the Romans. The last, if we may judge of them by subsisting monuments, were small, open, and inconvenient. They had two or four wheels; but, not being suspended, must have been very fatiguing to travellers on the paved military roads. These carriages were of various kinds; and what is extraordinary, almost all the different kinds had been borrowed from the Gauls. The Romans adorned them with silver, gold, and sometimes with precious stones; a barbarous and misplaced luxury, indicating more riches than taste. It was reserved for modern times to invent those soft and elegant machines which gratify at once the effeminacy, laziness, and impatience of travellers.* I shall speak briefly of another kind of travelling, the march of troops. These marches, I am inclined to think, both by the exercises (of which I have made mention) and by my general opinion on the subject, were longer than ours; but, previously to making the researches necessary for determining this matter with precision, I shall cast a glance on the longest and boldest march which I have ever met with in history, either ancient or modern. The fortune of the Carthaginians was sustained in Italy by the exertions of Hannibal, when Asdrubal crossed the Alps with a numerous army. The republic was in danger of sinking under their united efforts. Nero, the consul, observed the motions of Hannibal, who exhausted the whole science of marching and countermarching. The Roman general perceived that a bold stroke only could ward off the dangers which threatened his country. With a chosen body of a thousand horse, and six thousand foot, he marched from his camp, deceived the vigilance of the Carthaginian, effected a junction with his colleague in Umbria, saved the republic at the battle of Metaurus, and returned with the same celerity, announcing to Hannibal the death of his brother, and finding that general himself still astonished and inactive. He had left Hannibal in the neighbourhood of Canusium; he found the consul Livius in that of Sena Gallica. His route through the territories of the Larinates, Frentani, Marrucini, Prætutii, and Picenum, into Umbria, was about 270 Roman miles. know not how many days he employed in marching thither; but I know that only six were spent in his return.§ Expedition became daily more necessary; and it is not a small stain on the glory of Hannibal, that he remained ignorant for twelve days of the departure of the Roman general. I think this would not have escaped the vigilance of Asdrubal; and that he would have destroyed an army weakened by the absence of its general, and by a powerful detachment.|| 270 Roman miles in six days, gives 45 Roman, or 40 English miles for each daily march. The fact is scarcely credible. Nero's forces, indeed, were selected from the whole army; * V. l'Antiquité Expliquée du P. Monfaucon. Tit. Liv. xxvii. 43-51. I Itineraria Anton. p. 312, 313, 314, 315. I have measured on the chart of Delisle the distance from Canusium to Larinum. § Tit. Liv. xxvii. 50, xxviii. 9. Tit. Liv. xxvii. 46. he marched night and day; and the zeal of the allies co-operated with the attentions of the general in procuring for them, in abundance, every comfort and assistance proper for softening their fatigues and reviving their strength. With all these advantages, it would be impossible for modern troops to make such a march. To accomplish it required Romans, and Romans of the age of Scipio. As soldiers, their bodies were patient of fatigue and toil; as citizens, they had a country for which to fight. Their exertions were quite different from those of a herd of mercenaries, whose only hope is that of pay, and whose only fear is that of punishment. This is a sketch of the chapter which I said was wanting;-but, how imperfect have I left it! NO. IV. Lausanne.-Much philosophical and much theological knowledge may be derived from Ovid's Fasti. The religion of the Romans, the points in which it agrees with or differs from that of the Greeks, is a subject as curious as it is new. I reckon for nothing the researches of a Coyer. The poetry of the Fasti appears to me more liable to blame than worthy of praise. I acknowledge with pleasure all the merit of Ovid; his astonishing fancy, a perpetual elegance, and the most agreeable turn of mind. I principally admire his variety, suppleness, and (if I may say so) his flexibility of genius, which rapidly embraces the most opposite subjects, assumes the true style of each, and presents them all under the most pleasing forms of which they are susceptible. The thought almost always suits the subject; and the expression rarely fails in being suitable to the thought. In the Fasti, the same ideas are perpetually recurring; but the images under which they are represented are continually different. The passages of the Fasti which have given me most pleasure are, 1. The origin of sacrifices: 2. The adventure of Lucretia: 3. The festival of Anna Perenna: 4. The origin of the name of May: 5. The dispute of the goddesses for that of June. The following are some of the faults in the character either of the poet or of his subject; which it is painful to perceive. Ovid appears to me defective in point of strength and elevation; and his genius loses in depth what it gains in surface. In painting nature, his strokes are vague, and without character. His expression of the passions is rarely just; he is sometimes weak, sometimes extravagant, always too diffuse; and though he continually seeks the road to the heart, is seldom fortunate enough to find it. His light and tender character, softened by pleasure and rendered more interesting by misfortune, made him acquainted with the tones of sadness and joy. He knows how to lament the misery of a forsaken mistress, or to celebrate the triumphs of a successful lover. But the great passions are above his reach; fury, vengeance, the fortitude or ferocity of the soul, which either subdues its most impetuous movements, or precipitates their unbridled career. His heroes think more of the reader than of themselves; and the poet, who ought to remain concealed, is always ready to come forward, and to praise, blame, or pity them. Ovid wrote a tragedy; but, notwithstanding the judgment of Quintilian, I cannot much regret its loss. 2. He was ignorant of the rules of proportion, rules so necessary to a writer who would give to each sentiment its due extent, and arrange it in its proper place, agreeably to its own nature, and the end for which he employs it. In Ovid, you may perceive thoughts the most interesting, and narratives closely connected with the very essence of his subject, pass away lightly without leaving a trace behind; while he dwells with complacency on parts merely ornamented, frivolous, or superfluous. Can it be believed that the rape of Proserpine should be described in two verses, when the enumeration of the flowers which she gathered in the garden of Enna had just filled sixteen ?* I acknowledge that the subject of the Fasti exposed him to faults in proportioning the parts of his work. That subject is connected with the whole of the Greek mythology; it contains, also, much of the Roman history. It was sometimes necessary to relate the whole fable; at other times, to hint at, or even to suppose it, was sufficient. It was requisite for him to decide how far each story was likely to be known by an ordinary reader, and how much the knowledge of it contributed to that of his subject: but the principles of such decisions are extremely delicate. 3. Some writers have praised Ovid for the artfulness of his transitions in a work so various as that of the Metamorphoses. Yet this subject, without possessing the unity of epic poetry, supplied him with very natural principles of connexion. But the Fasti is a subject totally disjointed. Each ceremony, and each festival, is altogether distinct from that which follows it, and which follows it only by an imaginary chronology. The poet always traces the era of their institution, which falls, if you will, on the month of January; but they are Januaries of different years, or rather of different centuries. Ovid was so sensible of this defect in his subject, that he endeavours to associate festivals on the earth with the phenomena of the heavens, in order to give a connexion more real, but extremely uninteresting, to his calendar. 4. Ovid heard from the mouth of the gods the laws of their worship, the origin and principle of each fable, and of each ceremony. Such is the nature of the human mind; even in fiction we require the appearance of truth. We cannot bear to see the poet's invention at work. But Ovid shows to us too plainly, that all his ingenious conversations with the gods are the work of his own brain. When he speaks seriously, as he once does in mentioning Vesta, it is to over-run the whole fanciful fabric at one blow. I acknowledge, that a Roman poet must have been perplexed by the perpetual mixture of the serious with the fantastic, and by a poetical religion which was also that of state. Among the early Greeks, the inspiration of Homer did not differ from that of Calchas. His works and those of his successors were the scriptures of the *Ovid Fast. lib. iv. p. 583. nation. With us, on the other hand, the inspiration of poets is merely a transient and voluntary illusion to which we submit ourselves. But among the Romans, who alternately believed in and laughed at their gods, but who had no faith whatever in their poets, the part of these last was very difficult to act. 5. I ought not to reckon the employment of elegiac verse as a particular fault, though heroic measure would have been well adapted to the subject of the Fasti. Elegiac verse has always tired me. The pause constantly recurs on the middle of the foot of the pentameter; and the sense must always be included in a couplet. This monotony fatigues the ear; and causes the introduction of many useless words merely for the safe of the measure. There is far more variety, liberty, and true harmony in the flow of heroic verse. NO. V. Lausanne.-In consequence of reading Addison's treatise, the following remarks have occurred to me on the allegorical beings which we find on the reverses of medals. How limited is the human mind! its boldest inventions are copies. 1. All those beings are represented under the human figure. Our eyes, accustomed to behold the exercise of reason only under this shape, required such a sacrifice. Yet, by our inability of separating from the idea of the human figure the circumstances which commonly accompany it, our fancy requires also that the sex should be determined. The circumstance of sex however implies gross images, which ill correspond with the purity of the virtues, or the spirituality of metaphysical beings. After having made those two sacrifices to the mind and the eyes, a third was still required by the ear. The distinction of sex was not marked by characteristic attributes appropriated to the male and female. This method might have furnished some tolerable allegories. But the genders of their names was injudiciously chosen as the only foundation of distinction, since in all languages those genders have been determined by the caprice and ignorance of the first persons who spoke them. In Greek and Latin, most of those names are feminine. The beings whom they express are therefore, for the most part, represented by female figures. I say for the most part, for they are sometimes unfortunately masculine: and at other times we have two synonymous words of different genders; and the same being assumes the male or female form, according to the word employed as its I shall mention only the example of Gloria and Honos. In consequence of so faulty an arrangement, the character of the being is often at variance with that of its sex. True virtue is consistent; and we cannot conceive the truth, justice or humanity of a woman exercised at the expense of chastity and decency. Yet when the attributes of an allegorical being require that it should be represented naked, we see Valour, Justice, and Hope exhibited in a manner in which a modest woman would blush to appear. It is useless to tell me, these are not women, but female figures. My under name. standing perceives the difference; but the imitative arts must speak to the fancy. 2. Whatever symbols we invent, human qualities alone cannot be represented under human figures. Piety is only a pious woman; and Courage, a courageous one, &c. Much is done when the soul is purged of all passions but one, which occupies it entirely, and shows itself manifestly in air, action, demeanour, and even dress. This abstraction has been realised, though rarely; it may be conceived by the fancy, and may therefore be represented. But those symbols are always most striking which quit the region of chimeras, and give us ideas that are precise and conformable to the nature of things. One of the most interesting is that of Piety under the form of a Roman vestal. The senate carried this principle too far, when it represented the virtues under the portraits of its princes. Of human qualities, those that are fixed and permanent are marked with more force than those that are uncertain and transient. The latter are expressed alone by the air and attitude; in the representation of the former, one may add to these characteristics, the features, figure, and dress. The symbols of Virtue or Chastity may be far more distinctly characterised than those of Hope or Fear. The other abstractions which have been represented by human figures, Victory, Eternity, Abundance, &c. are recognised only by some of their perceptible effects, or by some real object whose idea is associated with their own. We should have much difficulty in inventing them, when wanted, if history and fable did not supply a number of arbitrary signs, which receive their meaning merely from convention. In the symbolic representation, the woman is merely an accessory. Eternity is very well represented by a globe and a phoenix in the thirteenth medal of the first series, a woman sitting holds them in her hand. In the fifteenth medal there is no woman, though the idea is still the same; and if we examine all the other medals, we shall find that women are there merely to make a figure, but never answer the purpose of symbols. The provinces are of a middle kind, they are never symbols of countries, but are often so of the genius and manners of their inhabitants. 3. Mr. Addison proposes an explanation of the thirty-fifth ode of the first book of Horace, in speaking of a medal which represents Security resting on a pillar.* Regumque matres barbarorum, et Stantem columnam They feared lest fortune might overturn the pillar of their security. But fear and security are inconsistent. Besides, Horace would not probably have made use of so subtle and far-fetched an illusion without giving warning of it, at least, by some epithet. Why may not these words be applied literally to those statues and pillars which flattery erects to tyrants, and which are commonly the first victims of popular fury at the time of a revolution? I conjecture that the * Dialogues upon Medals, Dial. ii. p. 47. |