandering Venus, or can lead the motions of the mind elsewhere.
Haec Venus est nobis; hinc autemst nomen Amoris, hinc illaec primum Veneris dulcedinis in cor stillavit gutta et successit frigida cura; nam si abest quod ames, praesto simulacra tamen sunt illius et nomen dulce obversatur ad auris. sed fugitare decet simulacra et pabula amoris absterrere sibi atque alio convertere mentem et iacere umorem coniectum in corpora quaeque nec retinere semel conversum unius amore et servare sibi curam certumque dolorem; ulcus enim vivescit et inveterascit alendo inque dies gliscit furor atque aerumna gravescit, si non prima novis conturbes volnera plagis volgivagaque vagus Venere ante recentia cures aut alio possis animi traducere motus.
Nor does he who shuns love lack the fruit of Venus, but rather takes those goods that are without penalty; for surely the pleasure from it is purer for the sane than for the wretched. For in the very moment of possessing, the ardor of lovers tosses with uncertain wanderings, nor is it settled what they should first enjoy with eyes and hands. What they have sought, they press hard and make pain for the body, and often dash their teeth against the lips and fasten kisses, because the pleasure is not pure, and goads lie beneath, which urge them to hurt that very thing, whatever it be, from which those seeds of madness rise. But Venus lightly breaks the pains amid love, and fawning pleasure, mingled in, reins back the bites. For in this there is hope that, from the same body whence is the origin of the ardor, the flame too can be quenched. Which nature wholly fights against coming to pass; and this is the one thing of which, the more we have, the more the breast burns with dire craving. For food and moisture are taken into the limbs within; and since these can occupy fixed parts, by this the craving for liquids and grain is easily filled. But from a human face and beautiful color nothing is given into the body to enjoy but thin images— a wretched hope, often snatched away by the wind. As when a thirsty man in dreams seeks to drink, and no moisture is given that could quench the ardor in his limbs, but he reaches for the images of liquids and toils in vain, and thirsts though drinking in the midst of a rushing stream, so in love Venus mocks lovers with images, nor can they sate themselves by gazing on the body face to face, nor with their hands scrape anything from the tender limbs, wandering uncertain over the whole body. At last, when, limbs joined, they enjoy the flower of youth, when now the body forebodes its joys, and Venus is at the point of sowing the woman’s fields, they fasten the body greedily and join the saliva of the mouth, and breathe in, pressing the lips with their teeth—in vain, since they can scrape nothing from it, nor penetrate and pass into the body with the whole body; for at times they seem to wish and to strive to do so. So eagerly do they cling in the bonds of Venus, while their limbs, undone by the force of pleasure, melt away. At last, when the gathered lust has burst forth from the sinews, there comes a brief pause of the violent ardor for a little while. Then the same madness returns and that frenzy revisits, when they seek themselves to attain what they crave, and cannot find what device may conquer that bane. So utterly do they waste away, uncertain, with a hidden wound.
Nec Veneris fructu caret is qui vitat amorem, sed potius quae sunt sine poena commoda sumit; nam certe purast sanis magis inde voluptas quam miseris; etenim potiundi tempore in ipso fluctuat incertis erroribus ardor amantum nec constat quid primum oculis manibusque fruantur. quod petiere, premunt arte faciuntque dolorem corporis et dentes inlidunt saepe labellis osculaque adfigunt, quia non est pura voluptas et stimuli subsunt, qui instigant laedere id ipsum, quod cumque est, rabies unde illaec germina surgunt. sed leviter poenas frangit Venus inter amorem blandaque refrenat morsus admixta voluptas. namque in eo spes est, unde est ardoris origo, restingui quoque posse ab eodem corpore flammam. quod fieri contra totum natura repugnat; unaque res haec est, cuius quam plurima habemus, tam magis ardescit dira cuppedine pectus. nam cibus atque umor membris adsumitur intus; quae quoniam certas possunt obsidere partis, hoc facile expletur laticum frugumque cupido. ex hominis vero facie pulchroque colore nil datur in corpus praeter simulacra fruendum tenvia; quae vento spes raptast saepe misella. ut bibere in somnis sitiens quom quaerit et umor non datur, ardorem qui membris stinguere possit, sed laticum simulacra petit frustraque laborat in medioque sitit torrenti flumine potans, sic in amore Venus simulacris ludit amantis, nec satiare queunt spectando corpora coram nec manibus quicquam teneris abradere membris possunt errantes incerti corpore toto. denique cum membris conlatis flore fruuntur aetatis, iam cum praesagit gaudia corpus atque in eost Venus ut muliebria conserat arva, adfigunt avide corpus iunguntque salivas oris et inspirant pressantes dentibus ora, ne quiquam, quoniam nihil inde abradere possunt nec penetrare et abire in corpus corpore toto; nam facere inter dum velle et certare videntur. usque adeo cupide in Veneris compagibus haerent, membra voluptatis dum vi labefacta liquescunt. tandem ubi se erupit nervis coniecta cupido, parva fit ardoris violenti pausa parumper. inde redit rabies eadem et furor ille revisit, cum sibi quod cupiant ipsi contingere quaerunt, nec reperire malum id possunt quae machina vincat. usque adeo incerti tabescunt volnere caeco.
Add that they use up their strength and perish with toil; add that one’s life is led under another’s nod, duties languish, and reputation, wavering, sickens. Meanwhile the estate slips away, and there come Babylonian perfumes, and pretty Sicyonian slippers laugh on her feet, and great emeralds with green light, of course, are set in gold, and the sea-green garment is worn constantly and, hard-used, drinks the sweat of Venus. And the well-won goods of the fathers turn into headbands and tiaras, sometimes into a mantle and Elean and Cean cloths. Banquets with choice dress and fare, games, frequent cups, perfumes, garlands, wreaths are made ready— in vain, since from the very midst of the fountain of charms rises something bitter, which chokes amid the very flowers: either when the conscious mind perhaps gnaws itself with remorse, that it passes its life in sloth and perishes in stews, or because she has left some word, hurled, in ambiguity, which, fixed in the craving heart, quickens like fire, or because he thinks she casts her eyes too much, or looks at another, and sees in her face the traces of a smile.
Adde quod absumunt viris pereuntque labore, adde quod alterius sub nutu degitur aetas, languent officia atque aegrotat fama vacillans. labitur interea res et Babylonia fiunt unguenta et pulchra in pedibus Sicyonia rident, scilicet et grandes viridi cum luce zmaragdi auro includuntur teriturque thalassina vestis adsidue et Veneris sudorem exercita potat. et bene parta patrum fiunt anademata, mitrae, inter dum in pallam atque Alidensia Ciaque vertunt. eximia veste et victu convivia, ludi, pocula crebra, unguenta, coronae, serta parantur, ne quiquam, quoniam medio de fonte leporum surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat, aut cum conscius ipse animus se forte remordet desidiose agere aetatem lustrisque perire, aut quod in ambiguo verbum iaculata reliquit, quod cupido adfixum cordi vivescit ut ignis, aut nimium iactare oculos aliumve tueri quod putat in voltuque videt vestigia risus.
And these ills are found in love that is one’s own and most prosperous; but in love that is crossed and destitute there are ills you could catch with the eye’s light shut— past numbering; so that it is better to keep watch beforehand, in the way I have taught, and to beware lest you be enticed. For to avoid being cast into the snares of love is not so hard as, once caught in the very nets, to get out and break through the strong knots of Venus. And yet, even entangled and ensnared, you could escape the danger, unless you stand in your own way, and overlook at first all the faults of her mind, or those of the body, of her whom you pursue and want. For men mostly do this, blind with craving, and attribute to them goods that are not truly theirs. And so we see women, crooked and ugly in many ways, held in delight and flourishing in the highest honor. And some laugh at others and urge them to appease Venus, since they are afflicted with a foul love, nor do the wretches look back on their own ills, often the greatest. The black girl is "honey-dark"; the filthy and rank is "careless of her dress"; the gray-eyed is "a little Pallas"; the sinewy and wooden is "a gazelle"; the stunted dwarf is "one of the Graces, pure wit through and through"; the huge and monstrous is "a stunner, full of majesty." She stammers, cannot speak— "she lisps so prettily"; the mute is "modest"; but the fiery, spiteful, prattling one becomes "a little torch." She turns into "a slender darling" when she cannot live for leanness; "willowy" is one already half-dead with coughing. But the overgrown and big-breasted is "Ceres herself suckling Iacchus"; the snub-nosed is "a Silena, a Satyress"; the thick-lipped is "a very kiss." More of this kind it would be long to try to tell.
Atque in amore mala haec proprio summeque secundo inveniuntur; in adverso vero atque inopi sunt, prendere quae possis oculorum lumine operto. innumerabilia; ut melius vigilare sit ante, qua docui ratione, cavereque, ne inliciaris. nam vitare, plagas in amoris ne iaciamur, non ita difficile est quam captum retibus ipsis exire et validos Veneris perrumpere nodos. et tamen implicitus quoque possis inque peditus effugere infestum, nisi tute tibi obvius obstes et praetermittas animi vitia omnia primum aut quae corporis sunt eius, quam praepetis ac vis. nam faciunt homines plerumque cupidine caeci et tribuunt ea quae non sunt his commoda vere. multimodis igitur pravas turpisque videmus esse in deliciis summoque in honore vigere. atque alios alii inrident Veneremque suadent ut placent, quoniam foedo adflictentur amore, nec sua respiciunt miseri mala maxima saepe. nigra melichrus est, inmunda et fetida acosmos, caesia Palladium, nervosa et lignea dorcas, parvula, pumilio, chariton mia, tota merum sal, magna atque inmanis cataplexis plenaque honoris. balba loqui non quit, traulizi, muta pudens est; at flagrans, odiosa, loquacula Lampadium fit. ischnon eromenion tum fit, cum vivere non quit prae macie; rhadine verost iam mortua tussi. at nimia et mammosa Ceres est ipsa ab Iaccho, simula Silena ac Saturast, labeosa philema. cetera de genere hoc longum est si dicere coner.
But grant her now of beauty of face however great, from all of whose limbs the power of Venus rises: surely there are others too; surely we lived without her before; surely she does, and we know she does, all the same things as the ugly, and, wretched, fumigates herself with foul smells, whom her maids flee far off and snigger at in secret. But the shut-out lover, weeping, often covers the threshold with flowers and garlands, and anoints the proud doorposts with marjoram-oil, and, wretched, plants kisses on the doors; whom, if, now admitted, a single breath met him as he came, he would seek honorable reasons for leaving, and his complaint, long pondered and deeply drawn, would fall flat, and there he would condemn his own folly, in that he sees he has granted her more than it is right to allow a mortal. Nor does this escape our Venuses; wherefore all the more do they themselves, with utmost effort, hide these back-scenes of life from those whom they wish to keep and to hold bound in love—in vain, since you can nonetheless in your mind drag all into the light and search out all the laughter, and, if she is of fair mind and not hateful, in turn pass it over and make allowance for human things.
sed tamen esto iam quantovis oris honore, cui Veneris membris vis omnibus exoriatur; nempe aliae quoque sunt; nempe hac sine viximus ante; nempe eadem facit et scimus facere omnia turpi et miseram taetris se suffit odoribus ipsa, quam famulae longe fugitant furtimque cachinnant. at lacrimans exclusus amator limina saepe floribus et sertis operit postisque superbos unguit amaracino et foribus miser oscula figit; quem si iam ammissum venientem offenderit aura una modo, causas abeundi quaerat honestas et meditata diu cadat alte sumpta querella stultitiaque ibi se damnet, tribuisse quod illi plus videat quam mortali concedere par est. nec Veneres nostras hoc fallit; quo magis ipsae omnia summo opere hos vitae poscaenia celant, quos retinere volunt adstrictosque esse in amore, ne quiquam, quoniam tu animo tamen omnia possis protrahere in lucem atque omnis inquirere risus et, si bello animost et non odiosa, vicissim praetermittere et humanis concedere rebus.
Nor does the woman always sigh with feigned love, who, embracing the man’s body, joins body with body, and holds him, moistening his kisses with clinging lips; for often she does it from the heart, and, seeking shared joys, urges him to run the course of love. Nor in any other way could birds, herds, wild beasts, flocks, and mares submit to the males, unless, because their own nature is in heat, it burns, teeming, and gladly takes again the Venus of the mounting males. Do you not see, too, those whom mutual pleasure has often bound, how they are tortured in their common chains, when often at the crossroads dogs, longing to part, strain apart eagerly with all their strength, while meanwhile they cling in the strong couplings of Venus? Which they would never do, unless they knew mutual joys, which could cast them into the snare and hold them bound. Wherefore again and again, as I say, the pleasure is shared.
Nec mulier semper ficto suspirat amore, quae conplexa viri corpus cum corpore iungit et tenet adsuctis umectans oscula labris; nam facit ex animo saepe et communia quaerens gaudia sollicitat spatium decurrere amoris. nec ratione alia volucres armenta feraeque et pecudes et equae maribus subsidere possent, si non, ipsa quod illarum subat, ardet abundans natura et Venerem salientum laeta retractat. nonne vides etiam quos mutua saepe voluptas vinxit, ut in vinclis communibus excrucientur, in triviis cum saepe canes discedere aventis divorsi cupide summis ex viribus tendunt, quom interea validis Veneris compagibus haerent? quod facerent numquam, nisi mutua gaudia nossent, quae iacere in fraudem possent vinctosque tenere. quare etiam atque etiam, ut dico, est communis voluptas.
And when, in mingling the seed, the woman’s force has by chance overcome the male’s with sudden force and seized it, then children come to be like the mothers from the maternal seed, as like the fathers from the paternal. But those whom you see to be of both shapes, mingling close the features of their parents, grow from the father’s body and the mother’s blood, when the seeds, roused by Venus’s goads through the limbs, the mutual ardor breathing together has dashed to meet, and neither of them has conquered nor been conquered. It comes about, too, that at times they can turn out like their grandparents and often recall the features of great-grandparents, because parents often keep many first-beginnings, mixed in manifold ways, hidden in their body, which fathers hand to fathers, set forth from the stock. Thence Venus brings forth shapes by varying lot, and recalls the faces and voices and hair of forebears; since these come no more from a fixed seed than do our faces and bodies and limbs. And the female generation arises from the father’s seed, and males come to be, created from the mother’s body; for every birth consists of a double seed, and whichever the thing created more resembles, of that it has more than an equal share; which you may discern, whether the offspring be male, or of female origin.
Et commiscendo quom semine forte virilem femina vim vicit subita vi corripuitque, tum similes matrum materno semine fiunt, ut patribus patrio. sed quos utriusque figurae esse vides, iuxtim miscentes vulta parentum, corpore de patrio et materno sanguine crescunt, semina cum Veneris stimulis excita per artus obvia conflixit conspirans mutuus ardor, et neque utrum superavit eorum nec superatumst. fit quoque ut inter dum similes existere avorum possint et referant proavorum saepe figuras, propterea quia multa modis primordia multis mixta suo celant in corpore saepe parentis, quae patribus patres tradunt a stirpe profecta. inde Venus varia producit sorte figuras, maiorumque refert voltus vocesque comasque; quandoquidem nihilo magis haec de semine certo fiunt quam facies et corpora membraque nobis. et muliebre oritur patrio de semine saeclum maternoque mares existunt corpore creti; semper enim partus duplici de semine constat, atque utri similest magis id quod cumque creatur, eius habet plus parte aequa; quod cernere possis, sive virum suboles sivest muliebris origo.
Nor do divine powers ward off the generative sowing from anyone, that he should never be called father by sweet children, and should pass his age in a barren Venus; which most men believe, and, sorrowful, sprinkle the altars with much blood and kindle the altars with gifts, that they may make their wives heavy with abundant seed; in vain they weary the will of the gods and the lots; for they are barren, some from too thick a seed, and, in turn, from one fluid and thin beyond what is right. The thin, because it cannot fasten its hold to the places, melts away at once and, recalled, retires in miscarriage. The thicker, again, since it is sent forth more clotted than is fair, either does not fly forth with so prolonged a stroke, or cannot equally penetrate the places, or, once it has penetrated, the seed mingles ill with the woman’s seed. For the harmonies of Venus seem to differ much. And some men fill some women more, and from some others some women conceive a burden more and grow heavy. And many women were barren before in several marriages, and yet later found those from whom they could conceive children and grow rich with sweet offspring. And for those whose fertile wives at home had often been unable to bear, for them too a matching nature was found, that they might fortify their old age with children. So greatly does it matter that seeds can be mingled with seeds fit for begetting, and that thick suit with fluid and fluid with thick.
Nec divina satum genitalem numina cuiquam absterrent, pater a gnatis ne dulcibus umquam appelletur et ut sterili Venere exigat aevom; quod plerumque putant et multo sanguine maesti conspergunt aras adolentque altaria donis, ut gravidas reddant uxores semine largo; ne quiquam divom numen sortisque fatigant; nam steriles nimium crasso sunt semine partim, et liquido praeter iustum tenuique vicissim. tenve locis quia non potis est adfigere adhaesum, liquitur extemplo et revocatum cedit abortu. crassius hinc porro quoniam concretius aequo mittitur, aut non tam prolixo provolat ictu aut penetrare locos aeque nequit aut penetratum aegre admiscetur muliebri semine semen. nam multum harmoniae Veneris differre videntur. atque alias alii complent magis ex aliisque succipiunt aliae pondus magis inque gravescunt. et multae steriles Hymenaeis ante fuerunt pluribus et nactae post sunt tamen unde puellos suscipere et partu possent ditescere dulci. et quibus ante domi fecundae saepe nequissent uxoris parere, inventast illis quoque compar natura, ut possent gnatis munire senectam. usque adeo magni refert, ut semina possint seminibus commisceri genitaliter apta crassaque conveniant liquidis et liquida crassis.
And in this it matters by what diet life is tended; for by some things the seeds thicken in the limbs, and by others, in turn, they are thinned and waste away. And in what ways the coaxing pleasure itself is handled— this too matters very greatly; for it is commonly thought that wives conceive more after the manner of beasts and the way of quadrupeds, because the seeds can so take their place, the breast set down, the loins raised up. Nor is there any need at all of soft motions for wives. For a woman keeps herself from conceiving and fights against it, if, joyful, she draws back from the man’s Venus with her haunches and stirs the waves with her whole boneless heaving breast; for she throws the furrow out of the straight line and path of the ploughshare, and turns the stroke of the seed away from the places. And for their own sake the harlots are wont to move thus, lest they be filled often and lie pregnant, and at the same time that Venus might be more shapely for the men—a thing which seems to be of no need at all to our wives.
atque in eo refert quo victu vita colatur; namque aliis rebus concrescunt semina membris atque aliis extenvantur tabentque vicissim. et quibus ipsa modis tractetur blanda voluptas. id quoque permagni refert; nam more ferarum quadrupedumque magis ritu plerumque putantur concipere uxores, quia sic loca sumere possunt pectoribus positis sublatis semina lumbis. nec molles opus sunt motus uxoribus hilum. nam mulier prohibet se concipere atque repugnat, clunibus ipsa viri Venerem si laeta retractat atque exossato ciet omni pectore fluctus; eicit enim sulcum recta regione viaque vomeris atque locis avertit seminis ictum. idque sua causa consuerunt scorta moveri, ne complerentur crebro gravidaeque iacerent, et simul ipsa viris Venus ut concinnior esset; coniugibus quod nil nostris opus esse videtur.
Nor is it sometimes by divine power and the arrows of Venus that a little woman of meaner form comes to be loved; for the woman herself sometimes brings it about, by her own doings and complying ways and a neatly tended body, that you easily grow used to passing your life with her. For the rest, habit fashions love; for whatever is beaten, however lightly, by repeated blow is yet, over a long stretch, overcome and totters. Do you not see, too, that drops of moisture falling on the stones, over a long stretch, bore through the stones?
Nec divinitus inter dum Venerisque sagittis deteriore fit ut forma muliercula ametur; nam facit ipsa suis inter dum femina factis morigerisque modis et munde corpore culto, ut facile insuescat secum te degere vitam. quod super est, consuetudo concinnat amorem; nam leviter quamvis quod crebro tunditur ictu, vincitur in longo spatio tamen atque labascit. nonne vides etiam guttas in saxa cadentis umoris longo in spatio pertundere saxa?
Who has the power, with a mind strong enough, to compose a song worthy of the majesty of things and these discoveries? Or who is so master of words that he could fashion praise to match the deserts of the man who left us such prizes, won and sought out by his own breast? No one, I think, born of a mortal body. For if I must speak as the now-known majesty of things demands, he was a god, a god, glorious Memmius, who first found out that principle of life which is now called wisdom, and who by his art set life, out of such great waves and such great darkness, in so great a calm and in so clear a light. Compare the ancient godlike discoveries of others. Ceres, they say, taught grain to mortals, and Liber the juice of the vine-born liquid; yet life could go on without these things, as report says some nations even now live without them. But one could not live well without a clean breast; so this man the more deservedly seems a god to us, from whom even now, spread abroad through great nations, the sweet solaces of life soothe men’s minds.
Quis potis est dignum pollenti pectore carmen condere pro rerum maiestate hisque repertis? quisve valet verbis tantum, qui fingere laudes pro meritis eius possit, qui talia nobis pectore parta suo quaesitaque praemia liquit? nemo, ut opinor, erit mortali corpore cretus. nam si, ut ipsa petit maiestas cognita rerum, dicendum est, deus ille fuit, deus, inclyte Memmi, qui princeps vitae rationem invenit eam quae nunc appellatur sapientia, quique per artem fluctibus et tantis vitam tantisque tenebris in tam tranquillo et tam clara luce locavit. confer enim divina aliorum antiqua reperta. namque Ceres fertur fruges Liberque liquoris vitigeni laticem mortalibus instituisse; cum tamen his posset sine rebus vita manere, ut fama est aliquas etiam nunc vivere gentis. at bene non poterat sine puro pectore vivi; quo magis hic merito nobis deus esse videtur, ex quo nunc etiam per magnas didita gentis dulcia permulcent animos solacia vitae.
But if you think the deeds of Hercules surpass his, you will be carried much further from true reasoning. For what harm to us now would that great gaping maw of the Nemean lion, or the bristling Arcadian boar? What harm, for all their power, the birds that haunt Stymphalus? What, in the end, the bull of Crete, and the Lernaean plague, the Hydra, palisaded round with venomous snakes? What the three-chested force of triple-bodied Geryon, what the horses of Diomedes, breathing fire from their nostrils by the Thracian and Bistonian tracts and near Ismarus; and the serpent that guards the gleaming golden apples of the Hesperides, harsh, with bitter glare, with monstrous body coiled about the tree-trunk? what harm, in the end, along the Atlantic shore and the stern reaches of the sea, where none of ours comes and no barbarian dares? And all the other prodigies of this kind that were destroyed— had they not been conquered, what harm, alive, would they do? None, I think: for to the full the earth even now teems with wild beasts and is filled with trembling terror through the groves and great mountains and deep forests— places it is mostly in our power to avoid.
Herculis antistare autem si facta putabis, longius a vera multo ratione ferere. quid Nemeaeus enim nobis nunc magnus hiatus ille leonis obesset et horrens Arcadius sus, tanto opere officerent nobis Stymphala colentes? denique quid Cretae taurus Lernaeaque pestis hydra venenatis posset vallata colubris? quidve tripectora tergemini vis Geryonai et Diomedis equi spirantes naribus ignem Thracia Bistoniasque plagas atque Ismara propter aureaque Hesperidum servans fulgentia mala, asper, acerba tuens, immani corpore serpens arboris amplexus stirpes? quid denique obesset propter Atlanteum litus pelagique severa, quo neque noster adit quisquam nec barbarus audet? cetera de genere hoc quae sunt portenta perempta, si non victa forent, quid tandem viva nocerent? nil, ut opinor: ita ad satiatem terra ferarum nunc etiam scatit et trepido terrore repleta est per nemora ac montes magnos silvasque profundas; quae loca vitandi plerumque est nostra potestas.
But unless the breast is cleansed, what battles and dangers must then force their way into us against our will! How great the sharp cares of desire that then tear the anxious man, and likewise how great his fears! And pride, and filth, and wantonness—what havoc they work! and luxury and sloth? So the man who subdued all these and drove them from the mind by words, not arms—will it not be fitting that this man be counted worthy of the number of the gods? especially since he was wont to deliver many fine sayings, and divinely, about the immortal gods themselves, and to lay open in his words the whole nature of things.
at nisi purgatumst pectus, quae proelia nobis atque pericula tumst ingratis insinuandum! quantae tum scindunt hominem cuppedinis acres sollicitum curae quantique perinde timores! quidve superbia spurcitia ac petulantia? quantas efficiunt clades! quid luxus desidiaeque? haec igitur qui cuncta subegerit ex animoque expulerit dictis, non armis, nonne decebit hunc hominem numero divom dignarier esse? cum bene praesertim multa ac divinitus ipsis iam mortalibus e divis dare dicta suerit atque omnem rerum naturam pandere dictis.
And I, having set foot in his tracks, while I follow out his reasonings and teach in my words by what covenant each thing was created, and how it must endure within that covenant and cannot annul the strong laws of time—the matter in which, first of all, the nature of the mind was found to be made of a body that is born, and unable to endure whole through a great age, while it is the images that are wont in sleep to deceive the mind when we seem to behold one whom life has left— for the rest, the order of my reasoning has now brought me here: that I must give the account that the world too consists of a mortal body and is likewise born; and in what ways that gathering of matter founded earth, sky, sea, the stars, the sun, and the globe of the moon; then what living things sprang from the earth, and which were at no time born; and in what way the human race began, with varying speech, to use among themselves the names of things; and in what ways the fear of the gods crept into their breasts, which over the world’s circle keeps holy the shrines, lakes, groves, altars, and images of the gods.
Cuius ego ingressus vestigia dum rationes persequor ac doceo dictis, quo quaeque creata foedere sint, in eo quam sit durare necessum nec validas valeant aevi rescindere leges, quo genere in primis animi natura reperta est nativo primum consistere corpore creta, nec posse incolumem magnum durare per aevum, sed simulacra solere in somnis fallere mentem, cernere cum videamur eum quem vita reliquit, quod super est, nunc huc rationis detulit ordo, ut mihi mortali consistere corpore mundum nativomque simul ratio reddunda sit esse; et quibus ille modis congressus materiai fundarit terram caelum mare sidera solem lunaique globum; tum quae tellure animantes extiterint, et quae nullo sint tempore natae; quove modo genus humanum variante loquella coeperit inter se vesci per nomina rerum; et quibus ille modis divom metus insinuarit pectora, terrarum qui in orbi sancta tuetur fana lacus lucos aras simulacraque divom.
Besides, I shall set forth the courses of the sun and the moon’s goings, by what force nature, steering, bends them; lest by chance we suppose that between heaven and earth they freely, of their own accord, range their perennial courses, obliging, to swell the crops and the living creatures, or think them rolled round by any plan of the gods. For those who have learned well that the gods lead a carefree age, if even so they wonder meanwhile by what plan things can be carried on—above all in those matters that are seen overhead in the regions of the upper air— are carried back again into the old superstitions and take to themselves harsh masters, whom they believe, poor wretches, able to do all things, ignorant of what can be and what cannot, by what law in the end each thing holds a power bounded, and its deep-set boundary stone.
praeterea solis cursus lunaeque meatus expediam qua vi flectat natura gubernans; ne forte haec inter caelum terramque reamur libera sponte sua cursus lustrare perennis, morigera ad fruges augendas atque animantis, neve aliqua divom volvi ratione putemus. nam bene qui didicere deos securum agere aevom, si tamen interea mirantur qua ratione quaeque geri possint, praesertim rebus in illis quae supera caput aetheriis cernuntur in oris, rursus in antiquas referuntur religiones et dominos acris adsciscunt, omnia posse quos miseri credunt, ignari quid queat esse, quid nequeat, finita potestas denique cuique qua nam sit ratione atque alte terminus haerens.
For the rest—not to delay you further with promises— look first at the seas, the lands, and the sky; their threefold nature, three bodies, Memmius, three forms so unlike, three such webs of stuff, one day shall give over to destruction, and the mass and fabric of the world, upheld through many years, shall fall. Nor does it escape my mind how strange and new a thing it strikes the mind to be—that destruction of sky and earth is to come— and how hard it is for me to win it through with words; as happens when you bring some unaccustomed thing to the ears and yet cannot set it beneath the sight of the eyes nor put it into their hands, by which the paved road of belief leads most directly into the human breast and the precincts of the mind. But I shall speak nonetheless. The thing itself will perhaps lend my words belief, and, when tremors of the earth have risen, you will see all things grievously shaken in a little time. May fortune at the helm steer this far from us, and may reasoning rather than the thing itself persuade that all can collapse, conquered, with a horror-sounding crash.
Quod super est, ne te in promissis plura moremur, principio maria ac terras caelumque tuere; quorum naturam triplicem, tria corpora, Memmi, tris species tam dissimilis, tria talia texta, una dies dabit exitio, multosque per annos sustentata ruet moles et machina mundi. nec me animi fallit quam res nova miraque menti accidat exitium caeli terraeque futurum, et quam difficile id mihi sit pervincere dictis; ut fit ubi insolitam rem adportes auribus ante nec tamen hanc possis oculorum subdere visu nec iacere indu manus, via qua munita fidei proxima fert humanum in pectus templaque mentis. sed tamen effabor. dictis dabit ipsa fidem res forsitan et graviter terrarum motibus ortis omnia conquassari in parvo tempore cernes. quod procul a nobis flectat fortuna gubernans, et ratio potius quam res persuadeat ipsa succidere horrisono posse omnia victa fragore.
But before I begin to pour forth oracles on this matter more holily and with far surer reasoning than the Pythia who speaks out from Phoebus’s tripod and laurel, I shall set out for you many comforts in learned words; lest, curbed by superstition, you suppose by chance that earth and sun and sky, sea, stars and moon must endure forever in a divine body, and so think it right that, in the fashion of the Giants, all those should pay the penalty for monstrous crime who by their reasoning shake the walls of the world and would put out the sky’s glorious sun, branding immortal things with mortal speech; things which stand so utterly far from any divine power and are so unworthy to be seen in the number of the gods that they may rather be thought able to furnish a notion of what is removed from vital motion and from sense.
Qua prius adgrediar quam de re fundere fata sanctius et multo certa ratione magis quam Pythia quae tripode a Phoebi lauroque profatur, multa tibi expediam doctis solacia dictis; religione refrenatus ne forte rearis terras et solem et caelum, mare sidera lunam, corpore divino debere aeterna manere, proptereaque putes ritu par esse Gigantum pendere eos poenas inmani pro scelere omnis, qui ratione sua disturbent moenia mundi praeclarumque velint caeli restinguere solem inmortalia mortali sermone notantes; quae procul usque adeo divino a numine distent inque deum numero quae sint indigna videri, notitiam potius praebere ut posse putentur quid sit vitali motu sensuque remotum.
For it cannot be that the nature of the mind and its counsel should be thought able to exist with any body whatever. Just as a tree cannot be in the aether, nor clouds in the salt sea, nor fish live in the fields, nor blood be in wood nor sap in stones— it is fixed and ordained where each thing may grow and have its place— so the nature of the mind cannot arise without a body, alone, nor be far off from the sinews and the blood. For if it could, then far rather could the force of the mind itself be in the head or the shoulders or the very heels, and would be wont to be born in any part whatever, staying in the end within the same man and the same vessel. But since even within our own body it stands fixed and ordained, it seems, where the soul and the mind apart can be and grow, so much the more must it be denied that they could, wholly outside a body and an animal shape, endure in the crumbling clods of earth, or in the fire of the sun, or in water, or in the high coasts of the aether. They are not, therefore, endowed with divine sense, since they cannot be quickened into life.
quippe etenim non est, cum quovis corpore ut esse posse animi natura putetur consiliumque. sicut in aethere non arbor, non aequore salso nubes esse queunt neque pisces vivere in arvis nec cruor in lignis neque saxis sucus inesse, certum ac dispositumst ubi quicquid crescat et insit, sic animi natura nequit sine corpore oriri sola neque a nervis et sanguine longius esse. quod si posset enim, multo prius ipsa animi vis in capite aut umeris aut imis calcibus esse posset et innasci quavis in parte soleret, tandem in eodem homine atque in eodem vase manere. quod quoniam nostro quoque constat corpore certum dispositumque videtur ubi esse et crescere possit seorsum anima atque animus, tanto magis infitiandum totum posse extra corpus formamque animalem putribus in glebis terrarum aut solis in igni aut in aqua durare aut altis aetheris oris. haud igitur constant divino praedita sensu, quandoquidem nequeunt vitaliter esse animata.
Likewise this is not for you to believe: that the holy seats of the gods are in any parts of our world. For the fine nature of the gods, far removed from our senses, is scarcely seen by the mind’s thought; and since it slips from under the touch and blow of our hands, it can lay hold on nothing that is tangible to us; for what may not itself be touched cannot touch. And so their seats too must be unlike our own seats, fine, to suit their bodies; all which I shall prove to you later at full length.
Illud item non est ut possis credere, sedes esse deum sanctas in mundi partibus ullis. tenvis enim natura deum longeque remota sensibus ab nostris animi vix mente videtur; quae quoniam manuum tactum suffugit et ictum, tactile nil nobis quod sit contingere debet; tangere enim non quit quod tangi non licet ipsum. quare etiam sedes quoque nostris sedibus esse dissimiles debent, tenues de corpore eorum; quae tibi posterius largo sermone probabo.
To say, further, that for the sake of men the gods willed to make ready the glorious nature of the world, and that therefore it is fitting to praise the gods’ praiseworthy work and to think it eternal and destined to be immortal, and that it is impious ever to unsettle by any force, from the seats where it was founded by the gods’ ancient design for the human races for everlasting time, or to harass it with words and overturn it from the bottom up— to invent and add the rest of this kind, Memmius, is folly. For what profit could our gratitude bestow upon the immortal and the blessed, that they should set about doing anything for our sake? Or what new thing, so long after, could entice them, once at rest, to wish to change their former life? For he must take joy in new things, it seems, whom the old ones harm; but one to whom nothing painful befell in time gone by, while he passed his age in bliss— what could kindle in such a one a love of novelty? Or what evil had it been for us, had we not been created? Did our life, I suppose, lie in darkness and in grief until the generative origin of things dawned? For whoever is born must wish to remain in life, so long as coaxing pleasure holds him; but one who has never tasted the love of life and was never in the count—what harm is it to him not to have been made?
Dicere porro hominum causa voluisse parare praeclaram mundi naturam proptereaque adlaudabile opus divom laudare decere aeternumque putare atque inmortale futurum, nec fas esse, deum quod sit ratione vetusta gentibus humanis fundatum perpetuo aevo, sollicitare suis ulla vi ex sedibus umquam nec verbis vexare et ab imo evertere summa, cetera de genere hoc adfingere et addere, Memmi, desiperest. quid enim inmortalibus atque beatis gratia nostra queat largirier emolumenti, ut nostra quicquam causa gerere adgrediantur? quidve novi potuit tanto post ante quietos inlicere ut cuperent vitam mutare priorem? nam gaudere novis rebus debere videtur cui veteres obsunt; sed cui nihil accidit aegri tempore in ante acto, cum pulchre degeret aevom, quid potuit novitatis amorem accendere tali? quidve mali fuerat nobis non esse creatis? an, credo, in tenebris vita ac maerore iacebat, donec diluxit rerum genitalis origo? natus enim debet qui cumque est velle manere in vita, donec retinebit blanda voluptas; qui numquam vero vitae gustavit amorem nec fuit in numero, quid obest non esse creatum?
Besides, the model for begetting things, and the very notion of men—whence was it first implanted in the gods, that they should know and see in their minds what they wished to make? or in what way was the power of the first-beginnings ever known, and what they could do among themselves by changing their order, if nature herself did not give the pattern of creating? For so many first-beginnings of things, in so many ways, struck by blows from infinite time already, and driven on by their own weights, have been wont to be carried along and to come together in every way and to try all things, whatever they could create by meeting one another, that it is no wonder if they also fell into such arrangements and came into such courses as those by which this sum of things is now carried on, renewing itself.
exemplum porro gignundis rebus et ipsa notities hominum divis unde insita primum est, quid vellent facere ut scirent animoque viderent, quove modost umquam vis cognita principiorum quidque inter sese permutato ordine possent. si non ipsa dedit speciem natura creandi? namque ita multa modis multis primordia rerum ex infinito iam tempore percita plagis ponderibusque suis consuerunt concita ferri omnimodisque coire atque omnia pertemptare, quae cumque inter se possint congressa creare, ut non sit mirum, si in talis disposituras deciderunt quoque et in talis venere meatus, qualibus haec rerum geritur nunc summa novando.
But even if I did not know what the first-beginnings of things are, this, from the very workings of the sky, I would dare to affirm, and to prove from many other things: that the nature of things was by no means made ready for us by divine power—so great is the fault it stands endowed with. First, of all that the vast sweep of the sky covers, a greedy share of it the mountains and the forests of wild beasts have seized; crags hold it, and waste marshes, and the sea, which holds the shores of the lands far apart. Then nearly two parts more are taken from mortals by burning heat and the relentless fall of frost. What is left of plowland, even that nature by her own force would overrun with briars, did not human force resist— wont, for the sake of life, to groan over the sturdy mattock and to cleave the earth with the pressed-down plow. Unless, turning the fertile clods with the share and working the soil of the earth, we urge them to their birth, they could not of their own accord rise into the liquid air. And even so, sometimes, when things sought with great labor already put out leaves through the lands and all is in flower, either the aethereal sun scorches them with excessive heat, or sudden rains and chill frosts destroy them, and the blasts of the winds harry them with a violent whirl.
Quod si iam rerum ignorem primordia quae sint, hoc tamen ex ipsis caeli rationibus ausim confirmare aliisque ex rebus reddere multis, nequaquam nobis divinitus esse paratam naturam rerum: tanta stat praedita culpa. principio quantum caeli tegit impetus ingens, inde avidam partem montes silvaeque ferarum possedere, tenent rupes vastaeque paludes et mare, quod late terrarum distinet oras. inde duas porro prope partis fervidus ardor adsiduusque geli casus mortalibus aufert. quod super est arvi, tamen id natura sua vi sentibus obducat, ni vis humana resistat vitai causa valido consueta bidenti ingemere et terram pressis proscindere aratris. si non fecundas vertentes vomere glebas terraique solum subigentes cimus ad ortus. sponte sua nequeant liquidas existere in auras. et tamen inter dum magno quaesita labore cum iam per terras frondent atque omnia florent, aut nimiis torret fervoribus aetherius sol aut subiti peremunt imbris gelidaeque pruinae flabraque ventorum violento turbine vexant.
Besides, why does nature feed and foster the horror-breeding brood of wild beasts, hostile to the human race by land and sea? Why do the seasons of the year bring diseases? Why does untimely death roam abroad? Then, too, the child—like a sailor cast up by savage waves— lies naked on the ground, an infant, in need of every help for life, when first nature has poured him forth with throes from his mother’s womb into the shores of light, and he fills the place with mournful wailing—as is just for one who has so many ills to pass through in life. But the various flocks and herds and wild beasts grow up with no need of rattles, nor does any of them need the coaxing, broken speech of a fostering nurse, nor do they seek changes of clothing to suit the season of the sky; and finally they have no need of arms or high walls to guard their own, since for all of them the earth herself and nature, contriver of things, brings forth all things in plenty.
praeterea genus horriferum natura ferarum humanae genti infestum terraque marique cur alit atque auget? cur anni tempora morbos adportant? quare mors inmatura vagatur? tum porro puer, ut saevis proiectus ab undis navita, nudus humi iacet infans indigus omni vitali auxilio, cum primum in luminis oras nixibus ex alvo matris natura profudit, vagituque locum lugubri complet, ut aequumst cui tantum in vita restet transire malorum. at variae crescunt pecudes armenta feraeque nec crepitacillis opus est nec cuiquam adhibendast almae nutricis blanda atque infracta loquella nec varias quaerunt vestes pro tempore caeli, denique non armis opus est, non moenibus altis, qui sua tutentur, quando omnibus omnia large tellus ipsa parit naturaque daedala rerum.
First, since the body of earth and the moisture, the light breaths of the air and the hot vapors, out of which this sum of things is seen to consist, all consist of a body born and mortal, the whole nature of the world must be thought the same. For indeed, whatever things we see to have parts and members of a body that is born, of mortal shapes, these same we discern to be, as a rule, both mortal and born at once. And so, since I see the greatest members and parts of the world consumed and born again, I may know that for the sky and the earth alike there was some time of beginning, and a downfall to come.
Principio quoniam terrai corpus et umor aurarumque leves animae calidique vapores, e quibus haec rerum consistere summa videtur, omnia nativo ac mortali corpore constant, debet eodem omnis mundi natura putari. quippe etenim, quorum partis et membra videmus corpore nativo mortalibus esse figuris, haec eadem ferme mortalia cernimus esse et nativa simul. qua propter maxima mundi cum videam membra ac partis consumpta regigni, scire licet caeli quoque item terraeque fuisse principiale aliquod tempus clademque futuram.
And in this matter do not think that I have snatched a point for myself in taking earth and fire to be mortal, and in not doubting that the moisture and the airs perish, and in saying that these same are born and grow again. First, some part of the earth, burned up by relentless suns and beaten by the heavy tread of feet, breathes out a haze of dust and flying clouds, which the strong winds scatter through all the air. Part of the clods, too, is called back to flood by the rains, and the rivers gnaw and scrape their banks. Besides, whatever feeds and swells anything is repaid, each for its own share; and since the all-parent of things is plainly seen to be likewise the common tomb, therefore the earth is drawn down for you, and grows up replenished.
Illud in his rebus ne corripuisse rearis me mihi, quod terram atque ignem mortalia sumpsi esse neque umorem dubitavi aurasque perire atque eadem gigni rursusque augescere dixi. principio pars terrai non nulla, perusta solibus adsiduis, multa pulsata pedum vi, pulveris exhalat nebulam nubesque volantis, quas validi toto dispergunt aëre venti. pars etiam glebarum ad diluviem revocatur imbribus et ripas radentia flumina rodunt. praeterea pro parte sua, quod cumque alit auget, redditur; et quoniam dubio procul esse videtur omniparens eadem rerum commune sepulcrum. ergo terra tibi libatur et aucta recrescit.
For the rest, that with fresh moisture the sea, the rivers, the springs forever abound, and that the streams run on perennial, there is no need of words: the great running-down of waters on every side declares it. But the foremost of the water is taken away, and so it comes about that on the whole the moisture nowhere overflows: partly because the strong winds, sweeping the seas, diminish it, and the aethereal sun unweaving it with his rays; partly because it is dealt out beneath through all the lands; for the brine is strained off, and the substance of the moisture flows back again, and all of it gathers at the rivers’ source, and from there flows over the lands in a sweet column by the path once cut where it brought the waters down on liquid foot.
Quod super est, umore novo mare flumina fontes semper abundare et latices manare perennis nil opus est verbis: magnus decursus aquarum undique declarat. sed primum quicquid aquai tollitur in summaque fit ut nihil umor abundet, partim quod validi verrentes aequora venti deminuunt radiisque retexens aetherius sol, partim quod supter per terras diditur omnis; percolatur enim virus retroque remanat materies umoris et ad caput amnibus omnis convenit, inde super terras fluit agmine dulci qua via secta semel liquido pede detulit undas.
Now then I shall speak of the air, which over its whole body changes innumerably from hour to hour. For always, whatever flows off from things, all of it is borne into the great sea of air; and unless this in turn gave bodies back to things and renewed them as they flow away, all would by now be dissolved and turned into air. It does not cease, then, to be born from things and to fall back into things, since all things, it is certain, are forever flowing.
Aëra nunc igitur dicam, qui corpore toto innumerabiliter privas mutatur in horas. semper enim, quod cumque fluit de rebus, id omne aëris in magnum fertur mare; qui nisi contra corpora retribuat rebus recreetque fluentis, omnia iam resoluta forent et in aëra versa. haut igitur cessat gigni de rebus et in res reccidere, adsidue quoniam fluere omnia constat.
Likewise the bounteous fountain of liquid light, the aethereal sun, waters the sky unceasingly with fresh radiance and supplies, at once, new light upon light. For the first of his brightness perishes for him, wherever it has fallen. This you may learn from the fact that, as soon as clouds begin to come up beneath the sun and to break across, as it were, the rays of light, at once the lower part of these perishes wholly and the earth is overshadowed wherever the storm-clouds are borne; so that you may know that things forever need fresh splendor, and that each first cast of brightness perishes, nor could things be seen in the sunlight by any other means unless the very fountain-head of light supplied it perpetually. Nay more, the lights of the night that are of the earth— the hanging lamps and the bright torches, fat with much soot, flashing with quivering flares—hasten in like fashion, with their burning for minister, to supply fresh light; they press on to flicker with their fires, they press on, nor does the light leave the places between, as if broken off: so swiftly is its end made haste, from all the fires, by the rapid birth of the flame. So, then, we must think that the sun, the moon, and the stars cast their light from one upspringing after another, and forever lose the foremost of their flames; lest you believe by chance that these things flourish inviolable.
Largus item liquidi fons luminis, aetherius sol, inrigat adsidue caelum candore recenti suppeditatque novo confestim lumine lumen. nam primum quicquid fulgoris disperit ei, quo cumque accidit. id licet hinc cognoscere possis, quod simul ac primum nubes succedere soli coepere et radios inter quasi rumpere lucis, extemplo inferior pars horum disperit omnis terraque inumbratur qua nimbi cumque feruntur; ut noscas splendore novo res semper egere et primum iactum fulgoris quemque perire nec ratione alia res posse in sole videri, perpetuo ni suppeditet lucis caput ipsum. quin etiam nocturna tibi, terrestria quae sunt, lumina, pendentes lychni claraeque coruscis fulguribus pingues multa caligine taedae consimili properant ratione, ardore ministro, suppeditare novom lumen, tremere ignibus instant, nec loca lux inter quasi rupta relinquit: usque adeo properanter ab omnibus ignibus ei exitium celeri celeratur origine flammae. sic igitur solem lunam stellasque putandum ex alio atque alio lucem iactare subortu et primum quicquid flammarum perdere semper, inviolabilia haec ne credas forte vigere.
Finally, do you not see that even stones are conquered by time, that high towers fall and rocks molder, that the shrines and images of the gods grow weary and crack, and that the holy godhead cannot push back the bounds of fate nor strive against the covenants of nature? Do we not see the monuments of men slipped into ruin, asking, besides, whether you believe that they too grow old? Do we not see torn rocks tumble from the high mountains, unable to bear and endure the strong forces of a finite time? For they would not fall, torn away of a sudden, if from infinite time they had borne up under all the torments of age, unbroken by any crash.
Denique non lapides quoque vinci cernis ab aevo, non altas turris ruere et putrescere saxa, non delubra deum simulacraque fessa fatisci nec sanctum numen fati protollere finis posse neque adversus naturae foedera niti? denique non monimenta virum dilapsa videmus, quaerere proporro, sibi cumque senescere credas, non ruere avolsos silices a montibus altis nec validas aevi vires perferre patique finiti? neque enim caderent avolsa repente, ex infinito quae tempore pertolerassent omnia tormenta aetatis, privata fragore.
Finally, now look at this which, around and above, holds all the earth in its embrace: if it begets from itself all things, as some relate, and takes them back when they perish, then the whole of it consists of a body born and mortal. For whatever swells and feeds other things out of itself must be diminished, and renewed, when it takes things back.
Denique iam tuere hoc, circum supraque quod omne continet amplexu terram: si procreat ex se omnia, quod quidam memorant, recipitque perempta, totum nativum mortali corpore constat. nam quod cumque alias ex se res auget alitque, deminui debet, recreari, cum recipit res.
Besides, if there was no generative origin of the lands and the sky, and they were always eternal, why have no other poets sung of other matters earlier than the Theban war and the deaths at Troy? Where have so many deeds of men so often fallen away, and nowhere bloom, set in the eternal monuments of fame? But, I think, the sum of things has its newness, and the nature of the world is recent and took its beginnings not long ago. And so certain arts even now are being polished, even now are growing; even now many things have been added to ships; only lately have the music-makers brought forth tuneful sounds; and finally this nature and reasoning of things was discovered but recently, and I myself am now found the very first of the first who can turn it into the speech of our fathers.
Praeterea si nulla fuit genitalis origo terrarum et caeli semperque aeterna fuere, cur supera bellum Thebanum et funera Troiae non alias alii quoque res cecinere poëtae? quo tot facta virum totiens cecidere neque usquam aeternis famae monimentis insita florent? verum, ut opinor, habet novitatem summa recensque naturast mundi neque pridem exordia cepit. quare etiam quaedam nunc artes expoliuntur, nunc etiam augescunt; nunc addita navigiis sunt multa, modo organici melicos peperere sonores, denique natura haec rerum ratioque repertast nuper, et hanc primus cum primis ipse repertus nunc ego sum in patrias qui possim vertere voces.
But if perhaps you believe that all these same things were before, yet that the generations of men perished in a scorching heat, or that cities fell in some great convulsion of the world, or that out of relentless rains there went forth ravening rivers across the lands and swallowed up the towns— so much the more, beaten, must you confess that the destruction of lands and sky will also come; for since things were tried by such great sicknesses and such great dangers, if there a grimmer cause had pressed upon them, they would have given far and wide ruin and great downfalls. Nor by any other token do we see that we are mortal, except that among ourselves we sicken with the same diseases as those whom nature has removed from life.
Quod si forte fuisse ante hac eadem omnia credis, sed periise hominum torrenti saecla vapore, aut cecidisse urbis magno vexamine mundi, aut ex imbribus adsiduis exisse rapaces per terras amnes atque oppida coperuisse. tanto quique magis victus fateare necessest exitium quoque terrarum caelique futurum; nam cum res tantis morbis tantisque periclis temptarentur, ibi si tristior incubuisset causa, darent late cladem magnasque ruinas. nec ratione alia mortales esse videmur, inter nos nisi quod morbis aegrescimus isdem atque illi quos a vita natura removit.
Besides, whatever things abide eternal must either, because they are of solid body, spit back blows and suffer nothing to pass within them that could break apart their close-knit parts within—such as the bodies of matter are, whose nature we showed before; or be able to last through all time for this reason, that they are free of blows, as the void is, which abides untouched and is in no way affected by a stroke; or else because there is no supply of space around them into which, as it were, things might part and be dissolved— as the sum of sums is eternal, and there is no place outside into which they might fly apart, nor are there bodies that could fall upon it and dissolve it with a strong blow. But the nature of the world, as I have taught, is not of solid body, since void is mingled in things; nor yet is it like the void; nor again are bodies wanting which, arisen perchance out of the infinite, could bring this sum of things crashing down in a violent whirl or carry in some other ruin of peril; nor, further, does the nature of place and the space of the deep fail, into which the walls of the world might be scattered abroad, or by which, struck by any other force, they may perish. The gate of death, therefore, is not closed against the sky, nor against the sun and the earth, nor the deep waters of the sea, but it stands open and gapes back at them with a huge and vast maw. And so you must confess these same things to be born as well; for things that are of mortal body could not, from infinite time until now, have held in scorn the strong forces of measureless time.
Praeterea quae cumque manent aeterna necessust aut, quia sunt solido cum corpore, respuere ictus nec penetrare pati sibi quicquam quod queat artas dissociare intus partis, ut materiai corpora sunt, quorum naturam ostendimus ante, aut ideo durare aetatem posse per omnem, plagarum quia sunt expertia, sicut inane est, quod manet intactum neque ab ictu fungitur hilum, aut etiam quia nulla loci sit copia circum, quo quasi res possint discedere dissoluique, sicut summarum summa est aeterna, neque extra qui locus est quo dissiliant neque corpora sunt quae possint incidere et valida dissolvere plaga. at neque, uti docui, solido cum corpore mundi naturast, quoniam admixtumst in rebus inane, nec tamen est ut inane, neque autem corpora desunt, ex infinito quae possint forte coorta corruere hanc rerum violento turbine summam aut aliam quamvis cladem inportare pericli, nec porro natura loci spatiumque profundi deficit, exspargi quo possint moenia mundi, aut alia quavis possunt vi pulsa perire. haut igitur leti praeclusa est ianua caelo nec soli terraeque neque altis aequoris undis, sed patet immani et vasto respectat hiatu. quare etiam nativa necessumst confiteare haec eadem; neque enim, mortali corpore quae sunt, ex infinito iam tempore adhuc potuissent inmensi validas aevi contemnere vires.
Finally, since the greatest members of the world fight so fiercely among themselves, stirred to no holy war, do you not see that some end of the long contest can be given them—as when the sun and all the heat have prevailed, with every moisture drunk up? Which they are striving to do, though their attempts are not yet achieved; so much do the rivers supply, and threaten beyond to drown all things from the deep gulf of the sea: in vain, since the winds, sweeping the seas, diminish them, and the aethereal sun, unweaving with his rays, and they trust that they can dry up all things before the water can reach the end of its undertaking. So great a war do they breathe, contending in equal strife to decide between them over great matters— though once, meanwhile, fire had the upper hand, and once, as report goes, moisture reigned over the fields.
Denique tantopere inter se cum maxima mundi pugnent membra, pio nequaquam concita bello, nonne vides aliquam longi certaminis ollis posse dari finem, vel cum sol et vapor omnis omnibus epotis umoribus exsuperarint? quod facere intendunt, neque adhuc conata patrantur; tantum suppeditant amnes ultraque minantur omnia diluviare ex alto gurgite ponti: ne quiquam, quoniam verrentes aequora venti deminuunt radiisque retexens aetherius sol, et siccare prius confidunt omnia posse quam liquor incepti possit contingere finem. tantum spirantes aequo certamine bellum magnis inter se de rebus cernere certant, cum semel interea fuerit superantior ignis et semel, ut fama est, umor regnarit in arvis.
For fire prevailed, and ranging round it scorched many things, when the ravening force of the Sun’s horses swept Phaethon off his track through the whole aether and across all the lands. But the almighty father, then stung with bitter wrath, with a sudden stroke of the thunderbolt cast the great-hearted Phaethon down from the horses to the earth, and the Sun, meeting him as he fell, caught up the eternal lamp of the world and gathered the scattered horses and yoked them, trembling, and then, guiding all, restored them along their own course— so, of course, the old poets of the Greeks have sung. But that is repelled too far from true reasoning. For fire can prevail when more bodies of matter have gathered out of the infinite; then its forces fall, conquered back by some means, or things perish, burned up by the scorching airs. Moisture likewise once began to prevail, gathering, as report goes, when it overwhelmed the lives of men with its waves; then, when its force by some means was turned back and withdrew— whatever of it had gathered out of the infinite— the rains came to a stay and the rivers lessened their force.
ignis enim superavit et ambiens multa perussit, avia cum Phaethonta rapax vis solis equorum aethere raptavit toto terrasque per omnis. at pater omnipotens ira tum percitus acri magnanimum Phaethonta repenti fulminis ictu deturbavit equis in terram, Solque cadenti obvius aeternam succepit lampada mundi disiectosque redegit equos iunxitque trementis, inde suum per iter recreavit cuncta gubernans, scilicet ut veteres Graium cecinere poëtae. quod procul a vera nimis est ratione repulsum. ignis enim superare potest ubi materiai ex infinito sunt corpora plura coorta; inde cadunt vires aliqua ratione revictae, aut pereunt res exustae torrentibus auris. umor item quondam coepit superare coortus, ut fama est, hominum vitas quando obruit undis; inde ubi vis aliqua ratione aversa recessit, ex infinito fuerat quae cumque coorta, constiterunt imbres et flumina vim minuerunt.
But in what ways that throng of matter founded earth and sky and the deeps of the sea, and the courses of the sun and moon, I shall set out in order. For surely the first-beginnings of things did not, by design, each set themselves in their own order with sagacious mind, nor did they bargain, to be sure, what motions each should yield; but because many first-beginnings of things, in many ways, struck by blows from infinite time already, and driven by their own weights, have been wont to be carried and to come together in every way and to try all things, whatever they could create by meeting one another, therefore it comes about that, scattered through a great age, by trying every kind of union and motion, at last those come together which, suddenly thrown together, often become the beginnings of great things— of earth, sea, and sky, and the race of living creatures.
Sed quibus ille modis coniectus materiai fundarit terram et caelum pontique profunda, solis lunai cursus, ex ordine ponam. nam certe neque consilio primordia rerum ordine se suo quaeque sagaci mente locarunt nec quos quaeque darent motus pepigere profecto; sed quia multa modis multis primordia rerum ex infinito iam tempore percita plagis ponderibusque suis consuerunt concita ferri omnimodisque coire atque omnia pertemptare, quae cumque inter se possent congressa creare, propterea fit uti magnum volgata per aevom omnigenus coetus et motus experiundo tandem conveniant ea quae coniecta repente magnarum rerum fiunt exordia saepe, terrai maris et caeli generisque animantum.
Here, then, neither could the wheel of the sun, flying high, be seen with its lavish light, nor the stars of the great world, nor sea nor sky nor, in short, earth nor air, nor anything like the things we know be seen, but a kind of new storm, a mass, had arisen. Then its parts began to fly apart, and like to be joined with like, and to mark off the world, and to divide its members and dispose its great parts, out of first-beginnings of every kind, whose discord threw into confusion their intervals, paths, connections, weights, blows, meetings, motions—mingling battles— because of their unlike forms and varied figures, since not all could stay so joined together nor give among themselves befitting motions, that is, the high sky began to be sundered from the lands, and the sea apart, that it might spread with its moisture set apart, and likewise apart the fires of the pure and separate aether.
Hic neque tum solis rota cerni lumine largo altivolans poterat nec magni sidera mundi nec mare nec caelum nec denique terra neque aër nec similis nostris rebus res ulla videri, sed nova tempestas quaedam molesque coorta. diffugere inde loci partes coepere paresque cum paribus iungi res et discludere mundum membraque dividere et magnas disponere partes omnigenis e principiis, discordia quorum intervalla vias conexus pondera plagas concursus motus turbabat proelia miscens propter dissimilis formas variasque figuras, quod non omnia sic poterant coniuncta manere nec motus inter sese dare convenientis, hoc est, a terris altum secernere caelum, et sorsum mare, uti secreto umore pateret, seorsus item puri secretique aetheris ignes.
For indeed, first, the several bodies of earth, because they were heavy and entangled, came together in the middle and all took the lowest seats; and the more they came together, entangled among themselves, the more they squeezed out those which would make the sea, the stars, the sun and moon, and the walls of the great world; for all these are made of smoother and rounder seeds, and of far smaller elements, than the earth. And so, bursting out through the loose pores of the earth, the fire-bearing aether first lifted itself in its parts and, being light, carried off with it many fires— in no far different way from what we often see, when first the golden morning light of the radiant sun reddens across the grasses jeweled with dew, and the lakes and the perennial rivers breathe out a mist, and even the earth itself at times seems to smoke; all of which, when they are gathered upward, on high weave, with their body grown together, the clouds beneath the sky. So then the light and outspread aether, its body grown together, set itself around and fenced all in, and, spread wide on every side into all parts, so fenced in all the rest with a greedy embrace. Upon this followed the beginnings of the sun and moon, whose globes turn round in the air between the two; which neither the earth claimed for itself nor the vast aether, since they were neither so heavy as to settle pressed down, nor so light as to be able to glide along the topmost edges, and yet they are between the two in such a way that they turn as living bodies and stand forth as parts of the whole world— just as in us certain limbs can stay at rest while yet there are others that move.
Quippe etenim primum terrai corpora quaeque, propterea quod erant gravia et perplexa, coibant in medio atque imas capiebant omnia sedes; quae quanto magis inter se perplexa coibant, tam magis expressere ea quae mare sidera solem lunamque efficerent et magni moenia mundi; omnia enim magis haec e levibus atque rutundis seminibus multoque minoribus sunt elementis quam tellus. ideo per rara foramina terrae partibus erumpens primus se sustulit aether ignifer et multos secum levis abstulit ignis, non alia longe ratione ac saepe videmus, aurea cum primum gemmantis rore per herbas matutina rubent radiati lumina solis exhalantque lacus nebulam fluviique perennes ipsaque ut inter dum tellus fumare videtur; omnia quae sursum cum conciliantur, in alto corpore concreto subtexunt nubila caelum. sic igitur tum se levis ac diffusilis aether corpore concreto circum datus undique saepsit et late diffusus in omnis undique partis omnia sic avido complexu cetera saepsit. hunc exordia sunt solis lunaeque secuta, interutrasque globi quorum vertuntur in auris; quae neque terra sibi adscivit nec maximus aether, quod neque tam fuerunt gravia ut depressa sederent, nec levia ut possent per summas labier oras, et tamen interutrasque ita sunt, ut corpora viva versent et partes ut mundi totius extent; quod genus in nobis quaedam licet in statione membra manere, tamen cum sint ea quae moveantur.
When these things, then, had been drawn back, the earth suddenly sank where now the great blue tract of the sea stretches itself, and flooded the hollows with its briny gulf. And day by day, the more the heat of the aether round about and the sun’s rays drove the earth together on every side with thick-falling blows, packed tight to its outermost bounds, so that, pressed inward, it gathered condensed in its own center, the more the salt sweat, squeezed from its body, swelled the sea, oozing out, and the swimming plains, and the more those many bodies of vapor and of air, slipping outward, flew off and far from the lands thickened the shining precincts of high heaven. The plains sank down, the slopes grew on the high mountains; for the rocks could not subside, nor could all the parts give way equally by the same amount.
his igitur rebus retractis terra repente, maxuma qua nunc se ponti plaga caerula tendit, succidit et salso suffudit gurgite fossas. inque dies quanto circum magis aetheris aestus et radii solis cogebant undique terram verberibus crebris extrema ad limina fartam in medio ut propulsa suo condensa coiret, tam magis expressus salsus de corpore sudor augebat mare manando camposque natantis, et tanto magis illa foras elapsa volabant corpora multa vaporis et aëris altaque caeli densabant procul a terris fulgentia templa. sidebant campi, crescebant montibus altis ascensus; neque enim poterant subsidere saxa nec pariter tantundem omnes succumbere partis.
So, then, the weight of the earth, its body grown together, settled, and like the slime of all the world it flowed heavy to the bottom and sank right down like dregs; then the sea, then the air, then the fire-bearing aether itself were all left pure, with their liquid bodies, one lighter than another, and the most liquid aether, and the lightest, flows above the airy breezes and does not mingle its liquid body with the troubling breaths of air; it lets all these be turned by violent whirlwinds, lets them be stirred by fitful squalls, while it itself bears its own fires, gliding with a fixed impulse. For that the aether can flow gently and with one steady effort the Pontus shows—the sea that flows with a fixed current, keeping ever one tenor of its gliding.
Sic igitur terrae concreto corpore pondus constitit atque omnis mundi quasi limus in imum confluxit gravis et subsedit funditus ut faex; inde mare, inde aër, inde aether ignifer ipse corporibus liquidis sunt omnia pura relicta et leviora aliis alia, et liquidissimus aether atque levissimus aërias super influit auras nec liquidum corpus turbantibus aëris auris commiscet; sinit haec violentis omnia verti turbinibus, sinit incertis turbare procellis, ipse suos ignis certo fert impete labens. nam modice fluere atque uno posse aethera nisu significat Pontos, mare certo quod fluit aestu unum labendi conservans usque tenorem.
Now let us sing what is the cause of the motions of the stars. First, if the great orb of the sky turns round, we must say that the air presses on the pole from either side and holds it from outside and shuts it in on both ends; then that another stream of air flows above and strains the same way as the rolling stars of the eternal world flash on their course; or another below, which bears the orb the contrary way, as we see rivers turn wheels with their buckets. It is also possible that the whole sky stays at rest, while yet the bright constellations are borne along, either because swift tides of aether are shut within and, seeking a way, turn round about and roll their fires here and there through the high precincts of the sky, or because air, flowing in from somewhere outside, turns and drives the fires, or because they can creep of themselves, wherever the food of each calls and invites them as they go, their flaming bodies grazing here and there across the sky. For which of these holds in this world is hard to lay down for certain; but what can be, and comes to pass, throughout the all, in the various worlds created by various means— that I teach, and I go on to set out several causes that may account for the motions of the stars throughout the all; yet one of these must be the cause here too, which quickens the motion in the constellations; but which of them it is is in no way for one advancing step by step to declare.
Motibus astrorum nunc quae sit causa canamus. principio magnus caeli si vortitur orbis, ex utraque polum parti premere aëra nobis dicendum est extraque tenere et claudere utrimque; inde alium supra fluere atque intendere eodem quo volvenda micant aeterni sidera mundi; aut alium supter, contra qui subvehat orbem, ut fluvios versare rotas atque austra videmus. est etiam quoque uti possit caelum omne manere in statione, tamen cum lucida signa ferantur, sive quod inclusi rapidi sunt aetheris aestus quaerentesque viam circum versantur et ignes passim per caeli volvunt summania templa, sive aliunde fluens alicunde extrinsecus aër versat agens ignis, sive ipsi serpere possunt, quo cuiusque cibus vocat atque invitat euntis, flammea per caelum pascentis corpora passim. nam quid in hoc mundo sit eorum ponere certum difficilest; sed quid possit fiatque per omne in variis mundis varia ratione creatis, id doceo plurisque sequor disponere causas, motibus astrorum quae possint esse per omne; e quibus una tamen sit et haec quoque causa necessest, quae vegeat motum signis; sed quae sit earum praecipere haud quaquamst pedetemptim progredientis.
And that the earth may rest in the middle region of the world, it is fitting that its weight should gradually fade and lessen, and that it should have beneath it another nature, joined from the outset of time and fitted into one with the airy parts of the world, in which, set fast, it lives. Therefore it is no burden and does not weigh the air down, just as to each man his own limbs are of no weight, nor is the head a burden to the neck, nor, in short, do we feel the whole weight of the body to rest upon the feet; but whatever weights come from outside and are laid upon us do us harm, though often far smaller. So much does it matter what each thing is able to do. So, then, the earth was not suddenly brought in as a stranger and thrust from elsewhere upon air not its own, but was conceived together from the first origin of the world, a fixed part of it—as our limbs are seen to be to us.
Terraque ut in media mundi regione quiescat, evanescere paulatim et decrescere pondus convenit atque aliam naturam supter habere ex ineunte aevo coniunctam atque uniter aptam partibus aëriis mundi, quibus insita vivit. propterea non est oneri neque deprimit auras, ut sua cuique homini nullo sunt pondere membra nec caput est oneri collo nec denique totum corporis in pedibus pondus sentimus inesse; at quae cumque foris veniunt inpostaque nobis pondera sunt laedunt, permulto saepe minora. usque adeo magni refert quid quaeque queat res. sic igitur tellus non est aliena repente allata atque auris aliunde obiecta alienis, sed pariter prima concepta ab origine mundi certaque pars eius, quasi nobis membra videntur.
Besides, the earth, suddenly shaken by a great thunderclap, shakes with its motion all the things that are above it; which it could in no way do, were it not bound fast to the airy parts of the world and to the sky; for they cling together by common roots, joined from the outset of time and grown into one. Do you not see, too, with how great a weight the most tenuous force of the soul upholds our body, for the very reason that it is so joined and fitted into one? And what, in the end, can lift the body in a nimble leap but the force of the soul, which steers the limbs? Now do you see how much a tenuous nature can avail when it is joined to a heavy body—as the air is joined to the lands, and to us the force of the mind?
Praeterea grandi tonitru concussa repente terra supra quae se sunt concutit omnia motu; quod facere haut ulla posset ratione, nisi esset partibus aëriis mundi caeloque revincta; nam communibus inter se radicibus haerent ex ineunte aevo coniuncta atque uniter aucta. Nonne vides etiam quam magno pondere nobis sustineat corpus tenuissima vis animai, propterea quia tam coniuncta atque uniter apta est? Denique iam saltu pernici tollere corpus quid potis est nisi vis animae, quae membra gubernat? iamne vides quantum tenuis natura valere possit, ubi est coniuncta gravi cum corpore, ut aër coniunctus terris et nobis est animi vis?
The sun’s wheel cannot be much greater, nor its blaze much less, than it is seen to be by our senses. For from whatever distances fires can cast their light and breathe their warm vapor on our limbs, they lose nothing of their body of flames through those great intervals; the fire is in no way shrunk to the sight. Accordingly, since the sun’s heat and outpoured light reach our senses and the places shine, the shape too of the sun and its outline must be seen from here such that you can truly add nothing more or less. And the moon—whether it is borne lighting up places with a bastard light, or casts its own light from its own body, whatever it be, is borne with a shape no greater than it is seen to be by these eyes with which we behold it. For all things that we look at far removed, through much air, are seen blurred in their look before their outline is lessened. Wherefore the moon must, since it offers a clear look and a definite figure, just as it is marked off by its outermost edges, be seen by us from here on high just as great as it really is. Lastly, whatever fires of the aether you see from here, you may know that they can be smaller by a very little, or larger by a slight and brief amount. Since whatever fires we discern on earth, so long as their flickering and their clear blaze can be made out, are seen at times to change their outline by some very little to the one side or the other, the further off they are.
Nec nimio solis maior rota nec minor ardor esse potest, nostris quam sensibus esse videtur. nam quibus e spatiis cumque ignes lumina possunt adiicere et calidum membris adflare vaporem, nil magnis intervallis de corpore libant flammarum, nihil ad speciem est contractior ignis. proinde, calor quoniam solis lumenque profusum perveniunt nostros ad sensus et loca fulgent, forma quoque hinc solis debet filumque videri, nil adeo ut possis plus aut minus addere vere. perveniunt nostros ad sensus et loca fulgent lunaque sive notho fertur loca lumine lustrans, sive suam proprio iactat de corpore lucem, quidquid id est, nihilo fertur maiore figura quam, nostris oculis qua cernimus, esse videtur. nam prius omnia, quae longe semota tuemur aëra per multum, specie confusa videntur quam minui filum. quapropter luna necesse est, quandoquidem claram speciem certamque figuram praebet, ut est oris extremis cumque notata, quanta quoquest, tanta hinc nobis videatur in alto. postremo quos cumque vides hinc aetheris ignes, scire licet perquam pauxillo posse minores esse vel exigua maioris parte brevique. quandoquidem quos cumque in terris cernimus ignes, dum tremor et clarus dum cernitur ardor eorum, perparvom quiddam inter dum mutare videntur alteram utram in partem filum, quo longius absunt.
Nor is this to be wondered at, by what means that little sun can send so great a light, which, watering, fills all the seas and lands and sky and drenches all things with its warm vapor. For it may be that from here one fountain, laid open to the whole world, gushes and bursts forth its lavish light, because from all the world the elements of heat so gather from every side, and their gathering so flows together, that from one head this blaze streams out. Do you not see, too, how widely a small spring of water waters the meadows at times, and floods the fields? It is also possible that, from no great fire of the sun, the air takes a blaze with its hot burnings, if the air chance to be apt and fit, so that, when struck, it can be kindled by small burnings; as we sometimes see fires spread far and wide among the standing corn and the stubble from a single spark. Perhaps, too, the sun, shining on high with its rosy lamp, possesses about itself much fire with unseen burnings, fire marked by no radiance, heat-bearing, so that it swells the stroke of its rays by so much.
Illud item non est mirandum, qua ratione tantulus ille queat tantum sol mittere lumen, quod maria ac terras omnis caelumque rigando compleat et calido perfundat cuncta vapore. quanta quoquest tanta hinc nobis videatur in alto nam licet hinc mundi patefactum totius unum largifluum fontem scatere atque erumpere lumen, ex omni mundo quia sic elementa vaporis undique conveniunt et sic coniectus eorum confluit, ex uno capite hic ut profluat ardor. nonne vides etiam quam late parvus aquai prata riget fons inter dum campisque redundet? est etiam quoque uti non magno solis ab igni aëra percipiat calidis fervoribus ardor, opportunus ita est si forte et idoneus aër, ut queat accendi parvis ardoribus ictus; quod genus inter dum segetes stipulamque videmus accidere ex una scintilla incendia passim. forsitan et rosea sol alte lampade lucens possideat multum caecis fervoribus ignem circum se, nullo qui sit fulgore notatus, aestifer ut tantum radiorum exaugeat ictum.
Nor does one simple and straight account of the sun lie open— how from its summer regions it comes to the wintry turnings of Capricorn, and thence returning wheels back to the solstitial bounds of Cancer; and how the moon seems to traverse in months that span in which the sun spends the seasons of the year on its course. Not one simple cause, I say, is rendered for these things. For it may be, first of all, as the holy opinion of the man Democritus lays down: that the nearer each of the stars is to the earth, the less it can be carried with the whirl of the sky; for that swift and keen force of the sky fades and is lessened below, and therefore the sun is gradually left behind with the constellations following it, since it is much lower than the burning signs. And the moon more so: the lower its course is set far from the sky and the nearer it draws to the lands, the less it can hold its course with the constellations. And the feebler the whirl by which it is borne, being lower than the sun, the more do all the constellations overtake it and pass it round about. Therefore it comes about that the moon seems to return to each sign more swiftly, because the signs revisit it. It can also happen that air, from the crosswise parts of the world, can flow by turns, one current at a fixed time, able to thrust the sun down from the summer signs all the way to the wintry turnings and the freezing cold, and another to fling it back from the chill shadows of the cold all the way to the heat-bearing parts and the burning signs. And by like reasoning we must think that the moon and the stars, which roll great years in great orbits, can go by turns through air from opposite quarters. Do you not see, too, that with different winds the clouds go in different directions, the lower against the upper? Why should those stars be any less able, through the great orbits of the aether, to be borne by tides set against one another?
Nec ratio solis simplex et recta patescit, quo pacto aestivis e partibus aegocerotis brumalis adeat flexus atque inde revertens canceris ut vertat metas ad solstitialis, lunaque mensibus id spatium videatur obire, annua sol in quo consumit tempora cursu. non, inquam, simplex his rebus reddita causast. nam fieri vel cum primis id posse videtur, Democriti quod sancta viri sententia ponit, quanto quaeque magis sint terram sidera propter, tanto posse minus cum caeli turbine ferri; evanescere enim rapidas illius et acris imminui supter viris, ideoque relinqui paulatim solem cum posterioribus signis, inferior multo quod sit quam fervida signa. et magis hoc lunam: quanto demissior eius cursus abest procul a caelo terrisque propinquat, tanto posse minus cum signis tendere cursum. flaccidiore etiam quanto iam turbine fertur inferior quam sol, tanto magis omnia signa hanc adipiscuntur circum praeterque feruntur. propterea fit ut haec ad signum quodque reverti mobilius videatur, ad hanc quia signa revisunt. fit quoque ut e mundi transversis partibus aër alternis certo fluere alter tempore possit, qui queat aestivis solem detrudere signis brumalis usque ad flexus gelidumque rigorem, et qui reiciat gelidis a frigoris umbris aestiferas usque in partis et fervida signa. et ratione pari lunam stellasque putandumst, quae volvunt magnos in magnis orbibus annos, aëribus posse alternis e partibus ire. nonne vides etiam diversis nubila ventis diversas ire in partis inferna supernis? qui minus illa queant per magnos aetheris orbis aestibus inter se diversis sidera ferri?
But night overwhelms the lands with vast darkness, either when, after his long course, the sun has struck the farthest bounds of the sky and, languid, has breathed out his fires, shaken by the journey and weakened by much air, or because the same force that carried his orb above the lands compels him to turn his course beneath the earth.
At nox obruit ingenti caligine terras, aut ubi de longo cursu sol ultima caeli impulit atque suos efflavit languidus ignis concussos itere et labefactos aëre multo, aut quia sub terras cursum convortere cogit vis eadem, supra quae terras pertulit orbem.
Likewise at a fixed time Matuta spreads the rosy dawn through the coasts of the aether and unfolds her light, either because the same sun, returning beneath the earth, forestalls it, trying to kindle the sky with his rays, or because fires gather, and many seeds of heat are wont to flow together at a fixed time, which make the sun’s light be born ever new; as report has it that from the high mountains of Ida scattered fires are seen at the rising of the light, and then gather as if into one ball and make up an orb. Nor yet in these matters need it be a marvel that these seeds of fire can flow together at so fixed a time and renew the sun’s brightness. For we see many things that happen at a fixed time in all the world. The trees blossom at a fixed time and at a fixed time let their blossom go. No less at a fixed time does age bid the teeth fall, and the stripling grow downy with soft covering and let a soft beard down alike on either cheek. Lightnings, lastly, snow, rains, clouds, winds come about in not too uncertain seasons of the year. For where the first beginnings of causes were thus, and the affairs of the world so fell out from their first origin, they now return, in due sequence, in a fixed order.
Tempore item certo roseam Matuta per oras aetheris auroram differt et lumina pandit, aut quia sol idem, sub terras ille revertens, anticipat caelum radiis accendere temptans, aut quia conveniunt ignes et semina multa confluere ardoris consuerunt tempore certo, quae faciunt solis nova semper lumina gigni; quod genus Idaeis fama est e montibus altis dispersos ignis orienti lumine cerni, inde coire globum quasi in unum et conficere orbem. nec tamen illud in his rebus mirabile debet esse, quod haec ignis tam certo tempore possint semina confluere et solis reparare nitorem. multa videmus enim, certo quae tempore fiunt omnibus in rebus. florescunt tempore certo arbusta et certo dimittunt tempore florem. nec minus in certo dentes cadere imperat aetas tempore et inpubem molli pubescere veste et pariter mollem malis demittere barbam. fulmina postremo nix imbres nubila venti non nimis incertis fiunt in partibus anni. namque ubi sic fuerunt causarum exordia prima atque ita res mundi cecidere ab origine prima, conseque quoque iam redeunt ex ordine certo.
Likewise the days may grow and the nights waste away, and the daylight be lessened when the nights take their increase, either because the same sun, running beneath the earth and above through unequal arcs, parts the coasts of the aether and divides his circle into portions not equal, and what he takes from one side he lays back on the opposite side, carried so much further into it, until he reaches that sign of the sky where the year’s knot makes the shadows of night equal to the daylight; for at mid-course the blasts of the north wind and the south hold the sky’s turning-points apart at an equal division, because of the placing of the whole zodiac circle, in which the sun, gliding, closes the year’s seasons, lighting up the lands and sky with slanting light, as the reasoning declares of those who have marked out all the regions of the sky, adorned with their ordered signs. Or because in certain quarters the air is denser, and so beneath the earth the quivering ray of fire is held back and cannot easily pass through and come up to its rising; therefore in the winter season the long nights linger, until the radiant ensign of day comes on. Or else, because in the alternate parts of the year the fires are wont to flow together more slowly and more swiftly, those fires that make the sun rise from a fixed quarter— therefore it comes about that they may seem to speak the truth.
Crescere itemque dies licet et tabescere noctes, et minui luces, cum sumant augmina noctis, aut quia sol idem sub terras atque superne imparibus currens amfractibus aetheris oras partit et in partis non aequas dividit orbem, et quod ab alterutra detraxit parte, reponit eius in adversa tanto plus parte relatus, donec ad id signum caeli pervenit, ubi anni nodus nocturnas exaequat lucibus umbras; nam medio cursu flatus aquilonis et austri distinet aequato caelum discrimine metas propter signiferi posituram totius orbis, annua sol in quo concludit tempora serpens, obliquo terras et caelum lumine lustrans, ut ratio declarat eorum qui loca caeli omnia dispositis signis ornata notarunt. aut quia crassior est certis in partibus aër, sub terris ideo tremulum iubar haesitat ignis nec penetrare potest facile atque emergere ad ortus; propterea noctes hiberno tempore longae cessant, dum veniat radiatum insigne diei. aut etiam, quia sic alternis partibus anni tardius et citius consuerunt confluere ignes, qui faciunt solem certa de surgere parte, propterea fit uti videantur dicere verum.
The moon can shine, struck by the sun’s rays, and day by day turn that light more toward us to the view, the further it withdraws from the sun’s orb, until, facing him, it has shone fully with full light and, rising, has seen his setting above the heights; then by little it must, as it were, hide its light back again, the nearer it now glides to the sun’s fire from the other quarter of the signs, round the circle; as those hold who shape the moon to be like a ball and to keep its path of course beneath the sun. There is also a reason why it could roll with its own light and render varying shapes of brightness; for there may be another body that is borne and glides along with it, meeting and crossing it in every way, and cannot be seen, because it is borne void of light. It can also turn, as a ball might, perhaps, dyed over half its part with glowing light, and by turning the globe put forth varying shapes, until it turns to our view, and to our open eyes, that part, whichever it be, that is swollen with fires; then by little it twists back and takes away the light-bearing part of the round mass and the ball; as the Babylonian lore of the Chaldeans, refuting the art of the astronomers, strives to convict it the other way— just as though what each side fights for could not be so, or there were any reason why you should dare to embrace this less than that. Lastly, why a new moon could not always be created in a fixed order of shapes and with fixed figures, and each one, once created, perish on its own day, and another be restored in its place and stead— this is hard to teach by reasoning and to win by words, when you see so many things created in an order so fixed.
Luna potest solis radiis percussa nitere inque dies magis id lumen convertere nobis ad speciem, quantum solis secedit ab orbi, donique eum contra pleno bene lumine fulsit atque oriens obitus eius super edita vidit; inde minutatim retro quasi condere lumen debet item, quanto propius iam solis ad ignem labitur ex alia signorum parte per orbem; ut faciunt, lunam qui fingunt esse pilai consimilem cursusque viam sub sole tenere. est etiam quare proprio cum lumine possit volvier et varias splendoris reddere formas; corpus enim licet esse aliud, quod fertur et una labitur omnimodis occursans officiensque, nec potis est cerni, quia cassum lumine fertur. versarique potest, globus ut, si forte, pilai dimidia ex parti candenti lumine tinctus, versandoque globum variantis edere formas, donique eam partem, quae cumque est ignibus aucta, ad speciem vertit nobis oculosque patentis; inde minutatim retro contorquet et aufert luciferam partem glomeraminis atque pilai; ut Babylonica Chaldaeum doctrina refutans astrologorum artem contra convincere tendit, proinde quasi id fieri nequeat quod pugnat uterque aut minus hoc illo sit cur amplectier ausis. denique cur nequeat semper nova luna creari ordine formarum certo certisque figuris inque dies privos aborisci quaeque creata atque alia illius reparari in parte locoque, difficilest ratione docere et vincere verbis, ordine cum videas tam certo multa creari.
Spring comes, and Venus, and before them the winged herald of Venus paces on; and close on the tracks of Zephyr, mother Flora, strewing the way before them, fills all things with surpassing colors and with scents. Next in place follows parched Heat, and as one companion dusty Ceres, and the Etesian blasts of the north winds. Then Autumn approaches, and with it strides Euhius Euan. Then follow the other seasons and the winds, high-thundering Volturnus and the South wind mighty with the lightning. At last Midwinter brings the snows and renders back the sluggish frost; Winter follows, chattering with the teeth of cold. So it is the less a marvel if at a fixed time the moon is born and at a fixed time again is done away, since so many things can come to pass at so fixed a time.
it Ver et Venus et Veneris praenuntius ante pennatus graditur, Zephyri vestigia propter Flora quibus mater praespargens ante viai cuncta coloribus egregiis et odoribus opplet. inde loci sequitur Calor aridus et comes una pulverulenta Ceres et etesia flabra aquilonum. inde Autumnus adit, graditur simul Euhius Euan. inde aliae tempestates ventique secuntur, altitonans Volturnus et Auster fulmine pollens. tandem Bruma nives adfert pigrumque rigorem reddit. Hiemps sequitur crepitans hanc dentibus algu. quo minus est mirum, si certo tempore luna gignitur et certo deletur tempore rusus, cum fieri possint tam certo tempore multa.
Likewise the failings of the sun and the hidings of the moon you must think can come about from several causes. For why should the moon be able to shut off the earth from the sun’s light and to block from the lands his head on high, thrusting its dark orb against the burning rays, and yet, at the same time, another body be thought unable to do this—one that glides forever void of light? And why should the sun, grown languid, not be able at a fixed time to let his fires go and to renew his light again, when he has passed through tracts in the air unfriendly to flames, which make his fires be quenched and perish? And why should the earth be able, in its turn, to rob the moon of light, and itself to hold the sun pressed down above it, while in its monthly course the moon glides through the stiff shadows of the cone, and yet, at the same time, no other body be able to come up beneath the moon or to glide above the sun’s orb, to break across the rays and the outpoured light? And again, if the moon shines with its own brightness, why could it not grow faint in a fixed part of the world, while it passes through tracts unfriendly to its own light?
Solis item quoque defectus lunaeque latebras pluribus e causis fieri tibi posse putandumst. nam cur luna queat terram secludere solis lumine et a terris altum caput obstruere ei, obiciens caecum radiis ardentibus orbem, tempore eodem aliut facere id non posse putetur corpus, quod cassum labatur lumine semper? solque suos etiam dimittere languidus ignis tempore cur certo nequeat recreareque lumen, cum loca praeteriit flammis infesta per auras, quae faciunt ignis interstingui atque perire? et cur terra queat lunam spoliare vicissim lumine et oppressum solem super ipsa tenere, menstrua dum rigidas coni perlabitur umbras, tempore eodem aliud nequeat succurrere lunae corpus vel supra solis perlabier orbem, quod radios inter rumpat lumenque profusum? et tamen ipsa suo si fulget luna nitore, cur nequeat certa mundi languescere parte, dum loca luminibus propriis inimica per exit? menstrua dum rigidas coni perlabitur umbras.
For the rest—since through the blue of the great world I have unraveled by what means each thing could come to be, so that we might know what force and cause set in motion the varied courses of the sun and the goings of the moon, and in what way they could pass, their light blocked off, and draw darkness over the lands that did not look for it, when they seem to wink, and then with light unbarred again look over all the bright places in shining radiance— now I return to the newness of the world and the soft fields of the earth, and what they first resolved, in their new bearing, to raise to the shores of light and to entrust to the uncertain winds.
Quod superest, quoniam magni per caerula mundi qua fieri quicquid posset ratione resolvi, solis uti varios cursus lunaeque meatus noscere possemus quae vis et causa cieret, quove modo possent offecto lumine obire et neque opinantis tenebris obducere terras, cum quasi conivent et aperto lumine rursum omnia convisunt clara loca candida luce, nunc redeo ad mundi novitatem et mollia terrae arva, novo fetu quid primum in luminis oras tollere et incertis crerint committere ventis.
First the earth gave the kind of grasses and the green sheen around the hills and over all the plains, the flowering meadows shone with verdant color, and then to the various trees was given, through the air, a great contest of growing, with the reins let loose. As down and hairs and bristles are first created on the limbs of the four-footed and on the bodies of the strong-winged, so the new earth then first raised up grasses and shrubs, and after that brought forth the mortal generations, arisen many, in many ways, by varied means. For the animals cannot have fallen from the sky, nor can the land-creatures have come out of the salt pools. It remains, then, that the earth has rightly won the name of mother, since out of the earth all things were created. And many animals even now spring up from the lands, formed by the rains and the warm vapor of the sun; so it is the less a marvel if then more arose, and larger, grown up when earth and aether were young.
Principio genus herbarum viridemque nitorem terra dedit circum collis camposque per omnis, florida fulserunt viridanti prata colore, arboribusque datumst variis exinde per auras crescendi magnum inmissis certamen habenis. ut pluma atque pili primum saetaeque creantur quadripedum membris et corpore pennipotentum, sic nova tum tellus herbas virgultaque primum sustulit, inde loci mortalia saecla creavit multa modis multis varia ratione coorta. nam neque de caelo cecidisse animalia possunt, nec terrestria de salsis exisse lacunis. linquitur ut merito maternum nomen adepta terra sit, e terra quoniam sunt cuncta creata. multaque nunc etiam existunt animalia terris imbribus et calido solis concreta vapore; quo minus est mirum, si tum sunt plura coorta et maiora, nova tellure atque aethere adulta.
First the race of birds and the various winged things left their eggs, hatched out in the spring season, as now in summer the cicadas leave of their own accord their smooth husks, seeking food and life. Then it was that the earth first gave you the mortal generations. For much heat and moisture abounded in the fields. So, wherever a fit region of ground offered itself, there grew up wombs, clinging to the earth by roots; and when, in the ripe time, the age of the infants had opened these, fleeing the moisture and reaching for the air, nature there turned the pores of the earth and forced it to pour from its opened veins a juice much like milk, just as now each woman, when she has borne, is filled with sweet milk, because all that rush of nourishment is turned toward her breasts. The earth gave the children food, the warmth gave clothing, the grass a bed, rich and abounding in soft down. But the newness of the world stirred up neither harsh cold nor excessive heat nor winds of great force. For all things grow and take their strength alike.
principio genus alituum variaeque volucres ova relinquebant exclusae tempore verno, folliculos ut nunc teretis aestate cicadae lincunt sponte sua victum vitamque petentes. tum tibi terra dedit primum mortalia saecla. multus enim calor atque umor superabat in arvis. hoc ubi quaeque loci regio opportuna dabatur, crescebant uteri terram radicibus apti; quos ubi tempore maturo pate fecerat aetas infantum, fugiens umorem aurasque petessens, convertebat ibi natura foramina terrae et sucum venis cogebat fundere apertis consimilem lactis, sicut nunc femina quaeque cum peperit, dulci repletur lacte, quod omnis impetus in mammas convertitur ille alimenti. terra cibum pueris, vestem vapor, herba cubile praebebat multa et molli lanugine abundans. at novitas mundi nec frigora dura ciebat nec nimios aestus nec magnis viribus auras. omnia enim pariter crescunt et robora sumunt.
Wherefore again and again the earth keeps deservedly the name of mother, since she herself created the human race and poured forth, at nearly a fixed time, every kind of animal that ranges wild here and there on the great mountains, and the birds of the air at once, in their varying forms. But because she must have some end of bearing, she ceased, like a woman wearied by length of years. For time changes the nature of the whole world, and one state must take over all things from another, nor does anything remain like itself: all things shift, nature alters all things and compels them to turn. For one thing rots and, weak with age, grows faint, and another grows up in its stead and comes forth out of contempt. So, then, time changes the nature of the whole world, and one state of the earth takes over from another, so that it cannot do what it could, and can do what it bore not before.
Quare etiam atque etiam maternum nomen adepta terra tenet merito, quoniam genus ipsa creavit humanum atque animal prope certo tempore fudit omne quod in magnis bacchatur montibus passim, aëriasque simul volucres variantibus formis. sed quia finem aliquam pariendi debet habere, destitit, ut mulier spatio defessa vetusto. mutat enim mundi naturam totius aetas ex alioque alius status excipere omnia debet nec manet ulla sui similis res: omnia migrant, omnia commutat natura et vertere cogit. namque aliud putrescit et aevo debile languet, porro aliud suc crescit et e contemptibus exit. sic igitur mundi naturam totius aetas mutat, et ex alio terram status excipit alter, quod potuit nequeat, possit quod non tulit ante.
And then, too, the earth tried to create many prodigies, arisen with strange face and limbs: the man-woman, between the two and removed from either, some bereft of feet, some in turn widowed of hands, some found dumb without a mouth, some blind without a face, and some bound fast by the cleaving of their limbs over the whole body, so that they could neither do anything nor go anywhere nor avoid harm nor take what need would want. The rest of the monsters and prodigies of this kind she created— in vain, since nature forbade their increase, and they could not touch the longed-for flower of their age, nor find food, nor be joined through the works of Venus. For we see that many things must concur if generations are to forge their kind by propagation: first, that there be food; then a way by which the generative seeds can flow through the frame, the limbs being relaxed; and, that the female may be joined with the male, a means whereby each may exchange mutual joys with the other.
Multaque tum tellus etiam portenta creare conatast mira facie membrisque coorta, androgynem, interutras necutrumque utrimque remotum, orba pedum partim, manuum viduata vicissim, muta sine ore etiam, sine voltu caeca reperta, vinctaque membrorum per totum corpus adhaesu, nec facere ut possent quicquam nec cedere quoquam nec vitare malum nec sumere quod volet usus. cetera de genere hoc monstra ac portenta creabat, ne quiquam, quoniam natura absterruit auctum nec potuere cupitum aetatis tangere florem nec reperire cibum nec iungi per Veneris res. multa videmus enim rebus concurrere debere, ut propagando possint procudere saecla; pabula primum ut sint, genitalia deinde per artus semina qua possint membris manare remissis, feminaque ut maribus coniungi possit, habere, mutua qui mutent inter se gaudia uterque.
And many generations of living things must then have perished and been unable to forge offspring by propagation. For whatever you see feeding on the breath of life, it is either guile or courage or, in short, speed that has guarded and preserved each kind from the outset of its age. And there are many that remain, commended to us by their own usefulness, handed over to our keeping. First, the fierce breed of lions and the savage kinds courage has guarded; the foxes, guile; and flight, the deer. But the light-sleeping hearts of dogs, with their faithful breast, and every kind that is born of the seed of beasts of burden, and the wool-bearing flocks at once and the horned generations— all these are given over to the keeping of men, Memmius; for eagerly they fled the wild beasts and followed peace and the lavish fodder, got without labor of their own, which we give them as rewards for the sake of their usefulness. But those to whom nature granted none of these things— unable either to live of their own accord or to give us any usefulness, for which we should suffer their kind to feed under our protection and be safe— these, of course, lay as prey and gain for others, all entangled in their own fated bonds, until nature brought that kind to extinction.
Multaque tum interiisse animantum saecla necessest nec potuisse propagando procudere prolem. nam quae cumque vides vesci vitalibus auris, aut dolus aut virtus aut denique mobilitas est ex ineunte aevo genus id tuta ta reservans. multaque sunt, nobis ex utilitate sua quae commendata manent, tutelae tradita nostrae. principio genus acre leonum saevaque saecla tutatast virtus, volpes dolus et fuga cervos. at levisomna canum fido cum pectore corda, et genus omne quod est veterino semine partum lanigeraeque simul pecudes et bucera saecla omnia sunt hominum tutelae tradita, Memmi; nam cupide fugere feras pacemque secuta sunt et larga suo sine pabula parta labore, quae damus utilitatis eorum praemia causa. at quis nil horum tribuit natura, nec ipsa sponte sua possent ut vivere nec dare nobis utilitatem aliquam, quare pateremur eorum praesidio nostro pasci genus esseque tutum, scilicet haec aliis praedae lucroque iacebant indupedita suis fatalibus omnia vinclis, donec ad interitum genus id natura redegit.
But neither were there Centaurs, nor at any time can there be things of twofold nature and double body, framed together out of alien limbs, such that the power of the parts on this side and that could be balanced enough. This one may learn from the following, however dull of heart. First, when three years have rolled round, the spirited horse is in his prime; the boy by no means—for often even then he will seek in his sleep the milky teats of the breast. Afterward, when the horse’s strong powers and his limbs fail him in worn-out age, as life flees from him, then at last youth, in the flower of a boyish age, sets in and clothes the cheeks with soft down; lest by chance you believe that out of man and the beast-seed of horses Centaurs could be made up and could exist, or Scyllas, girt with ravening dogs about their half-marine bodies, and the rest of this kind, whose members we see at discord among themselves; for they neither come to flower together nor take strength in their bodies together, nor cast it off in worn-out age, nor burn with a like Venus, nor agree in single habits, nor are the same things pleasant to their frames. Indeed one may see that the bearded flocks often grow fat on hemlock, which to man is a keen poison. And since flame is wont to scorch and burn the tawny bodies of lions as much as every kind of flesh and blood that exists on the earth, how could it be that, with a triple body in one— lion in front, serpent behind, herself in the middle, the Chimaera— she should breathe out from her body keen flame from her mouth?
Sed neque Centauri fuerunt nec tempore in ullo esse queunt duplici natura et corpore bino ex alienigenis membris compacta, potestas hinc illinc partis ut sat par esse potissit. id licet hinc quamvis hebeti cognoscere corde. principio circum tribus actis impiger annis floret equus, puer haut quaquam; nam saepe etiam nunc ubera mammarum in somnis lactantia quaeret. post ubi equum validae vires aetate senecta membraque deficiunt fugienti languida vita, tum demum puerili aevo florenta iuventas officit et molli vestit lanugine malas; ne forte ex homine et veterino semine equorum confieri credas Centauros posse neque esse, aut rapidis canibus succinctas semimarinis corporibus Scyllas et cetera de genere horum, inter se quorum discordia membra videmus; quae neque florescunt pariter nec robora sumunt corporibus neque proiciunt aetate senecta nec simili Venere ardescunt nec moribus unis conveniunt neque sunt eadem iucunda per artus. quippe videre licet pinguescere saepe cicuta barbigeras pecudes, homini quae est acre venenum. flamma quidem vero cum corpora fulva leonum tam soleat torrere atque urere quam genus omne visceris in terris quod cumque et sanguinis extet, qui fieri potuit, triplici cum corpore ut una, prima leo, postrema draco, media ipsa, Chimaera ore foras acrem flaret de corpore flammam?
Wherefore, too, the man who imagines that, when earth was new and the sky fresh, such animals could be born, leaning on this one empty word of newness, may babble out many like things with his mouth: he may say that then golden rivers commonly flowed across the lands, and that the shrubs were wont to bloom with gems, or that a man was born with so great a stride of limbs that he could plant his footsteps across the deep seas and turn the whole sky round about himself with his hands. For though there were many seeds of things in the earth at the time when first the earth poured forth its animals, that is yet no sign that crossbred flocks could have been created, nor the limbs of living things framed together among themselves, because the kinds of grasses, the crops, and the glad shrubs, which even now abound from the earth, cannot for all that be created interwoven among themselves, but each thing goes forward after its own manner, and all keep their distinctions by the fixed covenant of nature.
quare etiam tellure nova caeloque recenti talia qui fingit potuisse animalia gigni, nixus in hoc uno novitatis nomine inani, multa licet simili ratione effutiat ore, aurea tum dicat per terras flumina vulgo fluxisse et gemmis florere arbusta suësse aut hominem tanto membrorum esse impete natum, trans maria alta pedum nisus ut ponere posset et manibus totum circum se vertere caelum. nam quod multa fuere in terris semina rerum, tempore quo primum tellus animalia fudit, nil tamen est signi mixtas potuisse creari inter se pecudes compactaque membra animantum, propterea quia quae de terris nunc quoque abundant herbarum genera ac fruges arbustaque laeta non tamen inter se possunt complexa creari, sed res quaeque suo ritu procedit et omnes foedere naturae certo discrimina servant.
And that race of men in the fields was much hardier, as was fitting, since the hard earth had created it, founded within on bigger and more solid bones, fitted through the flesh with strong sinews, not easily caught by heat or cold or by strange food or any failing of the body. And through many circuits of the sun rolling across the sky they dragged out their life after the roving manner of wild beasts. Nor was there any sturdy guider of the curved plow, nor did anyone know to work the fields with iron, or to bury new shoots in the ground, or from the high trees to cut the old branches with pruning-hooks. What the sun and the rains had given, what the earth had created of its own accord—that gift contented their hearts enough. Among the acorn-bearing oaks they tended their bodies for the most part; and the arbute-berries which now in the winter season you see ripening to a scarlet color, the earth then bore in plenty, and larger still. And besides, the flowering newness of the world then bore many a coarse food, ample for the wretched mortals. But to quench their thirst the rivers and springs called them, as now the running-down of water from the great mountains loudly summons far and wide the thirsting tribes of the beasts. And, in their wandering, they kept to the woodland haunts of the nymphs, known to them, from which they knew that gliding streams of water washed the wet rocks with a lavish overflow— the wet rocks, dripping over green moss— and that part of it gushed and burst forth over the level plain. Not yet did they know to handle things with fire, or to use skins and to clothe the body with the spoils of wild beasts, but they dwelt in the groves and the hollow mountains and the forests, and among the brushwood they hid their squalid limbs, driven to shun the lashing of the winds and the rains. Nor could they look to the common good, nor did they know to use any customs or laws among themselves. Whatever prey fortune had offered each, he carried off, each taught of his own accord to thrive and live for himself.
Et genus humanum multo fuit illud in arvis durius, ut decuit, tellus quod dura creasset, et maioribus et solidis magis ossibus intus fundatum, validis aptum per viscera nervis, nec facile ex aestu nec frigore quod caperetur nec novitate cibi nec labi corporis ulla. multaque per caelum solis volventia lustra volgivago vitam tractabant more ferarum. nec robustus erat curvi moderator aratri quisquam, nec scibat ferro molirier arva nec nova defodere in terram virgulta neque altis arboribus veteres decidere falcibus ramos. quod sol atque imbres dederant, quod terra crearat sponte sua, satis id placabat pectora donum. glandiferas inter curabant corpora quercus plerumque; et quae nunc hiberno tempore cernis arbita puniceo fieri matura colore, plurima tum tellus etiam maiora ferebat. multaque praeterea novitas tum florida mundi pabula dura tulit, miseris mortalibus ampla. at sedare sitim fluvii fontesque vocabant, ut nunc montibus e magnis decursus aquai claricitat late sitientia saecla ferarum. denique nota vagis silvestria templa tenebant nympharum, quibus e scibant umore fluenta lubrica proluvie larga lavere umida saxa, umida saxa, super viridi stillantia musco, et partim plano scatere atque erumpere campo. necdum res igni scibant tractare neque uti pellibus et spoliis corpus vestire ferarum, sed nemora atque cavos montis silvasque colebant et frutices inter condebant squalida membra verbera ventorum vitare imbrisque coacti. nec commune bonum poterant spectare neque ullis moribus inter se scibant nec legibus uti. quod cuique obtulerat praedae fortuna, ferebat sponte sua sibi quisque valere et vivere doctus.
And Venus joined the bodies of lovers in the woods; for either a mutual desire drew each woman, or the man’s violent force and unrestrained lust, or a price—acorns and arbute-berries, or choice pears. And, trusting in the marvelous strength of their hands and feet, they hunted the woodland tribes of wild beasts with hurled stones and the great weight of the club. Many they overcame; a few they shunned in hiding-places; and like the bristly swine, they gave their woodland limbs, naked, to the earth when overtaken by night, wrapping themselves about with leaves and foliage. Nor did they seek the day and the sun with great wailing, straying fearful through the fields in the shadows of night, but silent and buried in sleep they waited, until the sun with his rosy torch should bring his light into the sky. For since from little ones they had been used to see darkness and light forever born in alternate turn, it was not possible that they should ever wonder, or fear that an eternal night might hold the lands forever, with the sun’s light taken away. But more was this their care, that the tribes of wild beasts often made their rest perilous to the wretched men. Driven from their home, they fled their rocky shelters at the coming of the foaming boar or the mighty lion, and in the dead of night, in terror, they gave up to their savage guests their beds strewn with leaves.
et Venus in silvis iungebat corpora amantum; conciliabat enim vel mutua quamque cupido vel violenta viri vis atque inpensa libido vel pretium, glandes atque arbita vel pira lecta. et manuum mira freti virtute pedumque consectabantur silvestria saecla ferarum missilibus saxis et magno pondere clavae. multaque vincebant, vitabant pauca latebris; saetigerisque pares subus silvestria membra nuda dabant terrae nocturno tempore capti, circum se foliis ac frondibus involventes. nec plangore diem magno solemque per agros quaerebant pavidi palantes noctis in umbris, sed taciti respectabant somnoque sepulti, dum rosea face sol inferret lumina caelo. a parvis quod enim consuerant cernere semper alterno tenebras et lucem tempore gigni, non erat ut fieri posset mirarier umquam nec diffidere, ne terras aeterna teneret nox in perpetuum detracto lumine solis. sed magis illud erat curae, quod saecla ferarum infestam miseris faciebant saepe quietem. eiectique domo fugiebant saxea tecta spumigeri suis adventu validique leonis atque intempesta cedebant nocte paventes hospitibus saevis instrata cubilia fronde.
And not by much more then than now did the mortal generations leave with laments the sweet light of life. For then each single one of them, more often caught, gave living food to the beasts, devoured by their teeth, and filled the groves and mountains and forests with his groaning, seeing his living flesh buried in a living tomb. But those whom flight had saved, their bodies gnawed, afterward, holding their trembling palms over the foul sores, called upon Orcus with horror-stricken cries, until savage writhings robbed them of life— helpless of aid, not knowing what their wounds wanted. But not many thousands of men, led under the standards, did one day give over to destruction, nor did the turbid waters of the sea dash ships and men upon the rocks. For the sea, often risen at random, raged in vain and to no purpose and lightly laid aside its empty threats, nor could the treacherous coaxing of the calm sea entice any man into the snare with its laughing waves. The reckless craft of seafaring then lay hidden in the dark. Then, again, the want of food gave their failing limbs over to death; whereas now it is the abundance of things that drowns us. They, unwitting, often poured out poison for themselves; now men, more cunningly, give it to others.
Nec nimio tum plus quam nunc mortalia saecla dulcia linquebant lamentis lumina vitae. unus enim tum quisque magis deprensus eorum pabula viva feris praebebat, dentibus haustus, et nemora ac montis gemitu silvasque replebat viva videns vivo sepeliri viscera busto. at quos effugium servarat corpore adeso, posterius tremulas super ulcera tetra tenentes palmas horriferis accibant vocibus Orcum, donique eos vita privarant vermina saeva expertis opis, ignaros quid volnera vellent. at non multa virum sub signis milia ducta una dies dabat exitio nec turbida ponti aequora lidebant navis ad saxa virosque. nam temere in cassum frustra mare saepe coortum saevibat leviterque minas ponebat inanis, nec poterat quemquam placidi pellacia ponti subdola pellicere in fraudem ridentibus undis. improba navigii ratio tum caeca iacebat. tum penuria deinde cibi languentia leto membra dabat, contra nunc rerum copia mersat. illi inprudentes ipsi sibi saepe venenum vergebant, nunc dant aliis sollertius ipsi.
Then, after they got themselves huts and skins and fire, and the wedded pair, woman joined to man, drew apart into one home, and the laws of wedlock were learned, and they saw children born from themselves, then first the human race began to soften. For fire saw to it that their chilled bodies could no longer so well bear the cold under the cover of the sky, and Venus lessened their strength, and children, by their coaxing, easily broke the proud temper of their parents. Then, too, neighbors began eagerly to join friendship among themselves, neither to harm nor to be harmed, and they commended their children and the womenfolk to one another, signifying with cries and gestures, in stammering fashion, that it was right for all to have pity on the weak. Yet concord could not be brought about in every way, but a good and great part kept their covenants faithfully; otherwise the whole human race would even then have been destroyed, nor could its breeding have carried the generations on till now.
Inde casas postquam ac pellis ignemque pararunt et mulier coniuncta viro concessit in unum cognita sunt, prolemque ex se videre creatam, tum genus humanum primum mollescere coepit. ignis enim curavit, ut alsia corpora frigus non ita iam possent caeli sub tegmine ferre, et Venus inminuit viris puerique parentum blanditiis facile ingenium fregere superbum. tunc et amicitiem coeperunt iungere aventes finitimi inter se nec laedere nec violari, et pueros commendarunt muliebreque saeclum, vocibus et gestu cum balbe significarent imbecillorum esse aequum misererier omnis. nec tamen omnimodis poterat concordia gigni, sed bona magnaque pars servabat foedera caste; aut genus humanum iam tum foret omne peremptum nec potuisset adhuc perducere saecla propago.
But the various sounds of the tongue nature compelled them to utter, and utility wrung out the names of things, in no far different way from that in which the very speechlessness of their tongue seems to drive children to gesture, making them point with the finger at what is present. For each feels what power he has, that he can use. Before the horns are born and stand out on the calf’s forehead, he butts with them in anger and thrusts in attack. And the cubs of panthers and the whelps of lions fight back with claws and feet and biting even then, when their teeth and claws are scarcely yet created. The whole race of birds, again, we see trust to their wings and seek a fluttering aid from their pinions. Accordingly, to think that someone then assigned names to things, and that from him men learned their first words, is folly. For why should this man be able to mark all things with sounds and to send forth the various noises of the tongue, while at the same time the others are thought unable to do it? Besides, if others too had not used voices among themselves, whence was the implanted notion of its usefulness, and whence was this first power given to him, that he should know and see in his mind what he wished to do? Likewise one man could not compel the many, nor master them when subdued, so that they should be willing to learn thoroughly the names of things. Nor is it easy in any way to teach and persuade the deaf what needs to be done; for they would neither suffer it nor in any way endure that the unheard sounds of his voice should batter their ears any longer, all in vain.
At varios linguae sonitus natura subegit mittere et utilitas expressit nomina rerum, non alia longe ratione atque ipsa videtur protrahere ad gestum pueros infantia linguae, cum facit ut digito quae sint praesentia monstrent. sentit enim vim quisque suam quod possit abuti. cornua nata prius vitulo quam frontibus extent, illis iratus petit atque infestus inurget. at catuli pantherarum scymnique leonum unguibus ac pedibus iam tum morsuque repugnant, vix etiam cum sunt dentes unguesque creati. alituum porro genus alis omne videmus fidere et a pennis tremulum petere auxiliatum. proinde putare aliquem tum nomina distribuisse rebus et inde homines didicisse vocabula prima, desiperest. nam cur hic posset cuncta notare vocibus et varios sonitus emittere linguae, tempore eodem alii facere id non quisse putentur? praeterea si non alii quoque vocibus usi inter se fuerant, unde insita notities est utilitatis et unde data est huic prima potestas, quid vellet facere ut sciret animoque videret? cogere item pluris unus victosque domare non poterat, rerum ut perdiscere nomina vellent. nec ratione docere ulla suadereque surdis, quid sit opus facto, facilest; neque enim paterentur nec ratione ulla sibi ferrent amplius auris vocis inauditos sonitus obtundere frustra.
Lastly, what is there so marvelous in this matter, if the human race, in whom voice and tongue were strong, should mark things with varied sound to suit a varied feeling? when the dumb cattle, when, in short, the tribes of wild beasts are wont to raise unlike and varied cries, according as there is fear or pain, and when joys now swell. For indeed one may learn this from plain instances. When first the soft jaws of the great Molossian dogs, provoked, snarl, baring their hard teeth, their fury, drawn tight, threatens with a far different sound than when they now bark and fill all things with their cries; but when they try fondly to lick their puppies with the tongue, or when they toss them about, mighty with feet and biting, and, with teeth held back, mimic gentle nibbling, they fawn with a whining of the voice in a far different manner than when, left alone, they howl in the house, or when they flee the blows, whimpering, with cowering body. Again, does not the neighing likewise seem to differ, when among the mares a young stallion in the flower of his age rages, struck by the spurs of winged Love, and from his wide nostrils sends forth a snorting to arms, and when at other times he neighs so, with his limbs all shaking? Lastly, the race of birds and the various winged things— hawks and ospreys and gulls, seeking food and life in the salt waters amid the marine waves— utter far other cries at one time than at another, and when they fight over food and struggle for their prey. And some of them change their harsh-sounding songs along with the weather, as the long-lived tribes of crows and the flocks of ravens are said to do, when they call for water and rain, and at times summon the winds and the breezes. Therefore, if varied feelings compel the animals, though they are dumb, to send forth varied cries, how much the more was it right that mortals then could mark unlike things, one and another, with varied sound!
postremo quid in hac mirabile tantoperest re, si genus humanum, cui vox et lingua vigeret, pro vario sensu varia res voce notaret? cum pecudes mutae, cum denique saecla ferarum dissimilis soleant voces variasque ciere, cum metus aut dolor est et cum iam gaudia gliscunt. quippe et enim licet id rebus cognoscere apertis. inritata canum cum primum magna Molossum mollia ricta fremunt duros nudantia dentes, longe alio sonitu rabies re stricta minatur, et cum iam latrant et vocibus omnia complent; at catulos blande cum lingua lambere temptant aut ubi eos lactant, pedibus morsuque potentes suspensis teneros imitantur dentibus haustus, longe alio pacto gannitu vocis adulant, et cum deserti baubantur in aedibus, aut cum plorantis fugiunt summisso corpore plagas. denique non hinnitus item differre videtur, inter equas ubi equus florenti aetate iuvencus pinnigeri saevit calcaribus ictus Amoris et fremitum patulis sub naribus edit ad arma, et cum sic alias concussis artibus hinnit? postremo genus alituum variaeque volucres, accipitres atque ossifragae mergique marinis fluctibus in salso victum vitamque petentes, longe alias alio iaciunt in tempore voces, et quom de victu certant praedaque repugnant. et partim mutant cum tempestatibus una raucisonos cantus, cornicum ut saecla vetusta corvorumque gregis ubi aquam dicuntur et imbris poscere et inter dum ventos aurasque vocare. ergo si varii sensus animalia cogunt, muta tamen cum sint, varias emittere voces, quanto mortalis magis aequumst tum potuisse dissimilis alia atque alia res voce notare!
Lest in these matters you silently ask by chance: the thunderbolt first brought fire down to mortals upon the earth, and from it spreads all the blaze of flames; for we see many things kindled with celestial flames and blazing, when the stroke from the sky has endowed them with heat. And yet, when a branching tree, beaten by the winds and tottering, sways and leans, surging upon the boughs of a tree, fire is squeezed out, rubbed forth by strong forces, and at times the burning blaze of flame flashes out, while the branches and the trunks are chafed against one another. Either of these could have given fire to mortals. Then the sun taught them to cook food and to soften it with the heat of flame, since they saw many things grow mellow through the fields, conquered by the lashing of his rays and his heat.
Illud in his rebus tacitus ne forte requiras, fulmen detulit in terram mortalibus ignem primitus, inde omnis flammarum diditur ardor; multa videmus enim caelestibus insita flammis fulgere, cum caeli donavit plaga vaporis. et ramosa tamen cum ventis pulsa vacillans aestuat in ramos incumbens arboris arbor, exprimitur validis extritus viribus ignis, emicat inter dum flammai fervidus ardor, mutua dum inter se rami stirpesque teruntur. quorum utrumque dedisse potest mortalibus ignem. inde cibum quoquere ac flammae mollire vapore sol docuit, quoniam mitescere multa videbant verberibus radiorum atque aestu victa per agros.
And day by day, more and more, those who excelled in talent and were vigorous of heart showed how to change their former food and way of life with new things and with fire. Kings began to found cities and to set up a citadel as a defense and refuge for themselves, and they divided up the flocks and the fields and gave them out according to each man’s beauty and strength and talent; for beauty counted much and strength was in its vigor. Later property was devised, and gold discovered, which easily stripped the honor from both the strong and the beautiful; for, as a rule, men follow the faction of the richer, however brave they be, or born of a beautiful body. But if anyone would steer his life by true reasoning, it is great riches for a man to live thriftily with a contented mind; for there is never any lack of a little. But men wished to be famous and powerful, so that their fortune might rest on a stable foundation and they, in wealth, might pass a peaceful life— in vain, since, striving to climb to the height of honor, they made the road of their journey perilous, and yet, from the summit, envy at times, like a thunderbolt, casts them, struck, contemptuously down into foul Tartarus; since envy, like a thunderbolt, for the most part sets ablaze the heights and whatever stands out above the rest; so that it is far better to obey in quiet than to wish to rule affairs with sovereignty and to hold kingdoms. So let them sweat out their blood in vain, worn out, struggling along the narrow road of ambition; since they taste wisdom from another’s mouth and seek things from hearsay rather than from their own senses, and this is no more so now, nor will be soon, than it was before.
Inque dies magis hi victum vitamque priorem commutare novis monstrabant rebus et igni, ingenio qui praestabant et corde vigebant. condere coeperunt urbis arcemque locare praesidium reges ipsi sibi perfugiumque, et pecudes et agros divisere atque dedere pro facie cuiusque et viribus ingenioque; nam facies multum valuit viresque vigebant. posterius res inventast aurumque repertum, quod facile et validis et pulchris dempsit honorem; divitioris enim sectam plerumque secuntur quam lubet et fortes et pulchro corpore creti. quod siquis vera vitam ratione gubernet, divitiae grandes homini sunt vivere parce aequo animo; neque enim est umquam penuria parvi. at claros homines voluerunt se atque potentes, ut fundamento stabili fortuna maneret et placidam possent opulenti degere vitam, ne quiquam, quoniam ad summum succedere honorem certantes iter infestum fecere viai, et tamen e summo, quasi fulmen, deicit ictos invidia inter dum contemptim in Tartara taetra; invidia quoniam ceu fulmine summa vaporant plerumque et quae sunt aliis magis edita cumque; ut satius multo iam sit parere quietum quam regere imperio res velle et regna tenere. proinde sine in cassum defessi sanguine sudent, angustum per iter luctantes ambitionis; quandoquidem sapiunt alieno ex ore petuntque res ex auditis potius quam sensibus ipsis, nec magis id nunc est neque erit mox quam fuit ante.
So, when the kings were slain, the ancient majesty of thrones and the proud scepters lay overthrown, and the glorious emblem of the highest head, bloodied, mourned its great honor beneath the feet of the crowd; for what was once too much feared is eagerly trampled. And so affairs sank back to the utmost dregs and turmoil, while each man sought sovereignty and supremacy for himself. Then some taught them to create magistrates and to establish codes, that they might be willing to use laws. For the human race, worn out with passing its life by force, was languishing from feuds; and so the more readily it fell, of its own accord, under laws and close-binding codes. For since each man, in his anger, made ready to avenge himself more fiercely than is now allowed by equal laws, for this reason men grew sick of passing their life by force. Thence the fear of penalties stains the rewards of life. For violence and wrong ensnare each man and, for the most part, return upon him from whom they arose, nor is it easy for one to pass a calm and peaceful life who by his deeds violates the common covenants of peace. For though he escape the notice of the race of gods and men, he must yet despair that it will stay hidden forever; since many, often speaking in their dreams or raving in sickness, are said to have betrayed themselves and brought their concealed evils and sins into the open.
Ergo regibus occisis subversa iacebat pristina maiestas soliorum et sceptra superba, et capitis summi praeclarum insigne cruentum sub pedibus vulgi magnum lugebat honorem; nam cupide conculcatur nimis ante metutum. res itaque ad summam faecem turbasque redibat, imperium sibi cum ac summatum quisque petebat. inde magistratum partim docuere creare iuraque constituere, ut vellent legibus uti. nam genus humanum, defessum vi colere aevom, ex inimicitiis languebat; quo magis ipsum sponte sua cecidit sub leges artaque iura. acrius ex ira quod enim se quisque parabat ulcisci quam nunc concessumst legibus aequis, hanc ob rem est homines pertaesum vi colere aevom. inde metus maculat poenarum praemia vitae. circumretit enim vis atque iniuria quemque atque unde exortast, ad eum plerumque revertit, nec facilest placidam ac pacatam degere vitam qui violat factis communia foedera pacis. etsi fallit enim divom genus humanumque, perpetuo tamen id fore clam diffidere debet; quippe ubi se multi per somnia saepe loquentes aut morbo delirantes protraxe ferantur et celata mala in medium et peccata dedisse.
Now what cause spread abroad the divinities of the gods through great nations, and filled the cities with altars, and saw to the undertaking of solemn rites— rites that now flourish in great affairs and places— whence even now is implanted in mortals the dread that raises new shrines of the gods over the whole circle of the lands and compels men to throng them on festal days— it is not so hard to render the account in words. For indeed, even then, the mortal generations saw with the waking mind the surpassing faces of the gods, and still more in sleep, with their marvelous bulk of body. To these, then, they assigned sense, because they seemed to move their limbs and to utter haughty voices to suit their glorious face and their ample strength. And they gave them eternal life, because their faces were ever supplied afresh and their form remained, and, above all, because they thought that beings endowed with such great strength could not lightly be overcome by any force. And they thought them far surpassing in their fortunes, because the fear of death troubled none of them, and at the same time because in dreams they saw them perform many and marvelous things and yet take no labor from it themselves. Besides, they saw the workings of the sky turn in fixed order, and the varied seasons of the year, and they could not learn by what causes this came about. So they made it their refuge to hand over all things to the gods and to make all things bend at their nod. And they set the seats and the precincts of the gods in the sky, because through the sky the night and the moon are seen to roll, the moon, day and night, and the stern signs of night, and the night-wandering torches of the sky and the flying flames, clouds, sun, rains, snow, winds, lightnings, hail, and the swift roars and the great murmurs of menace.
Nunc quae causa deum per magnas numina gentis pervulgarit et ararum compleverit urbis suscipiendaque curarit sollemnia sacra, quae nunc in magnis florent sacra rebus locisque, unde etiam nunc est mortalibus insitus horror, qui delubra deum nova toto suscitat orbi terrarum et festis cogit celebrare diebus, non ita difficilest rationem reddere verbis. quippe etenim iam tum divom mortalia saecla egregias animo facies vigilante videbant et magis in somnis mirando corporis auctu. his igitur sensum tribuebant propterea quod membra movere videbantur vocesque superbas mittere pro facie praeclara et viribus amplis. aeternamque dabant vitam, quia semper eorum subpeditabatur facies et forma manebat, et tamen omnino quod tantis viribus auctos non temere ulla vi convinci posse putabant. fortunisque ideo longe praestare putabant, quod mortis timor haut quemquam vexaret eorum, et simul in somnis quia multa et mira videbant efficere et nullum capere ipsos inde laborem. praeterea caeli rationes ordine certo et varia annorum cernebant tempora verti nec poterant quibus id fieret cognoscere causis. ergo perfugium sibi habebant omnia divis tradere et illorum nutu facere omnia flecti. in caeloque deum sedes et templa locarunt, per caelum volvi quia nox et luna videtur, luna dies et nox et noctis signa severa noctivagaeque faces caeli flammaeque volantes, nubila sol imbres nix venti fulmina grando et rapidi fremitus et murmura magna minarum.
O unhappy race of men, when it assigned such deeds to the gods and joined to them bitter wraths! What groans did they then beget for themselves, what wounds for us, what tears for our children after us! Nor is it any piety to be seen often, veiled, turning toward a stone and drawing near to every altar, nor to fall prostrate on the ground and to spread the palms before the shrines of the gods, nor to sprinkle the altars with much blood of beasts, nor to link vow to vow, but rather to be able to look on all things with a mind at peace. For when we look up at the celestial precincts of the great world, and the aether studded above with glittering stars, and the courses of the sun and moon come into mind, then that care too, weighed down in our breasts by other ills, begins to rouse and lift its wakened head: lest, by chance, there be over us some boundless power of the gods, which wheels the bright stars in their varied motion; for the poverty of our reasoning tries the doubtful mind, whether there ever was a generative origin of the world, and likewise whether there is an end, up to which the walls of the world and its silent motion can bear this labor, or whether, endowed by divine gift with eternal safety, they can, gliding on through the perpetual reach of time, hold in scorn the strong forces of measureless time.
O genus infelix humanum, talia divis cum tribuit facta atque iras adiunxit acerbas! quantos tum gemitus ipsi sibi, quantaque nobis volnera, quas lacrimas peperere minoribus nostris! nec pietas ullast velatum saepe videri vertier ad lapidem atque omnis accedere ad aras nec procumbere humi prostratum et pandere palmas ante deum delubra nec aras sanguine multo spargere quadrupedum nec votis nectere vota, sed mage pacata posse omnia mente tueri. nam cum suspicimus magni caelestia mundi templa super stellisque micantibus aethera fixum, et venit in mentem solis lunaeque viarum, tunc aliis oppressa malis in pectora cura illa quoque expergefactum caput erigere infit, ne quae forte deum nobis inmensa potestas sit, vario motu quae candida sidera verset; temptat enim dubiam mentem rationis egestas, ecquae nam fuerit mundi genitalis origo, et simul ecquae sit finis, quoad moenia mundi et taciti motus hunc possint ferre laborem, an divinitus aeterna donata salute perpetuo possint aevi labentia tractu inmensi validas aevi contemnere viris.
Besides, whose mind is not gripped tight with dread of the gods, whose limbs do not cringe in terror, when the scorched earth trembles at the horrible stroke of the thunderbolt, and murmurs run across the great sky? Do not peoples and nations tremble, and proud kings, struck with fear of the gods, draw in their limbs, lest for some deed foully done or word proudly spoken the heavy time of paying the penalty has come and grown ripe? And when, too, the utmost force of a violent wind sweeps the commander of a fleet over the waters of the sea, together with his strong legions and his elephants, does he not approach the gods’ peace with vows and seek by prayer, in his terror, peace from the winds and favoring breezes? In vain, since, caught up by the violent whirlwind, he is borne off none the less to the shoals of death. So utterly does some hidden force trample human affairs and seem to tread the beautiful fasces and the cruel axes underfoot and to hold them for its mockery. Finally, when the whole earth totters beneath their feet, and shaken cities fall or, in doubt, threaten to fall, what wonder if the mortal generations despise themselves and leave to the gods great and marvelous powers and forces in the world, to govern all things?
praeterea cui non animus formidine divum contrahitur, cui non correpunt membra pavore, fulminis horribili cum plaga torrida tellus contremit et magnum percurrunt murmura caelum? non populi gentesque tremunt, regesque superbi corripiunt divum percussi membra timore, ne quod ob admissum foede dictumve superbe poenarum grave sit solvendi tempus adauctum? summa etiam cum vis violenti per mare venti induperatorem classis super aequora verrit cum validis pariter legionibus atque elephantis, non divom pacem votis adit ac prece quaesit ventorum pavidus paces animasque secundas? ne quiquam, quoniam violento turbine saepe correptus nihilo fertur minus ad vada leti. usque adeo res humanas vis abdita quaedam opterit et pulchros fascis saevasque secures proculcare ac ludibrio sibi habere videtur. denique sub pedibus tellus cum tota vacillat concussaeque cadunt urbes dubiaeque minantur, quid mirum si se temnunt mortalia saecla atque potestatis magnas mirasque relinquunt in rebus viris divum, quae cuncta gubernent?
For the rest, bronze and gold and iron were discovered, and at the same time the weight of silver and the power of lead, when fire had burned up the huge forests with its blaze on the great mountains—whether the sky had sent down a thunderbolt, or because men waging a woodland war among themselves had carried fire against the enemy to strike terror, or because, drawn on by the richness of the soil, they wished to open up fat fields and to make the country into pasture, or to kill the wild beasts and grow rich with the spoil; for hunting with the pitfall and with fire arose before hedging the glade with nets and rousing it with dogs. Whatever it be, from whatever cause the flaming blaze had eaten up the forests with horrible noise from their deep roots and had baked the earth with fire, there flowed together, through the seething veins, into the hollow places of the earth, a stream of silver and of gold, and of bronze too and lead. And when they saw these, once hardened, afterward shine in the earth with a bright color, they picked them up, taken by their smooth and gleaming charm, and saw that they were shaped in a figure like the imprint of the hollow that each had filled. Then it came home to them that these, melted by heat, could run down into any form and shape of things, and could be drawn out, by hammering, into points as keen and fine as one pleased, so that they might furnish themselves with weapons, and might cut the woods and hew the timber and plane the beams smooth and even bore and pierce and drill them through. And they made ready to do this with silver and gold no less than at first with the strong, violent force of bronze— in vain, since their power gave way, conquered, and they could not equally endure the hard toil. For bronze was held in higher price, and gold lay despised because of its uselessness, blunted with its dull edge; now bronze lies low, and gold has risen to the highest honor. So rolling time changes the seasons of things. What was once in price comes at last to no honor; and something else takes its place and comes forth out of contempt, and day by day is sought the more, and, once found, flourishes in praises, and is held in marvelous honor among mortals.
Quod super est, ae s at que aurum ferrumque repertumst et simul argenti pondus plumbique potestas, ignis ubi ingentis silvas ardore cremarat montibus in magnis, seu caelo fulmine misso, sive quod inter se bellum silvestre gerentes hostibus intulerant ignem formidinis ergo, sive quod inducti terrae bonitate volebant pandere agros pinguis et pascua reddere rura, sive feras interficere et ditescere praeda; nam fovea atque igni prius est venarier ortum quam saepire plagis saltum canibusque ciere. quicquid id est, qua cumque e causa flammeus ardor horribili sonitu silvas exederat altis a radicibus et terram percoxerat igni, manabat venis ferventibus in loca terrae concava conveniens argenti rivus et auri, aeris item et plumbi. quae cum concreta videbant posterius claro in terra splendere colore, tollebant nitido capti levique lepore, et simili formata videbant esse figura atque lacunarum fuerant vestigia cuique. tum penetrabat eos posse haec liquefacta calore quamlibet in formam et faciem decurrere rerum, et prorsum quamvis in acuta ac tenvia posse mucronum duci fastigia procudendo, ut sibi tela parent silvasque ut caedere possint materiemque dolare et levia radere tigna et terebrare etiam ac pertundere perque forare. nec minus argento facere haec auroque parabant quam validi primum violentis viribus aeris, ne quiquam, quoniam cedebat victa potestas nec poterant pariter durum sufferre laborem. nam fuit in pretio magis aes aurumque iacebat propter inutilitatem hebeti mucrone retusum; nunc iacet aes, aurum in summum successit honorem. sic volvenda aetas commutat tempora rerum. quod fuit in pretio, fit nullo denique honore; porro aliud succedit et e contemptibus exit inque dies magis adpetitur floretque repertum laudibus et miro est mortalis inter honore.
Now in what way the nature of iron was found out it is easy for you, Memmius, to learn for yourself. The ancient arms were hands, nails, and teeth, and stones, and likewise the broken branches of the woods, and flame and fire, once these were first known. Afterward the force of iron and of bronze was discovered. And the use of bronze was known before that of iron, since its nature is more workable and its supply greater. With bronze they worked the soil of the earth, and with bronze they stirred up the waves of war and sowed vast wounds and seized the cattle and the fields; for all things, naked and unarmed, yielded easily to them in their armor. Then by little the iron sword came forward, and the shape of the bronze sickle was turned to scorn, and with iron they began to cleave the soil of the earth, and the contests of doubtful war were made even. And it was earlier, in arms, to mount upon a horse’s ribs and to guide it with the rein and to be strong with the right hand, than to try the perils of war with the two-horsed car. And the two-horsed car came before yoking two pairs together, and before mounting, armed, the scythe-bearing chariots. Then the Carthaginians taught the Lucanian oxen, with towered body, grim, snake-handed, to bear the wounds of war and to throw into confusion the great companies of Mars. So grim discord begot one thing out of another, a horror to the human nations in arms, and day by day added increase to the terrors of war.
Nunc tibi quo pacto ferri natura reperta sit facilest ipsi per te cognoscere, Memmi. arma antiqua manus ungues dentesque fuerunt et lapides et item silvarum fragmina rami et flamma atque ignes, post quam sunt cognita primum. posterius ferri vis est aerisque reperta. et prior aeris erat quam ferri cognitus usus, quo facilis magis est natura et copia maior. aere solum terrae tractabant, aereque belli miscebant fluctus et vulnera vasta serebant et pecus atque agros adimebant; nam facile ollis omnia cedebant armatis nuda et inerma. inde minutatim processit ferreus ensis versaque in obprobrium species est falcis ahenae, et ferro coepere solum proscindere terrae exaequataque sunt creperi certamina belli. et prius est armatum in equi conscendere costas et moderarier hunc frenis dextraque vigere quam biiugo curru belli temptare pericla. et biiugo prius est quam bis coniungere binos et quam falciferos armatum escendere currus. inde boves Lucas turrito corpore, tetras, anguimanus, belli docuerunt volnera Poeni sufferre et magnas Martis turbare catervas. sic alid ex alio peperit discordia tristis, horribile humanis quod gentibus esset in armis, inque dies belli terroribus addidit augmen.
They tried even bulls in the service of war, and made trial of sending savage boars against the enemy. And some sent mighty lions before them with armed trainers and savage keepers, who might govern them and hold them in with chains— in vain, since, hot with the slaughter all mingled together, the savage beasts threw the squadrons into confusion with no distinction, shaking everywhere the terrifying crests of their heads, and the horsemen could not soothe the breasts of their horses, terrified by the roaring, nor turn them with the rein against the foe. The lionesses, provoked, flung their bodies in a leap on every side, and faced those coming against them with open jaws, and tore down from behind men who did not look for it, and, clinging fast, gave them, conquered, to the earth by their wounds, fastened on with strong bites and hooked claws. And the bulls tossed their own people and trampled them with their feet and gored the flanks and bellies of the horses from beneath with their horns, and tore up the ground with menacing mind. And the boars cut down their allies with their strong tusks, savagely staining with their own blood the weapons broken in them— staining with their own blood the weapons broken upon them— and dealt out the mingled ruin of horsemen and foot. For the beasts of burden swerved aside to avoid the fierce thrusts of the tusks, or, rearing, struck for the winds with their hooves— in vain, since you might see them, their sinews cut beneath, collapse and strew the ground with a heavy fall. Any that they had thought tamed enough beforehand at home, they saw boil over in the thick of the action amid wounds, shouting, flight, terror, uproar, nor could they bring back any part of them; for every kind of beast scattered in all directions, as now the Lucanian oxen, cruelly mangled by the iron, often scatter, after they have dealt their own side many a savage hurt.
Temptarunt etiam tauros in moenere belli expertique sues saevos sunt mittere in hostis. et validos partim prae se misere leones cum doctoribus armatis saevisque magistris, qui moderarier his possent vinclisque tenere, ne quiquam, quoniam permixta caede calentes turbabant saevi nullo discrimine turmas, terrificas capitum quatientis undique cristas, nec poterant equites fremitu perterrita equorum pectora mulcere et frenis convertere in hostis. inritata leae iaciebant corpora saltu undique et adversum venientibus ora patebant et nec opinantis a tergo deripiebant deplexaeque dabant in terram volnere victos, morsibus adfixae validis atque unguibus uncis. iactabantque suos tauri pedibusque terebant et latera ac ventres hauribant supter equorum cornibus et terram minitanti mente ruebant. et validis socios caedebant dentibus apri tela infracta suo tinguentes sanguine saevi in se fracta suo tinguentes sanguine tela, permixtasque dabant equitum peditumque ruinas. nam transversa feros exibant dentis adactus iumenta aut pedibus ventos erecta petebant, ne quiquam, quoniam ab nervis succisa videres concidere atque gravi terram consternere casu. si quos ante domi domitos satis esse putabant, effervescere cernebant in rebus agundis volneribus clamore fuga terrore tumultu, nec poterant ullam partem redducere eorum; diffugiebat enim varium genus omne ferarum, ut nunc saepe boves Lucae ferro male mactae diffugiunt, fera facta suis cum multa dedere.
But they willed to do this not so much in hope of conquering as to give the enemy something to groan at, and to perish themselves— those who distrusted their numbers and were without arms, if indeed they ever did it. But I am scarcely brought to believe that, beforehand, they could not in their minds foresee and see that a common and foul evil was going to come about; and you could more readily maintain that this was done somewhere in the various worlds created by various means than on any one fixed world of the lands.
Sed facere id non tam vincendi spe voluerunt; quam dare quod gemerent hostes, ipsique perire, qui numero diffidebant armisque vacabant, si fuit ut facerent. sed vix adducor ut ante non quierint animo praesentire atque videre, quam commune malum fieret foedumque, futurum. et magis id possis factum contendere in omni in variis mundis varia ratione creatis, quam certo atque uno terrarum quolibet orbi.
Plaited clothing came before the woven covering. The woven comes after iron, since by iron the loom is made ready, nor in any other way can things so smooth be fashioned— the treadles and the spindles, the shuttles and the ringing rods. And nature compelled the men to work wool before the womenfolk; for the whole male kind far surpasses in craft and is much more skillful; until the stern farmers turned it to a reproach, so that they were willing to yield it to women’s hands and themselves to bear the hard toil alike, and to harden their limbs and hands in hard work.
Nexilis ante fuit vestis quam textile tegmen. textile post ferrumst, quia ferro tela paratur, nec ratione alia possunt tam levia gigni insilia ac fusi, radii, scapique sonantes. et facere ante viros lanam natura coëgit quam muliebre genus; nam longe praestat in arte et sollertius est multo genus omne virile; agricolae donec vitio vertere severi, ut muliebribus id manibus concedere vellent atque ipsi pariter durum sufferre laborem atque opere in duro durarent membra manusque.
But the pattern of sowing and the origin of grafting was first nature herself, the creatress of things, since the berries and acorns falling from the trees gave forth in due season swarms of shoots beneath them; whence, too, it pleased men to engraft slips upon the boughs and to bury new shoots in the ground throughout the fields. Then they tried one kind of tilling after another on their sweet plot, and saw the wild fruits grow gentle in the ground through coaxing and fond cultivation. And day by day more they forced the woods to retreat up the mountain and to yield the lower ground to cultivation, that they might have meadows, pools, streams, crops, and glad vineyards on the hills and plains, and that the gray-green strip of olives might run, marking the boundaries between, spread out over hillocks and valleys and plains; as now you see all things picked out with varied charm, which men adorn by setting sweet fruit-trees between, and enclose, planting fruitful orchards round about.
At specimen sationis et insitionis origo ipsa fuit rerum primum natura creatrix, arboribus quoniam bacae glandesque caducae tempestiva dabant pullorum examina supter; unde etiam libitumst stirpis committere ramis et nova defodere in terram virgulta per agros. inde aliam atque aliam culturam dulcis agelli temptabant fructusque feros mansuescere terra cernebant indulgendo blandeque colendo. inque dies magis in montem succedere silvas cogebant infraque locum concedere cultis, prata lacus rivos segetes vinetaque laeta collibus et campis ut haberent, atque olearum caerula distinguens inter plaga currere posset per tumulos et convallis camposque profusa; ut nunc esse vides vario distincta lepore omnia, quae pomis intersita dulcibus ornant arbustisque tenent felicibus opsita circum.
But to mimic with the mouth the liquid voices of birds came long before men could grace smooth songs with singing and delight the ear. And the whistlings of the west wind through the hollow reeds first taught the country folk to blow into hollow stalks. Then by little they learned the sweet complainings that the pipe pours forth, struck by the fingers of the players— the pipe found out among the trackless groves and woods and glades, in the lonely places of the shepherds and their godlike leisure. So, little by little, time brings each thing forth into the midst, and reason draws it up into the coasts of light. These things soothed and delighted their minds when they were full of food; for then all things are welcome. And so, often, stretched together on the soft grass beside a stream of water, under the boughs of a high tree, at no great cost they kept their bodies happily, above all when the weather smiled and the seasons of the year painted the green grasses with flowers. Then jokes, then talk, then sweet laughter were wont to be; for then the rustic muse was in its vigor. Then glad wantonness moved them to wreathe head and shoulders with plaited garlands of flowers and leaves, and to step out of time, moving their limbs clumsily, and to strike with a clumsy foot their mother earth; whence arose smiles and sweet laughter, because all these things, being then new, were the more in their prime. And from this came solaces for the wakeful in place of sleep: to lead the voice in many ways and to wind the songs and to run the curved lip over the reed-pipes; whence even now the watchmen keep up these received customs. And they have learned to keep time, and yet not a whit do they reap a greater sweetness from the enjoyment than the woodland race of the earth-born once reaped. For what is here at hand, unless we have known something sweeter before, pleases above all and seems to be the best, and, as a rule, that later thing, when found to be better, destroys it and changes our feelings toward all the former things. So a loathing of the acorn began, so those couches strewn and heaped with grass and leaves were left behind. The skin, too, the garment of beasts, fell into contempt; which I think was then found to bring such envy that the man who first wore it met death by ambush, and yet, torn apart among them, it perished in much blood and could not be turned to any profit. Then, therefore, it was skins; now it is gold and purple that vex the life of men with cares and wear them out with war; wherefore the greater fault, I think, has settled upon us. For cold tortured the naked earth-born when they were without skins; but it does us no harm to go without a garment of purple, fitted with gold and great figures, so long as there is some common one that can keep off the cold.
At liquidas avium voces imitarier ore ante fuit multo quam levia carmina cantu concelebrare homines possent aurisque iuvare. et zephyri cava per calamorum sibila primum agrestis docuere cavas inflare cicutas. inde minutatim dulcis didicere querellas, tibia quas fundit digitis pulsata canentum, avia per nemora ac silvas saltusque reperta, per loca pastorum deserta atque otia dia. sic unum quicquid paulatim protrahit aetas in medium ratioque in luminis eruit oras. haec animos ollis mulcebant atque iuvabant cum satiate cibi; nam tum sunt omnia cordi. saepe itaque inter se prostrati in gramine molli propter aquae rivom sub ramis arboris altae. non magnis opibus iucunde corpora habebant, praesertim cum tempestas ridebat et anni tempora pingebant viridantis floribus herbas. tum ioca, tum sermo, tum dulces esse cachinni consuerant; agrestis enim tum musa vigebat. tum caput atque umeros plexis redimire coronis floribus et foliis lascivia laeta movebat, atque extra numerum procedere membra moventes duriter et duro terram pede pellere matrem; unde oriebantur risus dulcesque cachinni, omnia quod nova tum magis haec et mira vigebant. et vigilantibus hinc aderant solacia somno ducere multimodis voces et flectere cantus et supera calamos unco percurrere labro; unde etiam vigiles nunc haec accepta tuentur. et numerum servare genus didicere, neque hilo maiore interea capiunt dulcedine fructum quam silvestre genus capiebat terrigenarum. nam quod adest praesto, nisi quid cognovimus ante suavius, in primis placet et pollere videtur, posteriorque fere melior res illa reperta perdit et immutat sensus ad pristina quaeque. sic odium coepit glandis, sic illa relicta strata cubilia sunt herbis et frondibus aucta. pellis item cecidit vestis contempta ferina; quam reor invidia tali tunc esse repertam, ut letum insidiis qui gessit primus obiret, et tamen inter eos distractam sanguine multo disperiise neque in fructum convertere quisse. tunc igitur pelles, nunc aurum et purpura curis exercent hominum vitam belloque fatigant; quo magis in nobis, ut opinor, culpa resedit. frigus enim nudos sine pellibus excruciabat terrigenas; at nos nil laedit veste carere purpurea atque auro signisque ingentibus apta, dum plebeia tamen sit, quae defendere possit.
Therefore the race of men toils in vain and to no purpose forever, and consumes its life in empty cares, doubtless because it has not learned what the limit of having is, and altogether up to what point true pleasure grows; and this, little by little, has carried life out into the deep and stirred up from the bottom the great surges of war. But the watchmen of the world, the sun and the moon, circling round with their light the great revolving precinct of the sky, taught men full well that the seasons of the year come round and that the matter is carried on by a fixed plan and in a fixed order. Now, fenced in by strong towers, they passed their life, and the land was tilled, divided and parceled out; then the sea was abloom with the sail-flying ships of the deep, and now they had auxiliaries and allies by sworn covenant, when the poets began to hand down deeds done in their songs; nor much before that were letters discovered. For this reason our age cannot look back on what was done before, except where reasoning shows the tracks.
Ergo hominum genus in cassum frustraque laborat semper et in curis consumit inanibus aevom, ni mirum quia non cognovit quae sit habendi finis et omnino quoad crescat vera voluptas; idque minutatim vitam provexit in altum et belli magnos commovit funditus aestus. at vigiles mundi magnum versatile templum sol et luna suo lustrantes lumine circum perdocuere homines annorum tempora verti et certa ratione geri rem atque ordine certo. Iam validis saepti degebant turribus aevom, et divisa colebatur discretaque tellus, tum mare velivolis florebat navibus ponti, auxilia ac socios iam pacto foedere habebant, carminibus cum res gestas coepere poëtae tradere; nec multo prius sunt elementa reperta. propterea quid sit prius actum respicere aetas nostra nequit, nisi qua ratio vestigia monstrat.
Ships and the tilling of fields, walls, laws, arms, roads, clothing, and the rest of this kind, all the prizes and likewise the delights of life to their very root— songs, paintings, and the polished, finely wrought statues— practice, together with the experience of the untiring mind, taught little by little, as men advanced step by step. So, little by little, time brings each thing forth into the midst, and reason raises it into the coasts of light; for they saw one thing grow clear out of another in their minds, until they came to the topmost peak of the arts.
Navigia atque agri culturas moenia leges arma vias vestes et cetera de genere horum, praemia, delicias quoque vitae funditus omnis, carmina, picturas et daedala signa polita usus et impigrae simul experientia mentis paulatim docuit pedetemptim progredientis. sic unum quicquid paulatim protrahit aetas in medium ratioque in luminis erigit oras; namque alid ex alio clarescere corde videbant, artibus ad summum donec venere cacumen.
Athens of glorious name was first, long ago, to deal out the grain-bearing crops to suffering mortals, and remade life, and laid down laws, and first gave the sweet solaces of life, when she bore a man found to have such a heart in him, who once poured out all truth from a truth-telling mouth; and though he is dead, because of his godlike discoveries his old renown, spread far, is borne now to the sky. For when he saw that nearly everything which need demands for survival was already provided for mortals, and that life, so far as it could, was set secure— that men overflowed with riches, honor, and praise, and grew great on the good name of their children— yet that none, for all that, had a heart less anxious at home, and that the mind, ungrateful, harried life without any pause, and was forced to rage with hostile complaints, he understood that it was the vessel itself that worked the flaw, and that by its flaw all things were spoiled within, whatever good came to it, gathered from outside; partly because he saw it leaky and full of holes, so that by no means could it ever be filled, partly because he saw it taint, as with a foul savor, all things within, whatever it took in. And so he cleansed our breasts with truth-telling words, and set a limit to desire and to fear, and set forth what the highest good is, toward which we all strain, and showed the way, the narrow track by which we might press straight toward it on a true course; and what evil there is in mortal affairs everywhere, which arises by nature and flits about in many forms, whether by chance or by force, since nature had so arranged it, and from what gates it befits us to meet each one; and he proved that the human race, for the most part in vain, rolls within its breast the gloomy waves of care. For just as children tremble and fear everything in the blind dark, so we in the light sometimes fear things no more to be feared than what children shudder at in the dark and imagine will come to pass. This terror of the mind, therefore, and this darkness must be scattered not by the rays of the sun nor the bright shafts of day, but by the outward look of nature and her law. So all the more will I go on to weave my work through with words.
Primae frugiparos fetus mortalibus aegris dididerunt quondam praeclaro nomine Athenae et recreaverunt vitam legesque rogarunt et primae dederunt solacia dulcia vitae, cum genuere virum tali cum corde repertum, omnia veridico qui quondam ex ore profudit; cuius et extincti propter divina reperta divolgata vetus iam ad caelum gloria fertur. nam cum vidit hic ad victum quae flagitat usus omnia iam ferme mortalibus esse parata et, pro quam possent, vitam consistere tutam, divitiis homines et honore et laude potentis affluere atque bona gnatorum excellere fama, nec minus esse domi cuiquam tamen anxia cordi, atque animi ingratis vitam vexare sine ulla pausa atque infestis cogi saevire querellis, intellegit ibi vitium vas efficere ipsum omniaque illius vitio corrumpier intus, quae conlata foris et commoda cumque venirent; partim quod fluxum pertusumque esse videbat, ut nulla posset ratione explerier umquam, partim quod taetro quasi conspurcare sapore omnia cernebat, quae cumque receperat, intus. veridicis igitur purgavit pectora dictis et finem statuit cuppedinis atque timoris exposuitque bonum summum, quo tendimus omnes, quid foret, atque viam monstravit, tramite parvo qua possemus ad id recto contendere cursu, quidve mali foret in rebus mortalibus passim, quod fieret naturali varieque volaret seu casu seu vi, quod sic natura parasset, et quibus e portis occurri cuique deceret, et genus humanum frustra plerumque probavit volvere curarum tristis in pectore fluctus. nam vel uti pueri trepidant atque omnia caecis in tenebris metuunt, sic nos in luce timemus inter dum, nihilo quae sunt metuenda magis quam quae pueri in tenebris pavitant finguntque futura. hunc igitur terrorem animi tenebrasque necessest non radii solis nec lucida tela diei discutiant, sed naturae species ratioque. quo magis inceptum pergam pertexere dictis.
And since I have taught that the world’s quarters are mortal, and that heaven stands as a thing of born body, and that most of what happens and must happen within it is dissolved—learn now what else remains; since once I have set out to mount the famous chariot, do you mark out for me the course as I run to the bright finish-line prescribed at the track’s far end, clever Calliope, Muse, rest of men and delight of gods, that with you as guide I may seize the crown with notable praise. […that the winds arise, that all may be calmed again as they were, may turn back, their fury appeased.] The other things that mortals watch come to pass on earth and in heaven—when often they hang in fearful minds and make their spirits low with dread of the gods and press them down to the ground, because ignorance of causes forces them to refer events to the gods’ command and to grant them the kingship. For the causes of these works they can by no reasoning see, and they think they happen by divine power. For those who have well learned that the gods lead a carefree age, if even so they wonder meanwhile by what means each thing can be done—above all in those things that are seen overhead in the coasts of the upper air— are carried back again into the old superstitions and take to themselves harsh masters, whom the wretches believe can do all things, ignorant of what can be, what cannot, and finally by what law each thing’s power is bounded, and the deep-set boundary-stone that holds it fast; and so all the more they are carried astray by blind reasoning. Unless you spew these things from your mind and send far off all thought unworthy of the gods and alien to their peace, the holy powers of the gods, slighted by you, will often harm you—not that the supreme might of the gods can be violated, so that out of wrath it would drink in the craving for sharp revenge, but because you will imagine for yourself that they, the quiet ones, at rest in their tranquil peace, roll great waves of wrath; and you will not approach the shrines of the gods with a calm heart, nor will you have the strength to take in, with the mind’s tranquil peace, the images that are borne from their holy body into the minds of men, the heralds of the divine form. From this you can see what kind of life will follow. And though much has gone forth from me, much yet remains, and must be set off with polished verses: the law of heaven and of its fires must be grasped, storms and bright thunderbolts must be sung— what they do, and from what cause each is carried— so that you do not tremble, witless, dividing heaven into quarters, wondering from which the flying fire has come, or to which side it turned itself from here, in what way it worked its way through the walled places, and how, having got the mastery, it took itself out. For the causes of these works they can by no reasoning see, and they think they happen by divine power.
Et quoniam docui mundi mortalia templa esse et nativo consistere corpore caelum, et quae cumque in eo fiunt fierique necessest pleraque dissolui, qui restant percipe porro, quandoquidem semel insignem conscendere currum tu mihi supremae praescripta ad candida callis currenti spatium praemonstra, callida musa Calliope, requies hominum divomque voluptas, te duce ut insigni capiam cum laude coronam. ventorum existant, placentur ut omnia rursum quae fuerint, sint placato conversa furore. cetera quae fieri in terris caeloque tuentur mortales, pavidis cum pendent mentibus saepe et faciunt animos humilis formidine divom depressosque premunt ad terram propterea quod ignorantia causarum conferre deorum cogit ad imperium res et concedere regnum. quorum operum causas nulla ratione videre possunt ac fieri divino numine rentur. nam bene qui didicere deos securum agere aevom, si tamen interea mirantur qua ratione quaeque geri possint, praesertim rebus in illis quae supera caput aetheriis cernuntur in oris, rursus in antiquas referuntur religionis et dominos acris adsciscunt, omnia posse quos miseri credunt, ignari quid queat esse, quid nequeat, finita potestas denique cuique qua nam sit ratione atque alte terminus haerens; quo magis errantes caeca ratione feruntur. quae nisi respuis ex animo longeque remittis dis indigna putare alienaque pacis eorum, delibata deum per te tibi numina sancta saepe oberunt; non quo violari summa deum vis possit, ut ex ira poenas petere inbibat acris, sed quia tute tibi placida cum pace quietos constitues magnos irarum volvere fluctus, nec delubra deum placido cum pectore adibis, nec de corpore quae sancto simulacra feruntur in mentes hominum divinae nuntia formae, suscipere haec animi tranquilla pace valebis. inde videre licet qualis iam vita sequatur. quam quidem ut a nobis ratio verissima longe reiciat, quamquam sunt a me multa profecta, multa tamen restant et sunt ornanda politis versibus; est ratio caeli caelique ignisque tenenda, sunt tempestates et fulmina clara canenda, quid faciant et qua de causa cumque ferantur; ne trepides caeli divisis partibus amens, unde volans ignis pervenerit aut in utram se verterit hinc partim, quo pacto per loca saepta insinuarit, et hinc dominatus ut extulerit se. quorum operum causas nulla ratione videre possunt ac fieri divino numine rentur.
To begin: the blue of heaven is shaken with thunder because the clouds of the upper air, flying high, collide as the winds fight against each other. For no sound comes from a clear quarter of the sky; but wherever the clouds are in a denser column, from there the more often a roar arises with a great rumble. Besides, clouds can be neither of so dense a body as stones and timber are, nor again so thin as the mists and the flying smoke; for they would either have to fall, pressed down by dead weight like stones, or, like smoke, could not hold together, nor keep within them the chill snows and the showers of hail. They give a sound, too, over the levels of the open world, as an awning sometimes, stretched above great theaters, gives a crack as it is tossed among the poles and beams, and sometimes, ripped, it rages in the wanton breezes and mimics the brittle sound of sheets of paper; for that kind too you can recognize in thunder, or when a hanging garment and flying papers are turned and flapped through the air by the lashings of the wind. For it sometimes happens, too, that the clouds cannot so much collide head-on as go from the side, grazing each other’s bodies, drawn out, with opposite motion; from which that dry sound rubs at our ears and is drawn out long, until they have come forth from the narrow places. In this way too all things often seem to tremble, struck with heavy thunder, and the mighty walls of the capacious world to leap apart, suddenly torn, when a gathered squall of strong wind has all at once twisted itself into the clouds, and shut up there, with its whirling eddy, forces the cloud more and more on every side to grow hollow, with a thickened body around; then, after its force and keen assault have weakened it, the cloud, split, gives a crash with a terror-rattling sound. No wonder—since a small bladder full of air often, when burst suddenly, gives no small sound. There is reasoning too in how, when winds blow through the clouds, they make a sound; for we often see clouds carried branching and rough, in many fashions; just so, when the gusts of the northwest wind blow through a thick wood, the leaves give a sound and the branches a crash. It happens too sometimes that the swift force of a strong wind rends the cloud, breaking through it with straight assault; for what a blast can do there, the plain fact teaches, here below, where it is gentler, when even so on the high ground it tears up trees, uprooting them from their deepest roots. There are waves, too, running through the clouds, which give as it were a murmur, breaking heavily; just as happens in deep rivers and the great sea, when the surge is breaking. It happens too, when the burning force of a thunderbolt falls from cloud into cloud; if the receiving cloud chances to have much moisture, it slaughters the fire at once with a great roar; as white-hot iron from the fiery furnaces hisses, when we have plunged it into cold water nearby. But if a drier cloud receives the fire, it is kindled and burns at once with a huge sound, as if a flame should wander through laurel-haired mountains, burning them up with the great assault of a whirlwind; nor is anything burned with a more terrible crackling sound than the Delphic laurel of Phoebus, when the flame consumes it. Lastly, the great crash of ice and the downfall of hail often give a sound, high up in the great clouds; for when the wind packs them tight, the mountains of storm-cloud, frozen and mixed with hail, are broken into a narrow space.
Principio tonitru quatiuntur caerula caeli propterea quia concurrunt sublime volantes aetheriae nubes contra pugnantibus ventis. nec fit enim sonitus caeli de parte serena, verum ubi cumque magis denso sunt agmine nubes, tam magis hinc magno fremitus fit murmure saepe. praeterea neque tam condenso corpore nubes esse queunt quam sunt lapides ac ligna, neque autem tam tenues quam sunt nebulae fumique volantes; nam cadere aut bruto deberent pondere pressae ut lapides, aut ut fumus constare nequirent nec cohibere nives gelidas et grandinis imbris. Dant etiam sonitum patuli super aequora mundi, carbasus ut quondam magnis intenta theatris dat crepitum malos inter iactata trabesque, inter dum perscissa furit petulantibus auris et fragilis sonitus chartarum commeditatur; id quoque enim genus in tonitru cognoscere possis, aut ubi suspensam vestem chartasque volantis verberibus venti versant planguntque per auras. fit quoque enim inter dum ut non tam concurrere nubes frontibus adversis possint quam de latere ire diverso motu radentes corpora tractim, aridus unde auris terget sonus ille diuque ducitur, exierunt donec regionibus artis. Hoc etiam pacto tonitru concussa videntur omnia saepe gravi tremere et divolsa repente maxima dissiluisse capacis moenia mundi, cum subito validi venti conlecta procella nubibus intorsit sese conclusaque ibidem turbine versanti magis ac magis undique nubem cogit uti fiat spisso cava corpore circum, post ubi conminuit vis eius et impetus acer, tum perterricrepo sonitu dat scissa fragorem. nec mirum, cum plena animae vensicula parva saepe haud dat parvum sonitum displosa repente. Est etiam ratio, cum venti nubila perflant, ut sonitus faciant; etenim ramosa videmus nubila saepe modis multis atque aspera ferri; scilicet ut, crebram silvam cum flamina cauri perflant, dant sonitum frondes ramique fragorem. Fit quoque ut inter dum validi vis incita venti perscindat nubem perfringens impete recto; nam quid possit ibi flatus manifesta docet res, hic, ubi lenior est, in terra cum tamen alta arbusta evolvens radicibus haurit ab imis. sunt etiam fluctus per nubila, qui quasi murmur dant in frangendo graviter; quod item fit in altis fluminibus magnoque mari, cum frangitur aestus. Fit quoque, ubi e nubi in nubem vis incidit ardens fulminis; haec multo si forte umore recepit ignem, continuo magno clamore trucidat; ut calidis candens ferrum e fornacibus olim stridit, ubi in gelidum propter demersimus imbrem. Aridior porro si nubes accipit ignem, uritur ingenti sonitu succensa repente, lauricomos ut si per montis flamma vagetur turbine ventorum comburens impete magno; nec res ulla magis quam Phoebi Delphica laurus terribili sonitu flamma crepitante crematur. Denique saepe geli multus fragor atque ruina grandinis in magnis sonitum dat nubibus alte; ventus enim cum confercit, franguntur in artum concreti montes nimborum et grandine mixti.
It lightens too, when the clouds in their collision have struck out many seeds of fire, as if a stone should strike a stone or iron; for then also the light leaps out and the fire scatters bright sparks. But it comes about that we take in the thunder with our ears after our eyes have seen the flash, because things always reach the ears more slowly than the things that move sight. You may know this from another case: if you see a man felling, far off, a tree grown great with the double-edged axe, it happens that you see the stroke before the blow gives a sound to your ears; so too we see the flash before we take in the thunder, which is sent off together with the fire, from a like cause, born of the same collision. In this way, too, the clouds tinge the regions with flitting light, and the storm flashes with a tremulous assault. When the wind has entered a cloud and, whirling there, has made the hollow cloud thicken, as I taught before, it grows hot by its own swiftness; just as you see all things, heated through by motion, take fire—indeed a ball of lead, in a long course, melts as it spins. So when this fiery wind has rent the black cloud, it scatters seeds of heat, as if pressed out by force all at once, which make the flickering flashes of flame; then the sound follows, which reaches the ears more slowly than the things that come through to the light of our eyes. This happens, of course, in dense clouds, and with them piled high, one above another, in marvelous assault. Do not be deceived because from below we see how broad they are, rather than how high they tower up. For consider—when the winds carry the clouds crosswise through the air, made like to mountains, or when you see them heaped along great mountain-ranges, one upon another, pressing down from above, set in their station, the winds buried on every side: then you can recognize their great masses, and see caves built as it were of overhanging rocks, which, when the winds with the rising storm have filled them, shut in, they chafe with a great murmur in the clouds and threaten, after the manner of wild beasts, in their dens; now here, now there, they send their roars through the clouds, and seeking a way, they whirl about, and roll together the seeds of fire out of the clouds, and so drive many, and spin the flame in the hollow furnaces within, until, the cloud torn open, they have flashed forth aglitter. For this cause too that swift golden color of liquid fire flies down to the earth, because the clouds themselves must hold very many seeds of fire; for when they are without any moisture, their color is mostly flaming and splendid. For of course they must take much from the light of the sun, so that with good reason they redden and pour out fires. When, therefore, the wind, driving these, has crowded them into one place and pressed them, forcing them together, they pour out, squeezed forth, the seeds that make the colors of flame flash. It lightens too when the clouds of heaven grow thin; for when the wind gently parts and dissolves them as they go, those seeds that make the flash must fall unbidden. Then it lightens without foul terror and without sounds, with no uproar at all.
Fulgit item, nubes ignis cum semina multa excussere suo concursu, ceu lapidem si percutiat lapis aut ferrum; nam tum quoque lumen exilit et claras scintillas dissipat ignis. sed tonitrum fit uti post auribus accipiamus, fulgere quam cernant oculi, quia semper ad auris tardius adveniunt quam visum quae moveant res. id licet hinc etiam cognoscere: caedere si quem ancipiti videas ferro procul arboris auctum, ante fit ut cernas ictum quam plaga per auris det sonitum; sic fulgorem quoque cernimus ante quam tonitrum accipimus, pariter qui mittitur igni e simili causa, concursu natus eodem. Hoc etiam pacto volucri loca lumine tingunt nubes et tremulo tempestas impete fulgit. ventus ubi invasit nubem et versatus ibidem fecit ut ante cavam docui spissescere nubem, mobilitate sua fervescit; ut omnia motu percalefacta vides ardescere, plumbea vero glans etiam longo cursu volvenda liquescit. ergo fervidus hic nubem cum perscidit atram, dissipat ardoris quasi per vim expressa repente semina, quae faciunt nictantia fulgura flammae; inde sonus sequitur, qui tardius adlicit auris quam quae perveniunt oculorum ad lumina nostra. scilicet hoc densis fit nubibus et simul alte extructis aliis alias super impete miro. ne tibi sit frudi quod nos inferne videmus quam sint lata magis quam sursum extructa quid extent. contemplator enim, cum montibus adsimulata nubila portabunt venti transversa per auras, aut ubi per magnos montis cumulata videbis insuper esse aliis alia atque urguere superna in statione locata sepultis undique ventis; tum poteris magnas moles cognoscere eorum speluncasque vel ut saxis pendentibus structas cernere, quas venti cum tempestate coorta conplerunt, magno indignantur murmure clausi nubibus in caveisque ferarum more minantur, nunc hinc nunc illinc fremitus per nubila mittunt, quaerentesque viam circum versantur et ignis semina convolvunt e nubibus atque ita cogunt multa rotantque cavis flammam fornacibus intus, donec divolsa fulserunt nube corusci. Hac etiam fit uti de causa mobilis ille devolet in terram liquidi color aureus ignis, semina quod nubes ipsas permulta necessust ignis habere; etenim cum sunt umore sine ullo, flammeus est plerumque colos et splendidus ollis. quippe etenim solis de lumine multa necessest concipere, ut merito rubeant ignesque profundant. hasce igitur cum ventus agens contrusit in unum compressitque locum cogens, expressa profundunt semina, quae faciunt flammae fulgere colores. Fulgit item, cum rarescunt quoque nubila caeli; nam cum ventus eas leviter diducit euntis dissoluitque, cadant ingratius illa necessest semina quae faciunt fulgorem. tum sine taetro terrore atque sonis fulgit nulloque tumultu.
For what remains, of what nature the thunderbolts consist their strokes declare, and the brands burnt by their heat, and the marks, and the traces that breathe heavy fumes of sulphur; for these are signs of fire, not of wind or rain. Besides, they often set the roofs of houses ablaze, and with swift flame lord it within the buildings themselves. This subtlest of fires, beyond all other fires, nature has made of small and nimble bodies, to which nothing at all can stand in the way. For the strong thunderbolt passes through the walls of houses like shout and voice, passes through stones, through bronze, and in a moment makes bronze and gold flow liquid. It contrives, too, that wine should flee at once from jars left whole, because, no doubt, its heat as it comes easily loosens all around and rarefies the vessel’s sides, and, working its way into the wine itself, nimbly dissolves and disperses the first-beginnings of the wine. This the heat of the sun seems unable in an age to do, for all its power, with its dazzling fervor: so much the more nimble and more masterful is this force.
Quod superest, quali natura praedita constent fulmina, declarant ictus et inusta vaporis signa notaeque gravis halantis sulpuris auras; ignis enim sunt haec non venti signa neque imbris. praeterea saepe accendunt quoque tecta domorum et celeri flamma dominantur in aedibus ipsis. hunc tibi subtilem cum primis ignibus ignem constituit natura minutis mobilibusque corporibus, cui nil omnino obsistere possit. transit enim validum fulmen per saepta domorum clamor ut ac voces, transit per saxa, per aera et liquidum puncto facit aes in tempore et aurum. curat item vasis integris vina repente diffugiant, quia ni mirum facile omnia circum conlaxat rareque facit lateramina vasis adveniens calor eius et insinuatus in ipsum mobiliter soluens differt primordia vini. quod solis vapor aetatem non posse videtur efficere usque adeo pollens fervore corusco. tanto mobilior vis et dominantior haec est.
Now in what way they are begotten, and with so great an assault that they can burst open towers with their stroke, overthrow houses, tear away rafters and beams, heave up and shift the monuments of men, take the breath from men, lay low cattle everywhere, and by what force they can do all else of this kind— I will set forth, nor keep you longer with promises. Thunderbolts must be thought to be begotten from thick clouds piled high; for never from a clear sky nor from lightly thickened clouds are they sent. For that this happens beyond doubt the plain fact teaches; namely, that then the clouds grow dense through all the air, so that we suppose all the darkness has left Acheron and filled the great hollows of the sky— to such a degree, when the foul night of storm has risen, do the faces of black dread hang overhead, when the storm begins to forge its thunderbolts. Besides, very often a black storm-cloud over the sea, like a stream of pitch let down from the sky, so falls upon the waves, swollen, far off, with darkness, and draws on the black storm heavy with thunderbolts and squalls, itself filled above all with fire and winds, so that even on land men shudder and seek their roofs. So, then, above our head must we think there is a deep storm; for the clouds would not bury the lands in such darkness, unless many were built up on high, many, with the sun shut out; nor could they, as they come, oppress us with so great a rain as to make the rivers overflow and the fields swim, were the upper air not piled high with clouds. Here, then, all is full of winds and fires; and so on every side come roarings and flashes. For of course I taught above that the hollow clouds hold very many seeds of heat, and must take in many from the rays of the sun and from their burning. So when the same wind that drives them into some one place has squeezed out many seeds of heat and mixed itself together with that fire, a whirlwind, working its way in, spins in the narrow place and sharpens the thunderbolt in the hot furnaces within; for it is kindled in two ways: it grows hot both by its own swiftness and from contact with the fire. Then, when the force of the wind has glowed through, and the heavy assault of the fire has set in, the ripened thunderbolt, as it were, suddenly rends the cloud, and the roused blaze is borne on, lighting up all places with its quivering fires. A heavy sound follows it, so that the quarters of the sky seem to be crushed, bursting suddenly from above. Then trembling grips the lands heavily, and rumblings run through the high heaven; for then almost the whole storm trembles, shaken, and the roarings are set going. And from this shock follows rain, heavy and abundant, so that all the upper air seems to be turned to rain and, falling headlong, to call back a flood; so great a downpour of sound, with the rending of the cloud and the squall of wind, is sent forth when the burning stroke flies on.
Nunc ea quo pacto gignantur et impete tanto fiant ut possint ictu discludere turris, disturbare domos, avellere tigna trabesque et monimenta virum commoliri atque ciere, exanimare homines, pecudes prosternere passim, cetera de genere hoc qua vi facere omnia possint, expediam neque te in promissis plura morabor. Fulmina gignier e crassis alteque putandumst nubibus extructis; nam caelo nulla sereno nec leviter densis mittuntur nubibus umquam. nam dubio procul hoc fieri manifesta docet res; quod tunc per totum concrescunt aëra nubes, undique uti tenebras omnis Acherunta reamur liquisse et magnas caeli complesse cavernas, aeusque æusque adeo tetra nimborum nocte coorta inpendent atrae formidinis ora superne, ae æ cum commoliri tempestas fulmina coeptat. praeterea persaepe niger quoque per mare nimbus, ut picis e caelo demissum flumen, in undas sic cadit effertus tenebris procul et trahit atram fulminibus gravidam tempestatem atque procellis, ignibus ac ventis cum primis ipse repletus, in terra quoque ut horrescant ac tecta requirant. sic igitur supera nostrum caput esse putandumst tempestatem altam; neque enim caligine tanta obruerent terras, nisi inaedificata superne multa forent multis exempto nubila sole; nec tanto possent venientes opprimere imbri, flumina abundare ut facerent camposque natare, si non extructis foret alte nubibus aether. hic igitur ventis atque ignibus omnia plena sunt; ideo passim fremitus et fulgura fiunt. quippe etenim supra docui permulta vaporis semina habere cavas nubes et multa necessest concipere ex solis radiis ardoreque eorum. hoc ubi ventus eas idem qui cogit in unum forte locum quemvis, expressit multa vaporis semina seque simul cum eo commiscuit igni, insinuatus ibi vortex versatur in arto et calidis acuit fulmen fornacibus intus; nam duplici ratione accenditur: ipse sua cum mobilitate calescit et e contagibus ignis. inde ubi percaluit venti vis et gravis ignis impetus incessit, maturum tum quasi fulmen perscindit subito nubem ferturque coruscis omnia luminibus lustrans loca percitus ardor. quem gravis insequitur sonitus, displosa repente opprimere ut caeli videantur templa superne. inde tremor terras graviter pertemptat et altum murmura percurrunt caelum; nam tota fere tum tempestas concussa tremit fremitusque moventur. quo de concussu sequitur gravis imber et uber, omnis uti videatur in imbrem vertier aether atque ita praecipitans ad diluviem revocare; tantus discidio nubis ventique procella mittitur, ardenti sonitus cum provolat ictu.
There is a time, too, when the roused force of wind from without falls upon a cloud strong with a ripened crest; and when it has rent it, at once down falls that fiery whirl, which by our fathers’ name we call the thunderbolt. This happens likewise toward other quarters, wherever the force has carried it. It happens too, sometimes, that the force of wind, sent without fire, yet catches fire on the way, in its long passage, while it comes, losing in its course certain bodies, the large ones, which cannot pass equally through the air, and, scraping others from the air itself, it carries along small ones, which by mixing make fire as they fly; in much the same way as a ball of lead often grows hot in its course, when, shedding many bodies of coldness, it has taken in fire from the air. It happens too that the very force of the blow rouses fire, when the cold force of wind, sent without fire, has struck; no doubt because, when it has struck with a violent stroke, the elements of heat can flow together both from itself and from that thing which then receives the blow; as, when we strike a stone with iron, fire flies out, nor, because the force of iron is cold, do its seeds of warm flashing rush together any the less at the stroke. So, then, a thing must likewise be kindled by the thunderbolt, if it has chanced to be apt and fit for flames. Nor altogether can the force of wind be utterly cold, that which is sent down from above with such great force, but that, if it is not kindled by fire on the way, it comes at least made lukewarm, mingled with heat.
Est etiam cum vis extrinsecus incita venti incidit in validam maturo culmine nubem; quam cum perscidit, extemplo cadit igneus ille vertex, quem patrio vocitamus nomine fulmen. hoc fit idem in partis alias, quo cumque tulit vis. Fit quoque ut inter dum venti vis missa sine igni igniscat tamen in spatio longoque meatu, dum venit amittens in cursu corpora quaedam grandia, quae nequeunt pariter penetrare per auras, atque alia ex ipso conradens aëre portat parvola, quae faciunt ignem commixta volando; non alia longe ratione ac plumbea saepe fervida fit glans in cursu, cum multa rigoris corpora dimittens ignem concepit in auris. Fit quoque ut ipsius plagae vis excitet ignem, frigida cum venti pepulit vis missa sine igni, ni mirum quia, cum vehementi perculit ictu, confluere ex ipso possunt elementa vaporis et simul ex illa quae tum res excipit ictum; ut, lapidem ferro cum caedimus, evolat ignis, nec, quod frigida vis ferrist, hoc setius illi semina concurrunt calidi fulgoris ad ictum. sic igitur quoque res accendi fulmine debet, opportuna fuit si forte et idonea flammis. nec temere omnino plane vis frigida venti esse potest, ea quae tanta vi missa supernest, quin, prius in cursu si non accenditur igni, at tepefacta tamen veniat commixta calore.
Now the swiftness of the thunderbolt and its heavy stroke— the thunderbolts run their course with so swift a fall— arises because the roused force first gathers itself altogether within the clouds and takes a great effort to go; then, when the cloud has not been able to hold the swelling assault, the force is squeezed out and so flies with marvelous speed, like the missiles that are sent from strong engines of war. Add that it is of small and light elements, nor is it easy for anything to stand against such a nature; for it slips between and penetrates through the rare passages, and so it does not stick, held back by many obstacles in the delaying; for this reason it flies, gliding, with swift assault. Then, since all weights by their nature strain downward of themselves, and when a blow besides is added, the swiftness is doubled and that assault grows heavy, so that the more violently and the more swiftly it scatters with its strokes whatever obstacles delay it, and keeps to its road. Lastly, since it comes with a long assault, it must take on swiftness again and again, which grows as it goes and increases its strong powers and gives strength to the stroke; for it makes all the seeds that are its own be carried, as it were, into one place from straight ahead, flinging them all as they roll into that one course. Perhaps, too, as it comes, it draws from the air itself certain bodies, which kindle its speed by their blows. And it comes unharmed through things and passes through whole many, because the liquid fire travels across through their pores. And it breaks through many, when the bodies of the thunderbolt itself fall upon the bodies of things where their web is held together. Furthermore, it easily dissolves bronze, and gold it suddenly makes molten, because its force is made of small, minute bodies and of light elements, which easily work their way in, and, having worked in, at once dissolve all the knots and loosen the fastenings.
Mobilitas autem fit fulminis et gravis ictus et celeri ferme percurrunt fulmina lapsu, nubibus ipsa quod omnino prius incita se vis colligit et magnum conamen sumit eundi, inde ubi non potuit nubes capere inpetis auctum, exprimitur vis atque ideo volat impete miro, ut validis quae de tormentis missa feruntur. Adde quod e parvis et levibus est elementis, nec facilest tali naturae obsistere quicquam; inter enim fugit ac penetrat per rara viarum, non igitur multis offensibus in remorando haesitat, hanc ob rem celeri volat impete labens. Deinde, quod omnino natura pondera deorsum omnia nituntur, cum plagast addita vero, mobilitas duplicatur et impetus ille gravescit, ut vehementius et citius quae cumque morantur obvia discutiat plagis itinerque sequatur. Denique quod longo venit impete, sumere debet mobilitatem etiam atque etiam, quae crescit eundo et validas auget viris et roborat ictum; nam facit ut quae sint illius semina cumque e regione locum quasi in unum cuncta ferantur, omnia coniciens in eum volventia cursum. Forsitan ex ipso veniens trahat aëre quaedam corpora, quae plagis incendunt mobilitatem. incolumisque venit per res atque integra transit multa, foraminibus liquidus quia transviat ignis. multaque perfringit, cum corpora fulminis ipsa corporibus rerum inciderunt, qua texta tenentur. dissoluit porro facile aes aurumque repente conferve facit, e parvis quia facta minute corporibus vis est et levibus ex elementis, quae facile insinuantur et insinuata repente dissoluont nodos omnis et vincla relaxant.
And most in autumn is the high house of the star-bright sky shaken on every side, and all the earth, and when the flowering season of spring spreads itself open. For in the cold the fires are wanting, and the winds in the heat fail, nor are the clouds of so dense a body. So when the seasons of the sky stand between the two, then all the various causes of the thunderbolt come together. For the very strait of the year mingles cold with heat, of which both are needed by the cloud for the forging of thunderbolts, so that there may be discord among things, and with great uproar the air may surge, raging with fires and winds. For the first part of heat is the last part of cold: that is the spring season; therefore unlike things must fight among themselves and rage when mingled. And when the last heat, mixed with the first cold, rolls round—the time that is called by the name of autumn— here too keen winters clash with summers. For this reason these are to be called the straits of the year, nor is it a wonder, if at that time very many thunderbolts come to be and a turbid storm is stirred in the sky, since on both sides it is troubled with doubtful war, on this side with flames, on that with winds and mingled moisture.
Autumnoque magis stellis fulgentibus alta concutitur caeli domus undique totaque tellus, et cum tempora se veris florentia pandunt. frigore enim desunt ignes ventique calore deficiunt neque sunt tam denso corpore nubes. interutrasque igitur cum caeli tempora constant, tum variae causae concurrunt fulminis omnes. nam fretus ipse anni permiscet frigus ad aestum. quorum utrumque opus est fabricanda ad fulmina nubi, ut discordia sit rerum magnoque tumultu ignibus et ventis furibundus fluctuet aër. prima caloris enim pars est postrema rigoris; tempus id est vernum; quare pugnare necessest dissimilis res inter se turbareque mixtas. et calor extremus primo cum frigore mixtus volvitur, autumni quod fertur nomine tempus, hic quoque confligunt hiemes aestatibus acres. propterea freta sunt haec anni nominitanda, nec mirumst, in eo si tempore plurima fiunt fulmina tempestasque cietur turbida caelo, ancipiti quoniam bello turbatur utrimque, hinc flammis, illinc ventis umoreque mixto.
This is to see into the very nature of the fire-bearing thunderbolt, and to discern by what force it does each thing, not, vainly unrolling the Tyrrhenian chants, to search out the signs of the gods’ hidden mind— from where the flying fire has come, or to which side it turned itself from here, in what way it worked its way through the walled places, and how, having got the mastery, it took itself out, or what harm the stroke of the thunderbolt from the sky can do. But if Jupiter and the other gods shake the glittering regions of heaven with terrifying sound, and hurl the fire wherever each one’s will may be, why do they not bring it about that those whose crime is reckless and abominable, when struck, breathe out flames of the thunderbolt from a pierced breast, a sharp lesson to mortals, and why rather is one, conscious to himself of no foul deed, though innocent, wrapped in flames and caught up, seized suddenly by the heavenly whirlwind and fire? Why, too, do they aim at lonely places and toil in vain? Are they then training their arms and strengthening their muscles? And why do they suffer the Father’s weapon to be blunted in the earth? Why does he himself allow it, and not spare it against his foes? Lastly, why does Jupiter never cast a thunderbolt to the earth and pour out his sounds when the sky on every side is clear? Or, as soon as the clouds have come up, does he himself then descend into them, that from close by he may determine the strokes of his weapon? And with what purpose, besides, does he hurl it into the sea? what charge does he bring against the waves, the liquid mass, the swimming plains? Moreover, if he wishes us to beware the stroke of the thunderbolt, why does he hesitate to let us see it sent? But if he wishes to overwhelm us with fire unawares, why does he thunder from that quarter, so that we can avoid it? Why does he stir up darkness beforehand, and rumblings and roarings? And how can you believe that he sends it into many quarters at once? Or would you dare contend that this was never done—that more strokes than one happened at a single time? But it has been done full often, and must be done, that, just as it rains in many regions and the showers fall, so many thunderbolts come to be at a single time. Lastly, why does he shatter the holy shrines of the gods and their own splendid seats with a hostile thunderbolt, and break the well-made images of the gods, and take from his own likenesses their honor with a violent wound? And why does he most often aim at the high places, and why do we see the most traces of his fire on the mountain-tops?
Hoc est igniferi naturam fulminis ipsam perspicere et qua vi faciat rem quamque videre, non Tyrrhena retro volventem carmina frustra indicia occultae divum perquirere mentis, unde volans ignis pervenerit aut in utram se verterit hinc partim, quo pacto per loca saepta insinuarit, et hinc dominatus ut extulerit se, quidve nocere queat de caelo fulminis ictus. quod si Iuppiter atque alii fulgentia divi terrifico quatiunt sonitu caelestia templa et iaciunt ignem quo cuiquest cumque voluntas, cur quibus incautum scelus aversabile cumquest non faciunt icti flammas ut fulguris halent pectore perfixo, documen mortalibus acre, et potius nulla sibi turpi conscius in re volvitur in flammis innoxius inque peditur turbine caelesti subito correptus et igni? cur etiam loca sola petunt frustraque laborant? an tum bracchia consuescunt firmantque lacertos? in terraque patris cur telum perpetiuntur optundi? cur ipse sinit neque parcit in hostis? denique cur numquam caelo iacit undique puro Iuppiter in terras fulmen sonitusque profundit? an simul ac nubes successere, ipse in eas tum descendit, prope ut hinc teli determinet ictus? in mare qua porro mittit ratione? quid undas arguit et liquidam molem camposque natantis? praeterea si vult caveamus fulminis ictum, cur dubitat facere ut possimus cernere missum? si nec opinantis autem volt opprimere igni, cur tonat ex illa parte, ut vitare queamus, cur tenebras ante et fremitus et murmura concit? et simul in multas partis qui credere possis mittere? an hoc ausis numquam contendere factum, ut fierent ictus uno sub tempore plures? at saepest numero factum fierique necessest, ut pluere in multis regionibus et cadere imbris, fulmina sic uno fieri sub tempore multa. postremo cur sancta deum delubra suasque discutit infesto praeclaras fulmine sedes et bene facta deum frangit simulacra suisque demit imaginibus violento volnere honorem? altaque cur plerumque petit loca plurimaque eius montibus in summis vestigia cernimus ignis?
For what remains, it is easy from these things to understand the waterspouts—which the Greeks have named from the fact— by what means they come down upon the sea from above. For it happens sometimes that, as it were a let-down column, descends from the sky into the sea, around which the straits boil up heavily, roused by the deep-breathing blasts, and whatever ships are caught in that uproar then come into the utmost peril, tossed about. This happens when sometimes the roused force of wind cannot break the cloud it has begun on, but presses it down, so that it is, as it were, a column let down from the sky into the sea, little by little, as if something were thrust down by a fist and the downward cast of an arm from above, and stretched out into the waves; and when it has split it, from there the force of the wind bursts out into the sea and works a marvelous boiling in the waves; for the whirling eddy descends and draws down with it that cloud of pliant body; and as soon as it has thrust it, heavy, down to the levels of the deep, it suddenly plunges its whole self into the water and rouses all the sea, forcing it to boil with a huge sound. It happens too that the eddy of wind wraps itself in clouds, scraping together from the air the seeds of cloud, and imitates a waterspout let down, as it were, from the sky; and when it has let itself down upon the land and dissolved, it vomits forth the monstrous force of whirlwind and squall. But because this happens rarely at all, and the mountains must block it on land, it appears more often in the wide view of the sea, under the open sky.
Quod super est, facilest ex his cognoscere rebus, presteras Graii quos ab re nominitarunt, in mare qua missi veniant ratione superne. nam fit ut inter dum tam quam demissa columna in mare de caelo descendat, quam freta circum fervescunt graviter spirantibus incita flabris, et quae cumque in eo tum sint deprensa tumultu navigia in summum veniant vexata periclum. hoc fit ubi inter dum non quit vis incita venti rumpere quam coepit nubem, sed deprimit, ut sit in mare de caelo tam quam demissa columna, paulatim, quasi quid pugno bracchique superne coniectu trudatur et extendatur in undas; quam cum discidit, hinc prorumpitur in mare venti vis et fervorem mirum concinnat in undis; versabundus enim turbo descendit et illam deducit pariter lento cum corpore nubem; quam simul ac gravidam detrusit ad aequora ponti, ille in aquam subito totum se inmittit et omne excitat ingenti sonitu mare fervere cogens. Fit quoque ut involvat venti se nubibus ipse vertex conradens ex aëre semina nubis et quasi demissum caelo prestera imitetur; hic ubi se in terras demisit dissoluitque, turbinis immanem vim provomit atque procellae. sed quia fit raro omnino montisque necessest officere in terris, apparet crebrius idem prospectu maris in magno caeloque patenti.
Clouds gather together when, in the high space of the sky, many bodies, flying, have all at once met there, the rougher sort, which can—though caught in slight entanglements— nevertheless be held together, pressed among themselves. These first make small clouds form; then these grasp one another and flock together and, by joining, grow, and are carried by the winds, until at last the savage storm has risen. It happens too that the peaks of mountains near the sky, the more they are so, the more, set on high, they smoke unceasingly with the thick gloom of a tawny cloud, because, when the clouds first form, before the eyes can see them, thin as they are, the winds carry them and force them to the topmost peaks of the mountain; there at last it comes about that, risen in greater throng and dense, they can appear, and at the same time seem to rise into the upper air from the very crest of the mountain. For that the windy places lie open above the thing itself declares, and our sense, when we climb high mountains. Besides, that nature lifts very many bodies from the whole sea, too, the clothes hung on the shore declare, when they take in the clinging of moisture. The more, then, do many things seem able to rise also from the salt heave of the deep, for the increasing of the clouds; for all moisture is of kindred reckoning. Besides, from all rivers, and at the same time from the very earth, we see mists and steam rise, which, as it were a breath, are pressed up from here and borne aloft, and overspread the sky with their gloom, and little by little, by coming together, feed the high clouds; for the heat of the star-bearing upper air presses on too, and, as it were by condensing, weaves the blue beneath with clouds. It happens too that those bodies come into this sky from outside which make the clouds and the flying storm-clouds; for that their number is countless and the sum of the deep is infinite I have taught, and I have shown with what speed the bodies fly, and how suddenly they are wont to pass through unmeasurable space. No wonder, then, if in a short time often storms and darkness, with such great winds, cover the seas and the lands, hanging heavy above, since on every side, through all the pores of the upper air, and as it were through the breathing-holes of the great world all around, exit and entry are granted to the elements.
Nubila concrescunt, ubi corpora multa volando hoc super in caeli spatio coiere repente asperiora, modis quae possint indupedita exiguis tamen inter se compressa teneri. haec faciunt primum parvas consistere nubes; inde ea comprendunt inter se conque gregantur et coniungendo crescunt ventisque feruntur usque adeo donec tempestas saeva coortast. Fit quoque uti montis vicina cacumina caelo quam sint quoque magis, tanto magis edita fument adsidue fulvae nubis caligine crassa propterea quia, cum consistunt nubila primum, ante videre oculi quam possint tenvia, venti portantes cogunt ad summa cacumina montis; hic demum fit uti turba maiore coorta et condensa queant apparere et simul ipso vertice de montis videantur surgere in aethram. nam loca declarat sursum ventosa patere res ipsa et sensus, montis cum ascendimus altos. Praeterea permulta mari quoque tollere toto corpora naturam declarant litore vestis suspensae, cum concipiunt umoris adhaesum. quo magis ad nubis augendas multa videntur posse quoque e salso consurgere momine ponti; nam ratio consanguineast umoribus omnis. Praeterea fluviis ex omnibus et simul ipsa surgere de terra nebulas aestumque videmus, quae vel ut halitus hinc ita sursum expressa feruntur suffunduntque sua caelum caligine et altas sufficiunt nubis paulatim conveniundo; urget enim quoque signiferi super aetheris aestus et quasi densendo subtexit caerula nimbis. Fit quoque ut hunc veniant in caelum extrinsecus illa corpora quae faciunt nubis nimbosque volantis; innumerabilem enim numerum summamque profundi esse infinitam docui, quantaque volarent corpora mobilitate ostendi quamque repente immemorabile per spatium transire solerent. haut igitur mirumst, si parvo tempore saepe tam magnis ventis tempestas atque tenebrae coperiant maria ac terras inpensa superne, undique quandoquidem per caulas aetheris omnis et quasi per magni circum spiracula mundi exitus introitusque elementis redditus extat.
Now come, in what way the rainy moisture gathers in the high clouds, and falls, let down upon the lands, as rain, I will set forth. First I shall win the point that many seeds of water rise together with the clouds themselves out of all things, and that both grow alike in this way— both the clouds and the water that is in the clouds— just as our body grows together with the blood, and likewise the sweat and whatever moisture is in the limbs. They take in too, often, much sea-moisture besides, like hanging fleeces of wool, when the winds carry the clouds above the great sea. In a like manner from all rivers moisture is lifted into the clouds. And when there many seeds of waters have well come together, increased from every side in many ways, the crowded clouds strive to send their moisture in two ways; for the force of wind thrusts it together, and the very mass of storm-cloud, gathered in a greater throng, presses from above and forces the showers to flow out. Besides, when the clouds are thinned by the winds too, or dissolved, struck by the heat of the sun above, they send down the rainy moisture and drip, as wax melting over a hot fire flows liquid and copious. But a violent rain comes when the clouds are heaped and pressed with violence both ways, and by the wind’s assault. But the rains are wont to hold on long and to linger, when many seeds of waters are stirred, and clouds upon clouds, and storm-clouds raining above, are borne in throngs from every quarter, and the whole earth, steaming, breathes back its moisture. Here, when the sun amid the dark storm has shone with its rays full against the spray of the storm-clouds, then the color of the rainbow appears in the black clouds.
Nunc age, quo pacto pluvius concrescat in altis nubibus umor et in terras demissus ut imber decidat, expediam. primum iam semina aquai multa simul vincam consurgere nubibus ipsis omnibus ex rebus pariterque ita crescere utrumque et nubis et aquam, quae cumque in nubibus extat, ut pariter nobis corpus cum sanguine crescit, sudor item atque umor qui cumque est denique membris. concipiunt etiam multum quoque saepe marinum umorem, vel uti pendentia vellera lanae, cum supera magnum mare venti nubila portant. consimili ratione ex omnibus amnibus umor tollitur in nubis. quo cum bene semina aquarum multa modis multis convenere undique adaucta, confertae nubes umorem mittere certant dupliciter; nam vis venti contrudit et ipsa copia nimborum turba maiore coacta urget et e supero premit ac facit effluere imbris. praeterea cum rarescunt quoque nubila ventis aut dissolvuntur solis super icta calore, mittunt umorem pluvium stillantque, quasi igni cera super calido tabescens multa liquescat. sed vehemens imber fit, ubi vehementer utraque nubila vi cumulata premuntur et impete venti. at retinere diu pluviae longumque morari consuerunt, ubi multa cientur semina aquarum atque aliis aliae nubes nimbique rigantes insuper atque omni vulgo de parte feruntur, terraque cum fumans umorem tota redhalat. hic ubi sol radiis tempestatem inter opacam adversa fulsit nimborum aspargine contra, tum color in nigris existit nubibus arqui.
All else that grows up high and is created up high, and that gathers in the clouds—all, indeed, all of it: snow, winds, hail, the chill frosts, and the great force of ice, the great hardening of waters, and the check that everywhere curbs the eager rivers— all this it is very easy, even so, to find out and see in the mind, how each comes to be and why it is created, once you have well learned what powers are given to the elements.
Cetera quae sursum crescunt sursumque creantur, et quae concrescunt in nubibus, omnia, prorsum omnia, nix venti grando gelidaeque pruinae et vis magna geli, magnum duramen aquarum, et mora quae fluvios passim refrenat aventis, perfacilest tamen haec reperire animoque videre, omnia quo pacto fiant quareve creentur, cum bene cognoris elementis reddita quae sint.
Now come, learn what reason there is in the movements of the earth. And first of all, see that you suppose the earth, below as above, to be everywhere full of windy caves, and to bear in its bosom many lakes and many pools and rocks and sheer crags; and that beneath the back of the earth many hidden rivers must be thought to roll their waves and their submerged stones with force; for the thing itself demands that the earth be like itself throughout. With these things, then, set beneath and laid under, the earth above trembles, shaken by great downfalls, when beneath, time undermines the huge caverns; for whole mountains fall, and from the great sudden shock the tremors creep abroad far and wide. And with reason, since whole houses by the road tremble, shaken by wagons of no great weight, and leap no less, if any unevenness of the road jolts the iron-bound circles of the wheels on either side. It happens too, when a huge clod, loosened by age, rolls forward from the earth into great and vast pools, that the earth also rocks, set swaying by the wave of water; as a vessel cannot stand still among waters, unless the moisture has ceased to be tossed within in wavering surge. Besides, when the wind, gathered through the hollow places of the earth, bears down from one quarter and presses, straining with great force against the deep caverns, the earth leans the way the prone force of the wind drives it. Then the buildings raised above the earth—and the more each is reared up high toward the sky— lean, thrust forward, threatening toward the same side, and the wrenched-out beams hang, ready to go. And men fear to believe that for the nature of the great world some destroying time and downfall awaits, even when they see so great a mass of earth bearing down! And unless the winds drew breath, no force would curb things, nor could hold them back from going to ruin; but now, because they draw breath by turns and grow heavy again, and as if gathered they return and yield, beaten back, for this reason the earth more often threatens ruin than it makes it; for it leans and then recoils, and, slipped forward, recovers its seats in its own weight. By this reasoning, then, all buildings rock, the tops more than the middles, the middles than the lowest, the lowest scarcely at all. There is this cause too of that same great trembling: when the wind, and a certain sudden mighty force of air, risen either from without or from the earth itself, has hurled itself into the hollow places of the earth, and there, among the great caverns, first roars in tumult and is carried whirling about, and afterward, when the roused force, driven, bursts out and at the same time, splitting the deep earth, works a great chasm. This happened in Sidon in Syria, and was the case at Aegium in the Peloponnese—cities which this outrush of air overthrew, and the earthquake that arose. And besides, many walls have fallen by great movements in the lands, and many cities have sunk down into the sea, sunk with their citizens together. But unless it bursts out, even so the very impetus of the air and the wild force of the wind is dispersed through the many pores of the earth, like a shiver, and so strikes a trembling in; just as cold, when it comes deep into our limbs, shakes us against our will and forces us to tremble and stir. So men quake with a doubtful terror through the cities, fearing the roofs above, dreading the caverns below, lest the nature of the earth suddenly dissolve them, or, torn apart, spread wide its own chasm and, in confusion, wish to fill it with its own ruins. So, then, however much they think that heaven and earth will be incorruptible, given over to eternal safety, yet even so, sometimes, the very present force of danger applies even this goad of fear from one side or another, lest the earth, snatched suddenly from beneath their feet, be carried off into the abyss, and the sum of things, betrayed, follow utterly, and there come to be a confused downfall of the world.
Nunc age, quae ratio terrai motibus extet percipe. et in primis terram fac ut esse rearis supter item ut supera ventosis undique plenam speluncis multosque lacus multasque lucunas in gremio gerere et rupes deruptaque saxa; multaque sub tergo terrai flumina tecta volvere vi fluctus summersos cae ca putandumst; undique enim similem esse sui res postulat ipsa. his igitur rebus subiunctis suppositisque terra superne tremit magnis concussa ruinis, subter ubi ingentis speluncas subruit aetas; quippe cadunt toti montes magnoque repente concussu late disserpunt inde tremores. et merito, quoniam plaustris concussa tremescunt tecta viam propter non magno pondere tota, nec minus exultant, si quidvis cumque viai ferratos utrimque rotarum succutit orbes. Fit quoque, ubi in magnas aquae vastasque lucunas gleba vetustate e terra provolvitur ingens, ut iactetur aquae fluctu quoque terra vacillans; ut vas inter aquas non quit constare, nisi umor destitit in dubio fluctu iactarier intus. Praeterea ventus cum per loca subcava terrae collectus parte ex una procumbit et urget obnixus magnis speluncas viribus altas, incumbit tellus quo venti prona premit vis. tum supera terram quae sunt extructa domorum ad caelumque magis quanto sunt edita quaeque, inclinata minent in eandem prodita partem protractaeque trabes inpendent ire paratae. et metuunt magni naturam credere mundi exitiale aliquod tempus clademque manere, cum videant tantam terrarum incumbere molem! quod nisi respirent venti, vis nulla refrenet res neque ab exitio possit reprehendere euntis; nunc quia respirant alternis inque gravescunt et quasi collecti redeunt ceduntque repulsi, saepius hanc ob rem minitatur terra ruinas quam facit; inclinatur enim retroque recellit et recipit prolapsa suas in pondere sedes. hac igitur ratione vacillant omnia tecta, summa magis mediis, media imis, ima perhilum. Est haec eiusdem quoque magni causa tremoris. ventus ubi atque animae subito vis maxima quaedam aut extrinsecus aut ipsa tellure coorta in loca se cava terrai coniecit ibique speluncas inter magnas fremit ante tumultu versabunda QUE portatur, post incita cum vis exagitata foras erumpitur et simul altam diffindens terram magnum concinnat hiatum. in Syria Sidone quod accidit et fuit Aegi in Peloponneso, quas exitus hic animai disturbat urbes et terrae motus obortus. multaque praeterea ceciderunt moenia magnis motibus in terris et multae per mare pessum subsedere suis pariter cum civibus urbes. quod nisi prorumpit, tamen impetus ipse animai et fera vis venti per crebra foramina terrae dispertitur ut horror et incutit inde tremorem; frigus uti nostros penitus cum venit in artus, concutit invitos cogens tremere atque movere. ancipiti trepidant igitur terrore per urbis, tecta superne timent, metuunt inferne cavernas terrai ne dissoluat natura repente, neu distracta suum late dispandat hiatum idque suis confusa velit complere ruinis. proinde licet quamvis caelum terramque reantur incorrupta fore aeternae mandata saluti: et tamen inter dum praesens vis ipsa pericli subdit et hunc stimulum quadam de parte timoris, ne pedibus raptim tellus subtracta feratur in barathrum rerumque sequatur prodita summa funditus et fiat mundi confusa ruina.
To begin, men marvel that nature does not make the sea greater, since so great a downrush of waters comes to it, since all the rivers flow into it from every quarter. Add the wandering rains and the flying storms, which sprinkle and water all the seas and lands; add its own springs; yet, set against the sum of the sea, all these will be scarcely the increase of a single drop; the less, then, is it a wonder that the great sea does not grow. Besides, the sun draws off a great part with its heat. For we see that the sun dries clothes wet with moisture with its burning rays; but we see the seas spread out, many and wide. So, however small a part of moisture the sun sips from the surface in any one place, yet over so great a space it will take much from the waves. Then, again, the winds too can lift up a great part of the moisture, sweeping the levels, since by the winds we very often see roads dried in a single night, and the soft crusts of mud harden. Besides, I have taught that the clouds lift much moisture too, taken up from the great expanse of the deep, and scatter it everywhere over the whole circle of the lands, when it rains on the earth and the winds carry the clouds. Lastly, since the earth is of porous body, and is joined to the sea, girding its shores on every side, just as the moisture of water comes into the sea from the lands, it must likewise seep from the salt level into the lands; for the brine is strained off, and the matter of the moisture flows back, and at the source all of it flows together for the rivers; then it returns over the lands in a sweet column, where once the path, cut, brought the waters down with liquid foot.
Principio mare mirantur non reddere maius naturam, quo sit tantus decursus aquarum, omnia quo veniant ex omni flumina parte. adde vagos imbris tempestatesque volantes, omnia quae maria ac terras sparguntque rigantque; adde suos fontis; tamen ad maris omnia summam guttai vix instar erunt unius adaugmen; quo minus est mirum mare non augescere magnum. Praeterea magnam sol partem detrahit aestu. quippe videmus enim vestis umore madentis exsiccare suis radiis ardentibus solem; at pelage multa et late substrata videmus. proinde licet quamvis ex uno quoque loco sol umoris parvam delibet ab aequore partem, largiter in tanto spatio tamen auferet undis. Tum porro venti quoque magnam tollere partem umoris possunt verrentes aequora, ventis una nocte vias quoniam persaepe videmus siccari mollisque luti concrescere crustas. Praeterea docui multum quoque tollere nubes umorem magno conceptum ex aequore ponti et passim toto terrarum spargere in orbi, cum pluit in terris et venti nubila portant. Postremo quoniam raro cum corpore tellus est et coniunctast oras maris undique cingens, debet, ut in mare de terris venit umor aquai, in terras itidem manare ex aequore salso; percolatur enim virus retroque remanat materies umoris et ad caput amnibus omnis confluit, inde super terras redit agmine dulci qua via secta semel liquido pede detulit undas.
Now what the reason is, by which through the jaws of Aetna the fires breathe out at times with so great a whirl, I will set forth; for it was no middling havoc that arose when the storm of flame, lording it over the Sicilian fields, turned to itself the faces of the neighboring nations, when, seeing all the regions of the sky smoke and sparkle, they filled their breasts with anxious dread, wondering what new turn of things nature was forging. In these matters you must look wide and deep, and discern far into all quarters, that you may remember the sum of things is fathomless, and may see how small a part of the whole sum one sky is, how very many-thousandth a part it makes— not so great a part as one man is of the whole earth. And if you set this clearly before you and look on it plainly, and see it plainly, you would give up wondering at many things. For does any of us wonder, if a man has taken into his limbs a fever risen with burning heat, or any other pain of disease through his frame? For a foot swells suddenly, a keen pain often seizes the teeth, or invades the very eyes; the sacred fire breaks out and burns, creeping through the body, through whatever part it has seized, and crawls through the limbs— no doubt because there are seeds of many things, and this earth and sky bear enough of disease and evil from which the force of measureless sickness can grow. So, then, for the whole sky and earth we must suppose that enough of everything is supplied from the infinite, from which the earth, shaken, can suddenly be moved, and a swift whirlwind run across sea and lands, the fire of Aetna abound, and the sky take flame; for that happens too, and the regions of heaven blaze, and the rainstorms come with heavier downpour, when the seeds of waters chance to have so disposed themselves. "But the troubled blaze of the burning is far too huge." No doubt—and a river seems greatest to the man who has not before seen one greater, and a tree, a man, seem huge, and in every kind the greatest things that each has seen he imagines huge, though all of them, with the sky and earth and sea together, are nothing at all set against the whole sum of the entire sum.
Nunc ratio quae sit, per fauces montis ut Aetnae expirent ignes inter dum turbine tanto, expediam; neque enim mediocri clade coorta flammae tempestas Siculum dominata per agros finitimis ad se convertit gentibus ora, fumida cum caeli scintillare omnia templa cernentes pavida complebant pectora cura, quid moliretur rerum natura novarum. Hisce tibi in rebus latest alteque videndum et longe cunctas in partis dispiciendum, ut reminiscaris summam rerum esse profundam et videas caelum summai totius unum quam sit parvula pars et quam multesima constet nec tota pars, homo terrai quota totius unus. quod bene propositum si plane contueare ac videas plane, mirari multa relinquas. numquis enim nostrum miratur, siquis in artus accepit calido febrim fervore coortam aut alium quemvis morbi per membra dolorem? opturgescit enim subito pes, arripit acer saepe dolor dentes, oculos invadit in ipsos, existit sacer ignis et urit corpore serpens quam cumque arripuit partem repitque per artus, ni mirum quia sunt multarum semina rerum et satis haec tellus morbi caelumque mali fert, unde queat vis immensi procrescere morbi. sic igitur toti caelo terraeque putandumst ex infinito satis omnia suppeditare, unde repente queat tellus concussa moveri perque mare ac terras rapidus percurrere turbo, ignis abundare Aetnaeus, flammescere caelum; id quoque enim fit et ardescunt caelestia templa et tempestates pluviae graviore coortu sunt, ubi forte ita se tetulerunt semina aquarum. ’at nimis est ingens incendi turbidus ardor.’ scilicet et fluvius qui visus maximus ei, qui non ante aliquem maiorem vidit, et ingens arbor homoque videtur et omnia de genere omni maxima quae vidit quisque, haec ingentia fingit, cum tamen omnia cum caelo terraque marique nil sint ad summam summai totius omnem.
Now, however, by what means that flame, suddenly roused, breathes out from the vast furnaces of Aetna, I will set forth. First, the nature of the whole mountain is hollow underneath, propped almost everywhere on caverns of flint. And in all the caves there is wind and air; for wind comes to be where the air is roused and stirred. When this has grown hot, and, raging, has heated all the rocks around, wherever it touches, and the earth, and has struck from them the hot fire with swift flames, it lifts itself and so casts it high out through the straight jaws. And so it carries its blaze far, and far scatters its ash, and rolls smoke of thick gloom, and at the same time heaves up rocks of astonishing weight— that you may not doubt this is the turbid force of air. Besides, in great part the sea breaks its waves at the roots of that mountain, and sucks back its tide. From this sea the caverns reach under, up to the deep jaws of the mountain. By this way one must grant that it goes, and the open sea compels the matter to pass deep within and breathe out, and so to heave up the flame and cast up rocks and raise clouds of sand. For at the very summit are craters, as they themselves name them—what we call the jaws and the mouths.
Nunc tamen illa modis quibus inritata repente flamma foras vastis Aetnae fornacibus efflet, expediam. primum totius subcava montis est natura fere silicum suffulta cavernis. omnibus est porro in speluncis ventus et aër. ventus enim fit, ubi est agitando percitus aër. hic ubi percaluit cale fecitque omnia circum saxa furens, qua contingit, terramque et ab ollis excussit calidum flammis velocibus ignem, tollit se ac rectis ita faucibus eicit alte. fert itaque ardorem longe longeque favillam differt et crassa volvit caligine fumum extruditque simul mirando pondere saxa; ne dubites quin haec animai turbida sit vis. praeterea magna ex parti mare montis ad eius radices frangit fluctus aestumque resolvit. ex hoc usque mari speluncae montis ad altas perveniunt subter fauces. hac ire fatendumst et penetrare mari penitus res cogit aperto atque efflare foras ideoque extollere flammam saxaque subiectare et arenae tollere nimbos. in summo sunt vertice enim crateres, ut ipsi nominitant, nos quod fauces perhibemus et ora.
There are some things, too, for which it is not enough to give one cause, but several, of which one nevertheless is the true one; just as, if you yourself should see a man’s lifeless body lying far off, it would be fitting to name all the causes of death, so that the one cause of his might be named; for you could not prove that he had perished by iron, by cold, by disease, or perhaps by poison, but we know that something of this kind befell him. Likewise in many matters we have the same to say.
Sunt aliquot quoque res quarum unam dicere causam non satis est, verum pluris, unde una tamen sit; corpus ut exanimum siquod procul ipse iacere conspicias hominis, fit ut omnis dicere causas conveniat leti, dicatur ut illius una; nam ne que eum ferro nec frigore vincere possis interiisse neque a morbo neque forte veneno, verum aliquid genere esse ex hoc quod contigit ei scimus. item in multis hoc rebus dicere habemus.
The Nile rises in summer and floods over the fields, alone among the rivers of the earth, the stream of all Egypt. It waters Egypt often in the midst of the heat, either because in summer the north winds are against its mouths— those that at that season of the year are called the Etesians— and, blowing against the river, hold back the waters and, forcing them upstream, fill it and force it to stand still. For beyond doubt these blasts are borne against the stream, blasts that are driven from the chill pole-stars; that river comes from the heat-bearing quarter, from the south, rising deep among the races of men burnt to a black color, from the very mid-region of day. It may be too that a great heaping of sand, against the opposing waves, dams up the mouths, when the sea, stirred by the winds, drives the sand within; whereby it comes about that the river’s outlet is less free and the downward rush of its waters is likewise less. It may be too, perhaps, that the rains fall more at its source at that season, when the Etesian blasts of the north winds drive all the clouds together then into those quarters. And no doubt, cast toward the mid-region of day, when they have come together there, at last against the high mountains the clouds are thrust and forced and pressed together by violence. Perhaps it swells from deep among the high mountains of the Ethiopians, when the sun, ranging over all and melting with its rays, forces the white snows to come down into the plains.
Nilus in aestatem crescit campisque redundat unicus in terris, Aegypti totius amnis. is rigat Aegyptum medium per saepe calorem, aut quia sunt aestate aquilones ostia contra, anni tempore eo, qui etesiae esse feruntur, et contra fluvium flantes remorantur et undas cogentes sursus replent coguntque manere. nam dubio procul haec adverso flabra feruntur flumine, quae gelidis ab stellis axis aguntur; ille ex aestifera parti venit amnis ab austro inter nigra virum percocto saecla colore exoriens penitus media ab regione diei. est quoque uti possit magnus congestus harenae fluctibus adversis oppilare ostia contra, cum mare permotum ventis ruit intus harenam; quo fit uti pacto liber minus exitus amnis et proclivis item fiat minus impetus undis. fit quoque uti pluviae forsan magis ad caput ei tempore eo fiant, quo etesia flabra aquilonum nubila coniciunt in eas tunc omnia partis. scilicet, ad mediam regionem eiecta diei cum convenerunt, ibi ad altos denique montis contrusae nubes coguntur vique premuntur. forsitan Aethiopum penitus de montibus altis crescat, ubi in campos albas descendere ningues tabificis subigit radiis sol omnia lustrans.
Now come, what the Avernian places and lakes may be, I will set forth—of what nature they consist. First, that they are called by the name Avernian is laid upon them from the fact, because they are deadly to all birds; since, when flying creatures have come over against those places, forgetting the oarage of their wings, they slack their sails and fall headlong, their soft necks drooping, to the ground, if the nature of the places so bears it, or into the water, if a lake of Avernus lies spread below. That place is near Cumae, where the mountains, filled with acrid sulphur, smoke, swollen with hot springs. There is one too within the Athenian walls, on the very top of the citadel, by the temple of Pallas Tritonis the kindly, where the raucous crows never bring their bodies on wing, not even when the altars smoke with offerings; so far do they flee—not the keen wrath of Pallas on account of their watching, as the poets of the Greeks have sung, but the nature of the place itself does the work of its own accord. In Syria too a place is said to be seen likewise, where, as soon as four-footed beasts have set their first footsteps, the very force compels them to fall heavily, as if they had been struck down all at once for the gods of the dead. All these things are done by natural law, and the origin from what causes they come to be is plain; lest the gate of Orcus be believed to be in these regions, and we then suppose that the gods below draw down the souls from here into the coasts of Acheron, as swift-footed stags are often thought to draw the serpent tribes of wild beasts from their lairs with their nostrils. How far this is thrust from true reasoning, learn; for now I try to speak of the thing itself. To begin, I say this—what I have often said before too— that in the earth there are shapes of every kind of thing: many that are food, life-giving, and many that can strike in disease and hasten death. And that some things are more fitted than others to different creatures for the way of their life, we have shown before, because of the unlike nature and the unlike textures among them, and their differing first shapes. Many pass hostile through the ears, many work their way in through the very nostrils, dangerous and rough to the touch, nor are there few to be shunned by touch, nor again to be fled from in the sight, or that are bitter to the taste. Next, one may see how many things are, for a man, harshly hostile to the sense, and foul and grievous; first, to certain trees so heavy a shade is given that they often work pains in the head, if a man has lain stretched beneath them on the grass. There is, too, on the great mountains of Helicon a tree wont to kill a man with the foul smell of its flower. All these things, of course, rise from the earth for this reason, that the earth bears many seeds of many things mixed together, and gives them forth apart. And when a lamp, just put out at night, offends the nostrils with its keen reek, it puts to sleep on the spot the man who is wont, in his disease, to fall and shed foam. And a woman, drowsed by heavy castor, sinks back, and the bright work slips from her tender hands, if she has smelled it at the time when her courses flow. And many things besides slacken the languid limbs through the frame and shake the soul loose from its seats within. Lastly, if you linger too long in hot baths, too full, and bathe, how easily, in the midst of the basin of boiling water, you often collapse! How easily the heavy force and smell of charcoal works its way into the brain, unless we have taken water first! But when burning fever, mastering them, has seized the limbs, then the smell of wine is like a death-dealing blow. Do you not see, too, that sulphur is begotten in the very earth, and that bitumen cakes with a foul smell?— lastly, when men follow the veins of silver and gold, searching with iron the hidden depths of the earth, what stenches Scaptensula breathes out below? And what evil the gold-mines exhale! What faces, what colors they give to men! Do you not see, or hear, how they are wont to perish in a short time, and how the store of life fails them whom the great force of necessity holds at such work? All these vapors, then, the earth seethes up and breathes out into the open and the unsheltered places of the sky. So the Avernian places too must send up to the birds a deadly force, which rises from the earth into the air, so as to poison a part of the sky in some quarter; and as soon as the bird, borne there on its wings, is caught and hampered there by the unseen poison, it falls straight in the quarter where the exhalation directs. And when it has fallen there, the same force of that exhalation takes the remnants of life from all its limbs. For first it stirs up, as it were, a kind of dizziness; afterward it comes about that, when they have fallen into the very springs of poison, there too life must be vomited out, because there is a great store of evil round about. It happens too, sometimes, that this force and exhalation of Avernus scatters the air that is set between the bird and the earth, so that this place is left well-nigh empty. And when, over against that place, the flying creatures have come, at once their winged effort falters, made vain, and all the striving of their wings on either side fails. Here, when they cannot lean upon their wings or stay aloft, nature, of course, forces them to slip down to the ground by their weight, and, lying now in the near-empty void, they scatter their souls through all the pores of the body.
Nunc age, Averna tibi quae sint loca cumque lacusque, expediam, quali natura praedita constent. principio, quod Averna vocantur nomine, id ab re inpositumst, quia sunt avibus contraria cunctis, e regione ea quod loca cum venere volantes, remigii oblitae pennarum vela remittunt praecipitesque cadunt molli cervice profusae in terram, si forte ita fert natura locorum, aut in aquam, si forte lacus substratus Averni. is locus est Cumas aput, acri sulpure montis oppleti calidis ubi fumant fontibus aucti. est et Athenaeis in moenibus, arcis in ipso vertice, Palladis ad templum Tritonidis almae, quo numquam pennis appellunt corpora raucae cornices, non cum fumant altaria donis; usque adeo fugitant non iras Palladis acris pervigili causa, Graium ut cecinere poëtae, sed natura loci opus efficit ipsa suapte. in Syria quoque fertur item locus esse videri, quadripedes quoque quo simul ac vestigia primum intulerint, graviter vis cogat concidere ipsa, manibus ut si sint divis mactata repente. omnia quae naturali ratione geruntur, et quibus e fiant causis apparet origo; ianua ne pote eis Orci regionibus esse credatur, post hinc animas Acheruntis in oras ducere forte deos manis inferne reamur, naribus alipedes ut cervi saepe putantur ducere de latebris serpentia saecla ferarum. quod procul a vera quam sit ratione repulsum percipe; nam de re nunc ipsa dicere conor. Principio hoc dico, quod dixi saepe quoque ante, in terra cuiusque modi rerum esse figuras; multa, cibo quae sunt, vitalia multaque, morbos incutere et mortem quae possint adcelerare. et magis esse aliis alias animantibus aptas res ad vitai rationem ostendimus ante propter dissimilem naturam dissimilisque texturas inter sese primasque figuras. multa meant inimica per auris, multa per ipsas insinuant naris infesta atque aspera tactu, nec sunt multa parum tactu vitanda neque autem aspectu fugienda saporeque tristia quae sint. Deinde videre licet quam multae sint homini res acriter infesto sensu spurcaeque gravisque; arboribus primum certis gravis umbra tributa usque adeo, capitis faciant ut saepe dolores, siquis eas subter iacuit prostratus in herbis. est etiam magnis Heliconis montibus arbos floris odore hominem taetro consueta necare. scilicet haec ideo terris ex omnia surgunt, multa modis multis multarum semina rerum quod permixta gerit tellus discretaque tradit. nocturnumque recens extinctum lumen ubi acri nidore offendit nares, consopit ibidem, concidere et spumas qui morbo mittere suevit. castoreoque gravi mulier sopita recumbit, et manibus nitidum teneris opus effluit ei, tempore eo si odoratast quo menstrua solvit. multaque praeterea languentia membra per artus solvunt atque animam labefactant sedibus intus. denique si calidis etiam cunctere lavabris plenior et lueris, solio ferventis aquai quam facile in medio fit uti des saepe ruinas! carbonumque gravis vis atque odor insinuatur quam facile in cerebrum, nisi aqua praecepimus ante! at cum membra domans percepit fervida febris, tum fit odor vini plagae mactabilis instar. nonne vides etiam terra quoque sulpur in ipsa gignier et taetro concrescere odore bitumen, denique ubi argenti venas aurique secuntur, terrai penitus scrutantes abdita ferro, qualis expiret Scaptensula subter odores? quidve mali fit ut exalent aurata metalla! quas hominum reddunt facies qualisque colores! nonne vides audisve perire in tempore parvo quam soleant et quam vitai copia desit, quos opere in tali cohibet vis magna necessis? hos igitur tellus omnis exaestuat aestus expiratque foras in apertum promptaque caeli. Sic et Averna loca alitibus summittere debent mortiferam vim. de terra quae surgit in auras, ut spatium caeli quadam de parte venenet; quo simul ac primum pennis delata sit ales, impediatur ibi caeco correpta veneno, ut cadat e regione loci, qua derigit aestus. quo cum conruit, hic eadem vis illius aestus reliquias vitae membris ex omnibus aufert. quippe etenim primo quasi quendam conciet aestum; posterius fit uti. cum iam cecidere veneni in fontis ipsos, ibi sit quoque vita vomenda, propterea quod magna mali fit copia circum. Fit quoque ut inter dum vis haec atque aestus Averni aëra, qui inter avis cumquest terramque locatus. discutiat, prope uti locus hic linquatur inanis. cuius ubi e regione loci venere volantis, claudicat extemplo pinnarum nisus inanis et conamen utrimque alarum proditur omne. hic ubi nixari nequeunt insistereque alis, scilicet in terram delabi pondere cogit natura, et vacuum prope iam per inane iacentes dispergunt animas per caulas corporis omnis.
The moisture in wells, moreover, grows colder in summer, because the earth is rarefied by heat, and whatever seeds of warmth it has of its own, it sends off into the air. The more, then, the earth is drained of its heat, the colder too becomes the moisture hidden in the earth. But when all the earth is pressed by cold and draws together and, as it were, freezes, then of course it comes about that, by drawing in, it squeezes out into the wells whatever heat it bears. At the shrine of Hammon there is said to be a spring, cold by the light of day and hot in the time of night. This spring men marvel at too much, and think that it boils underground, in part from the keen sun, when night has covered the lands with terrible gloom. But this is far removed from true reasoning. For when the sun, handling the bare body of the water, has not been able to make it hot from the upper side, though the light above enjoys so great a fervor, how could it, down here, through so thick a body of earth, cook the moisture through and warm it with hot vapor?— especially since it can scarcely, through the walls of houses, work its heat in with its burning rays. What, then, is the reason? No doubt, that the earth holds round the spring a more porous body than the rest of the ground, and there are many seeds of fire near the body of the water. When night buries the earth in its dew-bearing waves, straightway the earth deep within grows cold and draws together. By this means it comes about that, as if it were pressed by a hand, it squeezes into the spring whatever seeds of fire it has, which make the touch of the water and its vapor warm. Then, when the sun, risen, has loosened the earth with its rays and rarefied it, the warm vapor mingling in, the first-beginnings of fire return again to their old seats, and all the heat of the water withdraws into the earth. For this reason the spring grows cold by the light of day. Besides, the moisture of the water is tossed by the sun’s rays and, in the daylight, is rarefied by the quivering heat; for which reason it comes about that whatever seeds of fire it has, it sends off; just as it often sends off the chill it holds in itself and lets go the ice and loosens its knots. There is, too, a cold spring over which tow, held above it, at once catches fire and throws out flame, and a pine-torch in like manner, kindled, glows over the waves, wherever, swimming, it is driven by the breezes. No doubt because there are very many seeds of warmth in the water, and from the very depth of the earth it must be that bodies of fire rise up through the whole spring and at the same time breathe out and go forth into the air— yet not so many that the spring could be made hot; moreover, the force compels them to burst forth dispersed through the water suddenly, and to gather together above it. Of this kind is the spring in the sea at Aradus, which wells up with sweet water and parts the salt waves about it; and in many other regions the level deep offers a timely usefulness to thirsting sailors, because it vomits sweet water up among the salt waves. So, then, through that spring those seeds can burst out and well forth; and when they meet together in the tow, or cling in the body of the pine-torch, they easily blaze up at once, because the tow and the torch also hold within them many seeds of fire. Do you not see, too, that when you bring a wick just put out near the lights of night, it is kindled before it has touched the flame, and the torch in like manner? And many things besides, touched first by the vapor itself, catch fire from afar, before the fire steeps them close at hand. This, then, must be thought to happen in that spring too.
frigidior porro in puteis aestate fit umor, arescit quia terra calore et semina si qua forte vaporis habet proprie, dimittit in auras. quo magis est igitur tellus effeta calore, fit quoque frigidior qui in terrast abditus umor. frigore cum premitur porro omnis terra coitque et quasi concrescit, fit scilicet ut coeundo exprimat in puteos si quem gerit ipsa calorem. Esse apud Hammonis fanum fons luce diurna frigidus et calidus nocturno tempore fertur. hunc homines fontem nimis admirantur et acri sole putant subter terras fervescere partim, nox ubi terribili terras caligine texit. quod nimis a verast longe ratione remotum. quippe ubi sol nudum contractans corpus aquai non quierit calidum supera de reddere parte, cum superum lumen tanto fervore fruatur, qui queat hic supter tam crasso corpore terram perquoquere umorem et calido focilare vapore? praesertim cum vix possit per saepta domorum insinuare suum radiis ardentibus aestum. quae ratiost igitur? ni mirum terra magis quod rara tenet circum fontem quam cetera tellus multaque sunt ignis prope semina corpus aquai. hoc ubi roriferis terram nox obruit undis, extemplo penitus frigescit terra coitque. hac ratione fit ut, tam quam compressa manu sit, exprimat in fontem quae semina cumque habet ignis, quae calidum faciunt laticis tactum atque vaporem. inde ubi sol radiis terram dimovit obortus et rare fecit calido miscente vapore, rursus in antiquas redeunt primordia sedes ignis et in terram cedit calor omnis aquai. frigidus hanc ob rem fit fons in luce diurna. praeterea solis radiis iactatur aquai umor et in lucem tremulo rarescit ab aestu; propterea fit uti quae semina cumque habet ignis dimittat; quasi saepe gelum, quod continet in se, mittit et exsolvit glaciem nodosque relaxat. Frigidus est etiam fons, supra quem sita saepe stuppa iacit flammam concepto protinus igni, taedaque consimili ratione accensa per undas conlucet, quo cumque natans impellitur auris. ni mirum quia sunt in aqua permulta vaporis semina de terraque necessest funditus ipsa ignis corpora per totum consurgere fontem et simul exspirare foras exireque in auras, non ita multa tamen, calidus queat ut fieri fons; praeterea dispersa foras erumpere cogit vis per aquam subito sursumque ea conciliari. quod genus endo marist Aradi fons, dulcis aquai qui scatit et salsas circum se dimovet undas; et multis aliis praebet regionibus aequor utilitatem opportunam sitientibus nautis, quod dulcis inter salsas intervomit undas. sic igitur per eum possunt erumpere fontem et scatere illa foras; in stuppam semina quae cum conveniunt aut in taedai corpore adhaerent, ardescunt facile extemplo, quia multa quoque in se semina habent ignis stuppae taedaeque tenentes. nonne vides etiam, nocturna ad lumina linum nuper ubi extinctum admoveas, accendier ante quam tetigit flammam, taedamque pari ratione? multaque praeterea prius ipso tacta vapore eminus ardescunt quam comminus imbuat ignis. hoc igitur fieri quoque in illo fonte putandumst.
For what remains, I will begin to treat by what covenant of nature it comes about that this stone can draw iron— the stone the Greeks call the Magnet, from the name of its homeland, because it has its origin within the borders of the Magnesians. This stone men marvel at; for often it makes a chain of little rings, hanging down from itself. For sometimes you may see five and more swaying in a string let down, in the light breezes, when one hangs from another, clinging below, and one learns from another the force and bonds of the stone: so far does its force prevail, flowing through and through.
Quod super est, agere incipiam quo foedere fiat naturae, lapis hic ut ferrum ducere possit, quem Magneta vocant patrio de nomine Grai, Magnetum quia sit patriis in finibus ortus. hunc homines lapidem mirantur; quippe catenam saepe ex anellis reddit pendentibus ex se. quinque etenim licet inter dum pluresque videre ordine demisso levibus iactarier auris, unus ubi ex uno dependet supter adhaerens ex alioque alius lapidis vim vinclaque noscit; usque adeo permananter vis pervalet eius.
In matters of this kind many things must be established before you can render the reason of the thing itself, and the approach must be made by very long roundabouts; the more do I ask for attentive ears and mind. First, from all things, whatever we see, there must perpetually flow and be sent off and scattered bodies that strike the eyes and provoke sight. And smells flow perpetually from certain things, as cold from rivers, heat from the sun, spray from the waves of the sea, the eater of walls along the shores; nor do varied sounds cease to stream through the air; lastly, a moisture of salt savor often comes into the mouth, when we walk by the sea, and, on the other hand, when we watch wormwood diluted being mixed, the bitterness touches us. So thoroughly from all things does each thing stream off and is sent abroad in every direction, nor is any delay or rest given in the flowing, since we perceive perpetually, and are always allowed to see all things, to smell them, and to hear them sound.
Hoc genus in rebus firmandumst multa prius quam ipsius rei rationem reddere possis, et nimium longis ambagibus est adeundum; quo magis attentas auris animumque reposco. Principio omnibus ab rebus, quas cumque videmus, perpetuo fluere ac mitti spargique necessest corpora quae feriant oculos visumque lacessant. perpetuoque fluunt certis ab rebus odores; frigus ut a fluviis, calor a sole, aestus ab undis aequoris, exesor moerorum, litora propter; nec varii cessant sonitus manare per auras; denique in os salsi venit umor saepe saporis, cum mare versamur propter, dilutaque contra cum tuimur misceri absinthia, tangit amaror. usque adeo omnibus ab rebus res quaeque fluenter fertur et in cunctas dimittitur undique partis nec mora nec requies interdatur ulla fluendi, perpetuo quoniam sentimus et omnia semper cernere odorari licet et sentire sonare.
Now I will recall to memory how porous all things are in their body—a thing that is clear in the first poem too. For although it bears upon many matters to know this, above all for this very thing, on which I set out to discourse, it is needful to establish that there is nothing within reach but body mixed with void. First, it comes about that in caves the upper rocks sweat with moisture and drip with trickling drops. Likewise sweat oozes from our whole body, the beard grows, and the hairs over all the limbs and frame. Food is distributed into the veins, and increases and feeds even the outermost parts of the body, and the little nails. We feel cold pass through bronze, and hot vapor, we feel them likewise pass through gold and through silver, when we hold full cups. Lastly, through the stone partitions of houses voices fly across, smell seeps through, and cold, and the vapor of fire, which is wont to penetrate the strength of iron too; lastly, where the breastplate of the sky girds us round, the disease-force too, when it works its way in from without; and storms, risen on earth and in the sky, withdraw, as is right, into the sky and the lands, since there is nothing but what is knit of porous body.
Nunc omnis repetam quam raro corpore sint res commemorare; quod in primo quoque carmine claret. quippe etenim, quamquam multas hoc pertinet ad res noscere, cum primis hanc ad rem protinus ipsam, qua de disserere adgredior, firmare necessest nil esse in promptu nisi mixtum corpus inani. principio fit ut in speluncis saxa superna sudent umore et guttis manantibus stillent. manat item nobis e toto corpore sudor, crescit barba pilique per omnia membra, per artus. diditur in venas cibus omnis, auget alitque corporis extremas quoque partis unguiculosque. frigus item transire per aes calidumque vaporem sentimus, sentimus item transire per aurum atque per argentum, cum pocula plena tenemus. denique per dissaepta domorum saxea voces pervolitant, permanat odor frigusque vaposque ignis, qui ferri quoque vim penetrare suëvit, denique qua circum caeli lorica coërcet, morbida visque simul, cum extrinsecus insinuatur; et tempestate in terra caeloque coorta in caelum terrasque remotae iure facessunt; quandoquidem nihil est nisi raro corpore nexum.
To this is added that not all the bodies whatsoever that are cast off from things are endowed with the same sense nor fitted in the same way to all things. First, the sun bakes the earth and makes it dry, but it dissolves the ice, and on the high mountains forces the high-piled snows to melt away with its rays; lastly, wax becomes liquid, set in its heat. Fire likewise makes bronze liquid and melts gold, but hide and flesh it draws together and shrinks into one. The moisture of water, again, hardens iron from the fire, but hide and flesh, hardened by heat, it softens. The wild olive delights the bearded she-goats as much as if it flowed, indeed, steeped in ambrosia and nectar; yet there is nothing more bitter than its leaf for a man to eat. Lastly, the pig flees marjoram and dreads all perfume; for to bristly swine it is a sharp poison, which to us sometimes seems to restore us. But, on the other hand, though mire is to us the foulest filth, this same thing seems pleasant to swine, so that insatiably they wallow there, all of them.
Huc accedit uti non omnia, quae iaciuntur corpora cumque ab rebus, eodem praedita sensu atque eodem pacto rebus sint omnibus apta. principio terram sol excoquit et facit are, at glaciem dissolvit et altis montibus altas extructas que nives radiis tabescere cogit; denique cera lique fit in eius posta vapore. ignis item liquidum facit aes aurumque resolvit, at coria et carnem trahit et conducit in unum. umor aquae porro ferrum condurat ab igni, at coria et carnem mollit durata calore. barbigeras oleaster eo iuvat usque capellas, effluat ambrosias quasi vero et nectare tinctus; qua nihil est homini quod amarius fronde ac ida extet. denique amaracinum fugitat sus et timet omne unguentum; nam saetigeris subus acre venenumst; quod nos inter dum tam quam recreare videtur. at contra nobis caenum taeterrima cum sit spurcities, eadem subus haec iucunda videtur, insatiabiliter toti ut volvantur ibidem.
This too remains, which seems it should be said before I approach the matter itself. Since many pores are given to various things, they must be endowed with a nature unlike one another and have each its own nature and its own ways. For there are varied senses in living creatures, each of which takes in its own thing within itself; for we see sound penetrate by one way, and the savor from juices by another, by another the smells of a reek. Of course the nature of the passages compels this to happen, varying in many modes, as I showed a little before. Besides, one thing seems to seep through stone, another through wood, another to pass through gold, and another to go forth through silver and through glass; for sight seems to flow this way, heat to go that way, and the same passage to send one thing across more swiftly than another. Of course the nature of the passages compels this to happen, varying in many modes, as I showed a little before, because of the unlike nature and the textures of things.
Hoc etiam super est, ipsa quam dicere de re adgredior, quod dicendum prius esse videtur. multa foramina cum variis sint reddita rebus, dissimili inter se natura praedita debent esse et habere suam naturam quaeque viasque. quippe etenim varii sensus animantibus insunt, quorum quisque suam proprie rem percipit in se; nam penetrare alio sonitus alioque saporem cernimus e sucis, alio nidoris odores. scilicet id fieri cogit natura viarum multimodis varians, ut paulo ostendimus ante. praeterea manare aliud per saxa videtur, atque aliud lignis, aliud transire per aurum, argentoque foras aliud vitroque meare; nam fluere hac species, illac calor ire videtur, atque aliis aliud citius transmittere eadem. scilicet id fieri cogit natura viarum multimodis varians, ut paulo ostendimus ante, propter dissimilem naturam textaque rerum.
Wherefore, when these things have all been well confirmed and set in place, established for us, prepared and laid out beforehand, for what remains, the reason will easily be rendered from this, and every cause will lie open that draws on the force of iron. First, very many seeds must flow from this stone, or a stream, which scatters with its blows the air that is set between the stone and the iron. When this space is emptied and much becomes void in the middle, straightway the first-beginnings of iron, slipping forward, fall joined together into the void, so that the ring itself follows and goes with its whole body. Nor does anything cohere, in its first elements, more entangled and closely bound together, than the strong nature of iron and its cold roughness. The less, then, is it a wonder, when it is said to be impossible that bodies, rising in number from the iron, should be borne into the void without the ring itself following; which it does, and follows, until it has come to the very stone and clung to it in unseen fastenings. This happens likewise in all directions; wherever a place becomes void, whether from the side or from above, the neighboring bodies are at once borne into the void; for they are driven by blows from elsewhere, and cannot of their own accord rise up into the air. To this is added, why it can the rather be so— this thing too is helped by an aid and a motion: that, as soon as the air in front of the ring is made more rare and the place is emptied and the more made void, straightway it comes about that all the air which is set behind drives it, as it were, from the rear and pushes it forward. For the surrounding air always beats upon things; but it comes about that at such a time it drives the iron forward, because on one side a space lies empty and takes it into itself. This air, of which I tell you, working its way subtly through the many pores of the iron to its small parts, thrusts and drives it, as wind drives a ship and sails. Lastly, all things must have air in their body, since they are of porous body, and air is set round and laid against all things. This air, then, which is hidden deep within the iron, is always tossed with restless motion, and thereby beats upon the ring beyond doubt and stirs it within; it is borne, of course, in that same direction in which it once plunged, and took its effort into the empty part.
Qua propter, bene ubi haec confirmata atque locata omnia constiterint nobis praeposta parata, quod super est, facile hinc ratio reddetur et omnis causa pate fiet, quae ferri pelliciat vim. Principio fluere e lapide hoc permulta necessest semina sive aestum, qui discutit aëra plagis, inter qui lapidem ferrumque est cumque locatus. hoc ubi inanitur spatium multusque vace fit in medio locus, extemplo primordia ferri in vacuum prolapsa cadunt coniuncta, fit utque anulus ipse sequatur eatque ita corpore toto. nec res ulla magis primoribus ex elementis indupedita suis arte conexa cohaeret quam validi ferri natura et frigidus horror. quo minus est mirum, quod dicitur esse alienum, corpora si nequeunt e ferro plura coorta in vacuum ferri, quin anulus ipse sequatur; quod facit et sequitur, donec pervenit ad ipsum iam lapidem caecisque in eo compagibus haesit. hoc fit idem cunctas in partis; unde vace fit cumque locus, sive e transverso sive superne, corpora continuo in vacuum vicina feruntur; quippe agitantur enim plagis aliunde nec ipsa sponte sua sursum possunt consurgere in auras. huc accedit item, quare queat id magis esse, haec quoque res adiumento motuque iuvatur, quod, simul a fronte est anelli rarior aër factus inanitusque locus magis ac vacuatus, continuo fit uti qui post est cumque locatus aër a tergo quasi provehat atque propellat. semper enim circum positus res verberat aër; sed tali fit uti propellat tempore ferrum, parte quod ex una spatium vacat et capit in se. hic, tibi quem memoro, per crebra foramina ferri parvas ad partis subtiliter insinuatus trudit et inpellit, quasi navem velaque ventus. denique res omnes debent in corpore habere aëra, quandoquidem raro sunt corpore et aër omnibus est rebus circum datus adpositusque. hic igitur, penitus qui in ferrost abditus aër, sollicito motu semper iactatur eoque verberat anellum dubio procul et ciet intus, scilicet illo eodem fertur, quo praecipitavit iam semel et partem in vacuam conamina sumpsit.
It happens too that the nature of iron retreats from this stone at times, wont to flee and to follow by turns. I have even seen Samothracian iron rings leap, and at the same time iron filings rage within bronze basins, when this Magnet stone had been put beneath; so eager does the iron seem to flee from the rock. With bronze interposed, so great a discord is created because, no doubt, when the stream of bronze has seized beforehand and possessed the open ways of the iron, the stream of the stone comes later and finds all full in the iron, and has no way to swim through as before; it is forced, therefore, to dash against and beat with its wave the iron’s texture; whereby it spurns it from itself and drives it through the bronze, which without the bronze it often sucks back.
Fit quoque ut a lapide hoc ferri natura recedat inter dum, fugere atque sequi consueta vicissim. exultare etiam Samothracia ferrea vidi et ramenta simul ferri furere intus ahenis in scaphiis, lapis hic Magnes cum subditus esset; usque adeo fugere a saxo gestire videtur. aere interposito discordia tanta creatur propterea quia ni mirum prius aestus ubi aeris praecepit ferrique vias possedit apertas, posterior lapidis venit aestus et omnia plena invenit in ferro neque habet qua tranet ut ante; cogitur offensare igitur pulsareque fluctu ferrea texta suo; quo pacto respuit ab se atque per aes agitat, sine eo quod saepe resorbet.
In these matters cease to marvel at this, that the stream from this stone has not the strength to drive other things likewise. For some stand fast, relying on their weight, as gold does; and some, because they are of porous body, so that the stream flies through untouched, can nowhere be driven— of which kind wooden stuff is seen to be. The nature of iron, then, set between the two, when it has taken in certain little bodies of bronze, then it comes about that the Magnesian rocks drive it on with their stream. And yet these things are not so alien to other things that I have but few of this kind to supply, which I could tell of as fitted, each to each, singly. First, you see stones cohere with lime alone. Wood is joined into one with bull’s glue, so that the grain of the planks more often gapes with a flaw than the bull-bonds can loosen their fastenings. The juices vine-born dare to mix with the springs of water, when heavy pitch and light oil cannot. And the purple color of the shellfish is joined to the one body of wool, never to be parted anywhere, not if you should set about renewing the work with Neptune’s wave, not if the whole sea should wish to wash it with all its waters. Lastly, is it not one thing that couples gold to gold, and is it not by white lead that bronze is joined to bronze? How many others now one might find! What then? You have no need anywhere of such long roundabouts, nor is it fitting for me to spend so much labor here, but it is better to comprise much briefly in few words. Those things whose textures have fallen mutually opposite, so that hollows meet fulls, these of that and those of this in turn—this joining holds together best. There are some, too, that can be held coupled among themselves as if linked by little rings and hooks; which seems rather to be the case with this stone and iron.
Illud in his rebus mirari mitte, quod aestus non valet e lapide hoc alias impellere item res. pondere enim fretae partim stant, quod genus aurum; at partim raro quia sunt cum corpore, ut aestus pervolet intactus, nequeunt inpellier usquam, lignea materies in quo genere esse videtur. interutrasque igitur ferri natura locata aeris ubi accepit quaedam corpuscula, tum fit, inpellant ut eo Magnesia flumine saxa. nec tamen haec ita sunt aliarum rerum aliena, ut mihi multa parum genere ex hoc suppeditentur, quae memorare queam inter se singlariter apta. saxa vides primum sola colescere calce. glutine materies taurino iungitur una, ut vitio venae tabularum saepius hiscant quam laxare queant compages taurea vincla. vitigeni latices aquai fontibus audent misceri, cum pix nequeat gravis et leve olivom. purpureusque colos conchyli iungitur uno corpore cum lanae, dirimi qui non queat usquam, non si Neptuni fluctu renovare operam des, non mare si totum velit eluere omnibus undis. denique res auro non aurum copulat una, aerique aes plumbo fit uti iungatur ab albo? cetera iam quam multa licet reperire! quid ergo? nec tibi tam longis opus est ambagibus usquam nec me tam multam hic operam consumere par est, sed breviter paucis praestat comprendere multa. quorum ita texturae ceciderunt mutua contra, ut cava conveniant plenis haec illius illa huiusque inter se, iunctura haec optima constat. est etiam, quasi ut anellis hamisque plicata inter se quaedam possint coplata teneri; quod magis in lapide hoc fieri ferroque videtur.
Now what the reason of diseases is, or from where, on a sudden, the disease-bearing force, once risen, can blow together deadly havoc for the race of men and the herds of cattle, I will set forth. First, I have taught above that there are seeds of many things that are life-giving to us, and, on the other hand, many must fly about that are bound up with disease and death; and when by chance these have risen and disturbed the sky, the air becomes disease-bearing. And all that force of diseases and that pestilence either come from without, like clouds and mists, down through the sky, or often, risen from the earth itself, rise up, when, grown moist, it has caught a rottenness, struck by untimely rains and suns. Do you not see, too, that those who travel far from fatherland and home are tried by the newness of sky and waters, just because things are widely at variance? For how different must we think the sky of the Britons from the sky in Egypt, where the world’s axis slants, or how different the sky in Pontus from that at Gades, and on to the races of men burnt to a black color? And as we see these four diverse from one another, born of the four winds and quarters of the sky, so the color and look of men are seen to differ greatly, and diseases by kind to grip the races. There is the elephant-disease, which is begotten by the streams of the Nile in the midst of Egypt, and nowhere else besides. In Attica the steps are attacked, and the eyes in the Achaean borders. Then one place is hostile to some parts and members, another to others: the varied air contrives it. So when a sky that chances to be alien to us bestirs itself, and the hostile air begins to creep, like mist and cloud little by little it crawls, and all where it goes it disturbs and forces to change; it comes about too that, when at last it comes into our sky, it corrupts it and makes it like itself and alien. This sudden havoc, then, and pestilence either falls upon the waters, or settles into the very crops, or other pastures of men and fodder of the herds, or even hangs suspended in the air itself, and, when, breathing, we draw in the mingled airs from there, we must likewise suck those in together into the body. In a like manner the pestilence often comes to oxen too, and the sickness to the sluggish bleating flocks. Nor does it matter whether we come into places hostile to us and change the sky’s mantle, or whether nature of her own accord brings us a corrupted sky, or something we are not used to using, which can try us by its fresh arrival.
Nunc ratio quae sit morbis aut unde repente mortiferam possit cladem conflare coorta morbida vis hominum generi pecudumque catervis, expediam, primum multarum semina rerum esse supra docui quae sint vitalia nobis, et contra quae sint morbo mortique necessest multa volare; ea cum casu sunt forte coorta et perturbarunt caelum, fit morbidus aër. atque ea vis omnis morborum pestilitasque aut extrinsecus ut nubes nebulaeque superne per caelum veniunt aut ipsa saepe coorta de terra surgunt, ubi putorem umida nactast intempestivis pluviisque et solibus icta. nonne vides etiam caeli novitate et aquarum temptari procul a patria qui cumque domoque adveniunt ideo quia longe discrepitant res? nam quid Brittannis caelum differre putamus, et quod in Aegypto est, qua mundi claudicat axis, quidve quod in Ponto est differre et Gadibus atque usque ad nigra virum percocto saecla colore? quae cum quattuor inter se diversa videmus quattuor a ventis et caeli partibus esse, tum color et facies hominum distare videntur largiter et morbi generatim saecla tenere. est elephas morbus qui propter flumina Nili gignitur Aegypto in media neque praeterea usquam. Atthide temptantur gressus oculique in Achaeis finibus. inde aliis alius locus est inimicus partibus ac membris; varius concinnat id aër. proinde ubi se caelum, quod nobis forte alienum, commovet atque aër inimicus serpere coepit, ut nebula ac nubes paulatim repit et omne qua graditur conturbat et immutare coactat, fit quoque ut, in nostrum cum venit denique caelum, corrumpat reddatque sui simile atque alienum. haec igitur subito clades nova pestilitasque aut in aquas cadit aut fruges persidit in ipsas aut alios hominum pastus pecudumque cibatus, aut etiam suspensa manet vis aëre in ipso et, cum spirantes mixtas hinc ducimus auras, illa quoque in corpus pariter sorbere necessest. consimili ratione venit bubus quoque saepe pestilitas et iam pigris balantibus aegror. nec refert utrum nos in loca deveniamus nobis adversa et caeli mutemus amictum, an caelum nobis ultro natura corumptum deferat aut aliquid quo non consuevimus uti, quod nos adventu possit temptare recenti.
Such a law of diseases and deadly exhalation once, in the borders of Cecrops, made the fields deadly and laid waste the ways, drained the city of its citizens. For, coming deep, risen from the borders of Egypt, having traversed much air and the floating plains, it settled at last upon all the people of Pandion. Then in droves they were given over to disease and death. First they bore a head kindled with fever, and both eyes red with a suffused light. The throat, too, black within, sweated with blood, and the path of the voice was hedged and closed with ulcers, and the tongue, the interpreter of the mind, oozed with gore, weakened with ills, heavy in its motion, rough to the touch. Then, when through the throat the disease-force had filled the breast and had flowed together into the very sad heart of the sick, then indeed all the bars of life gave way. The breath rolled forth from the mouth a foul stench, in the fashion in which cast-out, rancid corpses reek. And then the strength of the whole soul, and the whole body languished, now on the very threshold of death. And to their unbearable ills anguish was a constant companion, with wailing mingled with groaning, and frequent sobbing, through the night often and the day, ceaselessly seizing the sinews and cramping the limbs, broke them down, wearying those already worn out before. Nor in any case could you mark, by excessive burning, that the surface of the body’s outermost part was on fire, but rather it offered a lukewarm touch to the hands, and at the same time the whole body was red, as if with branded ulcers, as when the sacred fire spreads through the limbs. But the inmost part of the man blazed to the very bones, a flame blazed in the stomach as in furnaces within. Nothing light or thin could you turn to anyone’s benefit for their limbs—always wind and cold. Some gave their limbs, burning with disease, into the chill rivers, casting the naked body into the waves. Many fell headlong, deep into the wells of the nymphs, coming to them with mouth itself agape: unquenchable thirst, drowning the parched bodies, made a great rain seem like little drops. Nor was there any rest from the ill; the bodies lay worn out. Medicine muttered in silent fear, since again and again they rolled the burning eyes, wide open in disease, deprived of sleep. And many signs of death besides were given then: the mind of the spirit disturbed in grief and fear, the gloomy brow, the face furious and fierce, the ears, moreover, troubled and full of ringing, the breath frequent, or huge and rising rarely, and the glistening moisture of sweat soaking the neck, the spittle thin and scant, tinged with the color of saffron, salt, scarcely brought up through the throat by a hoarse cough. In the hands, indeed, the sinews ceased not to twitch and the limbs to tremble, and from the feet, bit by bit, the cold to climb. Then, at the last moment of all, the nostrils pinched, the point of the nose-tip thin, the eyes hollow, the temples sunken, the skin cold and hard, in the mouth a gaping grin, the brow stretched taut. Nor long after did they lie with limbs stiffened in death. And about the eighth shining light of the sun, or even the ninth lamp, they rendered up their life. And if any of them, as happens, had escaped the rites of death, yet later, with foul ulcers and the black flux of the bowels, wasting and death awaited him even so; or often, too, the corrupted blood, with much pain of the head, went out through the filled nostrils. Into this all the man’s strength and body drained away. And he who had escaped the keen outflow of foul blood—yet even into his sinews and limbs the disease went, and into the very generative parts of the body. And some, gravely fearing the thresholds of death, lived on, robbed by the iron of the male part; and not a few remained, without hands and feet, in life even so, and some lost their eyes: so keenly had the sharp fear of death come upon them. And forgetfulness of all things, too, seized some, so that they could not even know themselves. And though many bodies lay unburied upon the ground, heaped on bodies, yet the tribe of the birds and the beasts either leapt far away, to escape the bitter stench, or, when they had tasted, languished with death close by. Nor yet at all, in those days, did any bird appear readily, nor did the grim tribes of beasts come out from the woods. Most languished with disease and died. Above all the faithful strength of the dogs, strewn in all the streets, with hard struggle laid down its life; for the disease-force wrenched the life from their limbs. Funerals, uncompanioned, vied to be hurried off, vast, nor was any sure remedy given in common; for what had granted to some to be allowed to roll the living airs of the upper air in their mouths and look on the regions of the sky, this was, for others, ruin, and made ready their death. In these matters there was one thing, especially to be pitied and full of misery: that when each saw himself caught up in the disease, condemned, as it were, to death, losing heart, with sorrowful breast he lay, and, looking toward his funeral, gave up his soul on the spot. For indeed at no time did the greedy contagions of disease cease to catch one from another, again and again, as if they were woolly sheep and horned cattle. And this above all heaped funeral upon funeral. For whoever shrank from visiting their own sick, too greedy of life and fearing death, were punished a little later with a foul and evil death, deserted, helpless, slain by neglect. But those who had stood by went down by the contagions and the toil that shame then forced them to undergo, and the coaxing voice of the weary mixed with the voice of complaint. The best, then, met this kind of death. And now the shepherd and every herdsman, and likewise the sturdy guider of the curved plough, languished, and their bodies lay crammed deep in the hut, given over to death by poverty and disease. On lifeless children, sometimes, you might see the lifeless bodies of parents heaped, and again, upon mothers and fathers, children giving up their life. And in no small part did this affliction flow from the fields into the city, brought there by the failing throng of farmers, gathering, diseased, from every quarter. They filled all places and houses, where the more, packed thus in the heat, death heaped them in piles. Many bodies, laid low by thirst and rolled forward along the street, lay strewn by the fountains of water, their breath cut off by too great a sweetness of the waters, and many, everywhere through the open places of the people and the ways, languid, with half-living body, you might see— bristling with filth and covered over with rags, perishing, with the foulness of the body, a skin alone upon the bones, now well-nigh buried in foul ulcers and squalor. Lastly, death had filled all the holy shrines of the gods with lifeless bodies, and everywhere, loaded down with corpses, all the temples of the heavenly ones remained— places that the temple-keepers had crammed with guests. For now neither the religion of the gods nor their divine powers were greatly weighed: the present grief overmastered all. Nor did that custom of burial remain in the city, by which this people had always before been wont to be laid to rest; for the whole was thrown into confusion and trembled, and each one, in grief, buried his own as the present means allowed. And the sudden plight and harsh poverty urged many things: for, with a great outcry, they would lay their own kindred upon the funeral-piles built up for others, and set torches beneath, often brawling with much blood rather than that the bodies should be abandoned. And, vying to bury their own among the bodies of others, weary with tears and grief they went back home; and then in good part they took to their beds in sorrow. Nor could anyone be found whom neither disease nor death nor grief assailed at such a time.
Haec ratio quondam morborum et mortifer aestus finibus in Cecropis funestos reddidit agros vastavitque vias, exhausit civibus urbem. nam penitus veniens Aegypti finibus ortus, aëra permensus multum camposque natantis, incubuit tandem populo Pandionis omni. inde catervatim morbo mortique dabantur. principio caput incensum fervore gerebant et duplicis oculos suffusa luce rubentes. sudabant etiam fauces intrinsecus atrae sanguine et ulceribus vocis via saepta coibat atque animi interpres manabat lingua cruore debilitata malis, motu gravis, aspera tactu. inde ubi per fauces pectus complerat et ipsum morbida vis in cor maestum confluxerat aegris, omnia tum vero vitai claustra lababant. spiritus ore foras taetrum volvebat odorem, rancida quo perolent proiecta cadavera ritu. atque animi prorsum tum vires totius, omne languebat corpus leti iam limine in ipso. intolerabilibusque malis erat anxius angor adsidue comes et gemitu commixta querella, singultusque frequens noctem per saepe diemque corripere adsidue nervos et membra coactans dissoluebat eos, defessos ante, fatigans. nec nimio cuiquam posses ardore tueri corporis in summo summam fervescere partem, sed potius tepidum manibus proponere tactum et simul ulceribus quasi inustis omne rubere corpus, ut est per membra sacer dum diditur ignis. intima pars hominum vero flagrabat ad ossa, flagrabat stomacho flamma ut fornacibus intus. nil adeo posses cuiquam leve tenveque membris vertere in utilitatem, at ventum et frigora semper. in fluvios partim gelidos ardentia morbo membra dabant nudum iacientes corpus in undas. multi praecipites nymphis putealibus alte inciderunt ipso venientes ore patente: insedabiliter sitis arida corpora mersans aequabat multum parvis umoribus imbrem. nec requies erat ulla mali: defessa iacebant corpora. mussabat tacito medicina timore, quippe patentia cum totiens ardentia morbis lumina versarent oculorum expertia somno. multaque praeterea mortis tum signa dabantur: perturbata animi mens in maerore metuque, triste supercilium, furiosus voltus et acer, sollicitae porro plenaeque sonoribus aures, creber spiritus aut ingens raroque coortus, sudorisque madens per collum splendidus umor, tenvia sputa minuta, croci contacta colore salsaque per fauces rauca vix edita tussi. in manibus vero nervi trahere et tremere artus a pedibusque minutatim succedere frigus non dubitabat. item ad supremum denique tempus conpressae nares, nasi primoris acumen tenve, cavati oculi, cava tempora, frigida pellis duraque in ore, iacens rictu, frons tenta manebat. nec nimio rigida post artus morte iacebant. octavoque fere candenti lumine solis aut etiam nona reddebant lampade vitam. quorum siquis, ut est, vitarat funera leti, ulceribus taetris et nigra proluvie alvi posterius tamen hunc tabes letumque manebat, aut etiam multus capitis cum saepe dolore corruptus sanguis expletis naribus ibat. huc hominis totae vires corpusque fluebat. profluvium porro qui taetri sanguinis acre exierat, tamen in nervos huic morbus et artus ibat et in partis genitalis corporis ipsas. et graviter partim metuentes limina leti vivebant ferro privati parte virili, et manibus sine non nulli pedibusque manebant in vita tamen et perdebant lumina partim. usque adeo mortis metus iis incesserat acer. atque etiam quosdam cepere oblivia rerum cunctarum, neque se possent cognoscere ut ipsi. multaque humi cum inhumata iacerent corpora supra corporibus, tamen alituum genus atque ferarum aut procul absiliebat, ut acrem exiret odorem, aut, ubi gustarat, languebat morte propinqua. nec tamen omnino temere illis solibus ulla comparebat avis, nec tristia saecla ferarum exibant silvis. languebant pleraque morbo et moriebantur. cum primis fida canum vis strata viis animam ponebat in omnibus aegre; extorquebat enim vitam vis morbida membris. incomitata rapi certabant funera vasta nec ratio remedii communis certa dabatur; nam quod ali dederat vitalis aëris auras volvere in ore licere et caeli templa tueri, hoc aliis erat exitio letumque parabat. Illud in his rebus miserandum magnopere unum aerumnabile erat, quod ubi se quisque videbat implicitum morbo, morti damnatus ut esset, deficiens animo maesto cum corde iacebat, funera respectans animam amittebat ibidem. quippe etenim nullo cessabant tempore apisci ex aliis alios avidi contagia morbi, lanigeras tam quam pecudes et bucera saecla, idque vel in primis cumulabat funere funus nam qui cumque suos fugitabant visere ad aegros, vitai nimium cupidos mortisque timentis poenibat paulo post turpi morte malaque, desertos, opis expertis, incuria mactans. qui fuerant autem praesto, contagibus ibant atque labore, pudor quem tum cogebat obire blandaque lassorum vox mixta voce querellae. optimus hoc leti genus ergo quisque subibat. Praeterea iam pastor et armentarius omnis et robustus item curvi moderator aratri languebat, penitusque casa contrusa iacebant corpora paupertate et morbo dedita morti. exanimis pueris super exanimata parentum corpora non numquam posses retroque videre matribus et patribus natos super edere vitam. nec minimam partem ex agris maeror is in urbem confluxit, languens quem contulit agricolarum copia conveniens ex omni morbida parte. omnia conplebant loca tectaque quo magis aestu, confertos ita acervatim mors accumulabat. multa siti prostrata viam per proque voluta corpora silanos ad aquarum strata iacebant interclusa anima nimia ab dulcedine aquarum, multaque per populi passim loca prompta viasque languida semanimo cum corpore membra videres horrida paedore et pannis cooperta perire, corporis inluvie, pelli super ossibus una, ulceribus taetris prope iam sordeque sepulta. omnia denique sancta deum delubra replerat corporibus mors exanimis onerataque passim cuncta cadaveribus caelestum templa manebant, hospitibus loca quae complerant aedituentes. nec iam religio divom nec numina magni pendebantur enim: praesens dolor exsuperabat. nec mos ille sepulturae remanebat in urbe, quo prius hic populus semper consuerat humari; perturbatus enim totus trepidabat et unus quisque suum pro re cognatum maestus humabat. multaque res subita et paupertas horrida suasit; namque suos consanguineos aliena rogorum insuper extructa ingenti clamore locabant subdebantque faces, multo cum sanguine saepe rixantes, potius quam corpora desererentur, inque aliis alium populum sepelire suorum certantes; lacrimis lassi luctuque redibant; inde bonam partem in lectum maerore dabantur; nec poterat quisquam reperiri, quem neque morbus nec mors nec luctus temptaret tempore tali.