As great as the distance is between philosophy and the other arts, Lucilius, best of men, so great, I think, is the distance within philosophy itself between the part that looks to men and the part that looks to the gods. The latter is higher, and more daring: it has allowed itself much; it was not content with the eyes. It suspected that something greater existed, and more beautiful, which nature had set beyond our sight.

Quantum inter philosophiam interest, Lucili uirorum optime, et ceteras artes, tantum interesse existimo in ipsa philosophia, inter illam partem quae ad homines, et hanc quae ad deos, spectat. Altior est haec, et animosior: multum permisit sibi: non fuit oculis contenta. Maius esse quiddam suspicata est, ac pulchrius, quod extra conspectum natura posuisset.

In short, the distance between the two is as great as that between God and man. The one teaches what must be done on earth; the other, what is done in heaven. The one scatters our errors and brings near the light by which the ambiguities of life are told apart; the other rises far above this murk in which we wallow, and, snatching us out of the darkness, leads us through to the place from which the light shines.

Denique tantum inter duas interest, quantum inter Deum et hominem. Altera docet, quid in terris agendum sit: altera, quid agatur in coelo. Altera errores nostros discutit, et lumen admouet, quo discernantur ambigua uitae: altera multo supra hanc caliginem in qua uolutamur excedit, et e tenebris ereptos illo perducit, unde lucet.

For my part, I give thanks to the nature of things then, when I look at her not on the side that lies open to all, but when I have entered her more secret places: when I learn what the matter of the universe is, who is its author or its keeper; what God is; whether he strains wholly toward himself, or sometimes looks back upon us; whether he makes something every day, or made it once for all; whether he is a part of the world or the world itself; whether it is permitted him even today to decree, and to repeal something from the law of the fates, or whether it would be a diminishment of his majesty, and a confession of error, to have made what must be altered — for he must be pleased by the same things, he to whom nothing but the best can be pleasing; nor is he on that account any less free and powerful: for he is himself his own necessity.

Equidem tunc naturae rerum gratias ago, cum illam non ab hac parte uideo, quae publica est, sed cum secretiora eius intraui: cum disco, quae uniuersi materia sit, quis auctor sit aut custos; quid sit deus; totus in se intendat, an ad nos aliquando respiciat; faciat quotidie aliquid, an sernel fecerit; pars mundi sit an mundus; liceat: illi hodieque decernere, et ex lege fatorum, aliquid derogare, an maiestatis deminutio sit et confessio erroris, mutanda fecisse: necesse est enim ei eadem placere, cui nisi optima placere non possunt; nec ob hoc minus liber et potens est: ipse enim est necessitas sua.

Were I not admitted to these things, it would not have been worth being born. For what reason would there have been for me to rejoice that I had been set among the living? To strain food and drink? To patch up this sickly, leaking body, doomed to perish unless it is filled again and again, and to live as the attendant of an invalid? To fear death, for which we are all born? Take away this inestimable good, and life is not worth so much sweat, so much fever.

Nisi ad haec admitterer, non fuerat nasci. Quid enim erat, cur in numero uiuentium me positum esse gauderem? an ut cibos et potiones percolarem? ut hoc corpus causarium ac fluidum, periturumque nisi subinde impleatur, sarcirem, et uiuerem aegri minister? ut mortem timerem, cui omnes nascimur? Detrahe hoc inaestimabile bonum, non est uita tanti, ut sudem, ut aestuem.

Oh how contemptible a thing is man, unless he has risen above the human! So long as we wrestle with the passions, what magnificent thing do we accomplish? Even if we come out on top, we are conquering monstrosities. What reason is there to look up to ourselves, because we are unlike the worst? I do not see why a man should be pleased with himself for being stronger than an invalid.

0 quam contempta res est homo, nisi supra humana surrexit! Quamdiu cum affectibus colluctamur, quid magnifici facimus? etiamsi superiores sumus, portenta uincimus? Quid est, cur suspiciamus nosmetipsos, quia dissimiles deterrimis sumus? non uideo quare sibi placeat, qui robustior est ualetudinario.

There is a great difference between strength and good health. You have escaped the vices of the mind: yours is no feigned face, no speech composed to another’s pleasure, no heart wrapped in concealment, no avarice that denies to itself what it has snatched from everyone, no extravagance that loses money disgracefully only to recover it more disgracefully still, no ambition that will lead you to high office by nothing but the unworthy. You have gained nothing yet; you have escaped much — yourself, not yet! For that excellence we strive after is magnificent, not because to be rid of evil is in itself blessedness, but because it loosens the mind, and prepares it for the knowledge of things heavenly, and makes it worthy to come into fellowship with God.

Multum interest inter uires et bonam ualetudinem. Effugisti uitia animi:non est tibi frons ficta, nec in alienam uoluntatem sermo compositus, nec cor inuolutum, nec auaritia, quae quidquid omnibus abstulit, sibi ipsi negat; nec luxuria pecuniam turpiter amittens, quam turpius reparet; nec ambitio, quae te ad dignitatem nisi per indigna non ducet. Nihil adhuc consecutus es; multa effugisti, te nondum! Virtus enim ista, quam affectamus, magnifica est non quia per se beatum est malo caruisse, sed quia animum laxat, ac praeparat ad cognitionem coelestium, dignumque efficit, qui in consortium Dei ueniat.

Then it possesses the consummate and full good of the human lot, when, having trampled down every evil, it makes for the heights and comes into the inner bosom of nature. Then it delights, as it wanders among the very stars, to laugh at the pavements of the rich and the whole earth with its gold — not only the gold it has dug out and handed over to be stamped into coin, but also the gold it keeps hidden away for the avarice of those to come.

Tunc consummatum habet plenumque bonum sortis humanae, cum, calcato omni malo, petit altum, et in interiorem naturae sinum uenit. Tunc iuuat inter sidera ipsa uagantem, diuitum pauimenta ridere, et totam cum auro suo terram: non illo tantum, dico, quod egessit, et signandum monetae dedit, sed et illo, quod in occulto seruat posterorum auaritiae.

It cannot despise colonnades, and panelled ceilings agleam with ivory, and clipped groves, and rivers channelled into houses, until it has gone round the whole world, and, looking down from above upon the circle of the lands, has seen it narrow, and for the most part covered by sea, and even where it stands clear, far and wide a wasteland, either scorched or stiff with frost. It says to itself: Is this that point which is parcelled out among so many nations by sword and fire?

Non potest ante contemnere porticus, et lacunaria ebore fulgentia, et tonsiles siluas, et deriuata in domos flumina, quam totum circumeat mundum, et terrarum orbem superne despiciens angustum, et magna ex parte opertum mari, etiam qua exstat, late squalidum, et aut ustum aut rigentem. Sibi ipse ait: Hoc est illud punctum quod inter tot gentes ferro et igni diuiditur?

Oh how laughable are the boundaries of mortals! Let the Dacian not pass beyond the Ister; let the Strymon shut in the Thracians; let the Euphrates bar the Parthians; let the Danube part Sarmatian from Roman; let the Rhine set a limit to Germany; let the Pyrenees raise their ridge midway between the Gauls and the Spains; let an untilled waste of sands lie between Egypt and the Ethiopias!

O quam ridiculi sunt mortalium termini! Ultra Istrum Dacus non exeat: Strymo Thracas includat: Parthis obstet Euphrates: Danubius Sarmatica ac Romana disterminet: Rhenus Germaniae modum faciat: Pyrenaeus medium inter Gallias et Hispanias iugum extollat: inter Aegyptum et Aethiopias arenarum inculta uastitas iaceat!

If someone were to give ants the understanding of a man, would not they too divide a single threshing-floor into many provinces? When you have raised yourself into that which is truly great, then, as often as you see armies marching with standards upraised, and — as though some great thing were afoot — the cavalry now scouting the ground ahead, now wheeling in upon the flanks, you will want to say: "A black column moves across the plains." That is the scurrying of ants, toiling in a narrow space. What difference is there between them and us, except the measure of a tiny body?

Si quis formicis det intellectum hominis, nonne et illae unam aream in multas prouincias diuident? Cum te in illa uere magna sustuleris; quoties uidebis exercitus subrectis ire uexillis et quasi magnum aliquid agatur, equitem modo ulteriora explorantem, modo a lateribus affusum, libebit dicere: "It nigrum campis agmen": formicarum iste discursus est, in angusto laborantium. Quid illis et nobis interest, nisi exigui mensura corpusculi?

A mere point is this on which you sail, on which you wage war, on which you arrange your kingdoms — the tiniest of things, even where Ocean meets it on both sides. Above are vast spaces, into possession of which the mind is admitted — but only on these terms: if it has carried away with it the least possible of the body, if it has wiped off all that is foul, and, unburdened and light and content with little, has flashed free.

Punctum est istud in quo nauigatis, in quo bellatis, in quo regna disponitis: minima, etiam cum illis utrimque Oceanus occurrit. Sursum ingentia spatia sunt, in quorum possessionem animus admittitur: at ita si minimum secum ex corpore tulit, si sordidum omne detersit, et expeditus leuisque ac contentus modico emicuit.

When it has touched those heights, it is nourished, it grows, and, as though released from chains, returns to its origin; and it has this proof of its own divinity, that things divine delight it — and it is engaged with them not as with what is foreign, but as with its own. Untroubled, it watches the settings and risings of the stars, and the so-various paths of bodies that move in concord. It observes where each star first shows its light to the earth, where its highest point lies, what its course is, how far it descends. A curious onlooker, it examines each thing, and inquires. Why should it not inquire? It knows that those things belong to it.

Cum illa tetigit, alitur, crescit, ac uelut uinculis liberatus, in originem redit; et hoc habet argumentum diuinitatis suae, quod illum diuina delectant: nec ut alienis interest, sed ut suis interest: secure spectat occasus siderum atque ortus, et tam diuersas concordantium uias. Obseruat, ubi quaeque stella primum terris lumen ostendat, ubi culmen eius summum, qua cursus sit, quousque descendat. Curiosus spectator excutit singula, et quaerit. Quidni quaerat? scit illa ad se pertinere.

Then it despises the narrowness of its former dwelling. For how great is the space that lies from the farthest shores of Spain to the Indians? A span of very few days, if its own wind has filled the ship. But that celestial region furnishes to the swiftest star a road of thirty years, a star that nowhere halts, but moves with an even speed. There at last it learns what it long sought; there it begins to know God. What is God? The mind of the universe. What is God? All that you see, and all that you do not see. Thus at last his greatness is given back to him, than which nothing greater can be conceived; thus he alone is all things, and holds his own work both from without and from within.

Tunc contemnit domicilii prioris angustias. Quantum enim est, quod ab ultimis littoribus Hispaniae usque ad Indos iacet? Paucissimorum dierum spatium, si nauem suus uentus impleuit. At illa regio coelestis per trigirita annos uelocissimo sideri uiam praestat, nusquam resistenti, sed aequaliter cito. Illic demum discit, quod diu quaesiuit: illic incipit Deum nosse. Quid est Deus? Mens uniuersi. Quid est Deus? Quod uides totum, et quod non uides totum. Sic demum magnitudo sua illi redditur, qua nihil maius excogitari potest, sic solus est omnia, opus suum et extra et intra tenet.

What, then, is the difference between the nature of God and our own? In us the better part is the mind; in him there is no part outside mind: he is wholly reason. And yet so great an error grips mortal things that men suppose this — than which nothing is more beautiful, nor more ordered, nor more constant in its purpose — to be a thing of chance, rolled along at random, and therefore turbulent amid the lightnings, the clouds, the storms, and all else by which the earth and the regions bordering the earth are battered.

Quid ergo interest inter naturam Dei et nostram? Nostri melior pars animus est: in illo nulla pars extra animum; totus ratio est. Cum interim tantus error mortalia teneat, ut hoc, quo neque formosius est quidquam, nec dispositius, nec in proposito constantius, existiment homines fortuitum et casu uolubile, ideoque tumultuosum inter fulmina, nubes, tempestates, et cetera quibus terrae ac terris uicina pulsantur.

Nor is this madness confined to the crowd; it has touched even those who have professed wisdom. There are men who hold that they themselves possess a mind — and indeed one that foresees and dispenses the particulars, both its own affairs and others’ — but that this universe, in which we too exist, is without design, and is borne along either by some recklessness, or by a nature that does not know what it is doing.

Nec haec intra uulgum dementia est, sapientiam quoque professas contigit. Sunt qui patent, sibi ipsis animum esse, et quidem prouidum ac dispensantem singula, et sua, et aliena: hoc autem uniuersum, in quo nos quoque sumus, expers esse consilii, et aut ferri temeritate quadam, aut natura nesciente quid faciat.

How much do you reckon it worth to know these things, and to set the limits of the matter: how much God can do? whether he shapes matter for himself, or makes use of what is given him? whether the idea comes upon the matter first, or the matter upon the idea? whether God brings about whatever he wills, or whether in many things the stuff to be worked fails him — and many things are badly shaped by the great craftsman, not because his art falls idle, but because that on which it is exercised is often unresponsive to the art?

Quanti aestimas ista cognoscere, et rebus terminos ponere? quantum Deus possit? materiam ipse sibi formet, an data utatur? utrum idea materiae prius superueniat, an materia ideae? deus quidquid uult efficiat, an in multis rebus illum tractanda destituant: et a magno artifice praue formentur multa, non quia cessat ars, sed quia id in quo exercetur, saepe inobsequens arti est?

To look into these things, to learn them, to brood over them — is that not to leap clear of one’s mortality, and to be enrolled in a better lot? "What good," you say, "will these things do you?" If nothing else, this at least I shall know — that all things are narrow, once I have taken the measure of God. But of this later.

Haec inspicere, haec discere, his incubare, nonne transilire est mortalitatem suam, et in meliorem transcribi sortem? Quid tibi, inquis, ista proderunt? Si nihil aliud, hoc certe sciam, omnia angusta esse, mensus Deum. Sed haec deinde.

Now, to come to the work I have set myself: hear what I think about the fires that the air drives crosswise. That they are struck out with great force is shown by this: they are carried aslant and with headlong speed; it is plain that they do not travel but are hurled. The fires have many and various appearances.

Nunc, ut ad propositum opus ueniam, audi, quid de ignibus sentiam, quos aer transuersos agit. Magna illos ui excuti argumentum est, quod obliqui feruntur et praerapida celeritate: apparet illos non ire sed proici. Ignium multae uariaeque facies sunt.

Aristotle calls a certain kind of these a "goat"; if you ask me why, you must first give me the reason why others are called "kids." But if — which is the most convenient course — we agree between us that neither shall ask the other what he knows the other cannot answer, it will be better to inquire into the thing itself than to wonder why Aristotle called a ball of fire a "goat." For such was the shape of the one that appeared, of the size of the moon, while Paulus was waging the war against Perseus.

Aristoteles quoddam genus horum capram uocat: si me interrogaueris quare, prior mihi rationem reddas oportet, quare haedi uocentur; si autem, quod commodissimum est, conuenerit inter nos, ne alter alterum interroget, quod scit illum respondere non posse, satius erit de re ipsa quaerere quam mirari, quid ita Aristoteles globum ignis appellauerit capram. Talis enim fuit forma eius, qui bellum aduersus Persen Paulo gerente a lunari magnitudine apparuit.

We too have seen, more than once, a flame in the likeness of a huge ball, which nonetheless was scattered in the very midst of its course. We saw a like portent about the time of the deified Augustus’s passing; we saw one at the time when Sejanus was dealt with; nor was the death of Germanicus without such a forewarning.

Vidimus nos quoque non semel flammam ingentis pilae specie, quae tamen in ipso cursu suo dissipata est. Vidimus circa diui Augusti excessum simile prodigium, uidimus eo tempore, quo de Seiano actum est; nec Germanici mors sine denuntiatione tali fuit.

You will say to me: "Are you then sunk in such errors as to suppose that the gods send signs ahead of deaths, and that there is anything on earth so great that the universe should know of its perishing?" There will be another time for that question: we shall see whether a fixed order runs through all things, and whether they are so interwoven, one with another, that what goes before is either the cause of what follows or a sign of it; we shall see whether human affairs are the gods’ concern, or whether the sequence itself announces, by sure tokens, what it is going to do.

Dices mihi: ’Ergo tu in tantis erroribus es, ut existimes deos mortium signa praemittere et quicquam in terris esse tain magnum, quod perire mundus sciat?╗. Erit aliud istius rei tempus: uidebimus an rerum omnium certus ordo ducatur et alia aliis ita implexa sint, ut quod antecedit aut causa sit sequentium aut signum; uidebimus an diis humana curae sint, an series ipsa, quid factura sit, certis rerum notis nuntiet.

For the moment I hold this: that fires of this kind arise when the air is rubbed more violently, when its inclination has been made toward one side and it has not given way but has fought against itself; out of this chafing are born beams and balls and torches and blazes. But when it has been struck more lightly and, so to speak, merely grazed, smaller lights are shaken out, and "the flying stars trail a streaming hair behind them."

Interim illud existimo, eiusmodi ignes existere aere uehementius trito, cum inclinatio eius in alteram partem facta est et non cessit sed inter se pugnauit: ex hac uexatione nascuntur trabes et globi et faces et ardores. At cum leuius collisus et, ut ita dicam, frictus est, minora lumina excutiuntur, ’crinemque uolantia sidera ducunt╗.

Then the finest fires mark out a slender track and draw it across the sky. And so no night is without spectacles of this sort, for there is no need of a great movement of air to produce them. In short, to put it briefly: these come about by the same principle as thunderbolts, but with a lesser force — just as clouds, struck together moderately, produce sheet-lightning, and, driven with greater impact, thunderbolts, so the less a smaller force has pressed them, the lighter the fires they will send out.

Tunc ignes tenuissimi iter exile designant et caelo producunt. Ideo nulla sine eiusmodi spectaculis nox est, non enim opus est ad efficienda ista magno aeris motu. Denique, ut breuiter dicam, eadem ratione fiunt ista, qua fulmina, sed ui minore: quemadmodum nubes collisae mediocriter fulgurationes efficient, maiore impetu impulsae fulmina, sic quanto illas minus presserit minor uis, tanto leuiora fulmina emittent.

Aristotle gives an explanation of this sort: "The circle of the lands exhales things various and many — some moist, some dry, some warm, some fit for catching fire." Nor is it any wonder if the earth’s vapor is of every kind and various, since in the heavens too no single color of things appears: the redness of the Dog-star is sharper, that of Mars softer, while Jupiter’s is none at all, his brightness being carried through into a pure light.

Aristoteles rationem eiusmodi reddit: ’Varia et multa terrarum orbis expire, quaedam umida quaedam sicca, quaedam calentia quaedam concipiendis ignibus idonea╗. Nec mirum est, si terrae omnis generis et uaria euaporatio est, cum in caelo quoque non unus appareat color rerum, sed acrior sit Caniculae rubor, Martis remissior, Iouis nullus in lucem puram nitore perducto.

It must be, then, that in the great abundance of tiny bodies which the lands cast out and drive into the upper region, some fuel for fires reaches the clouds — fuel that can take light not only when struck together but even when breathed upon by the sun’s rays. For with us too, shavings sprinkled with sulphur draw fire across a gap.

Necesse est ergo in magna copia corpusculorum, quae terrae eiectant et in superiorem agunt partem, aliqua in nubes peruenire alimenta ignium, quae non tantum collisa possint ardere sed etiam afflata radiis solis. Nam apud nos quoque ramenta sulphure aspersa ignem ex interuallo trahunt.

It is likely, then, that such matter, gathered among the clouds, is easily kindled, and that fires lesser or greater come to be, according as they had more strength or less. For it is the height of folly to suppose that the stars either fall, or leap across the sky, or have anything taken from them and scraped away:

Veri ergo simile est talem materiam inter nubes congregatam facile succendi et minores maioresue ignes existere, prout plus illis fuit aut minus uirium. Illud enim stultissimum, existimare aut decidere stellas aut transilire aut aliquid illis auferri et abradi:

for if this were so, they would by now be gone; there is no night on which very many are not seen to travel and to be carried off in different directions. And yet each is found in the place where it usually is, and each keeps its own magnitude: it follows, then, that these fires come to be below the stars and quickly die out, since they have no foundation and no fixed seat.

nam si hoc fuisset, etiam defuissent; nulla enim nox est, qua non plurimae ire et in diuersum uideantur abduci. Atqui quo solet quaeque inuenitur loto, ‹et› magnitudo sua singulis constat: sequitur ergo, ut infra illas ista nascantur et cito intercidant, quia sine fundamento et sede certa sunt.

"Why, then, are they not carried across the sky in the daytime as well?" What if you were to say that the stars do not exist by day, because they do not appear? Just as they lie hidden and are overshadowed by the sun’s brightness, so the torches too dart across even by day, but the brilliance of the daylight conceals them. Yet if ever so great a force has flashed out that they can claim their own brightness even against the day, they do appear.

’Quare ergo non etiam interdiu transferuntur?╗. Quid, si dicas stellas interdiu non esse, quia non apparent? Quemadmodum illae latent et solis fulgore obumbrantur, sic faces quoque transcurrunt et interdiu, sed abscondit illas diurni luminis claritas. Si quando tamen tanta uis emicuit, ut etiam aduersus diem uindicare sibi fulgorem suum possint, apparent.

Our own age, at any rate, has more than once seen daytime torches, some turned from east to west, others from west to east. Sailors take it for a sign of a storm when many stars fly across. But if it is a sign of winds, it is there where the winds are — that is, in the air, which lies midway between the moon and the lands.

Nostra certe aetas non semel uidit diurnas faces, alias ab oriente in occidentem uersas, alias ab occasu in ortum. Argumentum tempestatis nautae putant, cum multae transuolant stellae. Quod si uentorum signum est, ibi est, unde uenti sunt, id est in aere, qui medius inter lunam terrasque est.

In a great storm there are wont to appear, as it were, stars perched upon the sail; those in peril believe they are then being helped by the divine power of Pollux and Castor, but the cause of the better hope is that it is now plain the storm is breaking and the winds dying down: otherwise the fires would be carried along, not settle.

In magna tempestate apparere quasi stellae solent uelo insidentes; adiuuari se tunc periclitantes aestimant Pollucis et Castoris numine, causa autem melioris spei est, quod iam apparet frangi tempestatem et desinere uentos: alioquin ferrentur ignes, non sederent.

To Gylippus, as he made for Syracuse, a star seemed to have come to rest upon his very lance. In the camp of the Romans the javelins were seen to burn, fires having slipped down upon them — the kind that often, in the manner of thunderbolts, strike both living things and orchards; but if they exert a lesser force, they only flow down and settle, and neither strike nor wound. Some, however, are struck out among the clouds, others in a clear sky, if the air has been fit for pressing out fires:

Gylippo Syracusas petenti uisa est stella super ipsam lanceam constitisse. In Romanorum castris ardere uisa sunt pila, ignibus scilicet in illa delapsis, qui saepe fulminum modo ferire et animalia solent et arbusta"; sed si minore ui.utuntur, defluunt tantum et insidunt, non feriunt nec uulnerant. Alii autem inter nubes eliduntur, alii sereno, si aer ad exprimendos ignes aptus fuit:

for sometimes it thunders even out of a clear sky, from the same cause as out of a clouded one — the air being struck against itself, air which, even if it is clearer and drier, can nonetheless come together and form certain bodies like clouds, which, when struck, give back a sound. When, then, do beams come to be, and shields, and the shapes of vast fires? When a like cause, but a greater one, has fallen upon such matter.

nam sereno quoque aliquando caelo tonat ex eadem causa qua nubilo, aere inter se colliso, qui, etiamsi est lucidior ac siccior, coire tamen et facere corpora quaedam similia nubibus potest, quae percussa reddant sonum. Q,uando ergo fiunt trabes, quando clipei et uastorum imagines ignibm? Ubi in talem materiam similis incidit causa sed maior.

Let us now see how that brightness comes to be which encircles the heavenly bodies. It is recorded that on the day the deified Augustus, returning from Apollonia, entered the city, there was seen about the sun a ring of varied color, such as is wont to be in the rainbow. This the Greeks call a halo; we can most fittingly call it a "crown." How it is said to come about, I shall set out.

Videamus nunc, quemadmodum fiat is fulgor, qui sidera circumuenit. Memoriae proditum est, quo die urbem diuus Augustus’ Apollonia reuersus intrauit, circa solem uisum coloris uarii circulum, qualis esse in arcu solet. Hunc Graeci G-halo uocant, nos dicere coronam aptissime possumus. Quae quemadmodum fieri dicatur, exponam.

When a stone has been thrown into a fishpond, we see the water part into many rings, and there forms first a very narrow ring, then a wider, and then others larger still, until the impulse fades and dissolves into the levelness of the unmoving water. Let us suppose that something of the kind happens in the air too: when it has been made denser, it can feel a blow; the light of the sun or the moon or any star, running against it, drives it back into circles. For water and air and everything that takes its shape from a blow is driven into a configuration like that of the thing which drives it; and all light is round: therefore the air too, struck by light, will come out in this fashion.

Cum in piscinam lapis missus est, uidemus in multos orbes aquam discedere et fieri primum angustissimum orbem, deinde laxiorem ac deinde alios maiores, donec euanescat impetus et in planitiem immotarum aquarum soluatur; tale quiddam cogitemus fieri etiam in aere: cum spissior factus est, sentire plagam potest; lux solis aut lunae uel cuiuslibet sideris incurrens recedere illum in circulos cogito. Nam umor et aer et omne, quod ex ictu formam accipit, in talem habitum impellitur, qualis est eius, quod impellit; omne autem lumen rotundum est: ergo et aer in hunc modum lumine percussus exibit.

On this account the Greeks called such bright rings "threshing -floors," since places set apart for threshing grain are generally round. But there is no reason to suppose that these — whether "floors" or "crowns" — come to be in the neighborhood of the heavenly bodies. For they are very far from them, although they seem to gird and crown them: such a figure forms not far from the earth, and our sight, deceived by its usual weakness, supposes it set around the star itself.

Ob hoc tales splendores Graeci areas uocauerunt, quia fere terendis frugibus destinata loca rotunda sunt. Non est autem, quod existimemus istas, siue areae siue coronae sunt, in uicinia siderum fieri. Plurimum enim ab his abstint, quamuis cingere ea et coronare uideantur: non longe a terra fit talis effigies, quam uisus noster solita imbecillitate deceptus circa ipsum sidus putat positam.

But in the neighborhood of the stars and the sun nothing of the kind can come to be, because there the aether is thin. For shapes are wont to be imprinted only on thick, dense bodies; in fine ones they have nowhere to settle or cling: in the baths too something of the kind is wont to be seen about a lamp, owing to the murkiness of the dense air, and most frequently in a south wind, when the sky is at its heaviest and thickest.

In uicinia autem stellarum et solis nihil tale fieri potest, quia illic tenuis aether est. Nam formae crassis demum spissisque corporibus imprimi solent, in subtilibus non habent, ubi consistant aut haereant: in balneis quoque circa lucernam tale quiddam aspici solet ob aeris densi obscuritatem, frequentissime autem austro, cum caelum maxime graue et spissum est.

Sometimes they are dissolved little by little and cease; sometimes they are broken at one part, and from the quarter where the fabric of the crown has perished sailors look for the wind: if it has parted on the north side, there will be a north wind; if on the west, a west wind. This is proof that these crowns form within that part of the sky within which the winds too are wont to be: the higher regions have no crowns, because they have no winds either.

Nonnumquam paulatim diluuntur et desinunt, nonnumquam ab aliqua parte rumpuntur et inde uentum nautici expectant, unde contextus coronae periit: si a septemtrione discessit, aquilo erit, si ab occidente, fauonius. Quod argumentum est intra eam partem caeli has fieri coronas, intra quam uenti quoque esse solent: superiora non habent coronas, quia ne uentos quidem.

To these proofs add this also: that a crown is never gathered except when the air is steady and the wind sluggish; otherwise it is not usually seen. For air that stands still can be driven, and spread apart, and molded into some shape; but air that flows is not even struck by the light — for it neither resists nor is shaped, since each foremost part of it is scattered:

His argumentis et illud adice, numquam coronam colligi nisi stabili aere et pigro uento; aliter non solet aspici. Nam qui stat aer, impelli et diduci et in aliquam faciem fingi potest; is autem qui fluit ne feritur quidem lumine (non enim resistit nec formatur, quia prima quaeque pars eius dissipatur):

no star, then, will ever surround itself with such a figure, except when the air is dense and motionless and therefore keeps the round line of light that falls upon it. And not without reason; for recall the example I proposed a little before: a pebble thrown into a fishpond or a lake, into bound and standing water, makes countless circles; but it will not do the same in a river — why? Because the water, fleeing on, breaks up every figure. The same, then, happens in the air, so that the air which stays still can be shaped, but the air which is swept along and runs gives no power over itself and disturbs every blow and every figure that comes upon it.

numquam ergo ullum sidus talem sibi efligiem circumdabit, nisi cum aer erit densus atque immotus et ob hoc custodiens incidentem in se rotundi lineam luminis. Nec sine causa; repete enim exemplum, quod paulo ante’ proposui: lapillus in piscinam aut lacum et alligatam aquam missus circulos facit innumerabiles; at hoc idem non faciet in flumine (quare? Quia omnem figuram fugiens aqua disturbat): idem ergo in aere euenit, ut ille, qui manet, possit figurari, at ille, qui rapitur et currit, non det sui potestatem et omnem ictum uenientemque formam ex eo turbet.

These crowns of which I have spoken, when they have dissolved evenly and faded into themselves, signify rest and ease and tranquillity in the air; when they have given way toward one part, the wind is from that quarter from which they are split; if they are broken in several places, a storm arises.

Hae, de quibus dixi, coronae cum dilapsae sunt aequaliter et in semet ipsae euanuerunt, significatur quies aeris et otium et tranquillitas; cum ad unam partem cesserunt, illinc uentus est, unde finduntur; si ruptae pluribus locis surεt, tempestas fit.

Why this happens can be understood from what I have already set out. For if the whole appearance has subsided, it is plain the air is temperate, and so calm; if it has been cut off at one part, it is plain that there the air is bearing down: and so that region will give a wind. But when it has been torn and shredded on every side, it is clear that an onset is being made upon it from several parts, and that restless air is dashing against it from this side and that: and so from this unsteadiness of a sky that attempts so much and labors on every side, it is plain there will be a storm of many winds.

Quare id accidat, ex his, quae iam exposui, intellegi potest. Nam si facies uniuersa subsedit, apparet temperatum esse aera, et sic placidum; si ab una parte intercisa est, apparet inde aera incumbere: et ideo illa regio uentum dabit. At cum undique lacerata et concerpta est, manifestum est a pluribus partibus in illam impetum fieri et inquietum aera hinc atque illinc assilire: itaque ex hac inconstantia caeli tam multa temptantis et undique laborantis apparet futura tempestas uentorum plurium.

These crowns are generally noticed at night around the moon and the other stars, rarely by day — so rarely that some of the Greeks have denied that they form at all, though the histories refute them. The reason for their rarity is this: that the sun’s light is stronger, and the air itself, stirred and heated by it, is looser; the moon’s power is more sluggish, and so it is the more easily sustained by the air set about it;

Hae coronae noctibus fere circa lunam et alias stellas notantur, interdiu raro, adeo ut quidam ex Graecis negauerint omnino eas fieri, cum illos historiae coarguant. Causa autem raritatis haec est, quod solis fortius lumen est et aer ipse agitatus ab illo calefactusque solutior: lunae inertior uis est ideoque facilius a circumposito aere sustinetur;

the other stars are likewise weak and cannot break through the air by their own force: their image, therefore, is caught and kept in a more solid and less yielding material. For the air must be neither so dense as to shut out and thrust away the light sent into it, nor so thin or loose as to offer no check to the rays that come. This balance is met with at night, when the stars strike the surrounding air with a gentle light, not combatively or harshly, and tinge it, denser than it is wont to be by day.

aeque cetera sidera infirma sunt nec perrumpere aera ui sua possunt: excipitur itaque illorum imago et in materia solidiore ac minus cedente seruatur. Debet enim aer nec tam spissus esse, ut excludat ac summoueat a se lumen immissum, nec tam tenuis aut solutus, ut nullam uenientibus radiis moram praebeat. Haec noctibus temperatura contingit, cum sidera circumiectum aera luce leni non pugnaciter nec aspere feriunt spissioremque, quam solet esse interdiu, inficiunt.

The rainbow, by contrast, does not form at night, or only very rarely, because the moon has not strength enough to pass through the clouds and suffuse them with such color as they receive when grazed by the sun. For they produce the form of the many-colored bow in this way: because some parts in the clouds are more swollen, others lower, some too thick to let the sun through, others too weak to shut it out, this unevenness mingles light and shadow by turns and presses out that marvelous variety of the bow.

At contra arcus nocte non fit aut admodum raro, quia luna non habet tantum uirium, ut nubes transeat et illis colorem suffundat, qualem accipiunt sole perstrictae. Sic enim formam arcus discoloris efficiunt: quia aliae partes in nubibus tumidiores sunt aliae summissiores, quaedam crassiores, quam ut solem transmittant, aliae imbecilliores, quam ut excludant, haec inaequalitas alternis lucem umbramque permiscet et exprimit illam mirabilem arcus uarietatem.

Another cause of the bow is given, of this sort: we see, when a pipe has burst at some point, the water forced out through the narrow hole, and, scattered against the sun set obliquely opposite, it presents the appearance of a bow. You will see the same happen if you ever care to watch a fuller: when he has filled his mouth with water and lightly sprinkles the garments stretched out on their frames, varied colors appear, produced in that sprinkled air, such as are wont to gleam in the bow.

Altera causa arcus eiusmodi redditur: uidemus, cum fistula aliquo loco rupta est, aquam per tenue foramen elidi, quae sparsa contra solem oblique positum faciem arcus repraesentat. Idem uidebis accidere, si quando uolueris obseruare fullonem: cum os aqua impleuit et uestimenta tendiculis diducta leuiter aspergit, apparet uarios edi colores in illo aere asperso, quales fulgere in arcu solent.

Do not doubt that the cause of this lies in moisture (for a bow never forms except when it is cloudy); but let us inquire how it forms. Some say there are certain droplets that let the sun through, others too compacted to be translucent: and so from the former brightness is returned, from the latter shadow, and thus by the interplay of the two the bow is made, in which the part that receives the sun shines, and the part that has shut it out, and cast a shadow from itself upon those near, is darker.

Huius rei causam in umore esse ne dubitaueris (non fit enim umquam arcus nisi nubilo); sed quaeramus, quemadmodum fiat. Quidam aiunt esse aliqua stillicidia, quae solem transmittant, quaedam magis coacta, quam ut transluceant: itaque ab illis fulgorem reddi, ab his umbram, et sic utriusque intercursu effici arcum, in quo pars fulgeat, quae solem recipit, pars obscurior sit, quae exclusit et ex se umbram proximis fecit.

Some deny that this is so. For it might seem true, if the bow had only two colors, if it consisted of light and shadow; but as it is — as the poet says — "though a thousand different colors shine, the passage itself yet deceives the watching eyes: so much is it that what touches is the same, and yet the extremes stand apart." We see in it something flame-colored, something saffron, something dark-blue, and others drawn after the manner of a painting in fine lines; whether they are unlike colors you could not know, unless you had set the last beside the first: for the joining deceives, so wonderful is nature’s art; what began from the most alike ends in the most unlike. What, then, do two colors of light and shadow do here, when an account must be given of countless ones?

Hoc ita esse quidam negant. Poterat enim uerum uideri, si arcus duos tantum haberet colores, si ex lumine umbraque constaret: sed nunc, ‹ut ait poeta,› "diuersi niteant cum mille colores, transitus ipse tamen spectantia lumina fallit: usque adeo quod tangit idem est, tamen ultima distant’. Videmus in eo aliquid flammei aliquid lutei aliquid caerulei et alia in picturae modum subtilibus lineis ducta, [ut ait poeta,] an dissimiles colores sint, scire non possis, nisi cum primis extrema contuleris: nam commissura decipit, usque eo mira arte naturae; quod a simillimo coepit, in dissimillimo desinit. Quid ergo istic duo colores faciunt lucis atque umbrae, cum innumerabilium ratio reddenda sit?

Some think the bow forms thus: in that quarter where it is already raining, the single drops of the falling rain are single mirrors, and so from each the image of the sun is returned; then many images — nay, countless ones — both sloping and rushing headlong, are confounded together: and so the bow is a confusion of many images of the sun.

Quidam ita existimant arcum fieri: in ea parte, in qua iam pluit, singula stillicidia pluuiae cadentis singula esse specula, a singulis ergo reddi imaginem solis; deinde multas imagines, immo innumerabiles, et deuexas et in praeceps euntes confundi: itaque arcum esse multarum solis imaginum confusionem.

They reason it thus: set out, they say, a thousand basins on a clear day, and all will hold images of the sun; set drops on single leaves, and each will hold an image of the sun. But a huge pool, by contrast, will hold no more than one image. Why? Because every smooth surface bounded and enclosed within its own limits is a mirror. And so divide a fishpond of huge size by inserting partitions, and it will hold as many images of the sun as it has pools; leave it as it is, and, spread out, it will give you a single image. It makes no difference how scant the water or the pool: if it is bounded, it is a mirror. Therefore those countless droplets which the falling rain brings down are so many mirrors, hold so many faces of the sun; to one looking at them they appear confused, nor are the intervals discerned by which the single drops stand apart, the distance forbidding them to be told one from another; whence, in place of the single ones, there appears one face, blurred, made out of them all.

Hoc sic colligunt: pelues, inquiunt, mille sereno die porte, omnes habebunt imagines solis; in singulis foliis dispone guttas, singulae habebunt imaginem solis. At contra ingens stagnum non amplius habebit quam unam imaginem. Quare? Quia omnis circumscripta leuitas et circumdata suis finibus speculum est. Itaque piscinam ingentis magnitudinis insertis parietibus diuide, totidem illa habebit imagines solis, quot lacus habuerit; relinque illam sic ut est: diffusa semel tibi imaginem reddet. Nihil refert, quam exiguus sit umor aut lacus: si determinatus est, speculum est. Ergo stillicidia illa infinita, quae imber cadens defert, totidem specula sunt, totidem solis facies habent; hae contra intuenti perturbatae apparent, nec dispiciuntur interualla, quibus singulae distant, spatio prohibente discerni; unde pro singulis apparet una facies turbida ex omnibus.

Aristotle judges the same: From every smooth surface, he says, the sight folds back its rays; and nothing is smoother than water and air: therefore from dense air too our vision returns upon us. But where the sight is dull and weak, it will fail at the impact of any air whatever. Some, accordingly, suffer from this kind of ailment, so that they seem to meet themselves, and to see their own image everywhere. Why? Because the weak power of their eyes cannot break through even the air nearest them, but rebounds.

Aristoteles idem iudicat: Ab omni, inquit, leuitate acies radios suos replicat; nihil autem est leuius aqua et aere: ergo etiam ab aere spisso uisus noster in nos redit. Ubi uero acies hebes et infirma est, qualislibet aeris ictu deficiet. Quidam itaque hoc genere ualetudinis laborant, ut ipsi sibi uideantur occurrere, ut ubique imaginem suam cernant. Quare? Quia infirma uis oculorum non potest perrumpere ne sibi quidem proximum aera sed resilit.

And so what dense air does in others, in these any air does; for any air, of whatever kind, is strong enough to repel a feeble sight. But far more does water send our vision back to us, because it is thicker and cannot be broken through, but checks the rays of our eyes and reflects them to the place from which they went out. So, since there are many droplets, there are as many mirrors; but because they are small, they express the color of the sun without its figure. Then, since in countless droplets falling without interval the same color is returned, the appearance begins to be not one of many images, broken apart, but of a single, long, and continuous one.

Itaque quod in aliis efficit densus aer, in his facit omnis; satis enim ualet qualiscumque ad imbecillam aciem repellendam. Longe autem magis uisum nobis nostrum remittit aqua, quia crassior est et peruinci non potest, sed radios luminum nostrorum moratur et eo, unde exierunt, reflectit. Ergo cum multa stillicidia sint, totidem specula sunt; sed quia parua sunt, solis colorem sine figura exprimunt. Deinde cum in stillicidiis innumerabilibus et sine interuallo cadentibus reddatur idem color, incipit facies esse non multarum imaginum et intermissarum, sed unius longae atque continuae.

"How," you say, "do you tell me there are many thousands of images there, where I see none? And why, when the sun’s color is one, is that of the images various?" That I may refute both what you have put forward and other things no less in need of refutation, I must say this: that nothing is more deceptive than our sight, not only in those things from the close discerning of which the remoteness of their place debars it, but even in those it sees at hand: an oar is covered by a little water and presents the appearance of being broken; apples are far larger to those who look at them through glass; a longer colonnade joins the intervals between its columns.

"Quomodo", inquis, "tu mihi multa milia imaginum istic esse dicis, ubi ego nullam uideo? Et quare, cum solis color unus sit, imaginum diuersus est?" Ut et haec, quae proposuisti, refellam et alia, quae non minus refellenda sunt, illud dicam oportet: nihil esse acie nostra fallacius non tantum in his, a quibus subtiliter peruidendis illam locorum diuersitas submouet, sed etiam in his quoque, quae ad manum cernit: remus tenui aqua tegitur et fracti speciem reddit; poma per uitrum aspicientibus multo maiora sunt; columnarum interualla porticus longior iungit.

Go back to the sun itself: this, which reason proves to be greater than the whole circle of the lands, our sight has so shrunk that wise men have maintained it to be a foot across; this, which we know to be the swiftest of all, none of us sees move, nor would we believe it travels, did it not appear to have traveled. The universe itself, gliding with headlong speed and rolling round its risings and settings within a moment of time, none of us perceives to advance. Why, then, do you wonder if our eyes do not separate the droplets of the rain, and if, for those looking from so vast a distance, the distinctness of the tiny images is lost?

Ad ipsum solem reuertere: hunc, quem toto terrarum orbe maiorem probat ratio, acies nostra sic contraxit, ut sapientes uiri pedalem esse contenderent; quem uelocissimum omnium scimus, nemo nostrum moueri uidet, nec ire crederemus, nisi appareret isse. Mundum ipsum praecipiti uelocitate labentem et ortus occasusque intra momentum temporis reuoluentem nemo nostrum sentit procedere. Quid ergo miraris, si oculi nostri imbrium stillicidia non separant et ex ingenti spatio intuentibus minutarum imaginum discrimen interit?

Of this no one can doubt: that the bow is an image of the sun, conceived in a dewy and hollow cloud. Let this make it plain to you: it is never not opposite the sun, high or low, according as he has sunk or risen, moved in the contrary direction; for as he descends it is higher, and as he is high it is lower. Often such a cloud is at the sun’s side and yet makes no bow, because it does not draw the image straight on.

Illud dubium esse nulli potest, quin arcus imago solis sit roscida et caua nube concepta. Quod ex hoc tibi appareat: numquam non aduersa soli est, sublimis aut humilis, prout ille se submisit aut sustulit, in contrarium mota; illo enim descendente altior est, alto depressior. Saepe talis nubes a latere solis est nec arcum efficit, quia non ex recto imaginem trahit.

The variety comes about for no other reason than that part of the color is from the sun, part from the cloud: in the cloud the moisture draws now blue lines, now green, now lines like purple and saffron or fire, two colors producing this variety, the faint and the intense. For so purple too, from the same shellfish, comes out in no single fashion: it makes a difference how long it has been steeped, whether it has drawn a thicker dye or a more watery, whether it has been dipped and boiled more than once or dyed but once.

Varietas autem non ob aliam causam fit, quam quia pars coloris sole est, pars a nube: in illa umor modo caeruleas lineas modo uirides modo purpurae similes et luteas aut igneas ducit, duobus coloribus hanc uarietatem efficientibus, remisso et intento. Sic enim et purpura eodem conchylio non in unum modum exit: interest, quamdiu macerata sit, crassius medicamentum an aquatius traxerit, saepius mersa sit et excocta an semel tincta.

It is no wonder, then, if, when there are two things, the sun and the cloud — that is, a body and a mirror — so many kinds of color are pressed out, by as many kinds as these can be heightened or made faint: for the color from a fiery light is one, that from a dulled and gentler light another.

Non est ergo mirum si, cum duae res sint, sol et nubes, id est corpus et speculum, tam multa genera colorum exprimuntur, quam multis generibus possunt ista incitari aut relanguescere: alius est enim color ex igneo lumine, alius ex obtunso et leniore.

In other matters the inquiry roves at large, where we have nothing we can hold in our hand, and conjecture must be sent out far and wide; here it is plain there are two causes of the bow, the sun and the cloud, since it never forms in a clear sky nor in a clouded one such that the sun is hidden: it is, then, surely from these, without either of which it does not exist.

In aliis rebus uaga inquisitio est, ubi non habemus, quod manu tenere possimus, et late coniectura mittenda est; hic apparet duas causas esse arcus, solem nubemque, quia nec sereno umquam fit nec nubilo ita, ut sol lateat: ergo utique ex his est, quorum sine altero non est.

Now there comes in this, which is equally plain: that the image is given by the principle of a mirror, since it is never returned except from the opposite side — that is, unless on one side there stood the thing that was to appear, on the other the thing that was to show it. Proofs that do not persuade but compel are brought by the geometers, and no doubt is left to anyone that the bow is an image of the sun badly rendered through the flaw and the shape of the mirror: let us, meanwhile, attempt other proofs, such as can be read off the flat.

iamnunc illud accedit, quod aeque manifestum est, speculi ratione imaginem reddi, quia numquam nisi e contrario redditur, id est nisi ex altera parte stetit quod appareret, ex altera quod ostenderet. Rationes, quae non persuadent sed cogunt, a geometris aferuntur, nec dubium cuiquam relinquitur, quin arcus imago solis sit male expressi ob uitium figuramque speculi: nos interim temptemus alias probationes, quae de plano legi possint.

Among the proofs that the bow is born in this way I set this: that it is born most swiftly. For a vast and varied body is woven beneath the sky within a moment, and is blotted out just as swiftly; and nothing is returned so quickly as an image from a mirror; for it makes nothing, but only shows.

Inter argumenta sic nascentis arcus pono, quod celerrime nascitur. Ingens enim uariumque corpus intra momentum subtexitur caelo et aeque celeriter aboletur; nihil autem tam cito redditur quam a speculo imago; non enim facit quicquam sed ostendit.

Artemidorus of Parium adds, besides, what kind of cloud it must be that returns such an image of the sun: If you make a concave mirror, he says, that is a part of a cut sphere, and stand outside its center, whoever stand next to you will seem to you inverted and nearer to you than to the mirror;

Parianus Artemidorus adicit etiam, quale genus nubis esse debeat, quod talem solis imaginem reddit: Si speculum, inquit, concauum feceris, quod sit sectae pilae pars, si extra medium constiteris, quicumque iuxta te steterint, inuersi tibi uidebuntur et propiores a te quam a speculo;

the same, he says, happens when we look at a round and hollow cloud from the inner side, so that the image of the sun departs from the cloud and is nearer to us and more turned toward us. Its fiery color is from the sun, the blue from the cloud, the rest from a mixture of both.

idem, inquit, euenit, cum rotundam et cauam nubem intuemur ‹intimo› a latere, ut solis imago a nube discedat propiorque nobis sit et in nos magis conuersa. Color illi igneus a sole est, caeruleus a nube, ceteri utriusque mixturae.

Against these things the following is said. About mirrors there are two opinions: some think that in them likenesses are seen — that is, figures of our bodies, emitted from our bodies and set apart from them; others say that it is not images in the mirror, but the bodies themselves that are seen, the sight of our eyes being twisted back and reflected again upon itself. For the present it makes no difference to the matter how we see whatever we see;

Contra haec illa dicuntur. De speculis duae opiniones sunt: alii enim in illis simulacra cerni putant, id est corporum nostrorum figuras a nostris corporibus emissas ac separatas; alii non aiunt imagines in speculo sed ipsa aspici corpora retorta oculorum acie et in se rursus reflexa. Nunc nihil ad rem pertinet, quomodo uideamus quodcumque uidemus;

but whatever the image is, it ought to be returned from the mirror as a likeness. And what is so unlike as the sun and the bow, in which neither the figure of the sun nor its color nor its magnitude appears? The bow is far ampler, and in the part where it shines far redder than the sun, but in its other colors different.

sed, quae modo ‹est› imago, similis reddi debet e speculo. Quid autem est tam dissimile quam sol et arcus, in quo neque figura solis neque color neque magnitudo apparet? Arcus longe amplior est longeque ea parte, qua fulget, rubicundior quam sol, ceteris uero coloribus diuersus.

Next, when you would have a mirror inhere in the air, you ought to grant me the same smoothness of body, the same evenness, the same polish. And yet no clouds have the likeness of a mirror: we often pass through the midst of them and do not see ourselves in them; those who climb the tops of mountains look down on the cloud and yet do not see their own image in it.

Deinde cum uelis speculum inesse aeri, des oportet mihi eandem leuitatem corporis, eandem aequalitatem, eandem nitorem. Atqui nullae nubes habent similitudinem speculi: per medias saepe transimus nec in illis nos cernimus; qui montium summa conscendunt, despectant nubem nec tamen imaginem in illa suam aspiciunt.

"The single droplets are single mirrors." I grant it; but this I deny, that a cloud consists of droplets. For it has certain things out of which droplets may be made, not the droplets themselves; the clouds do not even have water, but the matter of water to be.

"Singula stillicidia singula specula sunt". Concedo; sed illud nego, ex stillicidiis constare nubem. Habet enim quaedam, ex quibus fieri stillicidia possint, non ipsa; ne aquam quidem habent nubes sed materiam futurae aquae.

Let us grant you that countless drops too are in the clouds, and that they return a face: yet they do not all return one face, but each returns its own. Next, join mirrors together: they will not come into one image, but each will enclose within itself the likeness of the thing seen. There are certain mirrors composed of many tiny pieces, in which, if you show a single man, a whole crowd appears, each little piece expressing his face; and though these are joined and set together, they nonetheless keep their images apart, and out of one man indeed make a throng, yet do not confound that company but, divided, draw it out into separate faces: but the bow is bounded by a single sweep, and the face of the whole is one.

Concedamus tibi et guttas innumerabiles nubibus inesse et illas faciem reddere: non tamen unam omnes reddunt, sed singulae singulas. Deinde inter se specula coniunge: in unam imaginem non coibunt, sed unumquodque in se similitudinem uisae rei claudet. Sunt quaedam specula ex multis minutisque composita, quibus si unum ostenderis hominem, populus apparet unaquaque particula faciem suam exprimente; haec cum sint coniuncta et simul collocata, nihilominus seducunt imagines suas et ex uno quidem turbam efficiunt, ceterum cateruam illam non confundunt sed diremptam in facies singulas distrahunt: arcus auteur uno circumscriptus est ductu, una totius est facies.

"What then?" he says. "Does not water too — scattered from a burst pipe, or struck up by an oar — often have something like the colors we see in the bow?" It is true, but not from the cause you would have it seem — that each drop receives an image of the sun. For the drops fall too quickly to be able to conceive images: they must stand still to catch what they imitate. What happens, then? They take on color, not image. Otherwise — as Nero Caesar most eloquently says, "the neck of the Cytherean dove gleams as it is stirred" — and the peacock’s neck shines with varied colors whenever it is bent some way: shall we then call such feathers mirrors, every inclination of which passes into new colors?

Quid ergo?, inquit. Non et aqua rupta fistula sparsa et remo excussa habere quiddam simile his, quos uidemus in arcu, coloribus solet? Verum est, sed non ex hac causa, ex qua tu uideri uis, quia unaquaeque stilla recipiat imaginem solis. Citius enim cadunt stillae, quam ut concipere imagines possint: standum est, ut id, quod imitantur, excipiant. Quid ergo fit? Colorem, non imaginem ducunt. Alioquin, ut ait Nero Caesar disertissime, "colla Cytheriacae splendent agitata columbae" et uariis coloribus pauonum ceruix, quotiens aliquo deflectitur, nitet: numquid ergo dicemus specula eiusmodi plumas, quarum omnis inclinatio in colores nouos transit?

No less do the clouds have a nature different from mirrors than the birds I have mentioned, and chameleons, and the rest of the animals whose color either changes from within — when, kindled by anger or desire, they vary their skin with a suffusion of moisture — or changes by the position of the light, being colored according as they receive it straight or aslant.

Non minus nubes diuersam naturam speculis habent quam aues, quas rettuli, et chamaeleontes, et reliqua animalia, quorum color aut ex ipsis mutatur, cum ira uel cupidine incensa cutem suam uariant umore suffuso, aut positione lucis, quam prout rectam uel obliquam receperunt, ita colorantur.

For what have clouds in common with mirrors, when mirrors do not let light through, but clouds transmit it; mirrors are dense and compacted, clouds thin; mirrors are wholly of the same material, clouds put together at random out of diverse things, and therefore discordant and not destined to hold together long? Besides, we see at the sun’s rising a certain part of the sky redden, we see the clouds sometimes of a fiery color: what, then, prevents that, just as they take on this one color at the sun’s meeting, so many colors should be drawn from them, although they have not the power of a mirror?

Quid enim simile speculis habent nubes, cum illa non perluceant, hae transmittant lucem, illa densa et coacta, hae rarae sint; illa eiusdem materiae tota, hae e diuersis temere compositae et ob hoc discordes nec diu cohaesurae? Praeterea uidemus ortu solis partem quandam caeli rubere, uidemus nubes aliquando ignei coloris: quid ergo prohibet, quomodo hunc unum colorem accipiunt solis occursu, sic multos ab illis trahi, quamuis non habeant speculi potentiam?

"A moment ago," he says, "you set among your proofs that the bow is always raised opposite the sun, because not even from a mirror is an image returned but from one opposite. This," he says, "is common to us both: for just as that whose image it is to transfer into itself must be set opposite the mirror, so, for the clouds to be tinged, the sun must be aptly placed for this; for it does not do the same from whatever quarter it has shone, and for this a fit stroke of the rays is needed."

Modo, inquit, inter argumenta ponebas semper arcum contra solem excitari, quia ne a speculo quidem imago redderetur nisi aduerso. Hoc, inquit, commune nobis est: nam quemadmodum opponendum est speculo id, cuius in se imaginem transferat, sic, ut nubes infici possint, ita sol ad hoc apte ponendus est; non enim idem facit, undecumque effulsit, et ad hoc opus est radiorum idoneus ictus.

These things are said by those who would have it that the cloud is colored. Posidonius and those who judge that such a sight is produced by the principle of a mirror answer thus: "If there were any color in the bow, it would remain, and would be seen the more plainly the nearer one came: as it is, the image of the bow, clear from afar, perishes when one has come near."

Haec dicuntur ab his, qui uideri uolunt nubem colorari. Posidoniu et hi, qui speculari ratione talem effici iudicant uisum, hoc respondent: "Si ullus esset in arcu color, permaneret et uiseretur eo manifestius, quo propius: nunc imago arcus, ex longinquo clara, interit, cum ex uicino uentum est."

With this objection I do not agree, though I approve the opinion itself. Why? I will say: because the cloud is indeed colored, but in such a way that its color does not appear from every side — for not even the cloud itself appears from every side; no one who is within the cloud sees the cloud. What wonder, then, if its color is not seen by him by whom the cloud itself is not seen? And yet the cloud, though it is not seen, exists: therefore so does its color. So it is no proof of false color that it ceases to appear to those who approach. For the same happens with the clouds themselves, and they are not false on that account, because they are not seen.

Huic contradictioni non consentio, cum ipsam sententiam probem. Quare? Dicam: quia coloratur quidem nubes, sed ita, ut color eius non undique appareat (nam ne ipsa quidem undique apparet; nubem enim nemo, qui in ipsa est, uidet): quid ergo mirum, si color eius non uidetur ab eo, a quo ipsa non uisitur? Atqui ipsa, quamuis non uideatur, est: ergo et color. Ita non est argumentum falsi coloris, quod apparere accedentibus desinit. Idem enim in ipsis euenit nubibus, nec ideo falsae sunt, quia non uidentur.

Besides, when you are told that the cloud is steeped in sunlight, you are not told that the color is burned in as into a hard body, stable and abiding, but as into one fluid and roving and receiving nothing more than a brief appearance. There are even certain colors that show their power at a distance: Tyrian purple — the better and richer it is, the higher you must hold it, that it may heighten its glow. Yet it does not for that reason lack color, because the best it has it does not show however it is unfolded.

"Praeterea, cum dicitur tibi nubem sole suffectam, non dicitur tibi colorem illum inustum esse uelut duro corpori et stabili ac manenti, sed ut fluido et uago et nihil amplius quam breuem speciem recipienti. Sunt etiam quidam colores, qui ex interuallo uim suam ostendunt: purpuram Tyriam, quo melior est saturiorque, eo altius oportet teneas, ut fulgorem suum intendat. Non tamen ideo non habet colorem illa, quia, quem optimum habet, non quomodocumque explicatur ostendit."

I am of the same opinion as Posidonius: that I judge the bow to be made by a cloud formed in the manner of a concave and round mirror, whose shape is that of a part cut from a sphere. This cannot be proved unless the geometers help, who teach, by proofs that leave no room for doubt, that it is an image of the sun, not a likeness. For not all mirrors answer to the truth.

In eadem sententia sum qua Posidonius, ut arcum iudicem fieri nube formata in modum concaui speculi et rotundi, cui forma sit partis e pila secta. Hoc probari, nisi geometrae adiuuerint, non potest, qui argumentis nihil dubii relinquentibus docent solis illam esse effigiem non similem. Neque enim ommia ad uerum specula respondent.

There are some you would dread to look in — so great a deformity do they return, the face of those who look in corrupted, the likeness kept but for the worse; there are some that, when you look in them, can make your own strength please you, so far do the upper arms grow, and the bearing of the whole body swell beyond human size; there are some that show faces right-handed, some left-handed, some that twist them about and turn them: what wonder, then, if a mirror of this kind forms in a cloud too, by which the sun’s appearance is given back distorted?

Sunt, quae uidere extimescas (tantam deformitatem corrupta facie uisentium reddunt, seruata similitudine in peius); sunt, quae cum uideris, placere tibi uires tuae possint (in tantum lacerti crescunt et totius corporis super humanam magnitudinem habitus augetur); sunt, quae dextras facies ostendant, sunt, quae sinistras, sunt, quae detorqueant et uertant: quid ergo mirum est eiusmodi speculum in nube quoque fieri, quo solis species uitiosa reddatur?

Among the other proofs will be this also: that the bow never appears larger than a half-circle, and that it is the smaller the higher the sun is.

Inter cetera argumenta et hoc erit, quod numquam maior arcus dimidio circulo apparet et quod eo minor est, quo altior sol...

Why, then, if the bow is an image of the sun, does it appear far larger than the sun itself? Because the nature of one kind of mirror is such that it shows what it has seen much larger and magnifies shapes to a monstrous size, while another kind, conversely, diminishes them.

Quare tamen, si imago solis est arcus, longe ipso sole maior apparet? Quia est alicuius speculi natura talis, ut maiora multo, quae uidit, ostendat et in portentuosam magnitudinem augeat formas, alicuius inuicem talis, ut minuat.

Tell me this: why does the appearance run in a circle, unless it is returned to a circle? For perhaps you will say whence its varied color comes; whence such a figure comes you will not say, unless you point to some model on which it is shaped. And there is none but the sun’s; and since you too admit that its color is given by the sun, it follows that its form is given too. In short, it is agreed between you and me that those colors with which the region of the sky is painted are from the sun; this one thing is not agreed between us: you say that color is real, I that it seems; but whether it is or seems, it is from the sun. You will not be able to explain why that color suddenly ceases, when all bright things are dispersed little by little.

Illud mihi dic, quare in orbem eat facies, nisi orbi redditur? Dices enim fortasse, unde sit illi color uarius: unde talis figura sit, non dices, nisi aliquod exemplar, ad quod formetur, ostenderis. Nullum autem quam solis est, a quo cum tu quoque fatearis illi colorem dari, sequitur, ut et detur forma. Denique inter me teque conuenit colores illos, quibus caeli regio depingitur, a sole esse; illud unum inter nos non conuenit: tu dicis illum colorem esse, ego uideri; qui siue est, siue uidetur, a sole est. Tu non expedies, quare color ille subito desinat, cum omnes fulgores paulatim discutiantur.

Both its sudden appearance and its sudden vanishing are on my side: for this is proper to a mirror, in which what appears is not built up by parts, but becomes whole at once; every image is blotted out in it as quickly as it is set there. For nothing else is needed to produce or remove these things than that the object be shown and taken away. There is, then, no proper substance in that cloud, nor is it a body, but a lie and a likeness with nothing behind it. Would you know that this is so? The bow will cease if you cover over the sun. Set, I say, another cloud against the sun: the variety of this one will perish.

Pro me est et repentina eius facies et repentinus interitus: proprium enim hoc speculi est, in quo non per partes struitur quod apparet, sed statim totum fit; aeque cito omnis imago aboletur in illo quam ponitur. Nihil enim aliud ad ista efficienda uel remouenda opus est quam ostendi et abduci. Non est ergo propria in ista nube substantia, nec corpus est sed mendacium et sine re similitudo. Vis scire hoc ita esse? Desinet arcus, si obtexeris solem. Oppone, inquam, soli alteram nubem: huius uarietas interibit.

But the bow is somewhat larger than the sun. I said just now that there are mirrors which multiply every body they copy. I will add this: that all things are far larger to those who see them through water — letters, however small and faint, are seen larger and clearer through a glass globe full of water; apples seem more beautiful than they are, if they float in glass. The stars seem ampler to one who looks at them through a cloud, because our sight slips in the moist medium and cannot faithfully grasp what it would. This will be made plain if you fill a cup with water and throw a ring into it: for though the ring lies on the very bottom, its appearance is returned at the surface of the water.

At maior aliquanto est arcus quam sol. Dixi modo fieri specula, quae multiplicent omne corpus, quod imitantur. Illud adiciam, omnia per aquam uidentibus longe esse maiora: litterae quamuis minutae et obscurae per uitream pilam aqua plenam maiores clarioresque cernuntur; poma formosiora quam sunt uidentur, si innatant uitro. Sidera ampliora per nubem aspicienti uidentur, quia acies nostra in umido labitur nec apprehendere quod uult fideliter potest. Quod manifestum fiet, si poculum impleueris aqua et in id conieceris anulum: nam cum in ipso fundo anulus iaceat, facies eius in summa aqua redditur.

Whatever is seen through moisture is far ampler than the truth: what wonder that a larger image of the sun is returned, seen as it is in a moist cloud, when this happens from two causes? Because in the cloud there is something like glass, which can let light through, and there is something of water too, which, even if it does not yet have it, it is already preparing — that is, its nature is like that into which it may turn from its own.

Quicquid uidetur per umorem, longe amplius uero est: quid mirum maiorem reddi imaginem solis, quae in nube umida uisitur, cum ex duabus causis hoc accidat? Quia in nube est aliquid uitro simile, quod potest perlucere, est aliquid et aquae, quam, etiamsi nondum habet, iam parat, id est similis eius natura est, in quam ex sua uertatur.

"Since," he says, "you have made mention of glass, from this very thing I will take a proof against you. A little rod of glass is wont to be made, fluted or knotted with many angles in the manner of a club: if this takes the sun crosswise, it returns such a color as is wont to be seen in the bow — so that you may know there is here no image of the sun, but an imitation of color from the reflection."

’Quoniam’, inquit, ’uitri fecisti mentionem, ex hoc ipso argumentum contra te sumam. Virgula solet fieri uitrea, striata uel pluribus angulis in modum clauae torosa: haec si in transuersum solem accipit, colorem talem, qualis in arcu uideri solet, reddit, ut scias non imaginem hic solis esse sed coloris imitationem ex repercussu’.

First, in this proof there is much on my side: that it is plainly produced by the sun; that there must plainly be something smooth and like a mirror that strikes the sun back; and next that no real color is plainly produced, but the appearance of false color, such as, I have said, the dove’s neck both takes on and lays aside, however it is bent. And this is in a mirror too, into which no color is put, but a certain feigning of a color not its own.

Primum in hoc argumento multa pro me sunt: quod apparet a sole fieri; quod apparet leue quiddam esse debere et simile speculo, quod solem repercutiat; deinde quod apparet non fieri ullum colorem sed speciem falsi coloris, qualem, ut dixi, columbarum ceruix et sumit et ponit, utcumque deflectitur. Hoc autem et in speculo est, cui nullus inditur color, sed simulatio quaedam coloris alieni.

This one thing only remains for me to resolve: that the image of the sun is not seen in that little rod; for it is not capable of expressing it well. So it does try to return an image, because the material is smooth and apt for this, but it cannot, because it has been irregularly made. Had it been fashioned to fit, it would return as many suns as it had knots in it. And because these are set apart one from another, and do not shine enough in a mirror’s stead, they only begin the images and do not express them, and by their very nearness confuse them and bring them into the appearance of a single color.

Unum hoc tantum mihi soluendum est, quod non uisitur in ista uirgula solis imago; cuius bene exprimendae capax non est: ita conatur quidem reddere imaginem, quia leuis est materia et ad hoc habilis, sed non potest, quia enormiter facta est. Si apta fabricata foret, totidem redderet soles, quot habuisset in se toros. Quae quia discernuntur inter se nec satis in uicem speculi nitent, incohant tantum imagines nec exprimunt et ob ipsam uiciniam turbant et in speciem coloris unius adducunt.

But why does the bow not fill the circle, but only half of it is seen, even when it is stretched and curved to the utmost? Some hold this view: "The sun, being much higher than the clouds, strikes them only from the upper part; it follows that their lower part is not tinged with light: so, since they receive the sun from one part, they copy one part of him, which is never more than a half."

At quare arcus non implet orbem, sed pars dimidia eius uidetur, cum plurimum porrigitur incuruaturque? Quidam ita opinantur: "Sol, cum sit multo altior nubibus, a superiore illas tantum percutit parte; sequitur, ut inferior pars earum non tingatur lumine: ergo cum ab una parte solem accipiant, unam eius partem imitantur, quae numquam dimidia maior est."

This argument is not strong. Why? Because, although the sun is from the upper part, it nonetheless strikes the whole cloud, and therefore tinges it. Why not? since it is wont to send its rays through and to break through every density. Then they say a thing contrary to their own proposition. For if the sun is higher, and therefore is poured only over the upper part of the clouds, the bow will never descend to the ground: and yet it is let down right to the earth.

Hoc argumentum parum potens est. Quare? Quia, quamuis sol ex superiore parte sit, totam tamen percutit nubem, ergo et tingit. Quidni? cum radios transmittere soleat et omnem densitatem perrumpere. Deinde contrariam rem proposito suo dicunt. Nam si superior est sol et ideo superiori tantum parti nubium affunditur, numquam terra tenus descendet arcus: atqui usque in humum demittitur.

Besides, the bow is never not opposite the sun; and it makes no difference to the matter whether the sun is above or below, because the whole side that faces it is lashed. Then sometimes the setting sun too makes a bow; and then surely, being near the lands, it strikes the clouds from the lower part: and yet then too it is a half, although the clouds receive the sun from a low and dingy quarter.

Praeterea numquam non contra solem arcus est; nihil autem ad rem pertinet, supra infraue sit, quia totum quod contra est latus uerberatur. Deinde aliquando arcum et occidens facit; tum certe ex inferiore parte nubes ferit terris propinquus: atqui et tunc dimidia pars est, quamuis solem nubes ex humili et sordido accipiant.

Our people, who hold that light is returned in a cloud as in a mirror, make the cloud hollow and a part of a cut sphere, which cannot return a whole circle, because it is itself a part of a circle. I agree with the proposition, but I do not consent to the argument. For if in a concave mirror the whole appearance of the opposite sphere is expressed, then in a half-sphere too nothing prevents the whole sphere being seen.

Nostri, qui sic in nube, quomodo in speculo, lumen uolunt reddi, nubem cauam faciunt et sectae pilae partem, quae non potest totum orbem reddere, quia ipsa pars orbis est. Proposito accedo, argumento non consentio. Nam si in concauo speculo tota facies oppositi orbis exprimitur, et in semiorbe nihil prohibet totam aspici pilam.

We have said, moreover, that circles appear set about the sun and moon in the likeness of a bow: why is that circle joined complete, but in the bow never? And why do hollow clouds always receive the sun, and not sometimes flat and swelling ones?

Etiamnunc diximus circulos apparere soli lunaeque in similitudinem arcus circumdatos: quare ille circulus iungitur, in arcu numquam? Deinde quare semper concauae nubes solem accipiunt, non aliquando planae et tumentes?

Aristotle says that after the autumnal equinox a bow forms at any hour of the day, but in summer it does not form except either at the day’s beginning or at its decline. The cause of this is plain: first, because in the middle part of the day the sun, at its hottest, overcomes the clouds and cannot receive its image back from those it cleaves apart; but in the morning, or when sinking toward setting, it has less strength, and so can be sustained and struck back by the clouds.

Aristoteles ait post autumnale aequinoctium qualibet hora diei arcum fieri, aestate non fieri nisi aut incipiente aut inclinato die. Cuius rei causa manifesta est: primum, quia media diei parte sol calidissimus nubes euincit nec potest imaginem suam ab his recipere quas scindit; at matutino tempore aut uergens in occasum minus habet uirium, ideo a nubibus sustineri et repercuti potest.

Then, since it is not wont to make a bow except opposite the clouds in which it makes it, when the days are shorter it is always oblique: and so at any part of the day, even when it is highest, it has some clouds it can strike opposite. But in summertime it is carried over our heads: and so at midday, at its highest, it looks upon the lands by a line too straight for it to meet any clouds; for it has them all then beneath itself.

Deinde cum arcum facere non soleat nisi aduersus his, in quibus facit nubibus, cum breuiores dies sunt, semper obliquus est: itaque qualibet diei parte, etiam cum altissimus est, habet aliquas nubes, quas ex aduerso ferire possit. At temporibus aestiuis super nostrum uerticem fertur: itaque medio die excelsissimus terras rectiore aspicit linea, quam ut ullis nubibus possit occurrere’; omnes enim sub se tunc habet.

As our Virgil says: "and the great bow drinks," when the rain is coming on; but it does not bring the same threats from whatever quarter it has appeared: risen from the south, it will carry a great force of waters — for the clouds could not be overcome by the strongest sun, so much strength have they; if it has shone out near the setting, it will dew and rain lightly; if it has risen from the east or thereabouts, it promises fair weather.

Ut ait Vergilius noster: "et bibit ingens arcus", cum aduentat imber; sed non easdem, undecumque apparuit, minas affert: a meridie ortus magnam uim aquarum uehet (uinci enim nubes non potuerunt ualentissimo sole, tantum illis est uirium); si circa occasum refulsit, rorabit et leuiter impluet; si ab ortu circaue surrexit, serena promittit.

Now I must speak of the rods, which, no less painted and varied, we are likewise wont to take for signs of rain. On these not much labor need be spent, because the rods are nothing else than unfinished bows. For their appearance is indeed painted, but has nothing of curve: they lie straight.

Nunc de uirgis dicendum est, quas non minus pictas uariasque aeque pluuiarum signa solemus accipere. In quibus non multum operae consumendum est, quia uirgae nihil aliud sunt quam imperfecti arcus. Nam facies illis est quidem picta, sed nihil curuati habens: in rectum iacent.

They form near the sun, generally in a moist cloud already scattering itself. And so the color in them is the same as in the bow; only the figure changes, because the cloud too, in which they are stretched, is different.

Fiunt autem iuxta solem fere in nube umida et iam se spargente. Itaque idem est in illis qui in arcu color; tantum ffigura mutatur, quia nubium quoque, in quibus extenduntur, alia est.

A like variety is in the crowns; but they differ in this, that crowns form everywhere, wherever there is a star, the bow only opposite the sun, the rods only in the sun’s neighborhood. I can give the difference of them all in this way too: a crown, if you divide it, will be a bow; if you straighten it, a rod. In all, the color is manifold, varied of blue and tawny. The rods attend the sun alone, the bows are of the sun and the moon, the crowns of all the heavenly bodies.

Similis uarietas in coronis est; sed hoc differunt, quod coronae ubique fiunt, ubicumque sidus est, arcus non nisi contra solem, uirgae non nisi in uicinia solis. Possum et hoc modo differentiam omnium reddere: coronam si diuiseris, arcus erit; si direxeris, uirga. In omnibus color multiplex, ex caeruleo fuluoque uarius. Virgae soli tantum adiacent, arcus solares lunaresque sunt, coronae omnium siderum.

Another kind of rod also appears, when rays, fine and taut and set apart from one another, are directed through the narrow openings of the clouds: and these too are signs of rain.

Aliud quoque uirgarum genus apparet, cum radii per angusta foramina nubium tenues et intenti distantesque inter se diriguntur: et ipsi signa imbrium sunt.

How shall I now conduct myself at this point? What shall I call the images of the sun? The historians call them suns, and record that two and three have appeared at once; the Greeks call them parhelia, because they are generally seen near the sun, or because they approach some likeness of the sun. For they do not copy the whole of him, but his magnitude and figure; for the rest they have nothing of his burning, being dull and faint. What name shall we impose on these? Or shall I do what Virgil did, who was in doubt about a name, and then set down the very thing he had been in doubt about? "And by what name shall I call you, Raetian wine? Yet do not for that vie with the Falernian cellars." Nothing, then, prevents these from being called parhelia.

Quomodo nunc me hoc loco geram? Quid uocem imagines solis? Historici soles uocant et binos ternosque apparuisse memoriae tradunt; Graeci parhelia appellant, quia in propinquo fere a sole uisuntur aut quia accedunt ad aliquam similitudinem solis. Non enim totum imitantur sed magnitudinem eius figuramque: ceterum nihil habent ardoris hebetes et languidi. His quod nomen imponimus? An facio quod Vergilius, qui dubitauit de nomine, deinde id, de quo dubitauerat, posuit? "Et quo te nomine dicam, Rhaetica? Nec cellis ideo contende Falernis." Nihil ergo prohibet illas parhelia uocari.

They are images of the sun in a dense cloud, curved in the manner of a mirror. Some define a parhelion thus: a round and shining cloud, like the sun. For it follows the sun and is never left further behind than it was when it appeared. Does any of us wonder if he has seen the image of the sun in some spring or calm lake? Not, I think. And yet his face can be returned on high as well as among us, if only there is a fit material to return it.

Sunt autem imagines solis in nube spissa et incurua in modum speculi. Quidam parhelion ita definiunt: nubes rotunda et splendida similisque soli. Sequitur enim illum nec umquam longius relinquitur, quam fuit, cum apparuit. Num quis nostrum miratur, si solis effigiem in aliquo fonte aut placido lacu uidit? Non, ut puto. Atqui tam in sublimi facies eius quam inter nos potest reddi, si modo idonea est materia, quae reddat.

Whenever we wish to catch an eclipse of the sun, we set out basins, which we fill either with oil or with pitch, because a thick liquid is less easily disturbed and therefore keeps the images it receives; and images cannot appear except in a liquid that is motionless. Then we are wont to mark how the moon sets herself against the sun and hides him, so much larger though he is, with her interposed body — now in part, if it falls out that she has run upon his side, now wholly; this is called a total eclipse, which shows the stars too and cuts off the light — namely when both orbs have stood under the same balance.

Quotiens defectionem solis uolumus deprehendere, ponimus pelues, quas aut oleo aut pice implemus, quia pinguis umor minus facile turbatur et ideo quas recipit imagines seruat; apparere autem imagines non possunt nisi in liquido et immoto. Tunc solemus notare, quemadmodum luna soli se opponat et illum tanto maiorem obiecto corpore abscondat, modo ex parte, si ita competit, ut in latus eius incurreret, modo totum; haec dicitur perfecta defectio, quae stellas quoque ostendit et intercipit lucem, tunc scilicet cum uterque orbis sub eodem libramento stetit.

Just as, then, the image of each can be looked at on earth, so it can in the air, when air so compacted and clear has settled as to receive the face of the sun. Other clouds too receive that face, but let it pass, if they are either moving or thin or dirty: for moving clouds scatter it; thin ones let it through; dirty and foul ones do not feel it, just as with us spotted surfaces return no image.

Quemadmodum ergo utriusque imago in terris aspici potest, ita in aere, cum sic coactus aer et limpidus constitit, ut faciem solis acciperet. Quam et aliae nubes accipiunt sed transmittunt, si aut mobiles sunt aut rarae aut sordidae: mobiles enim spargunt illam; rarae emittunt; sordidae turpesque non sentiunt, sicut apud nos imaginem maculosa non reddunt.

Two parhelia also are wont to form, by the same principle. For what hinders there being as many as there are clouds fit to display the image of the sun? Some hold this opinion: whenever two such likenesses arise, they judge that of them one is an image of the sun, the other an image of the image. For with us too, when several mirrors are set so that each is in view of the other, all are filled, and one image is from the real thing, the rest are likenesses of the image; for it makes no difference what it is that is shown to the mirror: whatever it sees, it returns. So there too on high, if some chance has set the clouds so that they face one another, one cloud returns the image of the sun, the other the image of the image.

Solent et bina fieri parhelia eadem ratione. Quid enim impedit, quommus tot sint, quot nubes fuerint aptae ad exhibendam solis effigiem? Quidam in illa sententia sunt, quotiens duo simulacra talia existunt, ut iudicent in illis alteram solis imaginem esse, alteram imaginis. Nam apud nos quoque cum plura specula disposita sunt ita, ut alteri sit conspectus alterius, omnia implentur, et una imago a uero est, ceterae imaginem effigies sunt; nihil enim refert, quid sit quod speculo ostendatur: quicquid uidet, reddit. Ita illic quoque in sublimi, si sic nubes fors aliqua disposuit, ut inter se conspiciant, altera nubes solis imaginem, altera imaginis reddit.

These clouds that do this must be dense, smooth, shining, flat, of a solid nature. For this reason all such likenesses are white, and like the moon’s circles, because they shine back from a stroke of the sun taken aslant: for if a cloud is below the sun and nearer, it is scattered by him; but set far off it will not send the rays back nor make an image. Why? Because with us too mirrors, when they are carried far from us, return no face, because our sight has no way back as far as ourselves.

Debent autem hae nubes, quae hoc praestant, densae esse, leues, splendidae, planae, naturae solidae. Ob hoc omnia eiusmodi simulacra candida sunt, et similia lunaribus circulis, quia ex percussu oblique accepto sole resplendent: nam si infra solem nubes fuerit et propior, ab eo dissipatur; longe autem posita radios non remittet nec imaginem effciet. ‹quare?› Quia apud nos quoque specula, cum procul a nobis abducta sunt, faciem non reddunt, quia acies nostra non habet usque ad nos recursum.

These suns too — for I will use the historians’ language — are signs of rain, especially if they have stood on the south side, from which the clouds most grow heavy; when such a figure has girded the sun on both sides, a storm, if we believe Aratus, arises.

Pluuiarum autem et hi soles (utar enim historica lingua) indicia sunt, utique si a parte austri constiterunt, unde maxime nubes ingrauescunt; cum utrimque solem cinxit talis effigies, tempestas, si Arato credimus, surgit.

It is time to run through other fires too, whose figures are various. Sometimes a star flashes out, sometimes there are blazes, these now fixed and clinging, now rolling. Of these several kinds are seen: there are "pits" (bothyni), when, with a kind of crown encircling, there is inward a vast recess of the sky, like a cavern dug out in a ring; there are "casks" (pithiae), when the bulk of a vast round fire, like a wine-jar, either travels or blazes in one place; there are "chasms" (chasmata), when some space of the sky has sunk and, gaping as it were, displays a flame in its depth.

Tempus est alios quoque ignes percurrere, quorum diuersae figurae sunt. Aliquando emicat stella, aliquando ardores sunt, hi nonnumquam fixi et haerentes nonnumquam uolubiles. Horum plura genera conspiciuntur: sunt bothyni, cum uelut corona cingente introrsus ingens caeli recessus est similis effossae in orbem specus; sunt pithiae, cum magnitudo uasti rotundique ignis dolio similis uel fertur uel uno loco flagrat; sunt chasmata, cum aliquod spatium caeli desedit et flammam uelut dehiscens in abdito ostentat.

The colors of all these too are very many: some of the keenest red, some of a faint and feeble flame, some of white light, some flashing, some tawny, even and without bursts or rays; and so we see "the long trails of the stars whitening behind them."

Colores quoque horum omnium plurimi sunt: quidam ruboris acerrimi, quidam euanidae ac leuis flammae, quidam candidae lucis, quidam micantes, quidam aequaliter et sine eruptionibus aut radiis fului; uidemus ergo "stellarum longos a tergo albescere tractus".

These, like stars, leap out and fly across, and seem to stretch out a long fire on account of their immense speed, since our sight does not distinguish their passage, but believes that wherever they have run, the whole is fire. For so great is the speed of the motion that its parts are not made out, only the sum is grasped: we understand by which way the star has gone rather than by which it is going.

Hae uelut stellae exiliunt et transuolant uidenturque longum ignem porrigere propter immensam celeritatem, cum acies nostra non discernat transitum eorum, sed, quacumque cucurrerunt, id totum igneum credat. Tanta est enim uelocitas motus, ut partes eius non dispiciantur, summa prendatur: intellegimus magis qua ierit stella quam qua eat.

And so it marks its whole course as with a continuous fire, because the slowness of our sight does not keep up with the instants of its running, but sees at once both whence it leapt and where it has arrived. This happens in lightning: its fire seems long to us, because it crosses its space quickly, and the whole through which it has been hurled meets our eyes at once; but it is not a body extended over the whole way it comes. For things so long and thinned out have no strength for impact.

Itaque uelut igne continuo totum iter signat, quia uisus nostri tarditas non subsequitur momenta currentis, sed uidet simul et unde exiluerit et quo peruenerit. Quod fit in fulmine: longus nobis uidetur ignis eius, quia cito spatium suum transilit, et oculis nostris occurrit uniuersum per quod deiectus est; at ille non est extenti corporis per omne, qua uenit. Neque enim tam longa et extenuata in impetum ualent.

How, then, do they spring forth? Fire kindled by the rubbing of the air is driven headlong by the wind; yet it does not always come from wind or rubbing; sometimes it is born from some favorable disposition of the air: for there are many dry, warm, earthy things on high, among which it arises, and, following its own fuel, it flows down, and so is swiftly swept along.

Quomodo ergo prosiliunt? Attritu aeris ignis incensus uento praeceps impellitur; non semper tamen uento attrituue fit, nonnumquam et aliqua opportunitate aeris nascitur: multa enim sunt in sublimi sicca calida terrena, inter quae oritur et pabulum suum subsequens defluit ideoque uelociter rapitur.

But why is the color various? Because it matters what kind the thing kindled is, and how much and how violent that by which it is kindled. Such gliding fires signify wind, and indeed from the quarter where they break out.

At quale color diuersus est? Quia refert quale sit id, quod incenditur, quantum et quam uehemens, quo incenditur. Ventum autem significant eiusmodi lapsus et quidem ab ea parte, qua erumpunt.

"How," you say, "do the bright flashes come to be, which the Greeks call selas?" In many ways, they say: the force of the winds can give birth to them; the heat of the upper sky can — for, when fire is widely diffused, it sometimes seizes the lower regions, if they are fit to be set alight; the motion of the stars can rouse fire by their course and pass it down into the regions below. What further? May it not be that the air strikes out a fiery force right up into the aether, from which comes a flash or a blaze or a darting like a star’s?

’Fulgores’, inquis, ’quomodo fiunt, quos Graeci G-sela appellent?’ Multis, ut aiunt, modis: potest illos uentorum uis edere, potest superioris caeli feruor (nam cum late fusus sit ignis, inferiora aliquando, si sunt idonea accendi, corripit); potest stellarum motus cursu suo excitare ignem et in subiecta transmittere. Quid porro? Non potest fieri, ut aer uim igneam usque in aethera elidat, ex qua fulgor ardorue sit uel stellae similis excursus?

Of these flashes some go headlong, like leaping stars; some stay in a fixed place and send out so much light that they put the darkness to flight and present the appearance of day, until, their fuel consumed, they first grow dimmer, then, after the manner of a flame that falls in upon itself, are reduced by steady diminishment to nothing. Of these some appear in the clouds, some above the clouds, when dense air has pressed up to the stars a fire which, nearer the lands, it had long fed.

Ex his fulgoribus quaedam praeceps eunt similia prosilientibus stellis, quaedam certo loco permanent et tantum lucis emittunt, ut fugent tenebras ac diem repraesentent, donec consumpto alimento primum obscuriora sint, deinde flammae modo, quae in se cadit, per assiduam deminutionem redigantur ad nihilum. Ex his quaedam in nubibus apparent, quaedam supra nubes, cum aer spissus ignem, quem propior terris diu pauerat, usque in sidera expressit.

Some of these brook no delay but dart across or are quenched at once where they had flared: these are called fulgura (sheet-flashes), because their appearance is brief and fleeting, and does not fall without harm; for often they have wrought the injuries of thunderbolts. Things struck by them we call fulgurita — that is, smitten by a flash without a thunderbolt — which the Greeks call asteroplēkta (star-stricken).

Horum aliqua non patiuntur moram sed transcurrunt aut extinguntur subinde, qua reluxerant: haec fulgura dicuntur, quia breuis illorum facies et caduca est nec sine iniuria decidens; saepe enim fulminum noxas ediderunt. Ab his tacta nos dicimus ‹fulgurita, id est fulgure› icta sine fulmine, quae G-asteroplekta Graeci uocant.

But those that have a longer stay, and a stronger fire, and follow the motion of the sky, or even run courses of their own, our people think comets, of which there has been talk. Their kinds are the "bearded" (pogoniae) and the "cypress-shaped" (cyparissiae) and the "torches" (lampades) and all the rest whose fire is scattered at the end; it is doubtful whether the "beams" and the rarely-seen "casks" should be set among these: for they need a great massing of fires, since their huge orb somewhat surpasses the breadth of the morning sun.

At quibus longior mora est et ignis fortior motumque caeli sequens aut etiam proprios cursus agunt, cometas nostri putant, de quibus dictum est. Horum genera sunt pogoniae et cyparissiae et lampades et alia omnia, quorum ignis in exitu sparsus est; dubium, an inter hos ponantur trabes et pithiae raro uisi: multa enim conglobatione ignium indigent, cum ingens illorum orbis aliquantum matutini amplitudinem solis exuperet.

Among these you may set also that which we often read of in the histories — that the sky was seen to burn, whose blaze is sometimes so lofty that it seems among the very stars, sometimes so low that it offers the look of a far-off fire. Under Tiberius Caesar the cohorts ran to the aid of the colony of Ostia as though it were ablaze, when in fact there had been, for a great part of the night, a blaze of the sky, scarcely bright, as of a thick and smoky fire.

Inter haec licet ponas et quod frequenter in historiis legimus caelum ardere uisum, cuius nonnumquam tam sublimis ardor est, ut inter sidera ipsa uideatur, nonnumquam tam humilis, ut speciem longinqui incendii praebeat. Sub Tiberio Caesare cohortes in auxilium Ostiensis coloniae cucurrerunt tamquam conflagrantis, cum caeli ardor fuisset per magnam partem noctis parum lucidus, ‹ut› crassi fumidique ignis.

Of these no one doubts that they have the flame they show: their substance is real. About the former it is asked — I mean the bow and the crowns — whether they deceive the sight and consist of a lie, or whether in them too what appears is real.

De his nemo dubitat, quin habeant flammam, quam ostendunt: certa illis substantia est. De prioribus quaeritur (de arcu dico et coronis), decipiant aciem et mendacio constent an in illis quoque uerum sit, quod apparet.

We do not hold that under the bow or the crown there lies anything of real body, but we judge it to be the deception of a mirror, which does nothing but lie about a body not its own. For what is shown in a mirror is not real. Otherwise it would not go out, nor be at once overlaid by another image, nor would countless shapes now perish, now be taken up.

Nobis non placet in arcu aut corona subesse aliquid corporis certi, sed illam iudicamus speculi esse fallaciam alienum corpus nihil aliud quam mentientis. Non est enim quod in speculo ostenditur. Alioquin non exiret nec alia protinus imagine obduceretur, nec innumerabiles modo interirent modo exciperentur formae.

What then? These are likenesses, an empty imitation of real bodies, which are themselves twisted awry by certain mirrors so made as to be able to do this. For, as I said, there are mirrors that slant the face of those who look in, there are some that magnify without limit, so that they exceed the human shape and measure of our bodies.

Quid ergo? Simulacra ista sunt et inanis uerorum corporum imitatio, quae ipsa a quibusdam ita compositis, ut hoc possint, detorquentur in prauum. Nam, ut dixi, sunt specula, quae faciem prospicientium obliquent, sunt quae in infinitum augeant, ita ut humanum habitum modumque excedant nostrorum corporum.

At this point I want to tell you a little story, that you may understand how lust despises no instrument for goading pleasure, and how ingenious it is at inciting its own frenzy. There was one Hostius Quadra, a man whose obscenity was paraded as if upon a stage. This man — rich, greedy, the slave of a hundred million sesterces — the deified Augustus judged unworthy of avenging when he had been killed by his own slaves, and all but pronounced that he seemed to have been lawfully slain.

Hoc loco uolo tibi narrare fabellam, ut intellegas, quam nullum instrumentum irritandae uoluptatis libido contemnat et ingeniosa sit ad incitandum furorem suum. Hostius fuit Quadra, obscenitatis in scaenam usque productae. Hunc diuitem auarum, sestertii milies seruum, diuus Augustus indignum uindicta iudicauit, cum a seruis occisus esset, et tantum non pronuntiauit iure caesum uideri.

He was foul toward no single sex, but was as greedy of men as of women, and he had made mirrors of that kind I lately spoke of, which return images far larger, in which a finger would exceed the measure and thickness of an arm. These he arranged so that, when he himself submitted to a man, turned away, he might see in the mirror every motion of the one mounting him, and then take joy in the false magnitude of the member itself as though it were real.

Non erat ille ab uno tantummodo sexu impurus, sed tam uirorum quam feminarum auidus fuit, fecitque specula huius notae, cuius modo rettuli, imagines longe maiores reddentia, in quibus digitus brachii mensuram et crassitudinem excederet. Haec autem ita disponebat, ut cum uirum ipse pateretur, auersus omnes admissarii sui motus in speculo uideret ac deinde falsa magnitudine ipsius membri tamquam uera gaudebat.

In all the baths, indeed, he held his levy and chose his men by open measurement, but nonetheless he beguiled his insatiable evil with lies as well. Go now and say that the mirror was invented for the sake of grooming. Foul to tell are the things that monster — whose mouth deserved to be torn apart — said and did, when mirrors were set against him on every side, that he might be the spectator of his own disgraces, and might thrust upon himself — not into his mouth only, but into his very eyes — the things that even in secret weigh upon the conscience, the things each man denies even to himself that he has done.

In omnibus quidem balneis agebat ille dilectum et aperta mensura legebat uiros, sed nihilominus mendaciis quoque insatiabile malum oblectabat. I nunc et dic speculum munditiarum causa repertum. Foeda dictu sunt, quae portentum illud ore suo lancinandum dixerit feceritque, cum illi specula ab omni parte opponerentur, ut ipse flagitiorum suorum spectator esset et, quae secreta quoque conscientiam premunt quaeque ‹qui facit› sibi quisque fecisse se negat, non in os tantum sed in oculos suos ingereret.

But, by Hercules, crimes shrink from the sight of themselves. Even in the lost, even in those laid open to every disgrace, the modesty of the eyes is most tender. He, as though it were too little to suffer things unheard of and unknown, summoned his eyes to those acts; and, not content to see how much he sinned, he set mirrors about himself by which he might parcel out and arrange his disgraces; and because he could not look on so closely when he had buried his head and clung to another’s loins, he set his own work before himself by means of the images.

At hercule scelera conspectum sui reformidant. In perditis quoque et ad omne dedecus expositis tenerrima est oculorum uerecundia. Ille, quasi parum esset inaudita et incognita pati, oculos suos ad illa aduocauit nec quantum peccabat uidere contentus, specula sibi per quae flagitia sua diuideret disponeretque circumdedit; et quia non tam diligenter intueri poterat, cum caput merserat inguinibusque alienis obhaeserat, opus sibi suum per imagines offerebat.

He watched the lust of his own mouth; he watched the men admitted to him alike in every part; sometimes, parcelled out between a male and a female, his whole body laid open to submission, he watched things unspeakable. What, then, did that foul man leave to do in the dark? He did not fear the daylight, but showed those monstrous couplings to himself, approved them to himself: would you not suppose he would have wished himself painted in that very posture?

Spectabat illam libidinem oris sui, spectabat admissos sibi pariter in omnia uiros; nonnumquam inter marem et feminam distributus et toto corpore patientiae expositus spectabat nefanda: quidnam homo impurus reliquit, quod in tenebris faceret? Non pertimuit diem, sed illos concubitus portentuosos sibi ipse ostendit, sibi ipse approbauit: quem non putes in ipso habitu pingi noluisse?

There is some modesty even in prostitutes, and those bodies exposed to public mockery hold up something to screen their wretched submission behind; so far is it that even the brothel has its shame in some things. But that monster had made his obscenity a spectacle and displayed to himself the very things for whose hiding no night is deep enough.

Est aliqua etiam prostitutis modestia et illa corpora publico obiecta ludibrio aliquid, quo infelix patientia lateat obtendunt; adeo in quaedam lupanar quoque uerecundum est. At illud monstrum obscenitatem suam spectaculum fecerat et ea sibi ostentabat, quibus abscondendis nulla satis alta nox est.

"At once," he said, "I submit to both man and woman; and nonetheless, with that part of me too which is left over, I work an outrage upon some man; all my members are taken up with debaucheries: let my eyes too come in for their share of the lust, and be its witnesses and exactors; let even those things which the body’s posture removes from sight be viewed by art, that no one may suppose I do not know what I do.

"Simul, inquit, et uirum et feminam patior; nihilominus illa quoque superuacua mihi parte alicuius contumelia marem exerceo; omnia membra stupris occupata sunt: oculi quoque in partem libidinis ueniant et testes eius exactoresque sint; etiam ea, quae a conspectu corporis nostri positio submouit, arte uisantur, ne quis me putet nescire, quid faciam.

Nature did nothing to the purpose when she gave such grudging instruments to human lust, when she furnished the couplings of the other animals better: I shall find out how both to cheat my disease and to satisfy it. To what end is my wickedness, if I sin only to nature’s measure? I shall set about myself that kind of mirror which returns an incredible magnitude of images.

Nil egit natura, quod humanae libidini ministeria tam maligna dedit, quod aliorum animalium concubitus melius instruxit: inueniam, quemadmodum morbo meo et imponam et satisfaciam. Quo nequitiam meam, si ad naturae modum pecco? Id genus speculorum circumponam mihi, quod incredibilem magnitudinem imaginum reddat.

If it were allowed me, I would carry these things through to reality: because it is not allowed, I shall feed on the lie. Let my obscenity see more than it takes in, and let it marvel at its own submission." A monstrous deed! This man, perhaps, was killed quickly and before he could see it: he ought to have been sacrificed before his own mirror.

Si liceret mihi, ad uerum ista perducerem: quia non licet, mendacio pascar. Obscenitas mea plus quam capit uideat et patientiam suam ipsa miretur". Facinus indignum! Hic fortasse cito et antequam uideret occisus est: ad speculum suum immolandus fuit.

Let the philosophers now be laughed at for discoursing on the nature of the mirror; for inquiring why it is that our face is returned to us, and indeed turned to face us; what nature meant by it, who, having brought forth real bodies, willed that likenesses of them too should be seen;

Derideantur nunc philosophi, quod de speculi natura disserant; quod inquirant, quid ita facies nostra nobis et quidem in nos obuersa reddatur; quid sibi rerum natura uoluerit, quae, cum uera corpora edidisset, etiam simulacra eorum aspici uoluit;

to what end it served to provide this material, capable of receiving images: not, surely, that we should pluck the beard before a mirror, or polish a man’s face — in nothing did she grant luxury a commission — but first of all, because our eyes, too weak to bear the sun at close quarters, were going to be ignorant of his form, she showed him with his light dulled. For although we may look on him rising and setting, yet his very aspect as it truly is — not reddening, but blazing with white light — we should not know, unless in some moisture he met us gentler and easier to behold.

quorsus pertinuerit hanc comparare materiam excipiendarum imaginum potentem: non in hoc scilicet, ut ad speculum barbam uelleremus aut ut faciem uiri poliremus (in nulla re illa luxuriae negotium concessit); sed primum omnium, quia imbecilli oculi ad sustinendum comminus solem ignoraturi erant formam eius, hebetato illum lumine ostendit. Quamuis enim orientem occidentemque eum contemplari liceat, tamen habitum eius ipsum, qui uerus est, non rubentis sed candida luce fulgentis nesciremus, nisi in aliquo nobis umore lenior et aspici facilior occurreret.

Besides, the meeting of the two heavenly bodies, by which the day is wont to be broken off, we should not see, nor be able to know what it was, did we not more freely behold the images of the sun and moon upon the ground.

Praeterea duorum siderum occursum, quo interpolari dies solet, non uideremus nec scire possemus, quid esset, nisi liberius humi solis lunaeque imagines uideremus.

Mirrors were invented so that man might know himself, with much to gain from it: first, knowledge of himself, then counsel toward certain things — the handsome, that he might avoid disgrace; the ugly, that he might know that whatever was wanting to his body must be redeemed by virtues; the young man, that by the flower of his age he might be reminded that this is the time for learning and for daring brave things; the old, that he might lay aside what ill befits gray hairs, that he might give some thought to death. For these ends the nature of things gave us the power of seeing our very selves.

Inuenta sunt specula, ut homo ipse se nosset, multa ex hoc consecuturus, primum sui notitiam, deinde ad quaedam consilium: formosus, ut uitaret infamiam; deformis, ut sciret redimendum esse uirtutibus quicquid corpori deesset; iuuenis, ut flore aetatis admoneretur illud tempus esse discendi et fortia audendi; senex, ut indecora canis deponeret, ut de morte aliquid cogitaret. Ad haec rerum natura facultatem nobis dedit nosmet ipsos uidendi

A clear spring, or a smooth rock, returns to each his image: "lately I saw myself on the shore, when the sea stood calm of winds." What manner of grooming do you suppose theirs was, who dressed themselves at such a mirror? That simpler age, content with what chance gave, did not yet twist blessings into vice, nor snatch nature’s discoveries away into lust and luxury.

Fons cuique perlucidus aut leue saxum imaginera reddit: "nuper me in litore uidi, cum placidum uentis staret mare." Qualem fuisse cultum putas ad hoc se speculum comentium? Aetas illa simplicior et fortuitis contenta nondum in uitium beneficia detorquebat nec inuenta naturae in libidinem luxumque rapiebat.

At first chance showed each his own face. Then, when the love of self implanted in mortals made the sight of their own form sweet, they looked the oftener into those things in which they had seen their likenesses. After a worse breed went down into the earth itself to dig out what should have stayed buried, iron was first in use — and that men had dug up with impunity, had they dug up only that — then next the other evils of the earth, whose smoothness offered its own reflection to men busy at other things: which this man saw in a cup, that man in bronze got ready for other uses; and soon a disk was made ready for this very service — not yet the gleam of silver, but a brittle and cheap material.

Primo faciem suam cuique casus ostendit. Deinde cum insitus sui mortalibus amor dulcem aspectum formae suae faceret, saepius ea despexere, in quibus effigies suas uiderant. Postquam deterior populus ipsas subiit terras effossurus obruenda, ferrum primum in usu fuit (et id impune homines eruerant, si solum eruissent), tunc deinde alia terre mala, quorum leuitas aliud agentibus speciem suam obtulit, quam hic in poculo ille in aere ad alios usus comparato uidit; et mox huic proprie ministerio praeparatus est orbis nondum argenti nitor sed fraglis uilisque materia.

Even then, when those men of old lived unkempt, clean enough if they had washed off in the running stream the grime gathered by their labor, there was a care to comb the hair and to comb out the jutting beard, but in this each gave his attention to himself, not by turns to another. Not even by a wife’s hand was that hair handled, which men once made it their custom to let flow; but, beautiful without any artificer, they shook it for themselves, no otherwise than noble animals their mane.

Tunc quoque, cum antiqui illi uiri incondite uiuerent, satis nitidi, si squalorem opere collectum aduerso flumine eluerant, cura comere capillum fuit ac prominentem barbam depectere, sed in hac re sibi quisque, non alteri in uicem, operam dabat. ‹ne› coniugum quidem manu crinis ille, quem effundere olim mos uiris fuit, attrectabatur, sed illum sibi ipsi sine ullo artifice formosi quatiebant, non aliter quam iubam generosa animalia.

Afterward, when luxury had already gained the mastery of things, mirrors as large as whole bodies were chased in gold and silver, then adorned with gems; and a single one of these cost a woman more than was the dowry of women of old — that dowry which was given at public expense to the children of poor generals. Or do you suppose the daughters of Scipio had a mirror set in gold, when their dowry had been heavy bronze?

Postea, iam rerum potiente luxuria, specula totis paria corporibus auro argentoque caelata sunt, gemmis deinde adornata; et pluris unum ex his feminae constitit, quam antiquarum dos fuit illa, quae publice dabatur imperatorum pauperum liberis. An tu existimas auro inditum habuisse Scipionis filias speculum, cum illis dos fuisset aes graue?

O happy poverty, that made room for so great a distinction! He would not have given them a dowry, had they had one of their own. But whoever he was to whom the Senate stood in a father-in-law’s place understood that he had received a dowry which it would be impious to repay. Now for the little daughters of freedmen that dowry which the Roman People gave so handsomely is not enough for a single mirror.

O felix paupertas, quae tanto titulo locum fecit! Non dedisset illis dotem, si habuissent. At quisquis ille erat, cui soceri loco senatus fuit, intellexit accepisse se dotem, quam fas non esset reddere. Iam libertinorum uirgunculis in unum speculum non sufficit illa dos, quam dedit p‹opulus› Ro‹manus› animose.

For luxury, goaded by wealth itself, has advanced little by little for the worse, and the vices have taken on a vast increase, and all things are now so jumbled together, with the most diverse arts, that whatever used to be called a woman’s finery is now a man’s kit — all men, I say, even soldiers. Is the mirror now employed only for the sake of adornment? It has been made necessary to every vice.

Processit enim paulatim in deterius opibus ipsis inritata luxuria, et incrementum ingens uitia ceperunt, adeoque omnia indiscreta sunt diuersissimis artibus, ut quicquid mundus muliebris uocabatur, sarcinae uiriles sint: omnes dico, etiam militares. Iam speculum ornatus tantum causa adhibetur? Nulli non uitio necessarium factum est.

Every inquiry about the universe is divided into the heavenly, the lofty, and the earthly. The first part scrutinizes the nature of the stars, and the magnitude, and the shape of the fires by which the world is enclosed: whether the heaven is solid, and of firm and compacted matter, or woven from something subtle and thin; whether it is driven or drives; and whether it holds the stars beneath itself, or they are fixed in its own fabric; how the sun keeps the turns of the year; whether it bends back: and the rest in turn, like these.

Omnis de uniuerso quaestio in caelestia, sublimia, et terreae diuiditur. Prima pars naturam siderum scrutatur, et magnitudinem, et formam ignium, quibus mundus includitur: solidumne sit coelum, ac firmae concretaeque materiae, an ex subtili tenuique nexum; agatur, an agat; et infra se sidera habeat, an in contextu sui fixa; quemadmodum sol anni uices seruet; an retro flectat: cetera deinceps his similia.

The second part treats of the things that range between heaven and earth. These are clouds, rains, snows, and "the thunders that will stir human minds"; whatever the air makes or undergoes. These we call "lofty," because they are higher than the lowest things. That third part inquires about fields, lands, orchards, crops, and — to use the lawyers’ word — about everything "contained in the soil."

Secunda pars tractat inter coelum terramque uersantia. Haec sont nubila, imbres, niues, et " humanas motura tonitrua mentes; " quaecumque aer facit patiturue. Haec sublimia dicimus, quia editiora imis sunt. Tertia illa pars de agris, terris, arbustis, satis, quaerit, et, ut iurisconsultorum uerbo utar, de omnibus quae solo continentur.

"How is it," you say, "that you have placed the inquiry about the movement of the earth in the very section where you are going to speak of thunders and lightnings?" Because, since the movement of the earth comes about by breath, and breath is agitated air, even though it goes beneath the earth, it is not to be examined there: let it be considered in the seat in which nature has set it.

Quomodo, inquis, de terrarum motu quaestionem eo posuisti loco, quo de tonitruis fulgoribusque dicturus? Quia, cum motus terrae fiat spiritu, spiritus autem sit aer agitatus, etsi subeat terras, non ibi spectandus est: cogitetur in ea sede, in qua illum natura disposuit.

I will say something that will seem more surprising: among the heavenly things there will have to be discussion about the earth. "Why?" you say. Because, when we shake out the properties peculiar to the earth in its own place — whether it is broad, and uneven, and irregularly extended, or whether it looks wholly to the shape of a ball and gathers its parts into a sphere; whether it binds the waters, or is itself bound by the waters; whether it is an animal, or an inert body without sensation, full indeed of breath, but of another’s — and the rest of this kind, as often as they come into our hands, they will follow the earth, and be placed among the lowest things.

Dicam, quod magis uidebitur mirum: inter coelestia et de terra dicendum erit. Quare? inquis; quia cum propria terrae excutimus suo loco, utrum lata sit, et inaequalis, et enormiter proiecta, an tota in formam pilae spectet, et in orbem partes suas cogat; alliget aquas, an aquis alligetur ipsa; animal sit, an iners corpus et sine sensu, plenum quidem spiritus, sed alieni; et cetera huiusmodi quoties in manus uenerint, terram sequentur, et in imis collocabuntur.

But when it is asked what the situation of the earth is, in what part of the world it has settled, how it is set over against the stars and the heaven, this inquiry yields to the higher ones and, so to speak, follows the better condition.

At ubi quaeretur, quis terrae sit situs, qua parte mundi subsederit, quomodo aduersus sidera coelumque posita sit, haec quaestio cedit superioribus, et, ut ita dicam, meliorem conditionem sequitur.

Since I have spoken of the parts into which all the matter of nature is divided, certain things must be said in common, and this first must be assumed: that among those bodies which have unity, air is one.

Quoniam dixi de partibus, in quas omnis rerum naturae materia diuiditur, quaedam in commune sunt dicenda, et hoc primum praesumendum, inter ea corpora, a quibus unitas est, aera esse.

What this is, and why it had to be laid down, you will know if I go back a little higher, and say that some things are continuous, some joined. A continuity is the unbroken conjunction of parts among themselves. Unity is continuity without a joining-seam; contact is of two bodies joined to each other.

Quid sit hoc et quare praecipiendum fuerit, scies si paulo altius repetiero, et dixero aliquid esse continuum, aliquid commissum. Continuatio est partium inter se non intermissa coniunctio. Unitas est sine commissura continuatio, et duorum inter se coniunctorum corporum tactus.

Is there any doubt that, of those bodies which we see and handle, which either are felt or feel, some are composite? They consist either by binding or by heaping: as, say, a rope, grain, a ship. Again, things not composite: as a tree, a stone. Therefore you must grant that, even among those things which escape the senses but are grasped by reason, there is in some a unity of body.

Numquid dubium est, quin ex his corporibus quae uidemus tractamusque, quae aut sentiuntur aut sentiunt, quaedam sint composita? Illa constant aut nexu, aut aceruatione: ut puta funis, frumentum, nauis. Rursus non composita: ut arbor lapis. Ergo concedas oportet ex his quoque quae sensum quidem effugiunt, ceterum ratione prenduntur, esse in quibusdam unitatem corporum.

See how I spare your ears. I could have got myself off easily, had I been willing to use the philosophers’ language, and say "unified bodies." Since I remit this to you, do me the favor in return. Why so? If ever I say "one," remember that I refer not to number, but to the nature of a body that coheres by no external aid, but by its own unity. Of this class of bodies is air.

Vide quomodo auribus tuis parcam. Expedire me poteram, si philosophorum lingua uti uoluissem, ut dicerem unita corpora. Hoc cum tibi remittam, tu inuicem mihi refer gratiam. Quare istud? si quando dixero unum, memineris me non ad numerum referre, sed ad naturam corporis, nulla ope externa, sed unitate sua cohaerentis. Ex hac nota corporum aer est.

The world embraces all things that fall, or can fall, into our knowledge. Of these, some are parts, some are left in the place of matter; for every nature requires matter, just as every art that consists in the hand.

Omnia que in notitiam nostram cadunt uel cadere possunt, mundus complectitur. Ex bis quaedam sunt partes, quaedam materiae loco relicta; desiderat enim omnis natura materiam, sicut ars omnis quae manu constat.

What this is, I will make plainer. A part of us is the eye, the hand, the bones, the sinews. Matter is the juice of fresh food, about to go into the parts. Again, the blood is as it were a part of us, which nevertheless is also matter; for it prepares other things, and is none the less among the number of those by which the whole body is made up.

Quid sit hoc, apertius faciam. Pars est nostri oculus, manus, ossa, nerui. Materia sucus recentis cibi iturus in partes. Rursus quasi pars est sanguis nostri, qui et tamen est materia; praeparat enim is alia, et nihilominus in numero eorum est quibus totum corpus efficitur.

So air is a part of the world, and indeed a necessary one. For this is what binds heaven and earth together, what so separates the lowest and the highest that it nonetheless joins them. It separates, because it comes between; it joins, because through it each has agreement with the other; above itself it gives up whatever it has received from the lands, and again pours the force of the stars down into things of earth.

Sic mundi pars est aer, et quidem necessaria. Hic est enim qui caelum terramque connectit, qui ima ac summa sic separat ut tamen iungat. Separat, quia medius interuenit; iungit quia utrique per hunc inter se consensus est; supra se dat quicquid accepit a terris, rursus uim siderum in terrena transfundit.

I call "as it were a part of the world" such things as animals and orchards. For the kind of animals and of orchards is a part of the universe, because it is taken up into the completion of the whole, and because without it the universe is not. But one animal and one tree is "as it were" a part, because, although it perishes, yet that from which it perishes is whole. Air, however, as I was saying, coheres both with heaven and with the lands; it is inborn in each. And whatever is a native part of some thing has unity. For nothing is born without unity.

Quasi partem mundi uoco ut animalia et arbusta. Nam genus animalium arbustorumque pars uniuersi est, quia in consummationem totius assumptum et quia non est sine hoc uniuersum. Vnum autem animal et una arbor quasi pars est, quia, quamuis perierit, tamen id ex quo perit, totum est. Aer autem, ut dicebam, et caelo et terris cohaeret; utrique innatus est. Habet autem unitatem quicquid alicuius rei natiua pars est. Nihil enim nascitur sine unitate.

The earth is both a part of the world and matter. Why it is a part, I do not think you will ask — or else, ask equally why heaven is a part; because, namely, the universe can no more be without this than without that, the universe being what it is together with these, from which — that is, as much from the one as from the other — nourishment is dealt out to all animals, all crops, all stars.

Terra et pars est mundi et materia. Pars quare sit, non puto te interrogaturum, aut aeque interroga quare caelum pars sit; quia scilicet non magis sine hoc quam sine illa uniuersum potest esse, quod cum his uniuersum est, ex quibus, id est, tam ex illo quam ex ista, alimenta omnibus animalibus, omnibus satis, omnibus stellis diuiduntur.

From here is supplied whatever strength belongs to each; from here is supplied to the world itself, which demands so much; from here is brought forth that by which so many stars are sustained, so hard-worked, so greedy, day and night, in their feeding as in their toil. Every nature, indeed, takes up as much as suffices for its own nourishment; but the world has seized as much as it desired for eternity. I will set before you a tiny model of a great matter: eggs contain only as much moisture as suffices for the making of the animal that is to come forth.

Hinc quidquid est uirium singulis, hinc ipsi mundo tam multa poscenti subministrantur; hinc profertur quo sustineantur tot sidera tam exercita tam auida per diem noctemque ut in opere ita in pastu. Omnium quidem rerum natura, quantum in nutrimentum sui satis sit, apprehendit, mundus autem, quantum in aeternum desiderabat, inuasit. Pusillum tibi exemplar magnae rei ponam: oua tantum complectuntur humoris quantum ad effectum animalis exituri satis est.

Air is continuous with the earth, and so set against it that it will be there at once, the moment the earth has withdrawn. It is a part of the whole world; yet, whatever the earth has sent up for the nourishment of the heavenly bodies, it receives — so that, namely, it ought to be understood as matter, not as a part. From this comes all its inconstancy and tumult.

Aer continuus terrae est et sic appositus ut statim ibi futurus sit unde illa discesserit. Pars totius est mundi; sed tamen, quicquid terra in alimentum caelestium misit, recipit, ut scilicet materia, non pars, intellegi debeat; ex hoc omnis inconstantia eius tumultusque est.

Some build it up out of separate little bodies, like dust, and depart very far from the truth. For there is never any straining except in a body woven together by unity, since the parts must agree toward the straining and contribute their forces. But air, if it is cut into atoms, is scattered; and what is scattered cannot be stretched taut.

Hunc quidam ex distantibus corpusculis, ut puluerem, struunt plurimumque a uero recedunt. Numquam enim nisi contexti per unitatem corporis nisus est, cum partes consentire ad intentionem debeant et conferre uires. Aer autem, si in atomos inciditur, sparsus est; tendi uero disiecta non possunt.

The straining of air will be shown you by things inflated, that do not yield to a blow; it will be shown by weights carried over a great space, the wind bearing them; it will be shown by voices, which are faint or clear according as the air has roused itself. For what is the voice but the straining of air, shaped by the stroke of the tongue, so as to be heard?

Intentionem aeris ostendent tibi inflata nec ad ictum cedentia; ostendent pondera per magnum spatium ablata gestante uento; ostendent uoces, quae remissae claraeque sunt prout aer se concitauit. Quid enim est uox nisi intentio aeris, ut audiatur, linguae formata percussu?

What of running and all movement — are they not the works of straining breath? This gives force to the sinews, speed to runners; this, when it has violently roused itself and twisted upon itself, rolls up orchards and woods, and, snatching whole buildings, breaks them on high; this stirs the sea, of itself sluggish and recumbent.

Quid? cursus et motus omnis, nonne intenti spiritus opera sunt? Hic facit uim, neruis, uelocitatem currentibus; hic, cum uehementer concitatus ipse se torsit, arbusta siluasque, conuoluit et aedificia tota corripiens in altum frangit; hic mare per se languidum et iacens incitat.

Let us come to smaller things. What song is there without the straining of breath? Horns and trumpets, and the instruments that by the pressure of water form a greater sound than can be returned by the mouth — do they not unfold their parts by the straining of air? Let us consider things that work a vast force through what is hidden: seeds very tiny indeed, whose slenderness finds a place in the joining of stones, grow so strong that they topple huge rocks and dissolve monuments; meanwhile roots most minute and slender split crags and cliffs. What is this but the straining of breath, without which nothing is strong, and against which nothing is strong?

Ad minora ueniamus. Quis sine intentione spiritus cantus est? Cornua et tubae et quae aquarum pressura maiorem sonitum formant quam qui ore reddi potest, nonne aeris intentione partes suas explicant? Consideremus quae ingentem uim per occultum agunt: paruula admodum semina et quorum exilitas in commissura lapidum locum inuenit in tantum conualescunt ut ingentia saxa deturbent et monumenta dissoluant; scopulos interim rupesque radices minutissimae ac tenuissimae findunt. Hoc quid est aliud quam intentio spiritus, sine qua nihil ualidum et contra quam nihil ualidum est?

That there is unity in air can be understood even from this, that our bodies cohere among themselves. For what else is it that holds them together but breath? What else is it by which our mind is moved? What motion has it but straining? What straining but from unity? What unity, unless this were in the air? And what else brings forth the crops, and drives up the weak corn and the green trees, or spreads them into branches, or raises them on high, but the straining of breath and its unity?

Esse autem unitatem in aere uel ex hoc intellegi potest quod corpora nostra inter se cohaerent. Quid enim est aliud quod teneat illa quam spiritus? Quid est aliud quo animus noster agitetur? Quis est illi motus nisi intentio? Quae intentio nisi ex unitate? Quae unitas, nisi haec esset in aere? Quid autem aliud producit fruges et segetem imbecillam ac uirentes exigit arbores aut distendit in ramos aut in altum erigit quam spiritus intentio et unitas?

Some tear the air apart and divide it into particles, in such a way that they mix void in with it. And they think it an argument that the body is not full but has much void, that the motion of birds in it is so easy, that there is passage through it for the greatest and the smallest things.

Quidam aera discerpunt et in particulas diducunt ita ut illi inane permisceant. Argumentum autem existimant non pleni corporis sed multum uacui habentis quod auibus in illo tain facilis motus, quod maximis minimisque per illum transcursus est.

But they are deceived. For the ease of waters too is similar, and there is no doubt about their unity; they receive bodies in such a way that they always flow back into the place of what they received. This our writers call circumstantia (a standing-around), the Greeks antiperistasis. And this happens in air as in water; for it stands around every body by which it is driven. There will therefore be no need of admixed void. But of this elsewhere.

Sed falluntur. Nam aquarum quoque similis facilitas est, nec de unitate illarum dubium est, quae sic corpora accipiunt ut semper in contrarium acceptis refluant; hanc nostri circumstantiam, Graeci g-antiperistasin appellant. Quae in aere quoque sicut in aqua fit; circumsistit enim omne corpus a quo impellitur. Nihil ergo opus erit admixto inani. Sed haec alias.

Now, however, it must be gathered that there is in the nature of things a certain vehemence of great impetus. For nothing is more vehement than straining — just as, by Hercules, nothing can be strained by another, unless something has been strained through itself; for we say in the same way that nothing can be moved by another, unless something has been movable of itself. And what is there that is more to be believed to have straining of itself than breath? Who will deny that this is strained, when he has seen the earth flung about with its mountains, roofs and walls, great cities with their peoples, seas with their whole shores?

Nunc autem esse quamdam in rerum natura uehementiam magni impetus est colligendum. Nihil enim non intentione uehementius est, tam mehercule quam nihil intendi ab alio poterit, nisi aliquid per semet fuerit intentum, - dicimus enim eodem modo non posse quicquam ab alio moueri, nisi aliquid fuerit mobile ex semet; - quid autem est quod magis credatur ex se ipso habere intentionem quam spiritus? Hunc intendi quis negabit, cum uiderit iactari terram cum montibus, tecta murosque, magnas cum populis urbes, cum totis maria litoribus?

The speed of breath and its diffusion show its straining. The eyes at once send their gaze through many miles; one voice strikes whole cities at once; light does not creep on little by little but is poured all at once over all things.

Ostendit intentionem spiritus uelocitas eius et diductio. Oculi statim per multa milia aciem suam mittunt; uox una totas urbes simul percutit; lumen non paulatim prorepit sed semel uniuersis rebus infunditur.

But water — how could it be strained without breath? Surely you do not doubt that that fountain-jet, which, rising from the foundations in the middle of the sand, reaches up to the very topmost height of the amphitheatre, gushes with the straining of water? And yet neither the hand nor any other engine can send or drive water, except breath; to this it lends itself; by this, inserted and forcing it, it is lifted up; against its own nature it attempts much and rises, though born to flow down.

Aqua autem quemadmodum sine spiritu posset intendi? Numquid dubitas quin sparsio illa quae ex fundamentis mediae harenae crescens in summam usque amphitheatri altitudinem peruenit cum intentione aquae flat? Atqui nec manus nec ullum aliud tormentum aquam potest mittere aut agere quam spiritus; huic se commodat; hoc attollitur inserto et cogente; contra naturam suam multa conatur et ascendit, nata defluere.

What? Do ships pressed down by their cargo not sufficiently show that it is not the water that resists them, to keep them from sinking, but breath? For the water would yield, and could not sustain the weights, were it not itself sustained. A discus thrown into a pool from a higher place does not go down, but rebounds; how, unless the breath strikes it back?

Quid? Nauigia sarcina depressa parum ostendunt non aquam sibi resistere, quo minus mergantur, sed spiritum? Aqua enim cederet nec posset pondera sustinere, nisi ipsa sustineretur. Discus ex loco superiore in piscinam missus non descendit, sed resilit; quemadmodum, nisi spiritu referiente?

And by what reason is the voice transmitted through the defenses of walls, unless because air is present even in a solid, which both receives and sends back the sound sent from without — straining, namely, by breath not only open things but also hidden and enclosed ones, which is easy for it to do, because it is nowhere divided but coheres with itself through those very things by which it seems to be separated? You may interpose walls and the middle height of mountains: through all those things it is hindered from being a passage for us, not for itself. For only that is shut off through which we can follow it.

Vox autem qua ratione per parietum munimenta transmittitur, nisi quod solido quoque aer inest, qui sonum extrinsecus missum et accipit et remittit, scilicet spiritu non aperta tantum intendens, sed etiam abdita et inclusa, quod illi facere expeditum est, quia nusquam diuisus est sed per illa ipsa quibus separari uidetur coit secum? Interponas licet muros et mediam altitudinem montium, per omnia ista prohibetur nobis esse peruius, non sibi. Id enim intercluditur tantum per quod illum nos sequi possumus.

It itself, indeed, passes through that by which it is cleft, and the middle space it not only flows around and girds on either side, but permeates. From the most shining ether the air is diffused all the way down to the earth — more nimble indeed and thinner and higher than the lands, and no less than the waters, but thicker and heavier than the ether, cold of itself and dark. Light and heat come to it from elsewhere.

Ipse quidem per ipsum transit quo scinditur, et media non circumfundit tantum et utrimque cingit, sed permeat. Ab aethere lucidissimo aer in terram usque diffusus est, aggilior quidem tenuiorque et altior terris nec minus aquis, ceterum aethere spissior grauiorque, frigidus per se et obscurus. Lumen illi calorque aliunde sunt.

But it is not like itself through its whole extent; it is changed by what is nearest. Its uppermost part is driest and hottest, and for this reason also thinnest, on account of the nearness of the eternal fires and those so many movements of the stars and the unceasing wheeling of the heaven; that lowest part, near the lands, is dense and murky, because it takes in the earthy exhalations; the middle part is more temperate, if you compare it with the highest and lowest, as far as concerns dryness and thinness, but colder than either part.

Sed non per omne spatium sui similis est; mutatur a proximis. Summa pars eius siccissima calidissimaque et ob hoc etiam tenuissima est propter uiciniam aeternorum ignium et illos tot motus siderum assiduumque caeli circumactum; illa pars ima et uicina terris densa et caliginosa est, quia terrenas exhalationes receptat; media pars temperatior, si summis imisque conferas, quantum ad siccitatem tenuitatemque pertinet, ceterum utraque parte frigidior.

For its upper regions feel the heat of the neighboring stars. The lower ones too are warm; first by the breath of the lands, which brings with it much of heat; then because the rays of the sun are bent back, and, as far as they have been able to return, they cherish that space more kindly with doubled heat; then also by that breath which is warm to all animals and orchards and crops — for nothing would live without heat.

Nam superiora eius calorem uicinorum siderum sentiunt. Inferiora quoque tepent; primum terrarum halitu, qui multum secum calidi affert; deinde quia radii solis replicantur et, quousque redire potuerunt, id duplicato calore benignius fouent; deinde etiam illo spiritu qui omnibus animalibus arbustisque ac satis calidus est, nihil enim uiueret sine calore.

Add now the fires, not only those made by hand and known, but those hidden in the lands, some of which have burst out, while innumerable others ever burn in the dark and the buried. So many fertile parts of it have something of warmth, since indeed cold is barren, and heat begets. The middle part of the air, then, removed from these, remains in its own cold; for the nature of air is icy.

Adice nunc ignes, non tantum manufactos et certos, sed opertos terris, quorum aliqui eruperunt, innumerabiles in obscuro et condito flagrant semper. Hae tot partes eius fertiles rerum habent quiddam teporis, quoniam quidem sterile frigus est, calor gignit. Media ergo pars aeris ab his summota in frigore suo manet; natura enim aeris gelida est.

And since it is thus divided, in its lowest part it is most of all various and inconstant and changeable. Around the lands it dares most, suffers most, drives and is driven; yet it is not affected in the same way throughout, but otherwise in different places, and is restless and turbid by parts.

Qui cum sic diuisus sit, ima sui parte maxime uarius et inconstans ac mutabilis est. Circa terras plurimum audet, plurimum patitur, exagitat et exagitatur; nec tamen eodem modo totus afficitur, sed aliter alibi et partibus inquietus ac turbidus est.

The causes of its change and inconstancy are furnished sometimes by the earth, whose positions, turned this way or that, are of great moment to the tempering of the air; sometimes by the courses of the stars, of which you may charge the most to the sun. The year follows it; to its turning winters and summers are turned. The Moon’s right is next. But the other stars too affect no less the things of earth than the breath that lies upon the lands, and by their course or by a contrary meeting stir now colds, now rains, and other injuries turbulently upon the lands.

Causas autem illi mutationis et inconstantiae alias terra praebet, cuius positiones hoc aut illo uersae magna ad aeris temperiem momenta sunt, alias siderum cursus, ex quibus soli plurimum imputes; illum sequitur annus, ad illius flexum hiemes aestatesque uertuntur. Lunae proximum ius est. Sed ceterae quoque stellae non minus terrena quam incumbentem terris spiritum afficiunt et cursu suo occursuue contrario modo frigora, modo imbres aliasque terris turbide iniurias mouent.

It was necessary to say this by way of preface, since I am going to speak of thunder and thunderbolts and flashes. For since they come about in the air, it was right that the nature of the air be explained, that it might more easily appear what it could do or suffer.

Haec necessarium fuit praeloqui dicturo de tonitru fulminibusque ac fulgurationibus. Nam cum in aere fiant, naturam eius explicari oportebat, quo facilius appareret quid facere aut pati posset.

There are three things that occur: flashes, thunderbolts, thunders — which, though made at one time, are heard later. The flash shows the fire; the bolt sends it forth. The former is, so to speak, a threatening and an attempt without a stroke; the latter, a hurling with a stroke.

Tria sunt quae accidunt, fulgurationes, fulmina, tonitrua, quae una facta serius audiuntur. Fulguratio ostendit ignem, fulminatio emittit. Illa, ut ita dicam, comminatio est et conatio sine ictu; ista iaculatio cum ictu.

Of these, there are some about which all agree, some in which the opinions differ. It is agreed about them that all these things come to be in the clouds and from the clouds. It is agreed still further that both flashes and bolts are either fiery or of a fiery appearance.

Quaedam sunt ex his de quibus inter omnes conuenit, quaedam in quibus diuersae sententiae sunt. Conuenit de illis, omnia ista in nubibus et e nubibus fieri. Etiamnunc conuenit et fulgurationes et fulminationes aut igneas esse aut ignea specie.

Let us now pass to those in which there is dispute. Some think fire is present in the clouds; some that it comes to be for the moment, and is not before it is sent. Nor even among those who make the fire ready beforehand is there agreement; for one gathers it from one source, another from another. Some say that the rays of the sun, running across and running back and turned upon themselves more often, rouse fire. Anaxagoras says that it drips down from the ether, and that out of so great a burning of the heaven many things fall, which the clouds, long shut in, guard.

Ad illa nunc transeamus in quibus lis est. Quidam putant ignem inesse nubibus; quidam ad tempus fieri nec prius esse quam mitti. Ne inter illos quidem qui praeparant ignem conuenit; alius enim illum aliunde colligit. Quidam aiunt radios solis intercurrentis recurrentisque et saepius in se relatos ignem excitare. Anaxagoras ait illum ex aethere destillare et ex tanto ardore caeli multa decidere quae nubes diu inclusa custodiant.

Aristotle thinks the fire is not gathered long before, but leaps out at the same moment in which it comes to be. His opinion is of this sort. Two parts of the world lie in the depth, earth and water. Each gives back something from itself: the earthy vapor is dry and like smoke, which makes winds, thunderbolts, thunders; the breath of the waters is moist, and passes into rains and snows.

Aristoteles multo ante ignem colligi non putat, sed eodem momento exilire quo fiat. Cuius sententia talis est. Duae partes mundi in imo iacent, terra et aqua. Vtraque ex se reddit aliquid terrenus uapor siccus est et fumo similis, qui uentos, fulmina, tonitrua facit; aquarum halitus umidus est et in imbres et niues cedit.

But that dry vapor of the lands, whence is the origin of winds, when it has been heaped up, by the meeting of the clouds is violently struck out from the side; then, to range more widely, it strikes the nearest clouds. This blow is dealt with a sound, such as is given back in our fires, when the flame crackles from the fault of green wood. There too the breath, having something of moisture with it and globed together, is broken with flame; in the same way that breath which, a little before, I said is pressed out by the colliding clouds, when it is dashed against others, can neither be broken nor leap out in silence.

Sed siccus ille terrarum uapor, unde uentis origo est, cum coaceruatus est, coitu nubium uehementer a latere eliditur; deinde, ut latius, nubes proximas feriet. Haec plaga cum sono incutitur, qualis in nostris ignibus redditur, cum flamma uitio lignorum uirentium crepat. Et illic spiritus habens aliquid umidi secum conglobatusque rumpitur flamma; eodem modo spiritus ille, quem paulo ante exprimi collisis nubibus dixi, impactus aliis nec rumpi nec exilire silentio potest.

But a dissimilar crackle comes about because of the dissimilarity of the clouds, of which some have a greater hollow, some a smaller. For the rest, that force of the pressed-out breath is the fire which has the name of "flash," kindled by a slight impulse and empty. But we see the flash before we hear the sound, because the sense of the eyes is swifter and far outruns the ears.

Dissimilis autem crepitus fit ob dissimilitudinem nubium, quarum aliae maiorem. sinum habent, aliae minorem. Ceterum illa uis expressi spiritus ignis est qui fulgurationis nomen habet, leui impetu accensus et uanus. Ante autem uidemus fulgorem quam sonum audimus, quia oculorum uelocior sensus est et multum aures antecedit.

That the opinion of those who keep the fire in the clouds is false can be gathered from many things. If it falls from heaven, how is it not done daily, since just as much always burns up there? Next, they have given no reason why fire, which nature calls upward, should flow down. For the condition of our fires is different, from which ashes fall, which have something of weight with them; thus the fire does not descend, but is flung headlong and led down.

Falsam autem opinionem esse eorum qui ignem in nubibus seruant, per multa colligi potest. Si de caelo cadit, quomodo non cotidie fit, cum tantumdem semper illic ardeat? Deinde nullam rationem reddiderunt quare ignis, quem natura sursum uocat, defluat. Alia enim condicio nostrorum ignium est, ex quibus fauillae cadunt, quae ponderis aliquid secum habent; ita non descendit ignis, sed praecipitatur et deducitur.

Nothing of the kind happens in that purest fire, in which there is nothing to be pressed down. Or if any part of it should fall out, the whole is in peril, because the whole can fall out which can be plucked. Next: is that which falls light or heavy? Is it light? What lightness keeps from falling cannot rush down. If it holds something heavy in its recess, how could it have been there, whence it might fall?

Huic simile nihil accidit in illo igne purissimo, in quo nihil est quod deprimatur. Aut si ulla pars eius exciderit, in periculo totus est, quia totum. potest excidere quod potest carpi. Deinde illud quod cadit leue est an graue? Leue est? Non potest ruere quod cadere leuitas prohibet; si in abdito suo tenet graue, quomodo illic esse potuit unde caderet?

What then? Are not some fires wont to be borne downward, like these very thunderbolts about which we inquire? I admit it. Yet they do not go, but are borne; some power presses them down — which is not in the ether; for there nothing is forced by violence, nothing is broken, nothing happens beyond the wonted.

Quid ergo? non aliqui ignes in inferiora ferri solent, sicut haec ipsa de quibus quaerimus fulmina? Fateor. Non eunt tamen, sed feruntur; aliqua illos potentia deprimit. Quae non est in aethere; nihil enim illic iniuria cogitur, nihil rumpitur, nihil praeter solitum euenit.

There is an order of things, and the cleansed fire, set in the highest watch of the world, allotted the borders, goes round the most beautiful work. This cannot descend, but cannot even be pressed down from without, because in the ether there is no place for any uncertain body; things fixed and ordered do not war.

Ordo rerum est, et expurgatus ignis in custodia mundi summa sortitus oras operis pulcherrimi circumit. Hic descendere non potest, sed ne ab externo quidem deprimi, quia in aethere nulli incerto corpori locus est; certa et ordinata non pugnant.

"You," he says, "say, when you give the causes of the shooting stars, that some parts of the air can draw fire to themselves from the upper regions and be kindled by this burning." But it makes very great difference whether one says that fire falls down from the ether, which nature does not allow, or says that from the fiery force heat leaps across into the things that lie below. For fire does not fall from up there — which cannot happen — but is born here.

Vos, inquit, dicitis, cum causas stellarum transuolantium redditis, posse aliquas aeris partes ad se trahere ignem ex locis superioribus et hoc ardore accendi. Sed plurimum interest utrum aliquis dicat ignem ex aethere decidere, quod natura non patitur, an dicat ex ignea ui calorem in ea quae subiacent transilire. Non enim illinc ignis cadit, quod non potest fieri, sed hic nascitur.

We certainly see, among us, when a fire ranges widely, that certain blocks of buildings which have long grown hot catch flame of themselves; and so it is likely that even in the highest air that which has the nature of seizing fire is kindled by the heat of the ether set above it. For it is necessary both that the lowest ether have something like air, and that the highest air be not unlike the lowest ether, because the passage from one extreme to another is not made all at once; little by little those things mingle their force in the borderland, so that you may doubt whether it is air, or already ether here.

Videmus certe apud nos late incendio peruagante quasdam insulas quae diu concaluerunt ex se concipere flammam; itaque uerisimile est etiam in aere summo id quod ignis rapiendi naturam habet accendi calore aetheris superpositi. Necesse est enim ut et imus aether habeat aliquid aeri simile et summus aer non sit dissimilis imo aetheri, quia non fit statim in diuersum ex diuerso transitus; paulatim. ista in confinio uim suam miscent ita ut dubitare possis aer an hic iam aether sit.

Some of our school think that the air, since it is changeable into fire and water, does not draw the new causes of flames from elsewhere; for it kindles itself by moving, and, when it scatters the dense and packed hollows of the clouds, necessarily gives back a vast sound in the bursting of bodies so great. That battle, moreover, of the clouds yielding with difficulty contributes something to the rousing of fire, in the way that the hand contributes something to the iron for cutting — but to cut is the iron’s part.

Quidam ex nostris existimant aera, cum in ignem et aquam mutabilis sit, non detrahere aliunde causas flammarum nouas; ipse enim se mouendo accendit et, cum. denses compactosque nubium. sinus dissipat, necessario uastum in tam magnorum corporum diruptione reddit sonum. Illa porro nubium difficulter cedentium pugna aliquid confert ad concitandum ignem sic quemadmodum ferro ad secandum aliquid manus confert, sed secare ferri est.

What then is the difference between flash and bolt? I will say. A flash is fire spread out wide; a bolt is fire compressed and flung into an impetus. We are accustomed to catch up water with two hands joined together, and, the palm pressed on either side, to squirt it out in the manner of a siphon. Suppose something similar happens there too: the narrows of clouds pressed against each other eject the breath in their midst, and by this very thing inflame it and send it forth in the manner of an engine; for ballistae too and scorpions expel their missiles with a sound.

Quid ergo inter fulgurationem et fulmen interest? Dicam. Fulguratio est late ignis explicitus, fulmen est coactus ignis et in impetum iactus. Solemus duabus manibus inter se iunctis aquam concipere et compressa utrimque palma in modum siponis exprimere. Simile quiddam et illic fieri puta: nubium inter se compressarum angustiae medium spiritum eiciunt et hoc ipso inflammant ac tormenti modo emittunt; nam ballistae quoque scorpionesque tela cum sono expellunt.

Some think that a fiery breath, passing through cold and moist things, gives back a sound. For not even glowing iron is quenched in silence; rather, if the boiling mass goes down into water, it is put out with much murmuring. So, as Anaximenes says, breath falling upon the clouds makes thunders, and, while it struggles to go through the things that stand in its way and are cut apart, by its very flight it kindles fire.

Quidam existimant igneum spiritum per frigida atque umida meantem sonum reddere. Nam ne ferrum quidem ardens silentio, tinguitur, sed, si in aquam feruens massa descendit, cum multo murmure extinguitur. Ita, ut Anaximenes ait, spiritus incidens nubibus tonitrua edit et, dum luctatur per obstantia atque interscissa uadere, ipsa ignem fuga accendit.

Anaximander referred all things to breath. Thunders, he says, are the sound of a struck cloud. Why are they unequal? Because the stroke itself is unequal. Why does it thunder even in clear weather? Because then too breath leaps forth through thick and split air. But why does it sometimes not lighten and yet thunders? Because the breath, too weak, did not avail for flame, but availed for sound. What then is the flash itself? The flinging of air drawing itself apart and falling together, bringing forth a feeble fire not destined to come out. What is the bolt? The course of a sharper and denser breath.

Anaximandrus omnia ad spiritum rettulit. Tonitrua, inquit, sunt nubis ictae sonus. Quare inaequalia sunt? Quia et ipse ictus inaequalis est. Quare et sereno tonat? Quia tunc quoque per crassum et scissum aera spiritus prosilit. At quare aliquando non fulgurat et tonat? Quia spiritus infirmior non ualuit in flammam, in sonum ualuit. Quid est ergo ipsa fulguratio? Aeris diducentis se corruentisque iactatio languidum ignem nec exiturum pariens. Quid est fulmen? Acrioris densiorisque spiritus cursus.

Anaxagoras says all these things come to be in such a way that some force descends from the ether into the lower regions. So fire dashed against cold clouds sounds; but when it cuts them apart, it flashes, and a lesser force of fires makes flashes, a greater, thunderbolts.

Anaxagoras ait omnia ista sic fieri ut ex aethere aliqua uis in inferiora descendat. Ita ignis impactus nubibus frigidis sonat; at, cum illas interscindit, fulget, et minor uis ignium fulgurationes facit, maior fulmina.

Diogenes of Apollonia says that some thunders come about by fire, some by breath; fire makes those which it itself precedes and announces; breath, those which crackle without any brightness.

Diogenes Apolloniates ait quaedam tonitrua igne, quaedam spiritu fieri; illa ignis facit quae ipse antecedit et nuntiat; illa spiritus quae sine splendore crepuerunt.

That either occurs sometimes without the other, I grant, yet in such a way that the power is not separate in them, but that either can be brought about by either. For who will deny that breath carried with great impetus, when it has made a sound, will also make fire? And who will not grant this too, that fire too can sometimes break into the clouds and not leap out, if, having cut through a few, it is overwhelmed by a heap of more clouds? Therefore both fire will pass into breath and lose its brightness, and breath, while it kindles, will pass into the things it has cut within.

Vtrumque sine altero esse aliquando concedo, ita tamen ut non discreta illis potestas sit, sed utrumque ab utroque effici possit. Quis enim negabit spiritum magno impetu latum, cum effecerit sonum, effecturum et ignem? Quis autem non et hoc concedet aliquando ignem quoque irrumpere posse nubes et non exilire, si plurium aceruo nubium, cum paucas perscidisset, oppressus est? Ergo et ignis ibit in spiritum perdetque fulgorem, et spiritus, dum secta intra incendit.

Add now this, that the impetus of the bolt necessarily both sends breath ahead and drives it before itself, and from behind draws wind, when it has cut the air with so vast a stroke. And so all things, before they are struck, tremble, shaken by the wind which the fire has pressed before it.

Adice nunc quod necesse est impetus fulminis et praemittat spiritus agatque ante se, et a tergo trahat uentum, cum tam uasto ictu aera inciderit. Itaque omnia, antequam feriantur, intremesculit uibrata uento quem ignis ante se pressit.

Now, dismissing our teachers, let us begin to move by ourselves, and pass from what is agreed to what is doubtful. For what is agreed? That the bolt is fire, and the flash too, which is nothing else than flame that would have been a bolt, had it had more strength; these differ not in nature but in impetus.

Dimissis nunc praeceptoribus nostris incipiamus per nos moueri et a confessis transeamus ad dubia. Quid enim confessi est? Fulmen ignem esse, aquae fulgurationem, quae nihil aliud est quam flamma, futura fulmen, si plus uirium habuisset; non natura ista sed impetu distant.

That it is fire, the heat shows, which comes only from it. The effects show it: for the bolt has often been the cause of great fires; forests have been burned up by it, and parts of cities; even things that have not been struck are nonetheless seen scorched; some indeed are colored as if with soot. What of the fact that all things flashed-upon have a smell of sulphur?

Esse illum ignem calor ostendit, qui non est nisi ex eo. Ostendit effectus: magnorum enim saepe incendiorum causa fulmen fuit; siluae illo concrematae et urbium partes; etiam quae non percussa sunt, tamen adusta cernuntur; quaedam uero ueluti fuligine colorantur. Quid quod omnibus fulguratis odor sulphuris est?

Therefore it is established both that each thing is fire, and that the two differ from each other by their range; for a flash is a bolt not carried all the way to the lands, and again you may say a bolt is a flash carried all the way to the lands.

Ergo et utramque rem ignem esse constat et utramque rem inter se meando distare; fulguratio enim est non perlatum usque in terras fulmen, et rursus licet dicas fulmen esse fulgurationem usque in terras perductam.

I treat this same point at no greater length to exercise words, but to prove that these things are kindred, and of the same mark and nature. A bolt is something more than a flash. Let us turn it about: a flash is almost a bolt.

Non ad exercendum uerba diutius hoc idem tracto, sed ut cognata esse ista et eiusdem notae ac naturae probem. Fulmen est quiddam plus quam fulguratio. Vertamus istud: fulguratio est paene fulmen.

Since it is established that each thing is fire, let us see in what way fire is wont to come to be among us; for by the same reasoning it comes to be above too. In two ways: one, if it is struck out, as from a stone; the other, if it is found by friction, as when two pieces of wood have been rubbed against each other for a good while. Not every material will furnish you this, but that suited to drawing out fires: as laurel, ivy, and others known to shepherds for this use.

Quoniam constat utramque rem ignem esse, uideamus quemadmodum ignis fieri soleat apud nos; eadem enim ratione et supra fit. Duobus modis, uno si excitatur sicut e lapide; altero si attritu inuenitur, sicut cum duo ligna inter se diutius trita sunt. Non omnis hoc tibi materia praestabit, sed idonea eliciendis ignibus: sicut laurus, hederae et alia in hunc usum nota pastoribus.

It can come to be, then, that clouds too give back fire in the same way, whether struck or rubbed. Let us see with what forces storms rush, with what impetus whirlwinds are spun; whatever has come in their way is scattered and snatched up and flung far from its place.

Potest ergo fieri ut nubes quoque ignem eodem modo uel percussae reddant uel attritae. Videamus quantis procellae uiribus ruant, quanto uertantur impetu turbines; id quod obuium, fuit, dissipatur et rapitur et longe a loco suo proicitur.

What wonder, then, if so great a force strikes out fire, whether from elsewhere or from itself? For you see how great a heat the bodies will feel that are rubbed by the passage of these things; and this ought to be believed not only in these but in the force of the stars, whose power is huge and acknowledged.

Quid ergo mirum, si tanta uis ignem excutit uel aliunde uel sibi? Vides enim quantum feruorem sensura sint corpora horum transitu trita, nec hoc in his tantum debere credi, ac in ui siderum, quorum ingens et confessa potentia est.

But perhaps clouds too, driven into clouds while the wind roars and presses lightly, will call out fire that may shine but not leap forth; for less is needed for flashing than for hurling a bolt.

sed fortasse nubes quoque in nubes incitatae fremente uento et leuiter urgente ignem euocabunt qui explendescat nec exiliat; minore enim ni ad fulgurandum opus est quam ad fulminandum.

Above we gathered to what a heat certain things were brought by friction. And since the air, changeable into fire by its greatest forces — that is, its own — when it has been turned into wind, is rubbed, it is credible and likely that fire is struck out, fleeting and quickly to perish, because it arises not from solid material nor from any in which it could subsist. So it passes by, and has only so much delay as it has of journey and course: it is flung forth without nourishment.

Superioribus collegimus in quantum feruorem quaedam attrita perducerentur. Cum autem aer mutabilis in ignem maximis uiribus, id est suis, cum. in uentum conuersus est, atteratur, credibile est uerisimile, ignem excuti caducum et cito interiturum, quia non ex solida materia oritur nec in qua possit consistere. Transit itaque tantumque habet morae quantum itineris et cursus: sine alimento proiectus est.

"How," he says, "since you say that the nature of fire is such that it seeks the upper regions, does the bolt seek the earth? Either what you said about fire is false; for it has its road equally upward and downward." Both can be true. For the nature of fire rises to the peak and, if nothing hinders it, ascends, as water by nature is carried down; yet if some force has come in to drive it round into the contrary direction, it is bent to the place from which it was cast down by the rain.

Quomodo, inquit, cum dicatis ignis hanc esse naturam ut petat superiora, fulmen terram petit? Aut falsum est quod de igne dixistis; est enim illi aeque sursuin iter quam deorsum. Vtrumque uerum potest esse. Ignis enim natura in uerticem surgit et, si nihil illum prohibet, ascendit, sicut a qua natura defertur; si tamen aliqua uis accessit quae illam in contrarium circumageret, illo intenditur unde imbre deiecta est.

But the bolt falls by the same necessity by which it is struck out. The same happens to these fires as to trees, whose tops, if they are tender, can be drawn down so far that they even touch the earth, but when you let go, they leap back into their own place. And so there is no reason for you to look at the bearing any thing has that does not belong to it by its own will.

Fulmen autem cadit eadem necessitate qua excutitur. ld his ignibus accidit quod arboribus quarum cacumina, si tenera sunt, ita deorsum trahi possunt ut etiam terram attingant, sed cum permiseris, in locum suum exilient. Itaque non est quod eum spectes cuiusque rei habitum qui illi non ex uoluntate est.

If you let fire go where it will, it will seek the heaven again, that is, the seat of whatever is lightest; where there is something that carries it and turns it from its own impetus, that is not its nature, but its servitude.

Si ignem permittis ira quo uelit, caelum, id est leuissimi cuiusque sedem, repetet; ubi est aliquid quod eum ferat et ab impetu suo auertat, id non natura, sed seruitus eius fit.

"You say," he says, "that clouds, rubbed, give out fire, though they are damp — nay, soaked; how then can they beget fire, which is no more likely to be generated from a cloud than from water?"

Dicis, inquit, nubes attritas edere ignem, cum sint umidae, immo udae; quomodo ergo possunt gignere ignem, quem non magis uerisimile est ex nube quam ex aqua generari?

It is born from the cloud. First, in the clouds there is not water, but dense air, prepared for begetting water, not yet changed into it, but already inclining and verging toward it. There is no reason for you to think that it is now gathered, now poured out. At once it both comes to be and falls.

Ex nube nascitur. Primum in nubibus non êqua est, sed aer spissus, ad gignendam aquam praeparatus, nondum in illam mutatus, sed iam pronus et uergens. Non est quod existimes eam tum colligö, tum effundi. Simul et fit et cadit.

Next, if I grant that the cloud is damp, full of conceived waters, nothing nonetheless prevents fire from being drawn out even from the moist — nay, from the very moisture, which you may wonder at the more. Some have denied that anything can be changed into fire before it has been changed into water. A cloud, then, can, while the water it contains is unharmed, give back fire from some part of itself, as often one part of a log burns while another sweats.

Deinde, si concessero umidam esse nubem conceptis aquis plenam, nihil tamen prohibet ignem ex umido quoque educi, immo ex ipso, quod magis mireris, umore. Quidam negauerunt in ignem quicquam posse mutari, priusquam mutatum esset in aquam. Potest ergo nubes, salua quam continet aqua, ignem parte aliqua sui reddere, ut saepe alia pars ligni ardet, alia sudat.

Nor do I say that these things are not contrary to each other, and that the one is destroyed by the other; but where fire is stronger than moisture, it wins; again, when the abundance of moisture overpowers, then fire is without effect; and so green things do not burn. It matters, then, how much water there is; for a little will not resist nor hinder the force of the fire.

Nec hoc dico non contraria inter se ista esse et alterum altero perimi; sed ubi ualentior ignis quam umor est, uincit; rursus, cum copia umoris exsuperat, tunc ignis sine effectu est; itaque non ardent uirentia. Refert ergo quantum aquae sit; exigua enim non resistet nec uim ignis impediet.

Why not? Within the memory of our elders, as Posidonius reports, when an island was rising in the Aegean sea, the sea foamed by day and smoke was carried up from the deep. Night at last brought forth the fire, not continuous but flashing out at intervals in the manner of bolts, as often as the burning below had overcome the weight of the wave lying upon it.

Quidni? Maiorum nostrorum memoria, ut Posidonius tradidit, cum insula in Aegaeo mari surgeret, spumabat interdiu mare et fumus ex alto ferebatur. Nox demum prodebat ignem, non continuum sed ex interuallis emicantem fulminum more, quotiens ardor infernus iacentis super undae pondus euicerat.

Then rocks and crags were rolled out, some unharmed — those the breath had expelled before they could be burned — some eaten away and turned to the lightness of pumice. Last, the peak of the burned-out mountain flashed up. Afterward it was added to in height, and that rock grew to the size of an island.

Deinde saxa euoluta rupesque partim illaesae, quas spiritus, antequam urerentur, expulerat, partim exesae et in leuitatem pumicis uersae. Nouissime cacumen exusti montis emicuit. Postea altitudini adiectum et saxum illud in magnitudinem insulae creuit.

The same thing happened again within our memory, in the consulship of Valerius Asiaticus. To what end have I reported these things? That it might appear that the fire was neither extinguished by the sea poured over it, nor its impetus hindered by the weight of the huge wave from coming out; that the depth was two hundred feet, as Asclepiodotus, a pupil of Posidonius, reports, through which, the waters parted, the fire emerged.

Idem nostra memoria Valerio Asiatico consule iterum accidit. Quorsus haec rettuli? Vt appareret nec extinctum ignem mari superfuso, nec impetum eius grauitate ingentis undae prohibitum exire; ducentorum passuum fuisse altitudinem Asclepiodotus, auditor Posidonii, tradidit, per quam. diremptis aquis ignis emersit.

But if an immense force of waters could not crush the force of flames rising from the deep, how much less will the thin and dewy moisture of clouds be able to hinder the fire of the clouds? So far is this matter from bringing any delay, that on the contrary it is a cause of fires; which we do not see flash out except with the heaven hanging over us; clear weather is without bolts. A pure day does not have those terrors, nor even a night, unless darkened with clouds.

Quod si immensa aquarum uis flammarum ex imo subeuntem uim non potuit opprimere, quanto minus impedire poterit ignem nubium tenuis umor et roscidus? Adeo res ista non affert ullam moram ut contra causa ignium sit; quos non uidemus emicare nisi impendente caelo; serenum sine fulmine est. Non lial~et istos metus dies purus, ne nox quidem nisö obscura nubibus.

What then? Does it not sometimes lighten even when the stars appear and the night is calm? But you may know that there are clouds there, whence the brightness is borne forth, which the swelling of the lands does not allow to be seen by us.

Quid ergo? non aliquando etiam apparentibus stellis et nocte tranquilla fulgurat? Sed scias licet, illic nubes esse unde splendor effertur, quas uideri a nobis terrarum tumor non sinit.

Add now this, that it can come to be that low and humble clouds give back fire by their friction; which, pressed up into the higher regions, is seen in a clear and pure part of the heaven, but comes to be in a foul one.

Adice nunc quod fieri potest ut nubes summissae et humiles attritu suo ignem reddant; qui in superiora expressus, in parte caeli sincera puraque uisitur, sed fit in sordida.

Some have distinguished thunders thus, so as to say that there is one kind whose murmur is deep, such as precedes an earthquake, the wind shut in and roaring. How this seems to them to come about, I will say.

Tonitrua distinxere quidam ita ut dicerent unum esse genus cuius graue sit murmur, quale terrarum motum antecedit clauso uento et fremente. Hoc quomodo uideatur illis fieri dicam.

When clouds have shut breath within themselves, air rolled about in their hollow parts makes a sound like bellowings, hoarse and even and continuous, especially where that region is also damp and shuts off the exit; and so thunders of this kind are forerunners of coming rain.

Cum spiritum intra se clausere nubes, in concauis partibus earum uolutatus aer similem agit mugitibus sonum, raucum et aequalem et continuum, utique ubi etiam umida illa regio est et exitum claudit; ideo eiusmodi tonitrua uenturi praenuntia imbris sunt.

Another kind is sharp, which I would call harsh rather than sonorous, such as we are wont to hear when a bladder is burst over someone’s head; such thunders are uttered when a globed cloud is dissolved and sends out the breath with which it had been distended. This is properly called a crash, sudden and vehement. When it is uttered, men fall and are struck lifeless; some indeed stand alive but stupefied and go wholly out of themselves, whom we call "thunderstruck," their mind driven from its place by that heavenly sound.

Aliud genus est acre, quod acerbum magis dixerim quam sonorum, quale audire solemus, cum super caput alicuius dirupta uesica est; talia eduptur tonitrua, cum conglobata nubes dissoluitur et eum quo distenta fuerat spiritum emittit. Hic proprie fragor dicitur, subitus et uehemens. Quo edito concidunt homines et exanimantur; quidam uero uiui stupent et in totum sibi excidunt, quos uocamus attonitos, uni mentem sonus ille caelestis loco pepulit.

This can come to be in that way too, that air enclosed in a hollow cloud and thinned by the very motion is diffused; then, while it seeks a larger place for itself, it suffers a sound from the things by which it is wrapped. And why not? As hands dashed against each other give a clap, may not the sound of clouds dashed against each other be possible — great because great things meet?

Hic fieri illo quoque modo potest ut inclusus aer caua nube et motu ipso extenuatus diffundatur; deinde, dum. maiorem sibi locum quaerit, a quibus inuolutus est, sonum patitur. Quid autem? non, quemadmodum illisae inter se manus plausum edunt, sic illisarum inter se nubium sonus potest esse, magnus quia magna concurrunt?

"We see," he says, "clouds dashed against mountains, and no sound comes to be." First of all, they do not sound however they are dashed, but if they are fitly composed for giving a sound. Strike the backs of your hands together: they will not clap; but palm joined with palm makes a clap; and it matters very much whether hollow things are struck together or flat and outstretched ones. Next, it is not enough that the clouds go, but that they be driven with great and stormy force.

Videmus, inquit, nubes impingi montibus nec sonum, fieri. Primum. omnium non quocumque modo illisae sunt sonant, sed si apte compo,sitae ad sonum edendum. Auersas inter se manus collide, non plaudent; sed palma cum palma collata plausum. facit; et plurimum interest utrum cauae concutiantur an planae et extentae. Deinde non tantum ire nubes oportet sed agi magna ui et procellosa.

Still further, the mountain does not split the cloud, but divides it and dissolves each first part of it. Not even a bladder, in whatever way it has let out its breath, sounds: if it has been divided with iron, it goes out without any sensation to the ears; it must be burst, to sound, not cut. The same I say of clouds: unless dissolved with much impetus, they do not sound. Add now this, that clouds driven against a mountain are not broken, but poured around it and onto some parts of the mountain — onto trees, branches, shrubs, rough and jutting rocks; and so they are shattered, and, if they have any breath, send it out in many directions; which, unless it bursts out all together, does not even crack.

Etiamnunc mons non findit nubem, sed digerit et primain quamque partem eius soluit. Ne uesica quidem, quocumque modo spiritum emisit, sonat: si ferro diuisa est, sine ullo aurium sensu exit; rumpi illam oportet, ut sonet, non secari. Idem de nubibus dico; nisi multo impetu dissolutae, non sonant. Adice nunc quod nubes in montem actae non franguntur, sed circumfunduntur et in aliquas partes montis, in arbores, rames, frutices, aspera saxa et eminentia; et ita discutiuntur, et, si quem habent spiritum, multifariam emittunt, qui, nisi uniuersus erumpit, nec crepat.

That you may know this: wind that is split around a tree whistles, it does not thunder; there is need of a broad stroke, so to speak, scattering the whole ball at once, for a sound to burst out such as is heard when it thunders.

Hoc ut scias, uentus qui circa arborem finditur sibilat, non tonat; lato, ut ita dicam, ictu et totum globum semel dissipante opus est, ut sonitus erumpat qualis auditur, cum tonat.

Besides these things, the air is by nature suited to voices. Why not, since a voice is nothing else than struck air? Clouds, therefore, must be joined on both sides, both hollow and taut. For you see how much more vocal empty things are than full, how much more taut than slack. Likewise drums and cymbals sound, because the former strike the breath that fights back from the farther side, the latter ring only with hollow air itself.

Praeter haec natura aptus est aer ad uoces. Quidni, cum uox nihil aliud sit quam ictus aer? Debent ergo nubes utrimque conseri, et cauae et intentae. Vides enim quanto uocaliora sint uacua quam plena, quanto intenta quam remissa. Item tympana et cymbala sonant, quia illa repugnantem ex ulteriore parte spiritum pulsant, haec et ipso aere non nisi cauo tinniunt.

Some, among whom is Asclepiodotus, judge that thunder and bolts can be struck out also by the meeting of certain bodies. Etna once abounded with much fire, poured out a huge force of burning sand, the day was wrapped in dust, and a sudden night terrified the peoples. They say there were then very many bolts and thunders, which were made by the meeting of dry bodies, not of clouds, which it is likely there were none of in so great a heat of the air.

Quidam, inter quos Asclepiodotus est, iudicant sic quorundam quoque corporum concursu tonitrum et fulmina excuti posse. Aetna aliquando multo igne abundauit, ingentem uim harenae urentis effudit,, inuolutus est dies puluere, populosque subita nox terruit. Aiunt tunc plurima fuisse fulmina et tonitrua quae concursu aridorum corporum facta sunt, non nubium, quas uerisimile est in tanto feruore aeris nullas fuisse.

Cambyses once sent an army to Ammon, which the sand, moved by the south wind and falling in the manner of snow, covered, then buried; then too it is likely there were thunder and bolts from the friction of sand rubbing against itself.

Aliquando Cambyses ad Ammonem misit exercitum, quem harena austro, mota et more niuis incidens texit, deinde obruit; tunc quoque uerisimile est fuisse tonitrum fulminaque attritu harenae sese affricantis.

This opinion does not fight with our proposal. For we said that the lands breathe out bodies of either nature, and that something dry and something moist wanders in all the air; and so if any such thing comes between, it makes the cloud more solid and thicker than if it were woven only of simple breath. That can be broken and give out a sound.

Non repugnat proposito nostro ista opinio. Diximus enim utriusque naturae corpora efflare terras et sicci aliquid et umidi in toto acre uagari; itaque si quid tale interuenit, nubem fecit solidiorem et crassiorem quam si tantum simplici spiritu texeretur. Illa frangi potest et edere sonum.

These things I have spoken of, whether they have filled the air without fires steaming up, or with winds sweeping the lands, must make a cloud before a sound. And both the dry and the moist join to make a cloud; for a cloud, as we said, is a thickening of dense air.

Ista quae dixi, sine incendiis uaporantibus aera repleuerunt, siue uentis terras uerrentibus, necesse est nubem faciant ante quam sonum. Nubem autem tam arida quam umida conserunt; est enim, ut diximus, nubes spissitudo aeris crassi.

For the rest, the works of the bolt, if you will look at them, are wondrous, and leave nothing of doubt that its power is divine and subtle. The little boxes whole and unharmed, the silver within is melted down; the sheath remaining, the sword itself liquefies, and the wood uninjured, all the iron around the javelins drips down; the jar broken, the wine stands, nor does that stiffness last beyond three days.

Ceterum luira fulminis, si intueri uelis, opera sunt nec quicquam dubii relinquentia quin diuina sit illius ac subtilis potentia. Loculis integris et illaesis conflatur argentum; manente uagina gladius ipse liquescit, et inuiolato ligno circa pila ferrum omne destillat; stat fracto dolio uinum nec ultra triduum ille rigor durat.

This too you may set among things to be noted, that the head both of men and of the other animals that have been struck looks toward the way out of the bolt; that splinters of all struck trees rise against the bolts. What of the fact that, of evil serpents and of other animals in which there is a death-bringing force, when they are struck by a bolt, all the venom is consumed? "Whence," he says, "do you know?" In venomous bodies a worm is not born; things struck by a bolt swarm with worms within a few days.

Illud aeque inter adnotanda ponas licet quod et hominum et ceterorum animalium. quae icta sunt caput spectat ad exitum fulminis, quod omnium percussarum arborum contra fulmina astulae surgunt. Quid quod malarum serpentium et aliorum. animalium quibus mortifera uis inest, cum fulmine icta sunt, uenenum omne consumitur? - Unde, inquit, scis? - In uenenatis corporibus uermis non nascitur.; fulmine icta intra paucos dies uerminant.

What of the fact that they portend things to come, and give signs not of one thing only or another, but often announce a long order of following fates, and that too with evident marks far clearer than if they were written?

Quid quod futura portendunt, nec unius tantum aut alterius rei signa dant, sed saepe longum fatorum. sequentium ordinem nuntiant, et quidem notis euidentibus longeque clarioribus quam si scriberentur?

This is the difference between us and the Tuscans, who have the highest science of pursuing lightnings: we think that, because clouds have collided, bolts are sent out; they hold that clouds collide in order that bolts may be sent out; for, since they refer all things to god, they are of the opinion that the bolts do not signify because they have come to be, but come to be because they are going to signify. Yet they come to be by the same reasoning, whether to signify is their purpose, or a consequence.

Hoc inter nos et Tuscos, quibus summa est fulgurum persequendorum scientia, interest: nos putamus, quia nubes collisae sunt, fulmina emitti; ipsi existimant nubes collidi ut fulmina emittantur; nam, cum omnia ad deum referant, in ea opirione sunt tamquam. non, quia facta sunt, significent, sed quia significatura sunt, fiant. Eadem tamen ratione fiunt, siue illis significare propositum, siue consequens est.

"How then do they signify, unless they are sent by god?" In the same way as birds, not moved for this, that they might meet us, made a right auspice and a left one. "Those too," he says, "god moved." You make him too idle, and the minister of a trivial matter, if he arranges dreams for some, entrails for others.

Quomodo ergo significant, nisi ödeo mittuntur? Quomodo aues non in hoc motae ut nobis occurrerent dextrum. auspicium sinistrumque fecerunt. Et illas, inquit, deus mouit. Nimis illum otiosum. et pusillae rei ministrum, facis, si aliis somnia, aliis exta disponit.

These things are nonetheless carried on by divine power, even if the feathers of birds are not ruled by god, nor the entrails of cattle formed under the very axe. By another reasoning the series of the fates is unfolded, sending ahead everywhere indications of what is to come, of which some are familiar to us, some unknown. Whatever comes to be is a sign of some future thing. Chance things, and things wandering without reason, do not admit divination; whatever thing has an order has also a foretelling.

Ista nihilominus diuina ope geruntur, si non a deo pennae auium reguntur nec pecudum, uiscera sub ipsa securi formantur. Alia ratione fatorum series explicatur indicia uenturi ubique praemittens, ex quibus quaedam nobis familiaria, quaedam ignota sunt. Quicquid fit, alicuius rei futurae signum est. Fortuita et sine ratione uaga diuinationem non recipiunt; cuius rei ordo est, etiam praedictio est.

Why then has this honor been given to the eagle, that it makes auspices of great matters, or to the raven and very few birds, while the voice of the rest is without presage? Because some things have not yet been brought into an art, some indeed cannot even be brought into one, on account of their too remote acquaintance with us; for the rest, there is no animal which does not foretell something by its motion and meeting. Not all things, to be sure, but some are noted.

Cur ergo aquilae hic honor datus est ut magnarum rerum faceret auspicia, aut coruo et paucissimis auibus, ceterarum sine praesagio uox est? Quia quaedam!iondum in artem redacta sunt, quaedam uero ne redigi quidem possunt ob nin:iium remotam conuersationem; ceterum nullum. animal est quod non motu et occursu suo praedicat aliquid. Non omnia scilicet, sed quaedam notantur.

The auspice belongs to the one observing; and so it pertains to him who has directed his mind to it. For the rest, even those things come to be which perish unobserved.

Auspicium obseruantis est; ad eum itaque pertinet qui in ea direxit animum. Ceterum fiunt et illa quae pereunt.

The observation of the Chaldaeans took up the powers of five stars. What? Do you judge those so many thousands of stars to shine idle? What else, moreover, strikes the greatest error into those skilled in nativities than this, that they assign us to a few stars, when all the things that are above us claim a part of us for themselves? The lower ones perhaps direct their force into us more nearly, and those which, more frequently moved, look upon us now in one way, now in another. For the rest, even those which are either unmoved, or, on account of a speed equal to the whole, are like the unmoved, are not outside our right and dominion. One looks upon one thing, another upon another; with offices distributed, they handle the matter; but it is no more easy to know what they can do than it ought to be doubted whether they can.

Quinque stellarum potestates Chaldaeorum obseruatio excepit quid? tu tot illa milia siderum iudicas otiosa lucere? Quid est porro aliud quod errorem maximum incutiat peritis natalium quam, quod paucis nos sideribus assignênt, cum omnia quae supra nos sunt partem nostri sibi uindicent? Summissiora forsitan propius in nos uim suam dirigunt et ea quae frequentius mota aliter nos aliterque prospiciunt. Ceterum et illa quae aut immota sunt aut propter uelocitatem uniuerso parem immotis similia non extra ius dominiumque nostri sunt. Alium aliud aspicit; distributis rem offlciis tractant; non magis autem facile est scire quid possint, quam dubitari debet an possint.

Now let us return to the bolts. The art of which is divided into these three things: how we may explore them, how we may interpret them, how we may expiate them. The first part pertains to the formula, the second to divination, the third to propitiating the gods — whom one ought to ask with a good bolt, to beseech off with an evil one; to ask, that they confirm their promises; to beseech off, that they remit their threats.

Nunc ad fulmina reuertamur. Quorum ars in haec tria diuiditur: quemadmodum exploremus, quemadmodum interpretemur; quemadmodum expiemus. Prima pars ad formulam pertinet, secunda ad diuinationem, tertia ad propitiandos deos, quos bono fulmine rogare oportet, malo deprecari; rogare, ut promissa firment; deprecari, ut remittant minas.

They judge the force of the bolt to be supreme, because, whatever other things portend, the intervention of a bolt removes; whatever is portended by this is fixed, and is not changed by the signification of another portent; whatever the entrails, whatever the birds shall threaten, will be abolished by a second, favorable bolt; whatever has been announced by a bolt is not refuted by entrails or by a contrary bird.

Summam esse uim fulminis iudicant, quia, quicquid alia portendunt, interuentus fulminis tollit; quicquid ab hoc portenditur, fixum est nec alterius ostenti significatione mutatur; quicquid exta, quicquid aues minabuntur, secundo fulmine abolebitur; quicquid fulmine denuntiatum est, nec extis nec aue contraria refellitur.

In which they seem to me to be deceived. Why? Because nothing is truer than the true. If birds have sung of things to come, this auspice cannot be made void by a bolt — or else they have not sung of things to come. For I do not now compare a bird and a bolt, but two true signs, which, if they signify the truth, are equal. And so, those judgments of entrails or of augury which the intervention of a bolt removes are entrails ill-inspected, auguries ill-observed. For it does not matter which thing’s appearance is greater or whose nature is more powerful; if each thing has brought true signs, as far as this goes, it is equal.

In quo mihi falli uidentur. Quare? Quia uero uerius nihil est. Si aues futura cecinerunt, non potest hoc auspicium fulmine irritum fieri, aut non futura cecinerunt. Non enim nunc auem comparo et fulmen, sed duo ueri signa, quae, si uerum significant, paria sunt. Itaque, quae fulminis interuentus submouet extorum uel augurii iudicia, male inspecta exta, male seruata auguria sunt. Non enim refert utrius rei species maior sit uel natura potentior; si utraque res ueri attulit signa, quantum ad hoc, par est.

If you say the force of flame is greater than that of smoke, you will not lie; but, for indicating fire, flame avails as much as smoke. And so if they say this: "As often as the entrails shall signify one thing, the bolts another, the authority of the bolts will be greater," perhaps I shall agree. If they say this: "Although the other thing had predicted the truth, the stroke of the bolt deleted the former things and drew belief to itself," it is false. Why? Because it matters nothing how many auspices there are. The fate is one; which if it was well understood at the first auspice, does not perish at the second: it is the same.

Si dicas flammae maiorem uim esse quam fumi, non mentieris; sed, ad indicandum ignem, idem ualet flamma quod fumus. Itaque si hoc dicunt: " Quotiens aliud exta significabunt, aliud fulmina, fulminum. erit auctoritas maior ", fortasse consentiam. Si hoc dicunt: " Quamuis altera res uerum praedixisset, fulminis ictus priora deleuit et ad se fidem. traxit, " falsum est. Quare? Quia nihil interest quam multa auspicia sint. Fatum unum est; quod si bene primo auspicio intellectum est, secundo non interit: idem est.

So I say, it does not matter whether it is the same or another by which we inquire, since that about which we inquire is the same.

Ita dico, non refert idem an aliud sit per quod quidem quaerimus, quoniam de quo quaerimus, idem est.

Fate cannot be changed by a bolt. Why not? For the bolt itself is a part of fate. What then? To what end are expiations and procurations, if the fates are unchangeable? — Allow me to defend that rigid sect of those who take these things as an exception and think that vows are nothing else than the solaces of a sick mind.

Fatum fulmine mutari non potest. Quidni? Nam fulmen ipsum fati pars est. Quid ergo? expiationes procurationesque quo pertinent, si immutabilia sunt fata? - Permitte mihi illam rigidam sectam tueri eorum, qui excipiunt ista et nihil uota esse aliud quam aegrae mentis solacia existimant.

The fates carry out their right otherwise, and are moved by no prayer. They are bent neither by pity nor by favor. They keep an unrecallable course: having once entered, they flow from what was destined. As the water of rushing torrents does not run back into itself, nor even delay, because the wave coming after drives on the one before, so the eternal series of things wheels the order of fate, whose first law is to stand by what is decreed.

Fata aliter ius suum peragunt nec ulla commouentur prece. Non misericordia flectuntur non gratia. Seruant cursum irreuocabilem: ingressa ex destinato fluunt. Quemadmodum rapidorum aqua torrentium in se non recurrit, nec moratur quidem, quia priorem superueniens praecipitat, sic ordinem fati rerum aeterna series rotat, cuius haec prima lex est, stare decreto.

For what do you understand by fate? I think it the necessity of all things and actions, which no force breaks. If you judge that this can be prayed away by sacrifices or by the head of a snow-white ewe-lamb, you do not know the divine. You say that even a wise man’s opinion cannot be changed; how much more god’s, since the wise man knows what is best in the present, while to his divinity every present is present?

Quid enim intellogis fatum? Existimo necessitatem rerum omnium actionumque, quam nulla uis rumpat. Hanc si sacrificiis aut capite niueae agnae exorari iudicas, diuina non nosti. Sapientis quoque uiri sententiam negatis posse mutari; quanto magis dei, cum sapiens quid sit optimum in praesentia sciat, illius diuinitati omne praesens sit?

Now I wish to plead the cause of those who think that bolts must be procured, and who do not doubt that expiations are sometimes of profit for removing dangers, sometimes for lightening them, sometimes for deferring them.

Agere nunc causam eorum uolo qui procuranda existimant fulmina, et expiationes non dubitant prodesse aliquando ad summouenda pericula, aliquando ad leuanda, aliquando ad differenda.

What follows from this, I will pursue a little later; meanwhile they have this in common with us, that we too think vows are of profit, the force and power of the fates being safe. For certain things have been left so suspended by the immortal gods that they turn to good, if prayers brought to the gods have been made, if vows undertaken; so this is not against fate, but is itself also within fate.

Quid sit quod sequatur, paulo post persequar; interim hoc habent commune nobiscum quod nos quoque existimamus uota proficere salua ui ac potestate fatorum. Quaedam enim, a diis immortalibus ita suspensa relicta sunt ut in bonum uertant, si admotae diis preces fuerint, si uota suscepta; ita non est hoc contra fatum, sed ipsum quoque in fato est.

"Either," he says, "it is going to be, or it is not; if it is going to be, even if you do not undertake vows, it will come to pass. If it is not going to be, even if you undertake vows, it will not come to pass." That questioning is false, because you pass over that middle exception between the two: this is going to be, but only if vows shall have been undertaken.

Aut futurum, inquit, est aut non; si est futurum, etiamsi non susceperis uota, fiet. Si non est futurum, etiamsi non susceperis uota, fiet. Falsa est ista interrogatöo, quia illam mediam inter ista exceptionem praeteris: futurum hoc est, sed si uota suscepta fuerint.

"This too," he says, "must itself be comprehended by fate, that you either undertake vows or not." Suppose I give you my hands and confess that this too is comprehended by fate, that vows in any case are made; therefore they will be made.

Hoc quoque, inquit, ipsum necesse est fato comprehensum sit ut aut suscöpias uota aut non. Puta me tibi manus dare et fateri hoc quoque fato esse comprehensum ut utique fiant uota; ideo fient.

It is fated that this man be eloquent, but only if he has learned his letters; yet by the same fate it is contained that he learn his letters; therefore he must be educated. This man will be rich, but only if he has sailed; yet, in that order of fate by which a great patrimony is promised him, this too is straightway fated, that he even sail; therefore he will sail. The same I say to you about expiations: he will escape dangers, if he has expiated the threats divinely predicted; yet this too is in fate, that he expiate; therefore he will expiate.

Fatum est ut hic disertus sit, sed si litteras didicerit; at eodera fato continetur ut litteras discat; ideo dopendus est. Hic diues erit, sed si nauigauerit; at, in illo fati ordine quo patrimonium illi grande promittitur, hoc quoque protinus adfatum est ut etiam nauiget; ideo nauigabit. Idem tibi de expiationibus dico: effugiet pericula, si expiauerit praedictas diuinitus minas; at hoc: quoque in fato est, ut expiet; ideo expiabit.

These things are wont to be set against us, to prove that nothing is left to our will and all right handed over to fate. When that matter is treated, I will say in what way, fate remaining, something is in man’s choice; but now I have explained the point at issue: how, if the order of fate is certain, expiations and procurations of prodigies avert dangers — because they do not fight with fate, but are themselves too within the law of fate.

Ista nobis opponi solent ut probetur nihil uoluntati nostrae relictum et omne ius fato traditum. Cum de ista re agetur, dicam quemadmodum manente fato aliquid sit in hominis arbitrio; nunc uero id de quo agitur explicui, quomodo, si fati certus est ordo expiationes procurationesque prodigiorum pericula auertant, quia non cum fato pugnant, sed et ipsae in lege fati sunt.

"What good, then," you say, "does the soothsayer do me? For in any case I must expiate, even without his advising it." — This good, that he is the minister of fate. So, since health is owed to fate, it is owed also to the physician, because the benefit of fate comes to us through this man’s hands.

Quid ergo, inquis, aruspex mihi prodest? Vtique enim expiare mihi etiam non suadente illo necesse est. - Hoc prodest quod fati minister est. Sic cum sanitas debeatur fato, debetur et medico, quia ad nos benelicium fati per huius manus uenit.

Caecina says there are three kinds of lightnings: the advisory, that of authority, and what is called the "established." The advisory comes before the deed but after deliberation, when, as men turn something over in mind, they are either persuaded or dissuaded by the stroke of a bolt. That of authority is when it comes after the deed is done, which it signifies will turn out for good or for ill.

Genera fulgurum tria esse ait Caecina, consiliarium, auctoritatis et quod status dicitur. Consiliarium ante rem fit sed post cogitationem, Oum aliquid in animo uersantibus aut suadetur fulminis ictu aut dissuadetur. Auctoritatis est ubi post rem factam uenit, quam bono futuram maloue significat.

The "established" is when, to men at rest, doing nothing nor even thinking, a bolt intervenes and either threatens or promises or warns. This he calls monitory; but I do not know why it is not the same as the advisory, for he too who warns gives counsel.

Status est ubi quietis nec agentibus quicquam nec cogitantibus quidem fulmen interuenit et aut minatur aut promittit aut monet. Hoc monitorium uocat, sed nescio quare non idem sit quod consiliarium, nam et qui monet consilium dat.

But let it have some distinction, and on this account be separated from the advisory, because the latter persuades and dissuades, while this contains only the avoidance of an impending danger — as when we fear fire, fraud from those near us, treachery from slaves.

Sed habeat aliquam distinctionem et ob hoc separetur a consiliario, quia illud suadet dissuadetque, hoc solam euitationem impendentis periculi continet, ut cum timemus ignem, fraudem a proximis, insidias a seruis.

Still, I see yet another distinction of the two: the advisory is what is made for one deliberating, the monitory for one thinking of nothing; each thing has its own property: men are persuaded when deliberating; they are warned unasked.

Etiamnunc tamen aliam distinctionem utriusque uideo: consiliarium est quod cogitanti factum est, monitorium quod nihil cogitanti; habet autem utraque res suam proprietatem: suadetur deliberantibus; ultro monentur.

First of all, these are not kinds of bolts but of significations. For the kinds of bolts are these: that which bores, that which shatters, that which burns. That which bores is subtle and flamy, whose flight is through the narrowest opening, on account of the pure and clean thinness of the flame.

Primo omnium non sunt fulminum genera sed significationum. Nam fulminum genera sunt illa, quod terebrat, quod discutit, quod urit. Quod terebrat subtile est et flammeum, oui per angustissimum fuga est ob sinceram et puram flammae tenuitatem.

That which scatters is globed together and has mixed in it the force of compressed and stormy breath. And so that boring bolt returns through the same hole by which it entered, and gets out; the force of this scattering one, spread wide, bursts what it strikes, it does not perforate.

Quod dissipat conglobatum est et habet admixtam uim spiritus coacti ac procellosi. Itaque illud fulmen per id foramen quod ingressum. est redit et euadöt; huius late sparsa uis rumpit icta, non perforat.

That third kind, which burns, has much of the earthy and is fiery rather than flamy; and so it leaves great marks of fires, which cling to the struck. No bolt indeed comes without fire, but yet we properly call this one fiery which imprints manifest traces of burning, which either burns or blackens.

Tertium illud genus, quod urit, multum terreni habet et igneum magis est quam flammeum; itaque relinquit magnas ignium notas, quae percussis inhaereant. Nullum quidem sine igne fulmen uenit, sed tamen hoc proprie igneum. dicimus quod manifesta ardoris uestigia imprimit, quod aut urit aut fuscat.

In three ways it burns: either it breathes upon and harms with a slight injury, or it burns up, or it kindles. All these burn, but they differ in kind and manner: whatever has been burned up has certainly been scorched too; but what has been scorched has not necessarily been burned up.

Tribus modis urit: aut afflat et leui iniuria laedit, aut comburit, aut accendit. Omnia ista urunt sed genere et modo differunt quodeumque combustum est, utique et ustum est at quod ustum est, non utique combustum est.

Likewise what has been kindled — for that could have scorched by the very passage of the fire — who does not know that a thing is indeed scorched and yet does not blaze, but that nothing blazes which is not also scorched? This one thing I will add: something can be burned up and not kindled, can be kindled and not burned up.

Item quod accensum est, - potest enim illud ipso transitu ignis ussisse, - quis nescit uri quidem nec ardere, nihil autem ardere quod non et uratur? Vnum hoc adiciam: potest aliquid esse combustum nec accensum, potest accensum esse nec combustum.

Now I pass to that kind of bolt by which struck things are blackened; this either discolors or colors. To each I will give its distinction: that is discolored whose color is spoiled, not changed; that is colored whose face becomes other than it was, such as blue or black or pale.

Nunc ad id transeo genus fulminis quo icta fuscantur; hoc aut decolorat aut colorat. Utrique distinctionem suam reddam: decoloratur id cuius color uitiatur, non mutatur; coloratur id cuius alia fit quam fuit facies, tamquam caerulea uel nigra uel pallida.

Thus far these things are common to the Etruscans and the philosophers. In this they disagree, that they say bolts are sent by Jupiter and give him those three handfuls. The first, as they say, warns and is appeased and is sent by Jupiter’s own counsel. The second Jupiter does send, but by the opinion of his council, for he summons the twelve gods; this bolt does some good sometimes, but then too not otherwise than so as to harm; it does not even profit with impunity.

Haec adhuc Etruscis philosophisque communia sunt. In illo, dissentiunt quod fulmina a loue dicunt mitti et tres illi manubias dant. Prima, ut aiunt, monet et placata est et ipsius Iouis consilio mittitur. Secundam mittit quidem Iupiter, sed ex consihi sententia, duodecim enim deos aduocat; hoc fulmen boni aliquid. aliquando facit, sed tunc quoque non aliter quam ut noceat; ne prodest quidem impune.

The third handful the same Jupiter sends, but with the gods called into council whom they call the higher and the veiled, because it lays waste whatever it falls upon and in any case changes the private and public state it finds; for fire suffers nothing to be what it was.

Tertiam manubiam idem Iupiter mittit, sed adhibitis in consilium diis quos superiores et inuolutos uocant, quia uastat in quae incidit et utique mutat statum priuatum et publicum. quem inuenit; ignis enim nihil esse quod fuit patitur.

In these matters, at first appearance, if you will look, antiquity errs. For what is so inexpert as to believe that Jupiter sends bolts from the clouds, that he aims at columns, trees, sometimes his own statues, that — the sacrilegious going unpunished — he strikes harmless sheep, burns altars, and smites innocent cattle, and that gods are summoned to his council by Jupiter, as if there were too little counsel in himself? That those bolts are glad and appeased which he strikes out alone, but ruinous those for the sending of which a greater throng of divinities is present?

In his prima specie, si intueri uelis, errat antiquitas. Quid enim tam imperitum est quam credere fulmina e nubibus Iouem mittere, columnas, arbores, nonnumquam statuas suas petere, uti, impunitis sacrilegis, percussis ouibus, incensis aris, pecudes innoxias feriat, et ad suum consilium a Ioue deos, quasi in ipso parum consilii sit aduocari? illa laeta esse et placata fulmina quae solus excutiat, perniciosa quibus mittendis maior turba numinum intersit?

If you ask me what I think, I do not judge them to have been so dull as to believe Jupiter of an unjust will or of a less than certain inexpertness. For did he then, when he sent out fires to strike harmless heads and pass over the wicked, not wish to send them more justly — or did he not succeed?

Si a me quaeris quid sentiam, non existimo tam hebetes fuisse ut crederent Iouem iniquae uoluntatis aut certae minus peritiae. Vtrum enim tunc cum emisit ignes quibus innoxia capita percuteret, scelerata transiret, noluit iustius mittere an non successit?

What then did they follow, when they said these things? To restrain the minds of the inexpert, the wisest men judged an inevitable fear necessary, so that we should fear something above us. It was useful, amid so great an audacity of crimes, that there be something against which no one would seem to himself sufficiently powerful; and so, to terrify those to whom innocence is not pleasing except through fear, they set above their head an avenger, and that too an armed one.

Quid ergo secuti sunt, cum haec dicerent? Ad coercendos imperitorum animos sapientissimi uiri iudicauerunt ineuitabilem. metum, ut aliquid supra nos timeremus. Vtile erat in tanta audacia scelerum esse aduersus quod nemo sibi satis potens uideretur; ad conterrendos itaque cos quibus innocentia nisi metu non placet posuerunt supra caput uindicem, et quidem armatum.

Why then is that bolt which Jupiter alone sends placable, but ruinous that on which he deliberated and which he sent with other gods too as sponsors? Because Jupiter, that is, the king, ought to do good even alone, but to harm has not seemed right except with many.

Quare ergo id fulmen quod solus Iupiter mittit placabile est, perniciosum id de quo deliberauit et quod aliis quoque diis auctoribus misit? Quia Iouem, id est regem, prodesse etiam solum oportet, nocere non nisi cum pluribus uisum est.

Let these learn, whoever among men have attained great power, that not even a bolt is sent without counsel; let them summon, let them weigh the opinions of many, temper what is to harm, set this before themselves: that where something must be struck, not even to Jupiter is his own counsel enough.

Discant hi, quicumque magnam inter homines adepti sunt potentiam, sine consilio ne fulmen quidem mitti; aduocent, considerent multorum, sententias, nociturum temperent, hoc sibi proponant, ubi aliquid percuti debet, ne Ioui quidem suum satis esse consillum.

In this too they were not so inexpert as to think that Jupiter changes his weapons. That befits poetic license: There is another, lighter bolt, to which the Cyclopes’ right hand added less of savagery and flame, less of wrath. The gods above call them the second weapons.

In hoc quoque tam imperiti non fuerunt ut Iouem existimarent tela mutare. Poeticam istud licentiam decet: Est aliud leuius fulmen, cui dextra Cyclopum Saeuitiae flammaeque minus, minus addidit irae. Tela secunda uocant superi.

But that error did not hold those loftiest men, that they should think Jupiter uses now lighter bolts and playful weapons. Rather, they wished to admonish those who must hurl bolts against the sins of men that not all things are to be struck in the same way: some things ought to be broken, some dashed and grazed, some only brought near.

Illos uero altissimos uiros error iste non tenuit, ut existimarent louem modo leuioribus fulminibus et lusoriis telis uti. Sed uoluerunt admonere eos quibus aduersus peccata hominum fulminandum est non eodem modo omnia esse percutienda; quaedam. frangi debere, quaedam allidi ac destringi, quaedam admoueri.

They did not even believe that Jupiter, such as we worship in the Capitol and in the other temples, sends bolts with his own hand; but they understand the same Jupiter as we — the ruler and keeper of the universe, the mind and breath of the world, the lord and craftsman of this work, to whom every name befits.

Ne hoc quidem crediderunt louem, qualem in Capitolio et in ceteris aedibus colimus, mittere manu sua fulmina, sed eundem quem nos louem intellegunt, rectorem custodemque uniuersi, animum ac spiritum mundi, operis huius dominum. et artificem, cui nomen omne conuenit.

Do you wish to call him Fate? You will not err; he is that from which all things hang, the cause of causes. Do you wish to call him Providence? You will speak rightly; for he is the one by whose counsel it is provided for this world that it go forth unhindered and unfold its acts. Do you wish to call him Nature? You will not sin; he is that from which all things are born, by whose breath we live.

Vis illum fatum uocare, non errabis; hic est ex quo suspensa sunt omnia, causa causarum. Vis illum prouidentiam dicere, recto dices; est enim cuius consilio huic mundo prouidetur, ut inoffensus exeat et actus suos explicet. Vis illum, naturam. uocare, non peccabis; hic est ex quo nata sunt omnia, cuius spiritu uiuimus.

Do you wish to call him the World? You will not be deceived; for he himself is this whole that you see, set within his own parts, both sustaining himself and his own. The same seemed right to the Etruscans too, and therefore they said bolts are sent by Jupiter, because nothing is done without him.

Vis illum uocare mundum, non falleris; ipso enim est hoc quod uides totum, partibus suis inditus, et se sustinens et sua. Idem Etruscis quoque uisum est, et ideo fulmina mitti dixerunt a Ioue quia sine illo nihil geritur.

But why does Jupiter either pass over what should be struck, or strike the harmless? You call me to a greater question, to which its own day, its own place must be given. Meanwhile I say this: bolts are not sent by Jupiter, but all things have been so arranged that even those which are not done by him nonetheless are not done without a reason, which is his. For even if Jupiter does not now do those things, Jupiter made it that they should be done. He is not present to each for everything, but he gave to all the hand and the force and the cause.

At quare Iupiter aut ferienda transit aut innoxia ferit? In maiorem me quaestionem uocas, cui suus dies, suus locus dandus est. Interim. hoc dico fulmina non mitti a Ioue, sed sic omnia esse disposita ut etiam quae ab illo non fiunt tamen sine ratione non fiant, quae illius est. Nam etiamsi Iupiter illa nunc non facit, Iupiter fecit ut fierent. Singulis non adest ad omne, sed manum et uim et causam omnibus dedit.

To this division of theirs I do not assent. They say bolts are either perpetual, or finite, or prorogative. Perpetual, whose signification pertains to the whole of life and announces not one thing but embraces the woven sequence of things to come through every age thereafter; these are the bolts that come first, when the patrimony is received and in the new state of a man or a city. Finite ones answer to a fixed day. Prorogative are those whose threats can be deferred, but cannot be averted or removed.

Huic illorum diuisioni non accedo. Aiunt aut perpetua esse fulmina, aut finita, aut prorogatiua. Perpetua, quorum significatio in totam pertinet uitam nec unam rom denuntiat sed contextum rerum per omnem deinceps aetatem futurarum complectitur; haec sunt fulmina quae prima accepto patrimonio et in nouo hominis aut urbis statu fiunt. Finita ad diem utique respondent. Prorogatiua sunt quorum minae differri possunt, auerti tollique non possunt.

I will say why I do not agree with this division. For both what they call a perpetual bolt is finite — for it equally answers to a day, and is not on that account less finite because it signifies many things — and what seems prorogative is finite; for by their own confession too it is certain how long the delay may be obtained; for they say private lightnings cannot be deferred beyond the tenth year, public ones beyond the thirtieth; in this way these too are finite, because there is enclosed a limit beyond which they are not prorogued. Of all bolts, then, and of every outcome, let the day be fixed; for there can be no comprehension of the uncertain.

Dicam quid sit quare huic diuisioni non consentiam. Nam et quod perpetuum uocant fulmen finitum est, - aeque enim ad diem respondet nec ideo minus finitum est quia multa significat -; et quod prorogatiuum uidetur finitum est; nam illorum quoque confessione certum est quousque impetretur dilatio; priuata enim fulgura negant ultra decimum annum, publica ultra tricesimum posse differri; hoc modo et ista finita sunt, quia ultra quod non prorogentur inclusum est. Omnium ergo fulminum. et omnis euentus dies stata sit; non potest enim ulla incerti esse comprehensio.

What things are to be inspected in a lightning, they say at random and vaguely, though they could divide it as it was divided by Attalus the philosopher, who had given himself to this discipline — that they inspect where it was made, when, to whom, in what matter, of what sort, how great. If I should wish to arrange these into their parts, what should I do afterward? I would go on into the immense.

Quae inspicienda sint in fulgure, passim et uage dicunt, cum possint sic diuidere quemadmodum ab Attalo philosopho, qui se huic disciplinae dediderat, diuisa sunt, ut inspiciant ubi factum sit, quando, cui, in qua re, quale, quantum. Haec si digerere in partes suas uoluero, quid postea faciam? In immensa procedam.

Now I will run briefly through the names of lightnings that are set down by Caecina, and set out what I think about them. He says there are: postulatory, by which sacrifices intermitted or not duly made are demanded again; monitory, by which it is taught what must be guarded against; pestilent, which portend death and exile; deceptive, which harm through the appearance of some good — they give a consulship that will turn out ill for those who hold it, and an inheritance whose gain must be paid for by a great loss; threatening, which bring the appearance of danger without danger;

Nunc nomina fulgurum quae a Caecina ponuntur perstringam. et quid de eis sentiam exponam. Ait esse postulatoria, quibus sacrificia intermissa aut non rite facta repetuntur; monitoria, quibus docetur quid cauendum sit; pestifera, quae mortem exiliumque portendunt; fallacia, quae per speciem alicuius boni nocent, - dant consulatum malo futurum gerciitibus et hereditatem cuius compendium magno luendum sit incommodo -; dentanea, quae speciem periculi sine periculo afferunt;

destructive, by which the threats of former bolts are removed; attesting, which agree with the former ones; subterranean, which come to be in what has been baffled; buried, by which things already struck before and not procured are struck again; royal, when the forum is touched, or the comitium, or the chief places of a free city, whose signification threatens kingship to the state;

peremptalia, quibus tolluntur priorum fulminum minae; attestata, quae prioribus consentitint; atterranea, quae in eluso fiunt; obruta, quibus iam prius percussa nec procurata feriuntur; regalia, cum forum tangitur uel comitium uel principalia urbis liberae loca, quorum significatio regnum ciuitati minatur;

infernal, when fire has leapt out of the earth; hospitable, which by sacrifices summon Jupiter to us and — to use a softer word of theirs — invite him; but he would not be angry, invited; they affirm that he comes only with great peril to those inviting; auxiliary, which, invoked, come for the good of those calling them.

inferna, cum e terra exiliuit ignis; hospitalia, quae sacrificiis ad nos louem arcessunt et, ut uerbo eorum molliore utar, inuitant, - sed non irasceretur inuitatus; mine uenire eum inagno inuitantium periculo affirmant -; auxiliaria, quae inuocata sed aduocantium bono ueniunt.

How much simpler is the division that our Attalus used, an excellent man, who had mingled the discipline of the Etruscans with Greek subtlety: of bolts, some are those that signify what pertains to us, some either signify nothing, or that whose understanding does not reach us.

Quanto simplicior diuisio est qua utebatur Attalus noster, uir egregius, qui Etruscorum disciplinam Graeca subtilitate miscuerat: ex fulminibus quaedara sunt quae significant id quod ad nos pertinet, quaedam aut nihil significant aut id cuius intellectus ad nos non peruenit.

Of those that signify, some are glad, some adverse, some neither adverse nor glad. Of the adverse, these are the kinds: either they portend inevitable evils, or evitable, or those that can be lessened, or those that can be prorogued. Glad ones signify things either to abide or to fall away.

Ex his quae significant quaedam sunt laeta, quaedam aduersa, quaedam nec aduersa nec laeta. Aduersorum hae species sunt: aut ineuitabilia mala portendunt, aut euitabilia, aut quae minui possunt, aut quae prorogari. Laeta aut mansura significant, aut caduca.

Mixed ones either have a part of good, a part of evil, or turn evils into good, goods into evil. Neither adverse nor glad are those that signify to us some action by which we ought neither to be terrified nor to rejoice, as a journey abroad in which there is nothing of fear or of hope.

Mixta aut partem habent boni, partem mali, aut mala in bonum, bona in malum uertunt. Nec aduersa nec laeta sunt quae aliquam nobis actionem significant qua nec terreri nec laetari debemus, ut peregrinationem in qua nec metus quicquam nec spei sit.

I return to those bolts which do signify something, but what does not pertain to us — as that the same bolt that has been made will be made again in the same year. Bolts signify nothing, or that whose notice escapes us, like those scattered into the vast sea or into deserted wastes; whose signification is either none or perishes.

Reuertor ad ea fulmina quae significant quidem aliquid sed quod ad nos non pertineat, tamquam iterum eodem anno idem futurum fulmen quod factum est. Nihil significant fulmina aut id cuius notitia nos effugit, ut illa quae in uastum mare sparguntur aut in desertas solitudines; quorum significatio uel nulla est uel perit.

I will add a few things still toward setting forth the force of the bolt. Which does not vex every material in the same way. The stronger things, because they resist, it scatters the more vehemently; the yielding it sometimes passes through without injury: with stone and iron and all the hardest things it strives, because it must seek a way through them by its impetus, and so it makes a way by which to escape; but it spares the tender and rarer things, although they seem opportune for flames, because, the passage lying open, it rages less. And so, the boxes being whole, as I said, the money that was in them is found melted down, because the most subtle fire runs across through the hidden openings, but whatever solid and stubborn thing it finds in the wood, it conquers.

Pauca adhuc adiciam ad enarrandam uim fulmönis. Quae non eodem modo omnem materiam uexat. Valentiora, quia resistunt, uehementius dissipat; cedentia nonnumquam sine iniuria transit: cum lapide ferroque et durissimis quibusque confligit, quia uiam necesse est per illa impetu quaerat, itaque facit qua effugiat; at teneris et rarioribus parcit, quamquam flammis opportuna uideantur, quia transitu patente minus saeuit. Loculis itaque integris, ut dixi, pecunia quae in his fuit conflata reperitur, quia ignis tenuissimus per foramina occulta transcurrit, quicquid autem in tigno solidum inuenit et contumax uincit.

But it rages, as I said, in no one way; rather, what each force has done you understand from the very kind of the injury, and you will know the bolt by its work. Sometimes in the same material the force of the same bolt does many diverse things, as in a tree it burns what is driest, bores and breaks what is hardest and most solid, scatters the topmost barks, bursts and splits the inner layers, pierces and grazes the leaves. It freezes wine, it melts iron and bronze.

Non uno autem, ut dixi, modo saeuit, sed quid quaeque uis fecerit, ex ipso genere iniuriae intellegis et fulmen opere cognosces. Interdum in eadem materia multa diuersa eiusdem fulminis uis facit, sicut in arbore quod aridissimum urit, quod durissimum. et solidissimum est terebrat et frangit, summos cortices dissipat, interiores libros rumpit ac scindit, folia pertundit ac stringit. Vinum gelat, ferrum et aes fundit.

This is wondrous, that wine frozen by a bolt, when it returns to its former state, either kills the drinker or makes him mad. To me, asking why this happens, this occurs. There is in the bolt a pestilent force; from this it is like the truth that some breath remains in that liquid which it compressed and congealed; for it could not have been bound, unless some bond had been added to it.

Illud est mirum quod uinum fulmine gelatum, cum ad priorem habitum redit, potum aut exanimat aut dementes facit. Quare id accidat quaerenti möhi illud occurrit. Inest uis fulmini pestifera; ex hoc aliquem remanere spiritum in eo umore quem coegit congelauitque simile ueri est; nec enim alligari potuisset, nisi aliquod illi esset additum uinculum.

Besides, the smell of oil too and of every ointment is foul after a bolt; from which it appears that there is in the most subtle fire, driven against its own nature, a certain pestilent power, by which not only things struck fall but also things breathed upon. Besides, wherever a bolt has fallen, it is certain that there is the smell of sulphur there, which, because it is by nature heavy, when too often drawn in, deranges.

Praeterea olei quoque et omnis unguenti taeter post fulmen odor est; ex quo apparet inesse quandam subtifissimo igni et contra naturam suam acto pestilentem potentiam, qua non icta tantum cadunt sed et afflata. Praeterea quocumque decidit fulmen, ibi odorem esse sulphuris certum est, qui, quia natura grauis est, saepius haustus alienat.

But to these things we will return at leisure. For perhaps it will please to show how much all these things flow from philosophy, the parent of the arts. She first both sought the causes of things and observed the effects and — what in the inspection of a bolt is far better — brought together the ends of things with their beginnings.

Sed ad haec uacui reuertemur. Fortasse enim libebit ostendere quantum omnia ista a philosophia parente artium fluxere. Illa primum et quaesiuit causas rerum et obseruauit effectus et, quod in fulminis inspectione longe melius est, initiis rerum exitus contulit.

Now I return to the opinion of Posidonius. From the earth and all earthy things one part is breathed out moist, one part dry and smoky; this is nourishment for bolts, that for rains. Whatever of the dry and smoky reaches the air does not bear to be shut in by clouds, but bursts what encloses it; thence is the sound that we call thunder.

Nunc ad opinionem Posidonii reuertor. E terra terrenisque omnibus pars umida effiatur, pars sicca et fumida; haec fulminibus alimentum est, illa imbribus. Quicquid in aera sicci fumosique peruenit, id includi se nubibus non fert sed rumpit claudentia; inde est sonus quem nos tonitrum, uocamus.

In the air itself too, whatever is thinned is at the same time dried and heated; this too, if it is shut in, likewise seeks flight and gets out with a sound, and now makes its eruption all at once, and thunders the more vehemently for it, now by parts and little by little.

In ipso quoque acre quicquid extenuatur, simul siccatur et calefit; hoc quoque, si inclusum est, aeque fugam quaerit et cum. sono euadit, ac modo uniuersum eruptionem facit eoque uehementius intonat, modo per partes et minutatim.

So this breath presses out thunders, while it either bursts the clouds or flies through them; and the rolling of breath shut in a cloud is the strongest kind of friction.

Ergo tonitrua hic spiritus exprimit, dum aut rumpit nubes, aut peruolat; uolutatio autem spiritus in nube conclusi ualentissimum est atterendi genus.

Thunders are nothing else than the sounds of swift air, which cannot come to be except while it either rubs or is burst. — "Even if," he says, "the clouds collide with each other, there is that stroke you require." But not the whole stroke; for they do not meet whole with whole, but parts with parts; nor do soft things sound, unless they are dashed against hard; and so a wave is not heard, unless it has been dashed.

Tonitrua nihil alind sunt quam citi aeris sonitus, qui fieri, nisi dum aut terit aut rumpitur, non potest. - Etsi colliduntur inter se, inquit, nubes, t is quem desideras ictus. - Sed non uniuersus neque enim tota totis concurrunt, sed partibus partes nec sonant mollia, nisi illisa duris sint, itaque non auditur fluctus, nisi impactus est.

"Fire," he says, "sent into water sounds, while it is extinguished." Suppose it is so: it is on my side; for it is not fire then that makes the sound, but breath escaping through the extinguishing things. Even if I grant you both that fire comes to be in a cloud and is extinguished, it is born from breath and from friction.

- Ignis, inquit, missus in aquam sonat, dum extinguitur. Puta ita esse, pro me est; non enim ignis tunc sonum efficit sed spiritus per extinguentia effugiens. Vt dem tibi et fieri ignem in nube et extingui, a spiritu nascitur et attritu.

"What then," he says, "cannot some one of these shooting stars fall into a cloud and be extinguished?" Let us suppose this too can sometimes happen; now we seek the natural and constant cause, not the rare and chance one. For suppose I confess that what you say is true, that sometimes after thunders fires flash out, like stars crossing and falling: not for this were the thunders made; rather, while this was happening, the thunders were made.

- Quid ergo, inquit, non potest aliqua ex his transcurrentibus stellis incidere, in nubem et extingui? - Existimemus posse aliquando et hoc fieri; nunc naturalem causam quaerimus et assiduam, non raram fortuitamque. Puta enim me confiteri uerum esse quod dicis, aliquando post tonitrua emicare ignes stellis transuersis et cadentibus similes, non ob hoc tonitrua facta sunt, sed, cum hoc fieret, tonitrua facta sunt.

Clidemus says that flashing is an empty appearance, not fire; for in the same way through the night a brightness is seen by the movement of oars. The example is unlike. For there the brightness appears within the water itself; here, what comes to be in the air bursts out and leaps forth.

Clidemos ait fulgurationem speciem inanem esse, non ignem; sic enim per noctem splendorem motu remorum uideri. Dissimile est exemplum. Illic enim splendor intra ipsam aquam apparet; hic, qui fit in aere, erumpit et exilit.

Heraclitus thinks that flashing is, as it were among us, the attempt of fires beginning and the first uncertain flame, now dying away, now rising again; these the ancients called fulgetra. We say "thunders" in the plural; but the ancients said "thunder" or "tone" in the singular. This I find in Caecina, an eloquent man who would have had at one time a name in eloquence, had not the shadow of Cicero pressed him down.

Heraclitus existimat fulgurationem esse uelut apud nos incipientium ignium conatum et primam flammam incertam, modo intereuntem, modo resurgentem; haec antiqui fulgetra dicebant. Tonitrua nos pluraliter dicimus; antiqui autem tonitruum dixerunt aut tonum. Hoc apud Caecinam inuenio, facundum uirum et qui habuisset aliquando in eloquentia nomen, nisi illum Ciceronis umbra pressisset.

The ancients still used that word in the form which we use with one syllable lengthened; for we say, as splendēre (to shine), so fulgēre (to flash); but they, to signify this eruption of sudden light from the clouds, had the custom of using the middle syllable shortened, so that they said fulgere.

Etiamnunc illo uerbo utebantur antiqui quo nos producta una syllaba utimur; dicimus enim, ut splendÄre, sic fulgere; at illis ad significandum hanc e nubibus subitae lucis eruptionem mos erat correpta media syllaba uti, ut dicerent fulgÄre.

You ask what I myself think; for thus far I have lent my hand to others’ opinions. I will say. It lightens, when a sudden light has flashed out wide; this happens when air is turned into fire, the clouds thinned, and does not find the strength by which it might leap further.

Quid ipse existimem quaeris; adhuc enim alienis opinionibus commodaui manum. Dicam. Fulgurat, cum repentinum late lumen emicuit; id euenit ubi in ignem aer extenuatis nubibus uertitur, nec uires quibus longius prosiliret inuenit.

You do not wonder, I think, if either motion thins the air or the thinning kindles it; so a leaden ball, shot from a sling, melts and, by the friction of the air, as if by fire, drips. Therefore bolts are most numerous in summer, because there is most of heat; and fire arises more easily from the friction of hot things.

Non miraris, puto, si aera aut motus extenuat aut extenuatio incendit; sic liquescit excussa glans funda et attritu aeris uelut igne, destillat. Ideo plurima aestate sunt fulmina quia plurimum calidi est; facilius autem attritu calidorum ignis existit.

In the same way comes to be both the flash, which only shines, and the bolt, which is sent. But the former has a lighter force and less of nourishment; and, to say briefly what I think, a bolt is a flash strained taut. So when the nature of the hot and smoky, sent out from the lands, falls into the clouds and is long rolled in their hollow, at last it bursts out, and, because it has no strength, is only a flash;

Eodem autem modo fit fulgur, quod tantum splendet, et fulmen, quod mittitur. Sed illi leuior uis alimentique minus est et, ut breuiter dicam quod sentio, fulmen est fulgur intentum. Ergo ubi calidi fumidique natura emissa terris in nubes incidit et diu in illarum sinu uolutata est, nouissime erumpit et, quia uires non habet, splendor est;

but when those flashes have had more material and burned with greater impetus, they not only appear, but fall down.

at ubi illa fulgura plus habuere materiae et malore impetu arserunt, non apparent tantum, sed decidunt.

Some think that a bolt in any case returns, some that it subsides where the nourishments have weighed it down and the bolt has been brought down with a fainter stroke. But why does a bolt appear suddenly and not continue as a constant fire? Because a swift and wondrous motion at once both bursts the cloud and kindles the air, then the flame ceases, the motion resting. For the course of breath is not constant, so that the fire could be extended. But as often as it kindles itself more strongly by the very tossing, it takes the impetus of fleeing; then, when it has got out and the battle ceases, from the same cause it is now carried all the way to the earth, now dissolved beforehand, if it was pressed with less force.

Quidam existimant utique fulmen reuerti, quidam subsidere ubi alimenta praegrauauerunt et fulmen ictu languidiore delatum est. At quare fulmen subitum apparet nec continuatur assiduus ignis? Quia celere mirique motus simul et nubes rumpit et aera incendit, deinde desinit flamma motu quiescente, Non enim assiduus est spiritus cursus, ut ignis possit extendi. Sed quotiens fortius ipsa iactatione se accendit, fugiendi impetum capit; deinde, cum euasit et pugna desinit, ex eadem causa modo usque ad terram profertur, modo ante dissoluitur, si minore ui pressus est.

Why is it borne obliquely? Because it consists of breath — and breath is oblique and winding — and because nature calls fire upward, while injury presses it down; its road begins to be oblique, while neither force yields to the other, and the fire strives upward but is pressed into the lower regions.

Quare oblique fertur? Quia spiritu constat, - spiritus autem obliquus est flexuosusque -, et quia natura ignem sursum uocat, iniuria deorsum premit; incipit autem obliquum. esse iter, dum neutra uis alteri cedit et ignis in superiora nititur, in inferiora deprimitur.

Why are the peaks of mountains frequently struck? Because they are set against the clouds, and the things falling from heaven must pass through them.

Quare frequenter cacumina montium feriuntur? Quia opposita sunt nubibus et e caelo cadentibus per haec transeundum est.

I understand what you have for some time desired, what you demand. "I prefer," you say, "not to fear bolts than to know them; and so teach others how they come to be; I want the fear of them struck out of me, not their nature pointed out."

Intelligo quid dudum desideres, quid efflagites. " Malo, inquis, fulmina non timere quam nosse; itaque alios doce quemadmodum fiant; ego mihi metum illorum excuti uolo, non naturam indicari. "

I will follow where you call. For into all matters and all discourses something wholesome must be mixed. When we go through the hidden things of nature, when we handle the divine, the mind must be claimed from its own evils and again and again strengthened — which is necessary even for the learned, and for those who do this one thing — not that we may escape the strokes of circumstance, for from every side weapons are hurled at us, but that we may bear them bravely and steadfastly.

Sequar quo uocas. Omnibus enim rebus omnibusque sermonibus aliquid salutare miscendum est. Cum imus per occulta naturae, cum diuina tractamus, uindicandus est a malis suis animus ac subinde firmandus, quod etiam eruditis et hoc unum agentibus necessarium est, non ut effugiamus ictus rerum, - undique enim in in nos tela iaciuntur, - sed ut fortiter constanterque patiamur.

We can be unconquered; we cannot be unshaken. And yet meanwhile a hope steals in, that we too can be unshaken. How? you say. Despise death, and all the things that lead to death are despised, whether they be wars, or shipwrecks, or the bites of wild beasts, or the weights of ruins falling in a sudden collapse.

Inuicti esse possumus, inconcussi non possumus. Quamquam interim spes subit, inconcussos quoque esse nos posse. Quemadmodum? inquis. Contemne mortem, et omnia quae ad mortem ducunt contempta sunt, siue illa bella sunt, siue naufragia, seu morsus ferarum, seu ruinarum subito lapsu procidentium pondera.

Can they do anything more than loose the body from the mind? This no diligence avoids, no good fortune grants exemption from, no power overcomes. Other things are dealt out by a various lot; death calls all alike; one must die whether the gods are angry or favorable.

Numquid facere amplius possunt quam ut corpus ab animo resoluant? Haec nulla diligentia euitat, nulla felicitas donat, nulla potentia euincit. Alia uaria sorte disponuntur; mors omnes aeque uocat; iratis diis propitiisque moriendum est.

Let courage be taken from the very despair. The most cowardly animals, which nature bore for flight, when no way out lies open, attempt battle with an unwarlike body. No enemy is more ruinous than the one whom straits make bold, and always one is set right far more violently from necessity than from courage; or at least a great mind and a desperate one attempt equal things.

Animus ex ipsa desperatione sumatur. Ignauissima animalia, quae natura ad fugam genuit, ubi exitus non patet, temptant pugnam corpore imbelli. Nullus perniciosior hostis est quam quem audacem angustiae faciunt, longeque uiolentius semper ex necessitate quam ex uirtute corrigitur, aut certe paria conantur animus magnus ac perditus.

Let us think that we, as far as concerns death, are lost. And we are. So it is, Lucilius: we are all reserved for death. This whole people that you see, and the whole that you think to be anywhere, nature will quickly recall and lay away; the question is not of the fact but of the day; one must come to the same place, sooner or later.

Cogitemus nos, quantum ad mortem, perditos esse. Et sumus. Ita est, Lucili; omnes reseruamur ad mortem. Totum hunc quem uides populum, totumque quem usquam cogitas esse, cito natura reuocabit et condet, nec de re sed de die quaeritur; eodem citius tardiusue ueniendum est.

What then? Does he not seem to you the most timid of all and the most foolish who begs, with great canvassing, for a delay of death? Would you not despise the man who, set among those about to perish, should ask as a favor to offer his neck last? We do the same; we reckon it great to die later.

Quid ergo? Non tibi timidissimus omnium uidetur et insipientissimus qui magno ambitu iogat moram mortis? Nonne contemneres eum qui, inter perituros constitutus, beneficii looo peteret ut ultimus ceruicem praeberet? Idem facimus; magno aestimamus mori tardius.

Upon all is appointed the capital punishment, and that by a most just appointment, which is wont to be the greatest solace to those about to suffer the last things; for the lot of those for whose sake it is set is the same. We would follow, handed over by a judge or a magistrate, and render obedience to our executioner; what is the difference whether we go to death bidden, or of our own accord?

In omnes constitutum est capitale supplicium, et quidem constitutione iustissima, quod maximum solet esse solacium extrema passuris; quorum enim causa, sors eadem est. Sequeremur traditi a iudice aut magistratu et carnifici nostro praestaremus obsequium; quid interest utrum ad mortem iussi eamus an ultronei?

O you, mad and forgetful of your frailty, if you fear death only when it thunders! Is it so? Does your safety turn on this? Will you live, if you have escaped the bolt? The sword will seek you, the stone will seek you, the bile will seek you; the bolt is not the greatest of your dangers, but the most showy.

0 te dementem et oblitum fragilitatis tuae, si tunc mortem times cum tonat! Itane? In hoc salus tua uertitur? Viues si fulmen effugeris? Petet te gladius, petet lapis, petet bilis; non maximum ex periculis tuis sed speciosissimum fulmen est.

It will go badly with you, forsooth, if an infinite swiftness forestalls the sense of your own death, if your death is procured, if not even then, when you breathe your last, are you superfluous, but the sign of some great matter. It goes badly with you, forsooth, if you are laid away with a bolt.

Male scilicet actum erit tecum, si sensum mortis tuae celeritas infinita praeueniet, si mors tua procuratur, si ne tunc quidem, cum expiras, superuacuus sed alicuius magnae rei signum es. Male scilicet tecum agitur, si cum fulmine conderis.

But you quake at the crash of the heaven and tremble at an empty cloud, and, as often as something has flashed, you breathe your last. What then? Do you think it more honorable to perish by a fall than by a bolt? Therefore rise the braver against the threats of the heaven, and, when the world has blazed up on every side, think that you have nothing to lose by so great a death.

Sed pauescis ad caeli fragorem et ad inane nubilum trepidas et, quotiens aliquid effulsit, expiras. Quid ergo? honestius putas deiectione perire quam fulmine? Eo itaque fortior aduersus caeli minas surge et, cum undique mundus exarserit, cogita nihil habere te tanta morte perdendum.

But if you believe that confusion of the heaven is prepared for you, that discord of the tempests, if for your sake the heaped and dashed clouds roar, if for your destruction so great a force of fires is struck out — well then, in place of solace count it a thing of such worth, that your death is.

Quodsi tibi parari credis illam caeli confusionem, illam tempestatum discordiam, si propter te ingestae illisaeque nubes strepunt, si in tuum exitium tanta uis ignium excutitur, at tu solacii loco numera tanti esse mortem tuam.

But there will be no place for this thought; that chance frees us from fear. Among the rest, it has this advantage too, that it outruns its own expectation. No one ever feared a bolt, except the one who escaped it.

Sed non erit huic cogitationi locus; casus iste donat metum. Est inter cetera hoc quoque commodum eius quod expectationem suam antecedit. Nemo umquam timuit fulmen, nisi qui effugit. Seneca the Younger The Latin Library The Classics Page

It does not escape me, Lucilius, best of men, what great foundations I am laying as an old man, I who have resolved to go round the world, and to dig out its causes and secrets, and to bring them forth for others to know: when shall I attain so many things, gather things so scattered, look through things so hidden?

Non praeterit me, Lucili uirorum optime, quam magnarum rerum fundamenta ponam senex, qui mundum circuire constitui et causas secretaque eius eruere atque aliis noscenda producere: quando tam multa consequar, tam sparsa colligam, tam occulta perspiciam?

Old age presses from behind and reproaches me with the years consumed amid empty pursuits. So much the more let us press on, and let labor repair the losses of an ill-spent age; let night be added to day, let occupations be cut back, let the care of a patrimony lying far from its master be loosed; let the whole mind be free for itself, and look back, at least at the very end, to the contemplation of itself.

Premit a tergo senectus et obicit annos inter uana studia consumptos. Tanto magis urgeamus et damna aetatis male exemptae labor sarciat; nox ad diem accedat, occupationes recidantur, patrimonii longe a domino iacentis cura soluatur, sibi totus animus uacet et ad contemplationem sui saltem in ipso fine respiciat.

It will do so, and will press upon itself, and daily measure the brevity of time; whatever has been lost, it will gather up again by the diligent use of the present life: the passage from repentance to honorable things is the most faithful. It pleases me, then, to cry out that verse of the famous poet: we lift up mighty spirits and labor at the greatest things in a little time. I would say this, if I were laboring as a boy or a youth — for no time is too narrow for things so great — but now in truth we have come to a serious matter, weighty, immense, after the hours of noon.

Faciet ac sibi instabit et cotidie breuitatem temporis metietur; quicquid amissum est, id diligenti usu praesentis uitae recolliget: fidelissimus est ad honesta ex paenitentia transitus. Libet igitur mihi exclamare illum poetae incliti uersum: "tollimus ingentes animos et maxima paruo tempore molimur." Hoc dicerem, si puer iuuenisque molirer (nullum enim non tam magnis rebus tempus angustum est): nunc uero ad rem seriam, grauem, immensam post meridianas horas accessimus.

Let us do what is wont to happen on a journey: those who set out later make up for the delay by speed. Let us hasten, and treat a work — I know not whether surmountable, but certainly great — without the excuse of age. The mind grows, as often as it attends to the magnitude of what is begun, and considers how much remains for the undertaking, not how much for itself.

Faciamus quod in itinere fieri solet: qui tardius exierunt, uelocitate pensant moram. Festinemus et opus nescio an superabile, magnum certe, sine aetatis excusatione tractemus. Crescit animus, quotiens coepti magnitudinem attendit, et cogitat quantum proposito, non quantum sibi supersit.

Some have used themselves up composing the deeds of foreign kings, and what peoples have suffered and dared against one another. How much better to extinguish one’s own evils than to hand others’ down to posterity! How much better to celebrate the works of the gods than the brigandage of a Philip or an Alexander and of the rest, who, made famous by the destruction of nations, were no smaller plagues of mortals than a flood, by which all the level land is drenched, than a conflagration, by which a great part of living things is burned up!

Consumpsere se quidam, dum acta regum externorum componunt quaeque passi inuicem ausique sunt populi. Quanto satius est sua mala extinguere quam aliena posteris tradere! Quanto potius deorum opera celebrare quam Philippi aut Alexandri latrocinia ceterorumque, qui exitio gentium clari non minores fuere pestes mortalium quam inundatio, qua planum omne perfusum est, quam conflagratio, qua magna pars animantium exarsit!

They write how Hannibal crossed the Alps; how, his war strengthened by the disasters of Spain, he brought it unlooked-for upon Italy, and, his fortunes broken, stubborn even after Carthage, wandered among kings, promising a general against the Romans, asking for an army; how he did not cease, an old man, to seek war in every corner: so well could he endure to be without a fatherland, but without an enemy he could not!

Quemadmodum Hannibal Alpes superiecerit scribunt, quemadmodum confirmatum Hispaniae cladibus bellum Italiae inopinatus intulerit fractisque rebus, etiam post Carthaginem pertinax, reges pererrauerit contra Romanos ducem promittens, exercitum petens; quemadmodum non desierit omnibus angulis bellum senex quaerere: adeo sine patria pati poterat, sine hoste non poterat!

How much better to ask what must be done than what has been done, and to teach those who have committed their affairs to fortune that nothing stable is given by her, that her every gift flows more fickle than air! For she knows not how to rest; she delights to substitute sad things for glad, and at all events to mix them; and so let no one trust in prosperity, let no one despair in adversity: the turns of things alternate.

Quanto satius est quid faciendum sit quam quid factum quaerere, ac docere eos, qui sua permisere fortunae, nihil stabile ab illa datum esse, munus eius omne aura fluere mobilius! Nescit enim quiescere, gaudet laetis tristia substituere, utique miscere; itaque secundis nemo confidat, aduersis nemo deficiat: alternae sunt uices rerum.

Why do you exult? These things by which you are carried to the top — you do not know where they will leave you: they will have their own end, not yours. Why do you lie low? You have been brought to the bottom: now is the place for rising again; adverse things are bent to the better, things wished-for to the worse.

Quid exultas? Ista, quibus eueheris in summum, nescis ubi te relictura sint: habebunt suum, non tuum finem. Quid iaces? Ad imum delatus es: nunc locus est resurgendi; in melius aduersa, in deterius optata flectuntur.

So one must conceive in the mind a variety not only of private houses, which a light chance overthrows, but of public ones. Kingdoms risen from the lowest have stood above those who command, ancient empires have fallen in their very flower; the number cannot be reckoned, how many have been broken by others: now, at this very moment, god builds up some, sends others down, nor does he set them down gently, but flings them from their height to keep no remnants.

Ita concipienda est animo uarietas non priuatarum tantum domuum, quas leuis casus impellit, sed publicarum. Regna ex infimo coorta supra imperantes constiterunt, uetera imperia in ipso flore ceciderunt; iniri non potest numerus, quam multa ab aliis fracta sint: nunc cum maxime deus extruit alia, alia summittit, nec molliter ponit sed ex fastigio suo nullas habitura reliquias iactat.

We believe these things great, because we are small: to many things magnitude comes not from their own nature but from our lowliness. What is the chief thing in human affairs? Not to have filled the seas with fleets, nor to have fixed standards on the shore of the Red Sea, nor, when the land failed for outrages, to have wandered on the ocean seeking the unknown, but to have seen the whole with the mind and — than which no victory is greater — to have subdued the vices: innumerable are they who have had peoples, who have had cities, in their power; very few who have had themselves.

Magna ista, quia parui sumus, credimus: multis rebus non ex natura sua sed ex humilitate nostra magnitudo est. Quid praecipuum in rebus humanis est? Non classibus maria complesse nec in Rubri maris litore signa fixisse nec, deficiente ad iniurias terra, errasse in oceano ignota quaerentem, sed animo omne uidisse et, qua maior nulla uictoria est, uitia domuisse: innumerabiles sunt qui populos, qui urbes habuerunt in potestate, paucissimi qui se.

What is the chief thing? To raise the mind above the threats and promises of fortune; to think nothing worth hoping for. For what has she that you should covet? You who, as often as you fall back from the converse of things divine to things human, will be darkened no otherwise than those whose eyes have returned from clear sunlight into dense shadow.

Quid est praecipuum? Erigere animum supra minas et promissa fortunae; nihil dignum putare, quod speres. Quid enim habet, quod concupiscas? qui a diuinorum conuersatione quotiens ad humana recideris, non aliter caligabis quam quorum oculi in densam umbram ex claro sole redierunt.

What is the chief thing? To be able to bear adversity with a glad mind; to bear whatever has happened just as if you had wished it to happen to you — for you ought to have wished it, had you known that all things come to be by the decree of god: to weep, to complain, and to groan is to desert.

Quid est praecipuum? Posse laeto animo aduersa tolerare; quicquid acciderit, sic ferre, quasi tibi uolueris accidere (debuisses enim uelle, si scisses omnia ex decreto dei fieri: flere, queri et gemere desciscere est).

What is the chief thing? A mind brave and stubborn against calamities, not only averse to luxury but hostile to it, neither greedy of danger nor fleeing it, one that knows how not to wait for fortune but to make it, and to go forth against either fortune undismayed and unconfounded, struck neither by the tumult of the one nor by the splendor of the other.

Quid est praecipuum? Animus contra calamitates fortis et contumax, luxuriae non auersus tantum sed infestus, nec auidus periculi nec fugax, qui sciat fortunam non expectare sed facere et aduersus utramque intrepidus inconfususque prodire, nec illius tumultu nec huius fulgore percussus.

What is the chief thing? Not to admit evil counsels into the mind, to lift pure hands to heaven, to seek no good which, that it may pass to you, someone must give and someone lose; to wish for what is wished without a rival: a good mind; the rest, things greatly prized by mortals, even if some chance has brought them to the house, to look upon as bound to depart the way they came.

Quid est praecipuum? Non admittere in animo mala consilia, puras ad caelum manus tollere, nullum bonum petere quod, ut ad te transeat, aliquis dare debet aliquis amittere, optare quod sine aduersario optatur: bonam mentem; cetera magno aestimata mortalibus, etiamsi quis domum casus adtulerit, sic intueri quasi exitura qua uenerint.

What is the chief thing? To raise the spirit high above chance things, to remember that one is a man, so that, whether you are fortunate, you may know this will not be for long, or whether unfortunate, you may know that you are not this, if you do not think it.

Quid est praecipuum? Altos supra fortuita spiritus tollere, hominis meminisse, ut, siue felix eris, scias hoc non futurum diu, siue infelix, scias hoc te non esse, si non putes.

What is the chief thing? To hold the soul on the very lips: this makes a man free not by the law of the Quirites but by the law of nature. And he is free who has escaped his own slavery: this slavery is unceasing and inescapable, pressing equally by day and by night, without interval, without furlough.

Quid est praecipuum? In primis labris animam habere: haec res efficit non e iure Quiritium liberum sed e iure naturae. Liber est autem, qui seruitutem suam effugit: haec est assidua et ineluctabilis et per diem ac noctem aequaliter premens, sine interuallo, sine commeatu.

To be a slave to oneself is the heaviest slavery: which it is easy to shake off, if you cease to demand much of yourself, if you cease to pay yourself your wage, if you set before your eyes both your own nature and your age, though it be the prime of life, and say to yourself: "Why am I mad? Why do I pant? Why do I sweat? Why do I turn over the earth, why the forum? I need neither much nor for long."

Sibi seruire grauissima est seruitus: quam discutere facile est, si desieris multa te poscere, si desieris tibi referre mercedem, si ante oculos et naturam tuam posueris et aetatem, licet prima sit, ac tibi ipse dixeris: "Quid insanio? quid anhelo? quid sudo? quid terram, quid forum uerso? Nec multo opus est nec diu."

Toward this it will profit us to inspect the nature of things: first, we shall withdraw from sordid things; then we shall draw apart the soul itself — which needs to be sound and great — from the body; then a subtlety exercised in hidden things will be no worse in the open. And nothing is more open than these wholesome things, which are learned against our own wickedness and madness, which we condemn and do not lay aside.

Ad hoc proderit nobis inspicere rerum naturam: primo discedemus a sordidis; deinde animam ipsum, quo sano magnoque opus est, seducemus a corpore; deinde in occultis exercitata subtilitas non erit in aperta deterior. Nihil est autem apertius his salutaribus, quae contra nequitiam nostram furoremque discuntur, quae damnamus nec ponimus.

Let us inquire, then, about terrestrial waters, and investigate by what reasoning they come to be — whether, as Ovid says, there was a clear spring, silvery with shining waters; or, as Virgil says, whence through nine mouths, with the vast murmur of the mountain, a broken sea goes, and presses the fields with sounding flood; or, as I find in you, dearest Lucilius, the Elean river leaps forth from Sicilian springs; whether some reasoning supplies the waters; how so many huge rivers run down day and night; why some swell with winter waters, others grow in the failing of the rest of the rivers.

Quaeramus ergo de terrestribus aquis et inuestigemus qua ratione fiant (siue, ut ait Ouidius, "fons erat illimis nitidis argenteus undis", siue, ut ait Uergilius, "unde per ora nouem uasto cum murmure montis it mare praeruptum et pelago premit arua sonanti; siue, ut apud te, lunior carissime, inuenio, "Elius Siculis de fontibus exilit amnis"; si qua ratio aquas subministrat; quomodo tot flumina ingentia per diem noctemque decurrant; quare alia hibernis aquis intumescant, alia in defectu ceterorum amnium crescant.

The Nile meanwhile we shall set apart from the crowd, as of a nature its own and singular, and give it its own day. Now let us pursue the common waters, both cold and hot: in which it will have to be asked whether they are born hot or become so. Of the rest too we shall discourse, which either taste or some usefulness makes notable: for some help the eyes, some the sinews; some thoroughly cure inveterate faults despaired of by physicians; some heal ulcers; some by drinking warm the inner parts and relieve the complaints of the lung and the viscera; some stanch blood: as various is the use of each as the taste.

Nilum interim seponemus a turba, propriae naturae ac singularis, et illi suum diem dabimus. Nunc uulgares aquas persequamur, tam frigidas quam calentes: in quibus [calentibus] quaerendum erit, utrum calidae nascantur an fiant. De ceteris quoque disseremus, quas insignes aut sapor aut aliqua reddit utilitas: quaedam enim oculos, quaedam neruos iuuant; quaedam inueterata et desperata a medicis uitia percurant; quaedam medentur ulceribus; quaedam interiora potu fouent et pulmonis ac uiscerum querelas leuant; quaedam supprimunt sanguinem: tam uarius singulis usus quam gustus est.

Either all waters stand, or go, or are collected, or have various veins. Some are sweet, some variously harsh; for there come between them salt and bitter or medicated ones, of which we call some sulphurous, some iron-bearing, some aluminous: the taste indicates the force.

Aut stant omnes aquae aut eunt aut colliguntur aut uarias habent uenas. Aliae dulces sunt, aliae uarie asperae; quippe interueniunt salsae amaraeque aut medicatae, ex quibus sulphuratas dicimus, ferratas, aluminosas: indicat uim sapor.

They have besides many distinctions: first of touch — they are cold and hot; then of weight — they are light and heavy; then of color — they are pure, turbid, blue, sallow; then of healthfulness: for some are useful, some death-bringing, some are such as harden into stone, some are thin, some thick; some nourish, some pass through without any help to the drinker, some when drunk bring fecundity.

Habent praeterea multa discrimina, primum tactus: frigidae calidaeque sunt; deinde ponderis: leues et graues sunt; deinde coloris: purae sunt, turbidae, caeruleae, luridae, deinde salubritatis: sunt enim utiles, sunt mortiferae, sunt quae cogantur in lapidem, quaedam tenues, quaedam pingues; quaedam alunt, quaedam sine ulla bibentis ope transeunt, quaedam haustae fecunditatem afferunt.

That water stands or flows, the position of the place brings about: on a slope it flows, on the level and in a hollow it is held and stagnates. Sometimes it is driven against the slope by breath: then it is forced, it does not flow. It is collected from rains; from its own spring it is native. Nothing, however, prevents water from being both collected and born in the same place; which we see in the Fucine Lake, into which the mountains thrown around it channel whatever the rain has poured, but there are also great and hidden veins in it itself: and so even when the winter torrents have flowed away, it keeps its own face.

First, then, let us ask how the earth suffices to keep up the courses of the rivers, whence so much water goes out. We wonder that the seas do not feel the accession of the rivers; equally to be wondered at is that the earth does not feel the loss of those going out. What is it that has either so filled her that she can furnish so much from her store, or so replenishes her again and again? Whatever reasoning we give about a river, the same will hold for brooks and springs.

Primum ergo quaeramus quomodo ad continuandos fluminum cursus terra sufficiat, unde tantum aquarum exeat. Miramur, quod accessionem fluminum maria non sentiant; aeque mirandum est, quod detrimentum exeuntium terra non sentit. Quid est, quod illam aut sic impleuerit, ut praebere tantum ex recondito possit, aut subinde sic suppleat? Quamcumque rationem reddiderimus de flumine, eadem erit riuorum ac fontium.

Some judge that the earth takes back again whatever waters it has sent out, and that for this reason the seas do not grow, because what has flowed in they do not turn to their own but straightway give back. For by a hidden road it goes under the lands and comes openly, returns in secret, and the sea is strained in the passage, which, beaten through the manifold windings of the lands, lays aside its bitterness and badness: in so great a variety of soil it puts off its taste and passes into pure water.

Quidam iudicant terram quicquid aquarum emisit rursus accipere et ob hoc maria non crescere, quia quod influxit, non in suum uertunt sed protinus reddunt. Occulto enim itinere subit terras et palam uenit, secreto reuertitur, colaturque in transitu mare, quod per multiplices terrarum anfractus euerberatum amaritudinem ponit et prauitatem: in tanta soli uarietate saporem exuit et in sinceram aquam transit.

Some think that whatever the earth has conceived from rains, it sends out again, and put this in the place of an argument, that there are very few rivers in those places where rain is rare.

Quidam existimant, quicquid ex imbribus terra concepit, id illam rursus emittere et hoc argumenti loco ponunt, quod paucissima flumina in his sunt locis, quibus rarus est imber.

Therefore they say the wastes of Ethiopia are dry, and that few springs are found in the interior of Africa, because the nature of the sky is fiery and almost always summer; and so the sands lie squalid, without tree, without tiller, sprinkled with rare rains, which they at once drink down. But on the contrary it is agreed that Germany and Gaul, and next to them Italy, abound in rivers and brooks, because they enjoy a moist sky, and not even summer lacks rains.

Ideo siccas aiunt Aethiopiae solitudines esse paucosque inueniri in interiore Africa fontes, quia feruida natura caeli sit et paene semper aestiua; squalidae itaque sine arbore, sine cultore harenae iacent raris imbribus sparsae, quos statim combibunt. At contra constat Germaniam Galliamque et proxime ab illis Italiam abundare fluminibus et riuis, quia caelo umido utuntur et ne aestas quidem imbribus caret.

You see that much can be said against this. First, I, a diligent digger of vineyards, affirm to you that no rain is so great as to wet the earth beyond ten feet in depth; all the moisture is consumed within the first crust and does not descend to the lower parts:

Aduersus hoc multa posse dici uides. Primum ego tibi uinearum diligens fossor affirmo nullam pluuiam esse tam magnam, quae terram ultra decem in altitudinem pedes madefaciat; omnis umor intra primam crustam consumitur nec in inferiora descendit:

how then can rain supply the rivers with strength, when it [only] wets the topmost soil? The greater part of it is carried into the sea through the channels of the rivers; little is what the earth sucks up, nor does it keep even that: for either it is dry and absorbs into itself whatever is poured in, or, sated, if anything has fallen beyond its desire, it shuts it out; and therefore the rivers are not increased by the first rains, because the thirsting earth draws them whole into itself.

quomodo ergo imber suggerere potest amnibus uires, qui summam humum tinguit? Pars maior eius per fluminum alueos in mare aufertur; exiguum est quod sorbeat terra, nec id seruat: aut enim arida est et absumit in se quicquid infusum est, aut satiata, si quid supra desiderium cecidit, excludit, et ideo primis imbribus non augentur amnes, quia totos in se terra sitiens trahit.

What of the fact that certain rivers burst forth from rocks and mountains? What will rains confer on these, which are carried down over bare crags and have no earth to settle on? Add that in the driest places wells driven deep, beyond a space of two or three hundred feet, find rich veins of waters at that depth into which rain does not penetrate, that you may know there is there no celestial nor collected moisture, but, as it is wont to be called, living water.

Quid, quod quaedam flumina erumpunt saxis et montibus? His quid conferent pluuiae, quae per nudas rupes deferuntur nec habent terram, cui insidant? Adice quod siccissimis locis putei in altum acti ultra ducentorum aut trecentorum pedum spatium inueniunt aquarum uberes uenas in ea altitudine, in quam aqua non penetrat, ut scias illic non caelestem esse nec collecticium umorem, sed, quod dici solet, uiuam aquam.

By this argument too that opinion is refuted, that certain springs overflow on the very peak of a mountain: it appears that they are driven up there, or conceived there, since all rain-water runs down.

Illo quoque argumento haec opinio refellitur, quod quidam fontes in summo montis cacumine redundant: apparet illos sursum agi aut ibi concipi, cum omnis pluuialis aqua decurrat.

Some think that, just as on the outer part of the lands vast marshes lie and great navigable lakes, just as the seas are stretched out over a huge space, poured into valleys, so the inner parts of the lands abound in sweet waters, and that these stagnate no less widely than the ocean and its gulfs do with us — nay, the more widely, the more the earth opens into the deep. Therefore from that profound store these rivers are discharged: which why do you wonder that the earth, when they are drawn off, does not feel, when the seas do not feel them added?

Quidam existimant, quemadmodum in exteriore parte terrarum uastae paludes iacent magnique et nauigabiles lacus, quemadmodum ingenti spatio maria porrecta sunt infusa uallibus, sic interiora terrarum abundare aquis dulcibus nec minus illas late stagnare quam apud nos oceanum et sinus eius, immo eo latius, quo plus terra in altum patet. Ergo ex illa profunda copia isti amnes egeruntur: quos quid miraris, si terra detractos non sentit, cum adiectos maria non sentiant?

To some this cause is pleasing: they say the earth has within itself hollow recesses and much breath, which necessarily grows cold, pressed by the heavy shade, then sluggish and motionless turns into water, when it has ceased to bear itself: just as above us a change of air makes rain, so below the lands a river or a brook;

Quibusdam haec placet causa: aiunt habere terram intra se recessus cauos et multum spiritus, qui necessario frigescit umbra graui pressus, deinde piger et immotus in aquam, cum se desiit ferre, conuertitur: quemadmodum supra nos mutatio aeris imbrem facit, ita infra terras flumen aut riuum;

above us it cannot stand sluggish long and heavy — for sometimes it is thinned by the sun, sometimes spread out by the winds, and so the intervals between rains are great — but under the earth, whatever it is that turns it into water is always the same: perpetual shade, eternal cold, an unexercised density; always, then, it will furnish causes to a spring or a river.

supra nos non potest stare segnis diu et grauis (aliquando enim sole tenuatur, aliquando uentis expanditur, itaque interualla magna imbribus sunt), sub terra uero quicquid est, quod illum in aquam conuertat, idem semper est, umbra perpetua, frigus aeternum, inexercitata densitas; semper ergo praebebit fonti aut flumini causas.

It pleases us that the earth is changeable. This too, whatever it has breathed out, because it is not conceived in free air, thickens at once and turns into moisture: you have the first cause of waters born under the earth.

Placet nobis terram esse mutabilem. Haec quoque quicquid efflauit, quia non libero aere concipitur, crassescit protinus et in umorem conuertitur: habes primam aquarum sub terra nascentium causam.

You may add also that all things come to be from all: from water air, from air water, fire from air, from fire air: why then should water not come to be from earth? Which, if it is changeable into other things, is so into water too — nay, most of all into this: for each is a kindred thing, each heavy, each dense, each driven to the extremity of the world. From water earth comes to be: why should not water come to be from earth?

Adicias etiam licet quod fiunt omnia ex omnibus, ex aqua aer, ex aere aqua, ignis ex aere, ex igne aer: quare ergo non ex terra fiat aqua? quae si in alia mutabilis, est etiam in aquam, immo maxime in hanc: utraque enim cognata res est, utraque grauis, utraque densa, utraque in extremum mundi compulsa. Ex aqua terra fit: cur non aqua fiat e terra?

But the rivers are great. When you have seen how great they are, look again from how great a source they come forth. You wonder, since they glide unceasingly, and some indeed are snatched along in haste, that fresh water is always at hand for them: what if you should wonder that, although the winds drive all the air, the breath does not fail but flows equally through days and nights, nor, like rivers, is carried in a fixed channel but goes through the vast space of the heaven with a broad impetus? What if you should wonder that any wave remains over, to come after so many broken billows?

At magna flumina sunt. Cum uideris quanta sint, rursus ex quanto prodeant adspice. Miraris, cum labantur assidue, quaedam uero concitata rapiantur, quod praesto sit illis aqua semper noua: quid, si mireris, quod, cum uenti totum aera impellant, non deficit spiritus sed per dies noctesque aequaliter fluit, nec (ut flumina) certo alueo fertur sed per uastum caeli spatium lato impetu uadit? Quid, si ullam undam superesse mireris, quae superueniat tot fluctibus fractis?

Nothing fails that returns into itself: of all the elements there are alternate recurrences; whatever perishes from one passes into another, and nature weighs her parts as if set on a balance, lest, the equity of the portions disturbed, the world be overbalanced.

Nihil deficit quod in se redit: omnium elementorum alterni recursus sunt; quicquid alteri perit, in alterum transit, et natura partes suas uelut in ponderibus constitutas examinat, ne portionum aequitate turbata mundus praeponderet.

All things are in all: not only does air pass into fire, but it is never without fire — take heat from it: it will stiffen, stand still, be hardened — air passes into moisture, but nonetheless is not without moisture; and earth makes both air and water, but is never any more without water than without air. And therefore the mutual passage is the easier, because those things into which the passage must be made are already mixed in.

Omnia in omnibus sunt: non tantum aer in ignem transit sed numquam sine igne est (detrahe illi calorem: rigescet, stabit, durabitur); transit aer in umorem sed nihilominus non sine umore est; et aera et aquam facit terra sed non magis umquam sine aqua est quam sine aere. Et ideo facilior est inuicem transitus, quia illis, in quae transeundum est, iam mixta sunt.

So the earth has moisture, this it presses out; it has air, this the shade of winter cold thickens, to make moisture; it itself too is changeable into moisture: it uses its own nature.

Habet ergo terra umorem, hunc exprimit; habet aera, hunc umbra hiberni frigoris densat, ut faciat umorem; ipsa quoque mutabilis est in umorem: natura sua utitur.

"What then," he says, "if the causes by which rivers and springs arise are perpetual, why are they sometimes dried up, sometimes go out in places where they were not?" Often by the movement of the lands the paths are disturbed, and a collapse cuts across the course for the waters, which, held back, seek new exits, and somewhere make an impetus, or by the very shaking of the earth are carried from one place to another.

Quid ergo?, inquit, si perpetuae sunt causae, quibus flumina oriuntur ac fontes, quare aliquando siccantur, aliquando quibus non fuerunt locis exeunt? Saepe motu terrarum itinera turbantur et ruina interscindit cursum aquis, quae retentae nouos exitus quaerunt et aliquo impetum faciunt aut ipsius quassatione terrae aliunde alio transferuntur.

With us it is wont to happen that, their channel lost, rivers first flow back, then, because they have lost their way, make one. This Theophrastus says happened on Mount Corycus, on which, after an earthquake, a new force of springs emerged.

Apud nos solet euenire, ut amisso canali suo flumina primum refundantur, deinde quia perdiderunt uiam faciant. Hoc ait accidisse Theophrastus in Coryco monte, in quo post terrarum tremorem noua uis fontium emersit.

As he thinks other causes too intervene, which call out waters otherwise, or cast them down from their course and turn them away: Haemus was once poor in waters, but when the nation of the Gauls, besieged by Cassander, had betaken itself there and felled its woods, a huge abundance of waters appeared, which evidently the groves had been drawing for their own nourishment; these overthrown, the moisture, which ceased to be consumed in the trees, was poured out over the land.

Sicut alias quoque causas interuenire opinatur, quae aliter euocent aquas aut cursu suo deiciant et auertant; fuit aliquando aquarum inops Haemus, sed cum Gallorum gens a Cassandro obsessa in illum se contulisset et suas cecidisset, ingens aquarum copia apparuit, quas uidelicet in alimentum suum nemora ducebant; quibus euersis umor, qui desiit in arbusta consumi, superfusus est.

The same he says happened around Magnesia. But, with Theophrastus’s leave, let it be permitted to say: this is not like the truth, because generally the most watery places are whatever are most shady; which would not happen, if the trees dried up the waters, whose nourishment is from close by — whereas the force of rivers flows from the inmost and is conceived beyond where roots may wander. Then, trees cut down require more moisture: for they draw not only that by which they live, but that by which they grow.

Idem ait et circa Magnesiam accidisse. Sed pace Theophrasti dixisse liceat: non est hoc simile ueri, quia fere aquosissima sunt quaecumque umbrosissima; quod non eueniret, si aquas arbusta siccarent, quibus alimentum ex proximo est (fluminum uero uis ex intimo manat ultraque concipitur quam radicibus euagari licet). Deinde succisae arbores plus umoris desiderant: non enim tantum id, quo uiuant, sed quo crescant trahunt.

The same he says, around Arcadia — a city that was on the island of Crete — that springs and brooks stopped, because the earth ceased to be tilled when the city was destroyed, but afterward, when it received tillers, it received the waters too. He puts this as the cause of the drought, that the earth hardened, constricted, and could not, unstirred, transmit the rains. How then do we see very many springs in the most deserted places?

Idem ait circa Arcadiam, quae urbs in Creta insula fuit, fontes et riuos substitisse, quia desierit coli terra diruta urbe, postea uero quam cultores receperit, aquas quoque recepisse. Causam siccitatis hanc ponit, quod obduruerit constricta tellus nec potuerit imbres inagitata transmittere. Quomodo ergo plurimos uidemus in locis desertissimis fontes?

In short, we find more places that began to be tilled on account of waters than that began to have waters because they were tilled. For that this water is not rain-water — which carries down from its very spring vast rivers fit at once for great ships — you may understand from this, that through winter and summer the fall from its head is equal. Rain can make a torrent, not a river gliding with an even tenor between its banks, which the rains do not make but only quicken.

Plura denique inuenimus, quae propter aquas coli coeperunt quam quae aquas habere coeperint, quia colebantur. Non esse enim pluuialem hanc, quae uastissima flumina a fonte statim magnis apta nauigiis defert, ex hoc intellegas licet, quod per hiemem aestatemque par est a capite deiectus. Pluuia potest facere torrentem, non potest amnem aequali inter ripas suas tenore labentem, quem non faciunt imbres sed incitant.

Let us take this up a little deeper, if you please, and you will know that you have nothing left to ask once you have come to the true origin of rivers. A river, of course, is made by an abundance and a perennial flow of water. So you ask me how water comes to be: I will ask you in turn how air comes to be, or earth.

Paulo repetamus hoc altius, si uidetur, et scies te non habere quod quaeras, cum ad ueram amnium originem accesseris. Flumen nempe facit copia cursusque aquae perennis. Ergo quaeris a me quomodo aqua fiat: interrogabo inuicem quomodo aer fiat aut terra.

But if there are four elements in the nature of things, you cannot ask where water comes from: it is a fourth part of nature. Why then do you wonder that so great a portion of nature can pour something out of itself forever?

Sed si in rerum natura elementa sunt quattuor, non potes interrogare unde aqua sit: quarta enim pars naturae est. Quid ergo miraris, si rerum naturae tam magna portio potest aliquid ex se semper effundere?

As air, itself a fourth part of the world, stirs winds and breezes, so water stirs brooks and rivers: if wind is flowing air, a river too is flowing water. I have granted it strength enough and to spare when I said, "it is an element": you understand that what proceeds from it cannot fail.

Quomodo aer, et ipse quarta pars mundi, uentos et auras mouet, sic aqua riuos et flumina: si uentus est fluens aer, et flumen est fluens aqua. Satis et multum illi uirium dedi, cum dixi: "elementum est": intellegis quod ab illo proficiscitur non posse deficere.

I will add, as Thales says, "it is the strongest element." He holds that this was first, that out of it all things arose. But we too are either of the same opinion or in its neighborhood: for we say that there is a fire which seizes the world and turns all things into itself; that this fire, fading and growing faint, settles down, and that, the fire once quenched, nothing else is left in the nature of things but moisture, and that in this lies the hope of the world to come:

Adiciam, ut Thales ait, "ualentissimum elementum est." Hoc fuisse primum putat, ex hoc surrexisse omnia. Sed nos quoque aut in eadem sententia aut in uicinia eius sumus: dicimus enim ignem esse qui occupet mundum et in se cuncta conuertat, hunc euanidum languentemque considere et nihil relinqui aliud in rerum natura igne restincto quam umorem, in hoc futuri mundi spem latere:

so fire is the world’s end, moisture its beginning. Do you wonder that rivers can come forth from this forever — from that which stood in the place of all things and out of which all things are? This moisture, in the apportioning of things, was reduced to a fourth, and so placed that it could suffice for bringing forth rivers, brooks, and springs.

ita ignis exitus mundi est, umor primordium. Miraris ex hoc posse amnes semper exire, qui pro omnibus fuit et ex quo sunt omnia? Hic umor in diductione rerum ad quartas redactus est, sic positus, ut sufficere fluminibus edendis, ut riuis, ut fontibus posset.

The opinion of Thales that follows is foolish. For he says that the globe of the earth is upheld by water and carried like a ship, and that by its mobility it tosses at the time when the earth is said to tremble: it is no wonder, then, if moisture is abundant for pouring forth rivers, since the whole world sits in moisture.

Quae sequitur Thaletis inepta sententia est. Ait enim terrarum orbem aqua sustineri et uehi more nauigii mobilitateque eius fluctuare tunc, cum dicitur tremere: non est ergo mirum, si abundat umor ad flumina profundenda, cum mundus in umore sit totus.

Hiss this old, crude opinion off the stage: there is no reason to believe that water creeps into this globe through cracks and forms a bilge. The Egyptians made four elements, then out of each a pair: they judge air to be male where it is wind, female where it is misty and inert; they call the water of the sea male, all other water female; they call fire masculine where the flame burns, and feminine where it shines harmless to the touch; the stronger earth they call male — rocks and crags — and they assign the name of female to this tractable, cultivated earth.

Hanc ueterem et rudem sententiam explode: nec est quod credas in hunc orbem aquam subire per rimas et facere sentinam. Aegyptii quattuor elementa fecerunt, deinde ex singulis bina paria: aera marem iudicant qua uentus est, feminam qua nebulosus et iners; aquam uirilem uocant mare, muliebrem omnem aliam; ignem uocant masculum, qua ardet flamma, et feminam, qua lucet innoxius tactu; terram fortiorem marem uocant, saxa cautesque, feminae nomen assignant huic tractabili et cultae.

The sea is one, so constituted from the beginning, of course; it has its own veins, by which it is filled and swells. As with the sea, so with this gentler water there is a vast force hidden away, which the course of no river will drain. The reckoning of its strength is concealed: only so much is sent out from it as can flow forever.

Mare unum est, ab initio scilicet ita constitutum; habet suas uenas, quibus impletur atque aestuat. Quomodo maris sic et huius aquae mitioris uasta in occulto uis est, quam nullius fluminis cursus exhauriet. Abdita est uirium ratio: tantum ex illa, quantum semper fluere ‹pos›sit, emittitur.

Some of these are points to which we can assent. But I hold this further: it pleases me that the earth is governed by nature, and indeed on the model of our own bodies, in which there are both veins and arteries, the one the receptacles of blood, the other of breath. In the earth too there are some channels through which water runs, others through which breath runs; and nature shaped them so closely to the likeness of human bodies that our forefathers too called them the veins of waters.

Quaedam ex istis sunt, quibus assentire possumus. Sed hoc amplius censeo: placet natura regi terram et quidem ad nostrorum corporum exemplar, in quibus et uenae sunt et arteriae, illae sanguinis, hae spiritus receptacula. In terra quoque sunt alia itinera per quae aqua, alia per quae spiritus currit; adeoque ad similitudinem illa humanorum corporum natura formauit, ut maiores quoque nostri aquarum appellauerint uenas.

But just as in us there is not only blood but many kinds of fluid — some necessary, some corrupt and a little thicker (in the head the brain, in the bones the marrow, mucus and spittle and tears and a certain something added to the joints, by which they may bend more readily because it is slippery) — so in the earth too there are several kinds of fluid: some that harden in due time,

Sed quemadmodum in nobis non tantum sanguis est sed multa genera umoris, alia necessarii, alia corrupti ac paulo pinguioris (in capite cerebrum, in ossibus medullae, muci saliuaeque et lacrimae et quiddam additum articulis, per quod citius flectantur ex lubrico), sic in terra quoque sunt umoris genera complura, quaedam quae mature durantur,

(hence comes all the yield of metals, from which avarice seeks gold and silver), and some that turn from liquid into stone; while in others earth and moisture rot together, like bitumen and the rest of its kind. This is the cause of waters that are born according to the law and the will of nature.

(hinc est omnis metallorum fructus, ex quibus petit aurum argentumque auaritia), et quae in lapidem ex liquore uertuntur; in quaedam uero terra umorque putrescunt, sicut bitumen et cetera huic similia. Haec est causa aquarum secundum legem naturae uoluntatemque nascentium.

But, as in our bodies, so in the earth the fluids often take on faults: a blow, or some shaking, or the aging of a place, or cold, or heat has corrupted their nature; and a charge of sulphur has drawn off the moisture, which is now long-lasting, now brief.

Ceterum, ut in nostris corporibus, ita in illa saepe umores uitia concipiunt: aut ictus aut quassatio aliqua aut loci senium aut frigus aut aestus corrupere naturam; et sulphuratio contraxit umorem, qui modo diuturnus est, modo breuis.

So, as in our bodies the blood, when a vein has been struck, flows for as long as it takes for all of it to run out, or until the gash in the vein subsides and cheats the passage, or some other cause sends the blood back, so in the earth, when the veins are loosened and laid open, a brook or a river is poured forth.

Ergo ut in corporibus nostris sanguis, cum percussa uena est, tam diu manat donec omnis effluxit aut donec uenae scissura subsedit atque iter elusit, uel aliqua alia causa retro dedit sanguinem, ita in terra solutis ac patefactis uenis riuus aut flumen effunditur.

It matters how large a vein has been opened: one fails when its water is spent, one is blinded by some obstruction, one closes as if into a scar and compresses the passage it had made; and one — that force of the earth which we said is changeable — ceases to be able to turn nourishment into moisture.

Interest quanta aperta sit uena: quae modo consumpta aqua deficit, modo excaecatur aliquo impedimenta, modo coit uelut in cicatricem comprimitque quam perfecerat uiam; modo illa uis terrae, quam esse mutabilem diximus, desinit posse alimenta in umorem conuertere.

But sometimes, once drained, they are refilled — now by their own strength regathered, now by strength brought from elsewhere: for often empty spaces set beside full ones have drawn the moisture off into themselves; often the earth, if it readily decays, dissolves of itself and grows damp; the same happens beneath the earth as in the clouds, that the air thickens and, grown too heavy to remain in its own nature, breeds moisture; often a thin, scattered liquid is gathered like dew, which flows together from many places into one (the water-finders call it "sweat," because certain drops are either squeezed out by the pressure of the place or summoned forth by heat).

Aliquando autem exhausta replentur modo per se uiribus recollectis, modo aliunde translatis: saepe enim inania apposita plenis umorem in se auocauerunt; saepe terra, si facilis est in tabem, ipsa soluitur et umescit; ‹saepe› idem euenit sub terra quod in nubibus, ut spissetur ‹aer› grauiorque, quam ut manere in natura sua possit, gignat umorem; saepe colligitur roris modo tenuis et dispersus liquor, qui ex multis in unum locis confluit (sudorem aquileges uocant, quia guttae quaedam uel pressura loci eliduntur uel aestu euocantur).

This thin water scarcely suffices for a spring: and from great hollows and great reservoirs rivers fall out, sometimes released gently, if the water has merely brought itself down by its own weight, sometimes violently and with a roar, if breath mixed in has flung it out.

Haec tenuis unda uix fonti sufficit: et ex magnis caueis magnisque conceptibus excidunt amnes, nonnumquam leuiter emissi, si aqua pondere suo se tantum detulit, nonnumquam uehementer et cum sono, si illam spiritus intermixtus eiecit.

But why are certain springs full for six hours and dry for six? It is needless to name one by one the rivers that are great in certain months and narrow in certain months, and to seek a separate occasion for each, when I can render the same cause for all.

Sed quare quidam fontes senis horis pleni senisque sicci sunt? Superuacuum est nominare singula flumina, quae certis mensibus magna certis angusta sunt, et occasionem singulis quaerere, cum possim eandem causam omnibus reddere.

Just as the quartan fever comes on the hour, just as the gout answers to its time, just as the purge, if nothing has hindered it, keeps its set day, just as the birth is ready for its own month, so the waters have their intervals at which they draw back and at which they return. Some of these intervals are smaller, and therefore noticeable; some larger, and no less fixed.

Quemadmodum quartana ad horam uenit, quemadmodum ad tempus podagra respondet, quemadmodum purgatio, si nihil obstitit, statum diem seruat, quemadmodum praesto est ad mensem suum partus, sic aquae interualla habent, quibus se retrahant et quibus redeant. Quaedam autem interualla minora sunt et ideo notabilia, quaedam maiora nec minus certa.

Is there anything to wonder at here, when you see the order of things and nature proceeding by appointed steps? Winter has never strayed, summer has grown hot in its own time, the change of autumn and of spring has come about whence it is wont; the solstice no less than the equinox has brought back its own days.

Ecquid hic mirum est, cum uideas ordinem rerum et naturam per constituta procedere? Hiems numquam aberrauit, aestas suo tempore incaluit, autumni uerisque, unde solet, facta mutatio est; tam solstitium quam aequinoctium suos dies rettulit.

Beneath the earth too there are laws of nature less known to us but no less fixed: believe that below is whatever you see above. There too are vast caverns and huge recesses and spaces left open with mountains hung on this side and that; there are chasms broken off into the infinite, which have often received cities that slipped into them and buried a huge ruin in the deep

Sunt et sub terra minus nota nobis iura naturae sed non minus certa: crede infra quicquid uides supra. Sunt et illic specus uasti ingentesque recessus ac spatia suspensis hinc et inde montibus laxa; sunt abrupti in infinitum hiatus, qui saepe illapsas urbes receperunt et ingentem ruinam in alto condiderunt

(these are full of breath, for nowhere is anything empty); and pools beset by darkness, and ample lakes. Living things too are born in them, but slow and shapeless, as conceived in blind, thick air and in waters torpid with stagnation; most of these are blind, like moles and the underground mice, which lack light because it is superfluous; whence, as Theophrastus affirms, fish are dug up in certain places.

(haec spiritu plena sunt, nihil enim usquam inane est); et stagna obsessa tenebris et lacus ampli. Animalia quoque illis innascuntur, sed tarda et informia ut in aere caeco pinguique concepta et aquis torpentibus situ; pleraque ex his caeca ut talpae et subterranei mures, quibus deest lumen, quia superuacuum est; inde, ut Theophrastus affirmat, pisces quibusdam locis eruuntur.

Many things come into your mind here, with which you might wittily call the affair an incredible tall tale: "that a man goes fishing not with nets, not with hooks, but with a mattock! I am only waiting for someone to go hunting in the sea." But what reason is there why fish should not cross over onto land, if we cross the seas? We shall exchange dwellings!

Multa hoc loco tibi in mentem ueniunt quibus urbane in re incredibili fabulae dicas, "non cum retibus aliquem nec cum hamis sed cum dolabra ire piscatum! Expecto ut aliquis in mari uenetur." Quid est autem quare non pisces in terram transeant, si nos maria transimus? Permutabimus sedes!

You marvel that this happens: how much more incredible are the works of extravagance, as often as it counterfeits nature or outdoes her? Fish swim in the bedroom, and one is caught beneath the very table to be transferred at once onto the table: a mullet seems not fresh enough unless it dies in a diner’s hand; they are brought in shut up in jars of glass, and the color of the dying is watched, which death, as the breath struggles, turns through many changes; others they kill in fish-sauce and pickle alive.

Hoc miraris accidere: quanto incredibiliora sunt opera luxuriae, quotiens naturam aut mentitur aut uincit? In cubili natant pisces, et sub ipsa mensa capitur qui statim transferatur in mensam: parum uidetur recens mullus, nisi qui in conuiuae manu moritur; uitreis ollis inclusi afferuntur et obseruatur morientium color, quem in multas mutationes mors luctante spiritu uertit; alios necant in garo et condiunt uiuos.

These are the men who think it a fable that a fish can live beneath the earth and be dug up, not caught! How incredible it would seem to them, if they heard that a fish swims in fish-sauce and is killed not for the sake of dinner but at dinner, once it has long served as a delicacy and has fed the eyes before the gullet?

Hi sunt qui fabulas putant piscem uiuere posse sub terra et effodi, non capi! Quam incredibile illis uideretur, si audirent natare in garo piscem nec cenae causa occidi sed super cenam, cum multum in deliciis fuit et oculos ante quam gulam pauit?

Allow me, setting the inquiry aside, to chastise extravagance. "Nothing," you say, "is lovelier to them than a mullet as it expires: by the very struggle of the failing life a flush first, then a pallor spreads beneath, and the scales take on changing hues, and between life and death the color wanders into uncertain shapes." The languor of a drowsy and idle extravagance, though it woke late, felt that it was being shut out and cheated of so great a good: this so beautiful spectacle, until now, only the fishermen enjoyed.

Permitte mihi quaestione seposita castigare luxuriam. Nihil est, inquis, mullo expirante illis formosius: ipsa colluctatione animae deficientis rubor primum, deinde pallor subfunditur, squamaeque uariantur et ‹in› incertas facies inter uitam ac mortem coloris est uagatio. Languor somniculosae inertisque luxuriae quam‹quam› sero experrectus circumscribi se et fraudari tanto bono sensit: hoc adhuc tam pulchro spectaculo piscatores fruebantur.

"What good is a cooked fish? what good a dead one? Let it expire on the very serving-dish." We used to wonder that there was in them so much fastidiousness that they would not touch one unless caught the same day, one that, as they say, tasted of the sea itself: for that reason it was rushed in at a run, for that reason the way was cleared for the bearers hurrying with panting and shouting.

" Quo coctum piscem? quo exanimem? In ipso ferculo expiret." Mirabamur tantum illis inesse fastidium, ut nollent attingere nisi eodem die captum, qui, ut aiunt, saperet ipsum mare: ideo cursu aduehebatur, ideo gerulis cum anhelitu et clamore properantibus dabatur uia.

To what point have these refinements come? Now a fish that has been killed counts with them as rotten. "It was taken out today." — "I cannot take your word in so weighty a matter: I must trust myself; let it be brought here, let it give up the ghost before me." To this haughtiness the bellies of the dainty have come, that they cannot taste a fish unless they have seen it in the very banquet, swimming and quivering: so much is added to the ingenuity of a perishing extravagance, and each day, despising the customary, its frenzy contrives some new thing more subtly and more elegantly!

Quo peruenere deliciae? Iam pro putrido his est piscis occisus. "Hodie eductus est." - "Nescio de re magna tibi credere: ipsi oportet me credere; huc afferatur, coram me animam agat." Ad hunc fastum peruenit uenter delicatorum, ut gustare non possint, nisi quem in ipso conuiuio natantem palpitantemque uiderunt: tantum ad sollertiam luxuriae pereuntis accedit, tantoque subtilius cotidie et elegantius aliquid excogitat furor usitata contemnens!

We used to hear this: "Nothing is better than a rock-mullet"; but now we hear: "Nothing is lovelier than a dying one; put into my hands the glass in which it may leap and tremble." When it has been praised much and long, it is drawn out from that transparent fishpond.

Illa audiebamus: "Nihil est melius saxatili mullo," at nunc audimus: "Nihil est moriente formosius; da mihi in manus uitreum, in quo exsultet et trepidet." Ubi multum diuque laudatus est, ex illo perlucido uiuario extrahitur.

Then, the more expert each man is, the more he points it out: "See how the flush has blazed up, sharper than any vermilion! see what veins it drives along its flanks! look, you would think the belly bloody! how bright and blue a something flashed out at the very last moment! now it stretches out and pales and composes itself into a single color."

Tunc, ut quisque peritior est, monstrat: "Uide quomodo exarserit rubor omni acrior minio! uide quas per latera uenas agat! ecce sanguineum putes uentrem! quam lucidum quiddam caeruleumque sub ipso tempore effulsit! iam porrigitur et pallet et in unum colorem componitur."

Of these men, no one sits beside a dying friend, no one can bear to watch the death of his own father, though he longed for it. How few follow a death in the household to the pyre? The last hour of brothers and kinsmen is deserted; to the death of a mullet they come running: "for nothing is lovelier than that."

Ex his nemo morienti amico assidet, nemo uidere mortem patris sui sustinet, quam optauit. Quotusquisque funus domesticum ad rogum prosequitur? Fratrum propinquorumque extrema hora deseritur; ad mortem mulli concurritur: "Nihil est enim illa formosius."

I do not restrain myself from using words recklessly now and then and exceeding the bounds of precision: they are not content to feast with teeth and belly and mouth: they are gluttons with their eyes as well.

Non tempero mihi quin utar interdum temerarie uerbis et proprietatis modum excedam: non sunt ad popinam dentibus et uentre et ore contenti: oculis quoque gulosi sunt.

But to return to my subject, take this proof, that a great force of waters lies hidden underground, fertile in fish foul with stagnation: whenever it has burst out, it brings with it an immense throng of creatures, horrid to look at and ugly and harmful to taste.

Sed ut ad propositum reuertar, accipe argumentum, magnam uira aquarum in subterraneis occuli fertilem foedorum situ piscium: si quando erupit, effert secum immensam animalium turbam, horridam aspici et turpem ac noxiam gustu.

Certainly, when in Caria, around the city of Idymus, such a flood had leapt forth, all those perished who had eaten the fish which a new river displayed to a sky unknown to them before that day. Nor is that strange: for their bodies were fat and stuffed, as from long idleness, and besides unexercised, fattened in darkness, and deprived of the light from which health is drawn.

Certe cum in Caria circa Idymum urbem talis exiluisset unda, perierunt quicumque illos ederant pisces, quos ignoto ante eam diem caelo nouus amnis ostendit. Nec id mirum: erant enim pinguia et differta ut ex longo otio corpora, ceterum inexercitata et tenebris saginata et lucis expertia, ex qua salubritas ducitur.

That fish can be born in that depth of the earth, let this be a sign: that eels are born in hidden places, themselves too a heavy food because of their sluggishness, especially if a depth of mud buries them deep away.

Nasci autem posse pisces in illo terrarum profundo sit indicium, quod anguillae latebrosis locis nascuntur, grauis et ipsae cibus ob ignauiam, utique si altitudo illas luti penitus abscondit.

The earth, then, has not only veins of water, from which, channeled together, rivers can be formed, but rivers of vast magnitude, of which some have their course always hidden, until they are swallowed in some fold of the earth, while others emerge beneath some lake. For who does not know that there are certain pools without a bottom? To what does this tend? That it may be plain that this water is an eternal stuff for great rivers, whose furthest reaches are not touched, as the springs of rivers are.

Habet ergo non tantum uenas aquarum terra, ex quibus conriuatis flumina effici possint, sed amnes magnitudinis uastae, quorum aliis semper in occulto cursus est, donec aliquo sinu terrae deuorentur, alii sub aliquo lacu emergunt. Nam quis ignorat esse quaedam stagna sine fundo? Quorsus hoc pertinet? ut appareat hanc aquam magnis amnibus aeternam esse materiam, cuius non tanguntur extrema sicut fluminum fontes.

But why is the taste of waters various? For four causes: the first is from the soil through which it is carried; the second from the same, if it is born from a change in it; the third from the breath that has been transfigured into water; the fourth from the fault which they often take on, corrupted through some injury.

At quare aquis sapor uarius? Propter quattuor causas: ex solo prima est, per quod fertur; secunda ex eodem, si mutatione eius nascitur; tertia ex spiritu, qui in aquam transfiguratus est; quarta ex uitio, quod saepe concipiunt corruptae per iniuriam.

These causes give water its various taste, these a medicinal potency, these a heavy breath and a pestilent smell, these lightness and heaviness, these either heat or excessive cold. It matters whether they have passed through places full of sulphur or of soda or of bitumen; corrupted in this way, they are drunk at the peril of life.

Hae causae saporem dant aquis uarium, hae medicatam potentiam, hae grauera spiritum odoremque pestiferum, hae leuitatem grauitatemque, ‹hae› aut calorem aut nimium rigorem. Interest utrum loca sulphure an nitro an bitumine plena transierint; hac ratione corruptae cum uitae periculo bibuntur.

Hence that of which Ovid says, The Cicones have a river which, when drunk, turns the inwards to stone, which lays marble over the things it touches; it is medicinal and has a slime of such a nature that it glues bodies together and hardens them. Just as Puteolan dust, if it has touched water, becomes stone, so on the contrary this water, if it has touched something solid, clings and is fixed to it.

Illinc illud, de quo Ouidius ait "flumen habent Cicones, quod potum saxea reddit uiscera, quod tactis inducit marmora rebus;" medicatum est et eius naturae habet limum, ut corpora adglutinet et obduret. Quemadmodum Puteolanus puluis, si aquam attigit, saxum est, sic e contrario haec aqua, si solidum tetigit, haeret et affigitur.

Hence it is that things thrown into Lake Velinus are afterward drawn out turned to stone; which happens in certain places in Italy: whether you sink a twig or a leaf, after a few days you draw out a stone; for slime is poured around the body and smeared on little by little. This will seem less strange to you if you have noticed that the Albulae and sulphurous water generally harden around their channels and brooks.

Inde est quod res abiectae in Uelinum lacum lapideae subinde extrahuntur; quod in Italia quibusdam locis euenit: siue uirgam siue frondem demerseris, lapidem post paucos dies extrahis; circumfunditur enim corpori limus adliniturque paulatim. Hoc minus tibi uidebitur mirum, si notaueris Albulas et fere sulphuratam aquam circa canales suos riuosque durari.

Those lakes have another nature, "which whoever has drained with his throat," as the same poet says, either rages or suffers a sleep wondrous in its heaviness; they have a force like that of unmixed wine, but more violent (for just as drunkenness, until it is dried out, is madness and by excessive heaviness is carried off into sleep, so the sulphurous force of this water, having a certain sharper poison from the noxious air, either drives the mind into frenzy or overwhelms it with sleep).

Aliam naturam habent [causam] illi lacus, "quos quisquis faucibus hausit", ut idem poeta ait, "aut furit aut patitur mirum grauitate soporem;" similem habent uim mero, sed uehementiorem (nam quemadmodum ebrietas, donec exsiccetur, dementia est et nimia grauitate defertur in somnum, sic huius aquae sulphurea uis habens quoddam acrius ex aere noxio uirus mentem aut furore mouet aut sopore opprimit).

This evil the Lyncestian river has: which whoever has drawn with too unguarded a throat staggers no otherwise than if he had drunk unmixed wine.

Hoc habet mali "Lynceius amnis, quem quicumque parum moderato gutture traxit, haut aliter titubat, quam si mera uina bibisset."

Those who have looked down into certain caves die; the evil is so swift that it brings down birds flying across: such is the air, such the place, from which the deadly water trickles. But if the plague of the air and the place was milder, the harm too, more tempered, does nothing more than test the sinews, as though numb with drunkenness.

In quosdam specus qui despexere, moriuntur; tam uelox malum est, ut transuolantes aues deiciat: talis est aer, talis locus, ex quo letalis aqua destillat. Quod si remissior fuit aeris et loci pestis, ipsa quoque temperatior noxa nihil amplius quam temptat neruos uelut ebrietate torpentes.

Nor do I wonder if the place and the air infect waters and make them like the regions through and from which they come: the taste of the fodder shows in the milk, and the strength of the wine survives in the vinegar. There is nothing that does not render the marks of that in which it is born.

Nec miror, si locus atque aer aquas inficit similesque regionibus reddit, per quas et ex quibus ueniunt: pabuli sapor apparet in lacte, et uini uis existit in aceto. Nulla res est, quae non eius, quo nascitur, notas reddat.

There is another kind of water, which we hold to have begun with the world: whether it is eternal, this too has always been; whether it has some beginning, this too was set in order with the whole. You ask what this is? The Ocean, and whatever sea, drawn from it, washes between the lands. Some judge that rivers too, whose nature is beyond telling, drew their beginnings together with the world itself — such as the Hister, such as the Nile, rivers so vast and so remarkable that it cannot be said they have the same origin as the rest.

Aliud est aquarum genus, quod nobis placet coepisse cum mundo: siue ille aeternus est, haec quoque fuit semper, siue initium aliquod est illi, haec quoque cum toto disposita est. Quae sit haec quaeris? Oceanus et quodcumque ex illo mare terras interluit. Iudicant quidam flumina quoque, quorum inenarrabilis natura est, cum ipso mundo traxisse principia, ut Histrum, ut Nilum, uastos amnes magisque insignes, quam ut dici possit eandem illis originem quam ceteris esse.

This, then, is the division of waters, as it seems to some: the heavenly leap forth from above, which the clouds shake out; of the earthly, some are, so to speak, surface-floating, which creep on the top of the ground, others hidden, the account of which has been rendered.

Haec est ergo aquarum diuisio, ut quibusdam uidetur: prosiliunt ex superioribus caelestes, quas nubila excutiunt; ex terrenis aliae sunt ut ita dicam supernatantes, quae in summa humo repunt, aliae abditae, quarum reddita est ratio.

Why some waters are warm, some even boil so much that they cannot be of use unless they have either evaporated in the open or grown tepid by mixture with cold, several causes are rendered. Empedocles holds that water grows warm from fires which the earth covers, hidden in many places, if they lie beneath that soil through which there is a passage for the waters.

Quare quaedam aquae caleant, quaedam etiam ferueant in tantum, ut non possint esse usui, nisi aut in aperto euanuerunt aut mixtura frigidae intepuerunt, plures causae redduntur. Empedocles existimat ignibus, quos multis locis terra opertos tegit, aquam calescere, si subiecti sunt ei solo, per quod aquis transcursus est.

We are accustomed to make "serpents" and water-heaters and several shapes, in which we build pipes of thin bronze coiled around on a slope, so that the water, circling the same fire many times, may flow through as much space as is enough to produce heat: so it enters cold and flows out hot.

Facere solemus dracones et miliaria et complures formas, in quibus aere tenui fistulas struimus per decliue circumdatas, ut saepe eundem ignem ambiens aqua per tantum fluat spatii, quantum efficiendo calori sat est: frigida itaque intrat, effluit calida.

The same, Empedocles holds, happens beneath the earth; that he is not mistaken, believe the people of Baiae, whose bathrooms are heated without fire: a breath, boiling in that scorching place, is poured into them; this, gliding through the pipes, warms the walls and vessels of the bath no otherwise than if fire were set beneath; in short, all the cold water is changed in the passage into hot, and does not draw a taste from the steam-room, because it glides past shut off.

Idem sub terra Empedocles existimat fieri, quem non falli crede Baianis, quibus balnearia sine igne calefiunt: spiritus in illa feruens loco aestuante infunditur; hic per tubos lapsus non aliter quam igne subdito parietes et uasa balnei calefacit, omnis denique frigida transitu mutatur in calidam nec trahit saporem e uaporario, quia clausa praelabitur.

Some hold that waters going through places full of sulphur or soda draw their heat by the benefit of the material through which they flow: which they attest by their very smell and taste; for they render the quality of the material by which they were warmed. That you may not wonder this happens, pour water on quicklime: it will boil.

Quidam existimant per loca sulphure plena uel nitro euntes aquas calorem beneficio materiae, per quam fluunt, trahere: quod ipso odore gustuque testantur; reddunt enim qualitatem eius, qua caluere, materiae. Quod ne accidere mireris, uiuae calci aquam infunde: feruebit.

Some waters are deadly, marked neither by smell nor by taste. Around Nonacris in Arcadia, the one called the Styx by the inhabitants deceives strangers, because it is suspect neither in look nor in smell: such are the poisons of great craftsmen, which cannot be detected except by death. This water, however, of which I spoke a little before, corrupts with the utmost speed, and there is no room for a remedy, because, once drunk, it at once hardens, and no otherwise than gypsum it sets beneath moisture and binds fast the inwards.

Quaedam aquae mortiferae sunt nec odore notabiles nec sapore. Circa Nonacrin in Arcadia Styx appellata ab incolis aduenas fallit, quia non facie, non odore suspecta est: qualia sunt magnorum artificum uenena, quae deprehendi nisi morte non possunt. Haec autem, de qua paulo ante rettuli, aqua summa celeritate corrumpit, nec remedio locus est, quia protinus hausta duratur, nec aliter quam gypsum sub umore constringtur et alligat uiscera.

There is an equally harmful water in Thessaly around Tempe, which both wild beast and all cattle avoid; it eats its way out through iron and bronze, so great is its force of biting even hard things; it nourishes no shrubs at all and kills the grasses.

Est aeque a noxia aqua in Thessalia circa Tempe, quam et fera et pecus omne deuitat; per ferrum et aes exit, tanta uis illi est etiam dura mordendi; nec arbusta quidem ulla alit et herbas necat.

Certain rivers have a wondrous force: for there are some which, when drunk, dye flocks of sheep, and within a fixed time those that were black bear white wool, and those that had come white go off black. Two rivers in Boeotia do this, one of which has the name Melas from its effect: both come out of the same lake to do opposite things.

Quibusdam fluminibus uis inest mira: alia enim sunt, quae pota inficiunt greges ouium intraque certum tempus, quae fuere nigra, albam ferunt lanam, quae albae uenerant, nigrae abeunt. Hoc in Boeotia amnes duo efficiunt, quorum alteri ab effectu Melas nomen est: uterque ex eodem lacu exeunt diuersa facturi.

In Macedonia too, as Theophrastus says, those who wish to make sheep white lead them to the Haliacmon, and when they have drunk of it for a longer time, they are changed no otherwise than if dyed; but if they need dark wool, a free dyer is at hand: they drive the same flock to the Peneus. I have good authorities that there is a river in Galatia that does the same in both ways, and that there is one in Cappadocia by which, when drunk, the color of horses and of no other animal besides is changed, and the skin is sprinkled with white.

In Macedonia quoque, ut ait Theophrastus, qui facere albas oues uolunt, ‹ad Haliacmonem› adducunt, quem ut diutius potauere, non aliter quam infectae mutantur; at si illis lana opus fuit pulla, paratus gratuitus infector est: ad Peneion eundem gregem appellunt. Auctores bonos habeo esse in Galatia flumen, quod idem in omnibus efficiat, esse in Cappadocia quo poto equis nec ulli praeterea animali color mutetur et spargatur albo cutis.

That there are certain lakes which bear up those unskilled in swimming is well known: there was one in Sicily, there is still in Syria a pool in which bricks float and things thrown in cannot sink, though they are heavy. The cause of this is plain: weigh whatever thing you like and set it against water, provided the measure of each is equal: if the water is heavier, it bears a thing lighter than itself, and lifts it above itself by as much as it is lighter; heavier things will sink. But if the weight of the water and of the thing you weigh against it is equal, it will neither go to the bottom nor stand out, but will be made level with the water and will indeed float, but almost submerged and with no part projecting.

Quosdam lacus esse, qui nandi imperitos ferant, notum est: erat in Sicilia, est adhuc in Syria stagnum, in quo natant lateres et mergi proiecta non possunt, licet grauia sint. Huius rei palam causa est: quamcumque uis rem expende et contra aquam statue, dummodo utriusque par sit modus: si aqua grauior est, leuiorem rem, quam ipsa est, fert, et tanto supra se extollet quanto erit leuior; grauiora descendent. At si aquae et eius rei, quam contra pensabis, par pondus erit, nec pessum ibit nec extabit sed exaequabitur aquae et natabit quidem sed paene mersa ac nulla eminens parte.

This is why some beams are lifted almost wholly above the water, some are sunk to the middle, some descend to a balance with the water. For when the weight of each is equal, neither thing yields to the other; heavier things descend, lighter ones are carried. But heavy and light is not by our estimation, but by comparison with that by which a thing must be borne.

Hoc est cur quaedam tigna supra aquam paene tota efferantur, quaedam ad medium submissa sint, quaedam ad aequilibrium aquae descendant. Namque cum utriusque pondus par est, neutra res alteri cedit, grauiora descendunt, leuiora gestantur. Graue autem et leue est non aestimatione nostra, sed comparatione eius, quo uehi debet.

And so where the water is heavier than a man’s body or a stone, it does not allow that by which it is not outweighed to sink: so it comes about that in certain pools not even stones go to the bottom. I speak of solid and hard ones. For there are many that are pumice-like and light, and the islands in Lydia that are made of them float: Theophrastus is the authority.

Itaque ubi aqua grauior est hominis corpore aut saxo, non sinit id, quo non uincitur, mergi: sic euenit, ut in quibusdam stagnis ne lapides quidem pessum eant. De solidis et duris loquor. Sunt enim multi pumicosi et leues, ex quibus quae constant insulae in Lydia, natant: Theophrastus est auctor.

I myself saw a floating island at Cutiliae, and another is carried on the Lake of Vadimon (the lake is in the territory of Statonia). The island of Cutiliae both has trees and nourishes grasses: yet it is held up by the water and is driven this way and that not only by wind but by a breeze, and never through day or night does it have a station in one place: so much is it moved by a light puff.

Ipse ad Cutilias natantem insulam uidi, et alia in Uadimonis lacu uehitur (lacus in Statoniensi est). Cutiliarum insula et arbores habet et herbas nutrit: tamen aqua sustinetur et in hanc atque illam partem non uento tantum sed aura compellitur, nec umquam illi per diem ac noctem uno loco statio est: adeo mouetur leui flatu.

Of this there is a double cause: the heaviness of the medicinal and therefore weighty water, and the buoyant material of the island itself, which is not of a solid body, although it nourishes trees. For perhaps a fatty moisture caught and bound the light trunks and foliage scattered on the lake.

Huic duplex causa est: aquae grauitas medicatae et ob hoc ponderosae, et ipsius insulae materia uectabilis, quae non est corporis solidi, quamuis arbores alat. Fortasse enim leues truncos frondesque in lacu sparsas pinguis umor apprehendit ac uinxit.

And so even if there are any stones in it, you will find them eaten away and full of holes, of the sort that hardened moisture makes, especially around the banks and brooks of medicinal springs, where the leavings of the waters have grown together and the foam is solidified: necessarily light is that which is congealed out of what is windy and empty.

Itaque etiam si qua in illa saxa sunt, inuenies exesa et fistulosa, qualia sunt quae duratus umor eficit, utique circa medicatorum fontium ‹ripas› riuosque, ubi purgamenta aquarum coaluerunt et spuma solidatur: necessario leue est quod ex uentoso inanique concretum est.

Of certain things the cause cannot be rendered: why Nile water makes women more fertile, so much so that it has loosened for conception the inwards of some, closed by a long sterility; why certain waters in Lycia guard the conceptions of women — waters which those whose womb holds too poorly are wont to seek. As far as I am concerned, I set these among things rashly bruited about. It has been believed that certain waters bring scab to bodies, certain others the white blotch and a foul mottling of white, whether it is poured on or drunk: this fault they say water collected from dew has.

Quorundam causa non potest reddi: quare aqua Nilotica fecundiores feminas faciat, adeo ut quarundam uiscera longa sterilitate praeclusa ad conceptum relaxauerit; quare quaedam in Lycia aquae conceptum feminarum custodiant, quas solent petere, quibus parum tenax uulua est. Quod ad me attinet, pono ista inter temere uulgata. Creditum est quasdam aquas scabiem afferre corporibus, quasdam uitiliginem et foedam ex albo uarietatem, siue infusa siue pota sit: quod uitium dicunt habere aquam ex rore collectam.

Who would not believe that waters which coagulate into crystal are the heaviest? But the contrary is true: for this befalls the thinnest, which the cold, on account of that very thinness, freezes most easily. Whence a stone of this kind comes to be is plain among the Greeks from the very name: for they call by the same word, krystallos, both this transparent stone and that ice from which the stone is believed to come. For heavenly water, having the least of earth in it, once it has hardened, is thickened more and more by the persistence of a longer cold, until, all air excluded, it is wholly compressed into itself, and what had been moisture is made stone.

Quis non grauissimas esse aquas credat, quae in crystallum coeunt? Contra autem est: tenuissimis enim hoc euenit, quas frigus ob ipsam tenuitatem facillime gelat. Unde autem fiat eiusmodi lapis, apud Graecos ex ipso nomine apparet: G-krustallon enim appellant aeque hunc perlucidum lapidem quam illam glaciem, ex qua fieri lapis creditur. Aqua enim caelestis minimum in se terreni habens cum induruit, longioris frigoris pertinacia spissatur magis ac magis, donec omni aere excluso in se tota compressa est, et umor qui fuerat, lapis effectus est.

In summer certain rivers swell, like the Nile, the account of which will be rendered elsewhere. Theophrastus is the authority that in Pontus too certain rivers grow in the summer season. They judge there are four causes: either because the earth is then most changeable into moisture, or because there are greater rains in remote parts, whose water, rendered through secret channels, silently flows in below.

Aestate quaedam flumina augentur ut Nilus, cuius alias ratio reddetur. Theophrastus est auctor in Ponto quoque quosdam amnes crescere tempore aestiuo. Quattuor esse iudicant causas: aut quia tunc maxime in umorem mutabilis terra sit, aut quia maiores in remoto imbres sint, quorum aqua per secretos cuniculos reddita tacite suffunditur.

The third: if the river’s mouth is beaten by more frequent winds and the river, driven back by the wave, resists, and seems to grow because it is not poured out. The fourth is the reckoning of the stars: for these in certain months press harder and drain the rivers; when they have withdrawn farther, they consume and draw off less: so what used to go to expense now goes to increase.

Tertia, si crebrioribus uentis ostium caeditur et reuerberatus fluctu amnis resistit, qui crescere uidetur, quia non effunditur. Quarta siderum ratio est: haec enim quibusdam mensibus magis urgent et exhauriunt flumina; cum longius recesserunt, minus consumunt atque trahunt: ita quod impendio solebat, id incremento accidit.

Certain rivers openly fall down into some cave and so are carried out of sight. Certain ones are consumed little by little and break off; the same return after an interval and recover both their name and their course. The cause is manifest: beneath the earth there is empty space, and all moisture is by nature carried to the lower and to the sea. And so, received there, the rivers pursued their course in secret, but as soon as something solid came in the way to block them, the part that resisted the exit least having been burst through, they resumed their course.

Quaedam flumina palam in aliquem specum decidunt et sic ex oculis auferuntur. Quaedam consumuntur paulatim et intercidunt; eadem ex interuallo reuertuntur recipiuntque et nomen et cursum. Causa manifesta est: sub terra uacat locus, omnis autem natura umor ad inferius et ad marie defertur. Illo itaque recepta flumina cursus egere secreto, sed cum primum aliquid solidi quod obstaret occurrit, perrupta parte, quae minus ad exitum repugnauit, repetiere cursum suum.

So when the Lycus has been drunk down by an earthen chasm, it rises far from here and is born again at another mouth. So now it is drunk up, now, gliding by a silent channel, the mighty Erasinus is given back amid Argolic waters. The same the Tigris does in the East: it is swallowed up, and long missed, at last in a far-removed place — yet with no doubt that it is the same — it emerges.

"Sic ubi terreno Lycus est potatus hiatu, existit procul hinc alioque renascitur ore. Sic modo combibitur, tacito modo gurgite lapsus redditur Argolicis ingens Erasinus in undis." Idem et in Oriente Tigris facit: absorbetur et desideratus diu tandem longe remoto loco, non tamen dubius an idem sit, emergit.

Certain springs at a fixed time cast out their leavings, like Arethusa in Sicily every fifth summer, during the Olympic games. Hence comes the opinion that the Alpheus penetrates all that way from Achaia and drives its course beneath the sea and does not emerge before the Syracusan shore, and that therefore on those days when the Olympic games are held, the dung of the victims, given over to the downstream current, overflows there.

Quidam fontes certo tempore purgamenta eiectant, ut Arethusa in Sicilia quinta quaque aestate per Olympia. Inde opinio est Alpheon ex Achaia eo usque penetrare et agere sub mare cursum nec ante quam in Syracusano litore emergere, ideoque his diebus, quibus Olympia sunt, uictimarum stercus secundo traditum flumini illic redundare.

This was believed both by you, as I said in the first part, dearest Lucilius, and by Virgil, who addresses Arethusa: so may bitter Doris, when you glide beneath the Sicanian waves, not mingle her own waters with yours. There is on the Chersonese of the Rhodians a spring which, after a great interval of time, pours up turbid certain foul things from its depths, until it is freed and clarified.

Hoc et a te creditum est, ut in prima parte ‹dixi›, Lucili carissime, et a Uergilio, qui alloquitur Arethusam: "sic tibi, cum fluctus subter labere Sicanos, Doris amara suas non intermisceat undas." Est in Chersoneso Rhodiorum fons, qui post magnum interuallum temporis foeda quaedam turbidus ex intimo fundat, donec liberatus eliquatusque est.

Springs do this in certain places, so that they expel not only mud but leaves and shards and whatever has lain rotting. But everywhere the sea does it, whose nature is this, that it dashes everything filthy and dung-like onto the shores. Certain parts of the sea, however, do this at fixed times, as around Messana and Mylae the turbulent force of the sea brings forth something like dung and seethes and boils not without a foul color, whence the story is that the cattle of the Sun were stabled there.

Hoc quibusdam locis fontes faciunt, ut non tantum lutum sed folia testasque et quicquid putre iacuit expellant. Ubique autem facit mare, cui haec natura est, ut omne immundum stercorosumque litoribus impingat. Quaedam uero partes maris certis temporibus hoc faciunt, ut circa Messenen et Mylas fimo quiddam simile turbulenta uis maris profert feruetque et aestuat non sine colore foedo, unde illic stabulare Solis boues fabula est.

But the reckoning of certain things is difficult, especially where the time of the matter in question, being unobserved, is uncertain. And so the nearest, the neighboring cause cannot be found; but the general one is this: the nature of all standing and shut-in waters purges itself. For in those that have a current, faults cannot settle, which the downstream force carries off and exports; those that do not send out whatever has lodged in them seethe more or less. The sea indeed draws corpses and litter and the like remnants of the shipwrecked from its depths, and purges itself not only in storm and wave but also when calm and placid.

Sed difficilis ratio est quorundam, utique ubi tempus eius rei, de qua quaeritur, inobseruatum incertum est. Itaque proxima quidem inueniri et uicina non potest causa; ceterum publica est illa: omnis aquarum stantium clausarumque natura se purgat. Nam in his, quibus cursus est, non possunt uitia consistere, quae secunda uis defert et exportat; illae, quae non emittunt quicquid insedit, magis minusue aestuant. Mare uero cadauera stramentaque et naufragorum reliqua similia ex intimo trahit, nec tantum tempestate fluctuque sed tranquillum quoque placidumque purgatur.

But the place prompts me to ask, when the fated day of the deluge has come, how a great part of the lands will be overwhelmed by the waters: whether it happens by the forces of the Ocean and the outer sea rises up against us, or whether frequent rains without intermission, and a stubborn winter with summer crushed out, hurl down an immense force of waters from burst clouds, or whether the earth pours out rivers more lavishly and opens new springs, or whether there is not one cause for so great an evil, but every reckoning conspires, and at once the rains fall, the rivers swell, the seas, roused from their seats, run forward, and all things in one column press on toward the destruction of the human race.

Sed monet me locus, ut quaeram, cum fatalis dies diluuii uenerit, quemadmodum magna pars terrarum undis obruatur: utrum oceani uiribus fiat et externum in nos pelagus exurgat, an crebri sine intermissione imbres et elisa aestate hiems pertinax immensam uim aquarum ruptis nubibus deiciat, an flumina tellus largius fundat aperiatque fontes nouos, an non sit una tanto malo causa sed omnis ratio consentiat et simul imbres cadant, flumina increscant, maria sedibus suis excita procurrant et omnia uno agmine ad exitium humani generis incumbant.

So it is: nothing is difficult for nature, especially when she hurries to her own end. At the origin of things she uses her powers sparingly and metes herself out in increments that deceive; suddenly she comes to ruin with all her force. How long a time is needed for the conceived infant to be carried through to birth, with how great labors the tender thing is reared, with how careful a nurture the body, vulnerable to the very last, grows up! But with what no trouble it is dissolved! An age founds cities, an hour dissolves them; in a moment what was long a forest becomes ash; all things stand and flourish under great protection, and quickly and suddenly they fly apart.

Ita est: nihil difficile naturae est, utique ubi in finem sui properat. Ad originem rerum parce utitur uiribus dispensatque se incrementis fallentibus; subito ad ruinam toto impetu uenit. Quam longo tempore opus est, ut conceptus ad puerperium perduret infans, quantis laboribus tener educatur, quam diligenti nutrimento obnoxium nouissime corpus adolescit! At quam nullo negotio soluitur! Urbes constituit aetas, hora dissoluit; momento fit cinis, diu silua; magna tutela stant ac uigent omnia, cito ac repente dissiliunt.

Whatever nature has bent away from this present state of things is enough for the destruction of mortals. So when that necessity of the time is at hand, the fates set many causes in motion at once. For so great a change does not come without a shaking of the world, as some think, among whom is Fabianus.

Quicquid ex hoc statu rerum natura flexerit, in exitium mortalium satis est. Ergo cum affuerit illa necessitas temporis, multas simul fata causas mouent. Neque enim sine concussione mundi tanta mutatio est, ut quidam putant, inter quos Fabianus est.

First, immoderate rains fall, and without any sunshine the sky is gloomy with cloud, with continuous mist and a thick murk born of the damp, the winds never drying it. Hence comes a blight on the crops, a withering of grain that rises without fruit. Then, what is sown by hand being spoiled, a marshy weed springs up over all the fields.

Primo immodici cadunt imbres et sine ullis solibus triste nubilo caelum est nebulaque continua et ex umido spissa caligo numquam exiccantibus uentis. Inde uitium satis est, segetum sine fruge surgentium marcor. Tunc corruptis quae seruntur manu, palustris omnibus campis herba succrescit.

Soon the stronger things too felt the injury: for, the roots loosened, the orchards fall, and the vine and every shrub is not held by a soil that is soft and fluid. Now it sustains neither grasses nor pastures gladdened by the waters. Men labor with famine, and the hand is stretched out to the ancient foods: where there is holm-oak and oak, it is shaken down, and every tree that stood on the heights, bound fast by a joint of stones.

Mox iniuriam et ualidiora sensere: solutis quippe radicibus arbusta procumbunt, et uitis atque omne uirgultum non tenetur solo, quod molle fluidumque est. Iam nec gramina aut pabula laeta aquis sustinet. Fame laboratur et manus ad antiqua alimenta porrigitur: qua ilex est et quercus excutitur et quaecumque in arduis arbor commissura astricta lapidum stetit.

The roofs totter and grow sodden, and, the waters received all the way to the bottom, the foundations sink and the whole ground stands in pool. In vain is the propping of the tottering attempted; for every support is fixed in slippery, muddy ground; nothing is stable.

Labant ac madent tecta, et in imum usque receptis aquis fundamenta desidunt ac tota humus stagnat. Frustra titubantium fultura temptatur; omne enim firmamentum in lubrica figitur et lutosa humo; nihil stabile est.

After the storm-clouds press on more and more and the snows heaped up for ages have melted, the torrent, rolled down from the highest mountains, sweeps away the badly clinging forests and rolls along rocks loosed when their joints gave way, washes off the farmhouses and carries down the flocks mingled with their masters, and, the smaller buildings torn away which it dragged off in passing, at last strays violently into the greater, drags off cities and the peoples caught within their own walls, leaving them uncertain whether to bewail a collapse or a shipwreck (so much did there come at once both what might crush and what might drown them). Then, swollen as it advances, with other torrents too caught up into it, it ravages the plains everywhere; lastly, raised high and laden with the great stuff of nations, it spreads abroad.

Postquam magis magisque ingruunt nimbi et congestae saeculis tabuerunt niues, deuolutus torrens altissimis montibus rapit siluas male haerentes et saxa resolutis remissa compagibus rotat, abluit uillas et intermixtos dominis greges deuehit, uulsisque minoribus tectis, quae in transitu abduxit, tandem in maiora uiolentus aberrat, urbes et implicitos trahit moenibus suis populos, ruinam an naufragium querantur incertos (adeo simul et quod opprimeret et quod mergeret uenit). Auctus deinde processu aliis quoque in se torrentibus raptis plana passim populatur; nouissime [in] materia magna gentium elatus onustusque diffunditur.

Rivers indeed vast by their own nature and made rapid by the storms have left their beds. What do you suppose the Rhone to be — you who think on the Rhine and the Danube, whose course is a torrent even within its own channel — when, overflowing, they have made themselves new banks and, the ground torn open, have left their bed all at once?

Flumina uero suapte natura uasta et tempestatibus rapida alueos reliquerunt. Quid tu esse Rhodanum, qui putas Rhenum atque Danuuim, quibus torrens etiam in canali suo cursus est, cum superfusi nouas sibi fecere ripas ac scissa humo simul excessere alueo?

With what headlong rush they roll, when the Rhine, flowing through the plains, has not even slackened for all its room, but has driven its widest waters as if through a narrows; when the Danube no longer grazes the roots nor the middles of the mountains, but assails the very ridges, bearing with it the soaked flanks of the mountains and crags flung apart and the promontories of great regions, which, their foundations failing, have drawn back from the mainland, and then, finding no exit (for it had itself blocked all of them), it returns in a circle, and wraps a vast compass of lands and of cities in a single whirlpool.

Quanta cum praecipitatione uoluuntur, ubi per campestria fluens Rhenus ne spatio quidem languit, sed latissimas uelut per angustum aquas impulit; cum Danuuius non iam radices nec media montium stringit, sed iuga ipsa sollicitat ferens secum madefacta montium latera rupesque disiectas et magnarum promontoria regionum, quae fundamentis laborantibus a continenti recesserunt, deinde non inueniens exitum (omnia enim ipse sibi praecluserat), in orbem redit, ingentemque terrarum ambitum atque urbium uno uertice inuoluit.

Meanwhile the rains persist, the sky grows heavier, and so for a long time it gathers evil out of evil: what once had been cloud is now night, and a night horrid and terrible with the flashing-through of a dreadful light. For the lightnings flicker thick and fast, and squalls shake the sea, then for the first time swollen by the accession of the rivers and grown too narrow for itself: for now it pushes forward its shore and is not held within its bounds; but the torrents prevent it from going out and drive the wave back. Yet the greater part, held back as if by a grudging mouth, floods over and reduces the fields to the form of a single lake.

Interim permanent imbres, fit caelum grauius ac sic diu malum ex malo colligit: quod olim fuerat nubilum, nox est et quidem horrida ac terribilis intercursu luminis diri. Crebra enim micant fulmina, procellaeque quatiunt mare tunc primum auctum fluminum accessu et sibi angustum: iam enim promouet litus nec continetur suis finibus; sed prohibent exire torrentes aguntque fluctum retro. Pars tamen maior ut maligno ostio retenta restagnat et agros in formam unius laci redigit.

Now everything, as far as can be seen, is beset by waters: every hillock lies hidden in the deep, and everywhere the depth is immeasurable. Only on the highest ridges of the mountains are there shallows: to those loftiest places men have fled with their children and wives, driving their flocks before them. Cut off among the wretched is all dealing and passage, since whatever was lower the wave has filled.

Iam omnia, qua prospici potest, aquis obsidentur: omnis tumulus in profundo latet et immensa ubique altitudo est. Tantum in summis montium iugis uada sunt: in [ea] excelsissima cum liberis coniugibusque fugerunt actis ante se gregibus. Diremptum inter miseros commercium ac transitus, quoniam quicquid submissius erat, id unda compleuit.

To the most lofty points clung the remnants of the human race, for whom, brought to the last extremity, this alone was a solace, that fear had passed over into stupor. Those who marveled had no leisure to be afraid, nor did grief even have a place, for grief loses its force in the man who is wretched beyond the feeling of his evil.

Editissimis quibusque adhaerebant reliquiae generis humani, quibus in extrema perductis hoc unum solacio fuit, quod transierat in stuporem metus. Non uacabat timere mirantibus, nec dolor quidem habebat locum, quippe uim suam perdit in eo, qui ultra sensum mali miser est.

So, in the manner of islands, the mountains stand out and add to the scattered Cyclades, as that most ingenious of poets says superbly; just as, to match the magnitude of the matter, he said, all was sea, and the sea even lacked its shores — had he not reduced so great an impetus of genius and of subject to childish triflings: the wolf swims among the sheep, the wave carries tawny lions.

Ergo insularum modo eminent "montes et sparsas Cycladas augent," ut ait ille poetarum ingeniosissimus egregie; sicut illud pro magnitudine rei dixit "omnia pontus erat, deerant quoque litora ponto," ni tantum impetum ingenii et materiae ad pueriles ineptias reduxisset: "nat lupus inter oues, fuluos uehit unda leones."

It is not a quite sober thing to be playful when the globe of the earth has been devoured. He said immense things and caught the image of so great a confusion when he said: the rivers, spread wide, rush over the open plains, … and the pressed towers totter beneath the flood. Magnificent, this — if only he had not bothered with what the sheep and the wolves are doing. But can one swim in a deluge and in that rapine? or were not all the cattle drowned by the same force by which they were swept off?

Non est res satis sobria lasciuire deuorato orbe terrarum. Dixit ingentia et tantae confusionis imaginem cepit, cum dixit: "expatiata ruunt per apertos flumina campos,... pressaeque labant sub gurgite turres." Magnifice haec, si non curauerit quid oues et lupi faciant. Natari autem in diluuio et in illa rapina potest? aut non eodem impetu pecus omne, quo raptum erat, mersum est?

You have conceived as great an image as you ought, all the lands overwhelmed, the very sky rushing down to the earth. Carry it through: you will know what is fitting, if you reflect that the globe of the earth is afloat.

Concepisti imaginem quantam debebas obrutis omnibus terris caelo ipso in terram ruente. Perfer: scies quid deceat, si cogitaueris orbem terrarum natare.

Now let us return to the subject. There are those who think that the lands can be harassed by immoderate rains, not overwhelmed; that great things must be smitten by a great onset; that the rain will make the crops bad, the hail will beat down the fruit, the rivers will swell with their brooks, but they will subside.

Nunc ad propositum reuertamur. Sunt qui existiment immodicis imbribus uexari terras posse, non obrui; magne, impetu magna ferienda sunt; faciet pluuia segetes malas, fructum grande, decutiet, intumescent riuis flumina, sed resident.

Some prefer that the sea be moved and that the cause of so great a disaster be summoned from there: so vast a shipwreck cannot come about from the injury of torrents or rains or rivers. When that destruction is at hand and it has been resolved that the human race be changed, I would grant that incessant rains pour and that there is no measure to the downpours, that, the north winds suppressed and the south winds with their damper breath prevailing, the clouds and the rivers run to abundance. But so far it has come only to losses: the crops are laid low, and the vows bewailed by the farmers lie ruined, and the vain labor of a long year perishes.

Quibusdam placet moueri mare et illinc causam tantae cladis accersere: non potest torrentium aut imbrium aut fluminum iniuria fieri tam grande naufragium. Ubi instat illa pernicies mutarique humanum genus placuit, fluere assiduos imbres et non esse modum pluuiis concesserim, suppressis aquilonibus et flatu sicciore austris nubes et amnes abundare. Sed adhuc in damna profectum est: "sternuntur segetes et deplorata colonis uota iacent longique perit labor irritus anni."

The lands must not be hurt but hidden away. And so, when there has been this prelude, the seas grow, but beyond the usual, and send their wave beyond the furthest trace of the greatest storm. Then, with winds rising at their back, they roll up a huge expanse, which breaks far from the sight of the old shore. Then, when the shore has been advanced twice and three times over and the sea has taken its stand on alien ground, as if the evil were brought up close, the tide runs forward from the deepest recess of the sea.

Non laedi terrae debent sed abscondi. Itaque cum per ista prolusum est, crescunt maria, sed super solitum, et fluctum ultra extremum tempestatis maximae uestigium mittunt. Deinde a tergo uentis surgentibus ingens aequor euoluunt, quod longe a conspectu ueteris litoris frangitur. Deinde ubi litus bis terque prolatum est et pelagus in alieno constitit, uelut admoto malo comminus procurrit aestus ex imo recessu maris.

For, as of air, as of aether, so of this element the stuff is abundant and much fuller in the hidden depth. This, moved by the fates, not by the tide (for the tide is the servant of fate), heaves up vastly, gathers the strait in its bosom and drives it before it. Then it rears up to a wondrous height and stands above those safe refuges of men. Nor is that hard for waters, since they rise to a level equal with the lands.

Nam ut aeris, ut aetheris, sic huius elementi larga materia est multoque in abdito plenior. Haec fatis mota, non aestu (nam aestus fati ministerium est), attollit uaste, sinu fretum agitque ante se. Deinde in miram altitudinem erigitur et illis tutis hominum receptaculis superest. Nec id aquis arduum est, quoniam aequo terris fastigio ascendunt.

If one should take the level of the heights, the seas are even: for the earth itself is everywhere equal to itself (its hollows and flats are the lower parts, but by these the globe has been so far evened into a round); and in part of it are the seas too, which come together into the evenness of a single ball. But just as the things that slope away little by little deceive one looking over the plains, so we do not perceive the curvatures of the sea, and whatever appears seems flat. But that is level with the lands, and therefore, to overflow, it will not raise itself by a great mass, since it is enough for it to come above the level; it rises lightly; and it flows down not from the shore, where it is lower, but from the middle, where that heaping-up is.

Si quis excelsa perlibret, maria paria sunt: nam par undique sibi ipsa tellus est (caua eius et plana inferiora sunt, sed istis adeo in rotundum orbis aequatus est); in parte autem eius et maria sunt, quae in unius aequalitatem pilae coeunt. Sed quemadmodum campos intuentem quae paulatim deuexa sunt fallunt, sic non intellegimus curuaturas maris et uidetur planum quicquid apparet. At illud aequale terris est ideoque, ut effluat, non magna mole se tollet, dum satis est illi, ut supra paria ueniat; leuiter exsurgere; nec a litore, ubi inferius est, sed a medio, ubi ille cumulus est, defluit.

So, just as the equinoctial tide is wont to surge greater than all others at the very conjunction of moon and sun, so this tide, sent out to seize the lands, more violent than the usual and the greatest, draws more water and does not roll down before it has grown above the peaks of those mountains it is to flood over. In certain places the tide runs out over a hundred miles, harmless, and keeps its order (for it grows to a measure and again decreases):

Ergo ut solet aestus aequinoctilis sub ipsum lunae solisque coitum omnibus aliis maior undare, sic hic, qui ad occupandas terras emittitur, solitis maximisque uiolentior, plus aquarum trahit nec, antequam supra cacumina eorum, quos perfusurus est, montium creuit, deuoluitur. Per centena milia quibusdam locis aestus excurrit innoxius et ordinem seruat (ad mensuram enim crescit iterumque decrescit):

but at that time, loosed from its laws, it is borne without measure. "By what reckoning?" you ask: the same by which the conflagration is to come. Each happens when it has seemed good to the god to begin better things and to finish the old. Water and fire are masters over earthly things; from these is the origin, from these the destruction: so, whenever new things have pleased the world, the sea is sent down upon us from above, as the burning and the fire are, when another kind of destruction has pleased.

at illo tempore solutus legibus sine modo fertur. Qua ratione?, inquis: eadem qua conflagratio futura est. Utrumque fit, cum deo uisum ordiri meliora, uetera finiri. Aqua et ignis terrenis dominantur; ex his ortus, ex his interitus est: ergo quandoque placuere res nouae mundo, sic in nos mare emittitur desuper, ut feruor ignisque, cum aliud genus exitii placuit.

Some hold that the earth too is shaken, and that, the ground burst open, new sources of rivers are uncovered, which pour out the more abundantly, as if from a full vessel. Berosus, who interpreted Belus, says these things happen by the course of the stars; and indeed he affirms it so far as to assign a time to the conflagration and to the deluge: for he maintains that earthly things will burn whenever all the stars, which now drive diverse courses, have come together in Cancer, so set under the same point that a straight line could pass out through the orbs of them all; and that the flood will come when the same throng of stars has come together in Capricorn. There the summer solstice, here the winter solstice is brought about: signs of great power, since in them are the turning-points of the very change of the year.

Quidam existimant terram quoque concuti et dirupto solo noua fluminum capita detegere, quae amplius ut e pleno profundant. Berosos, qui Belum interpretatus est, ait ista cursu siderum fieri; adeo quidem affirmat, ut conflagrationi atque diluuio tempus assignet: arsura enim terrena contendit, quandoque omnia sidera, quae nunc diuersos agunt cursus, in Cancrum conuenerint, sic sub eodem posita uestigio, ut recta linea exire per orbes omnium possit; inundationem futuram, cum eadem siderum turba in Capricornum conuenerit. Illic solstitium, hic bruma conficitur: magnae potentiae signa, quando in ipsa mutatione anni momenta sunt.

And I would accept these causes (for so great a destruction does not come from one), and that one which, in the matter of the conflagration, pleases our school I think must be transferred here too: whether the world is a living being, or a body governable by nature, like trees, like crops, from its beginning all the way to its end whatever it must do, whatever it must suffer, is enclosed in it from the start.

Et istas ego receperim causas (neque enim ex uno est tanta pernicies), et illam, quae in conflagratione nostris placet, hoc quoque transferendam puto: siue animal est mundus siue corpus natura gubernabile, ut arbores, ut sata, ab initio eius usque ad exitum quicquid facere quicquid pati debeat, inclusum est.

As in the seed the whole plan of the future man is comprehended, and the unborn infant has the law of beard and gray hairs (for the lineaments of the whole body and of its later growth are in that small and hidden thing), so the origin of the world contained the sun and the moon and the turns of the stars and the births of animals no less than the means by which earthly things would be changed. Among these was the flood, which comes, no otherwise than winter, than summer, by the law of the world.

Ut in semine omnis futuri hominis ratio comprehensa est et legem barbae canorumque nondum natus infans habet (totius enim corporis et sequentis auctus in paruo occultoque liniamenta sunt), sic origo mundi non minus solem et lunam et uices siderum et animalium ortus quam quibus mutarentur terrena continuit. In his fuit inundatio, quae non secus quam hiems, quam aestas, lege mundi uenit.

And so this will come about not by rain, but by rain too; not by the inrush of the sea, but by the sea’s inrush too; not by an earthquake, but by an earthquake too: all things will help nature, so that what nature has appointed may be carried through. Yet the greatest cause for its own flooding the earth itself will furnish, which we have said is changeable and is dissolved into moisture.

Itaque non pluuia istud fiet sed pluuia quoque, non incursu maris maris quoque incursu, non terrae motu sed terrae quoque motu: omnia adiuuabunt naturam, ut naturae constituta peragantur. Maximam tamen causam ad se inundandam terra ipsa praestabit, quam diximus esse mutabilem et solui in umorem.

So, whenever there shall be an end to human affairs, when its parts must perish and be wholly abolished from the foundations, so that the whole may be generated anew, untrained and harmless, and no teacher of worse things may survive, there will come to be more moisture than there ever was. For now the elements are weighed out to what is owed: something must be added to one, so that an inequality may disturb what stands in balance. It will be added to the moisture; for now it has wherewith to surround the lands, not to overwhelm them: whatever you add to it must overflow into a place not its own.

Ergo quandoque erit terminus rebus humanis, cum partes eius interire debuerint abolerique funditus totae, ut de integro totae rudes innoxiaeque generentur nec supersit in deteriora praeceptor, plus umoris quam semper fuit fiet. Nunc enim elementa ad id quod debetur pensa surit: aliquid oportet alteri accedat, ut quae libramento stant, inaequalitas turbet. Accedet umori; nunc enim habet quo ambiat terras, non quo obruat: quicquid illi adieceris, necesse est in alienum locum exundet.

See, then, whether the earth must be diminished, so that, being the weaker, it may yield to the stronger. It will begin, then, to rot, and thereafter, loosened, to pass into moisture and to flow down in continual decay. Then rivers will leap out beneath the mountains and shake the mountains themselves with their onset; thence, touched by the breeze, they will ooze;

Uide ergo ne terra debeat minui, ut ualidiori infirma succumbat. Incipiet ergo putrescere, dehinc laxata ire in umorem et assidua tabe defluere. Tunc exilient sub montibus flumina ipsosque impetu quatient; inde aura tacta manabunt;

all the soil will give back waters, the highest mountains will gush. Just as the healthy pass into disease and the parts near an ulcer share its infection, so whatever has been nearest to the flowing lands will itself be washed away and will drip, then run, and, the rock gaping in many places, the sea will leap through and join the seas to one another. The Adriatic will be nothing, nothing the jaws of the Sicilian sea, nothing Charybdis, nothing Scylla: the new sea will overwhelm all the old tales, and this Ocean which girds the lands, having drawn the outermost lot, will come into the middle.

solum omne aquas reddet, summi scaturient montes. Quemadmodum in morbum transeunt sana et ulceri uicina consentiunt, ut quaeque proxima terris fluentibus fuerint, ipsa eluentur stillabuntque, deinde current et, hiante pluribus locis saxo, [per] fretum saliet et maria inter se componet. Nihil erunt Adria, nihil Siculi aequoris fauces, nihil Charybdis, nihil Scylla: omnes nouum mare fabulas obruet et hic qui terras cingit oceanus extrema sortitus ueniet in medium.

What then? Nonetheless winter will hold alien months, summer will be barred, and whatever star dries the lands will cease, its blaze suppressed. So many names will perish — the Caspian and the Red Sea, the gulfs of Ambracia and of Crete, the Propontis and the Pontus; every distinction will perish; whatever nature distributed into its own parts will be confounded. Walls will guard no one, nor towers. Temples will not avail the suppliants, nor the heights of cities, for the wave will outrun the fleeing and carry them down from the very citadels.

Quid ergo est? Nihilominus tenebit alienos menses hiems, aestas prohibebitur, et quodcumque terras sidus exsiccat, compresso ardore cessabit. Peribunt tot nomina, Caspium et Rubrum mare, Ambracii et Cretici sinus, Propontis et Pontus; peribit omne discrimen; confundetur quicquid in suas partes natura digessit. Non muri quemquam, non turres tuebuntur. Non proderunt templa supplicibus nec urbium summa, quippe fugientes unda praeueniet et ex ipsis arcibus deferet.

Some waters will rush together from the west, others from the east. A single day will bury the human race; whatever the long indulgence of Fortune has cultivated, whatever she has raised above the rest, the noble and the adorned alike, and the kingdoms of great nations, it will sink to ruin.

Alia ab occasu, alia ab oriente concurrent. Unus humanum genus condet dies; quicquid tam longa fortunae indulgentia excoluit, quicquid supra ceteros extulit, nobilia pariter atque adornata magnarumque gentium regna pessundabit.

All things, as I said, are easy for nature, especially those she resolved to do from the first, to which she comes not suddenly but upon notice given. And already from the first day of the world, when it departed from a formless unity into this present shape, it was decreed when earthly things should be drowned; and lest at some time there be a hard struggle, as in a new work, the seas have long been training themselves for this.

Sunt omnia, ut dixi, facilia naturae, utique ‹quae› a primo facere constituit, ad quae non subito sed ex denuntiato uenit. Iam autem a primo die mundi, cum in hunc habitum ex informi unitate discederet, quando mergerentur terrena decretum est; et ne sit quandoque uelut in nouo opere dura molitio, olim ad hoc maria se exercent.

Do you not see how the wave rushes onto the shores as though about to go out beyond them? Do you not see how the tide crosses its bounds and leads the sea into possession of the lands? Do you not see how it has perpetual war with its barriers? What more? From that quarter, whence you see so much tumult, comes the fear — from the sea and from the rivers bursting out with great breath.

Non uides ut fluctus in litora tamquam exiturus incurrat? Non uides ut aestus fines suos transeat et in possessionem terrarum mare inducat? Non uides ut illi perpetua cum claustris suis pugna sit? Quid porro? Istinc, unde tantum tumultum uides, metus est, e mari et magno spiritu erumpentibus fluuiis.

Where has nature not disposed moisture, so that she might assault us on every side, whenever she pleased? I lie, unless moisture meets those who dig up the earth, and, as often as either avarice buries us or some cause forces us to penetrate deeper, there is at last an end of digging. Add that there are monstrous lakes in the hidden depth, and much sea stored away, much of rivers gliding through covered ways.

Ubi non umorem natura disposuit, ut undique nos, cum uoluisset, aggredi posset? Mentior, nisi eruentibus terram umor occurrit et, quotiens nos aut auaritia defodit aut aliqua causa penetrare altius cogit, eruendi finis aliquando est. Adice quod immanes sunt in abdito lacus et multum maris conditi, multum fluminum per operta labentium.

On every side, then, there will be a cause for the deluge, since some waters flow beneath the lands, others around them, which, long restrained, will prevail and join rivers to rivers, pools to marshes. Then the sea will fill the mouths of all the springs and loose them with a greater gaping. Just as the belly empties our bodies for excretion, just as our strength goes off into sweat, so the earth will be liquefied and, even with the other causes at rest, will find within itself the means to be drowned. But I would rather believe that all things will come together.

Undique ergo erit causa diluuio, cum aliae aquae subterfluant terras, aliae circumfluant, quae diu coercitae uincent et amnes amnibus iungent, paludibus stagna. Omnium tunc mare ora fontium im implebit et maiore hiatu soluet. Quemadmodum corpora nostra ad egestum uenter exhaurit, quemadmodum in sudorem eunt uires, ita tellus liquefiet et aliis causis quiescentibus intra se quo mergatur inueniet. Sed magis omma coitura crediderim.

Nor will the delay of destruction be long: the concord is tried and torn apart. Once the world has relaxed anything of this fitting diligence, at once on every side, from the open and the hidden, from above, from below, there will come an irruption of waters.

Nec longa erit mora exitii: temptatur diuelliturque concordia. Cum semel aliquid ex hac idonea diligentia remiserit mundus, statim undique ex aperto et abdito, superne, ab infimo, aquarum fiet irruptio.

Nothing is so violent, so incapable of self-restraint, so defiant and hostile to those who would hold it back, as a great force of water: it will use the liberty granted it, and at nature’s command it will fill what it cleaves and circles. As fire, arisen in diverse places, quickly blends into one conflagration, its flames hurrying to come together, so in a moment the overflowing seas will join one another from many places.

Nihil est tam uiolentum, tam incontinens sui, tam contumax infestumque retinentibus quam magna uis undae: utetur libertate permissa et iubente natura, quae scindit circuitque complebit. Ut ignis diuersis locis ortus cito miscet incendium flammis coire properantibus, sic momento se redundantia pluribus locis maria committent.

Nor will that license be the waters’ forever, but, the destruction of the human race accomplished and the wild beasts likewise extinguished — into whose natures men had passed — the earth will once more drink in the waters, will force the sea to stand still or to rage within its own bounds, and the Ocean, cast back from our dwellings, will be driven into its own secret places, and the ancient order will be recalled.

Nec ea semper licentia undis erit, sed peracto exitio generis humani extinctisque pariter feris, in quarum homines ingenia transierant, iterum aquas terra sorbebit, terra pelagus stare aut intra terminos suos furere coget, et reiectus e nostris sedibus in sua secreta pelletur oceanus et antiquus ordo reuocabitur.

Every living thing will be generated anew, and to the lands will be given a man ignorant of crimes and born under better auspices. But for them too innocence will not last, except while they are new; vice creeps in quickly. Virtue is hard to find: it looks for a ruler and a guide — but vices are learned even without a master.

Omne ex integro animal generabitur dabiturque terris homo inscius scelerum et melioribus auspiciis natus. Sed illis quoque innocentia non durabit, nisi dum noui sunt; cito nequitia subrepit. Uirtus difficilis inuentu est, rectorem ducemque desiderat: etiam sine magistro uitia discuntur. Seneca the Younger The Latin Library The Classics Page

Sicily delights you, as you write, Lucilius best of men, and the duty of a leisured procuratorship, and it will go on delighting you, if you are willing to keep it within its own bounds and not to make a command of what is a procuratorship. I do not doubt you will do this; I know how alien you are to ambition, how at home with leisure and letters. Let those crave a throng of affairs and of men who do not know how to endure their own company: with yourself you are on the best of terms.

Delectat te, quemadmodum scribis, Lucili uirorum optime, Sicilia et officium procurationis otiosae, delectabitque, si continere id intra fines suos uolueris nec efficere imperium quod est procuratio. Facturum hoc te non dubito; scio quam sis ambitioni alienus, quam familiaris otio et litteris. Turbam rerum hominumque desiderent qui se pati nesciunt: tibi tecum optime conuenit.

Nor is it strange that this falls to few. We are domineering and troublesome to our own selves; now we labor from love of ourselves, now from weariness; now we inflame the unhappy soul with pride, now we stretch it taut with desire; at one time we tire it with pleasure, at another we burn it up with anxiety; and — what is most wretched — we are never single. So there must be perpetual brawling in so great a barracks-mess of vices.

Nec est mirum paucis istud contingere. Imperiosi nobis ipsi ac molesti sumus; modo amore nostri, modo taedio laboramus; infelicem animum nunc superbia inflamus, nunc cupiditate distendimus; alias uoluptate lassamus, alias sollicitudine exurimus; quod est miserrimum, numquam sumus singuli. Necesse est itaque assidua sit in tam magno uitiorum contubernio rixa.

Do then, my Lucilius, what you have been accustomed to do; separate yourself from the crowd as much as you can, and do not offer your flank to flatterers. They are craftsmen at catching their superiors: you will not be their match, even if you guard yourself well. But believe me: if you are caught, you will hand yourself over to the betrayal.

Fac ergo, mi Lucili, quod facere consuesti; a turba te, quantum potes, separa, ne adulatoribus latus praebeas. Artifices sunt ad captandos superiores: par illis, etiamsi bene caueris, non eris. Sed mihi crede: proditioni, si capieris, ipse te trades.

Flatteries have this natural in them: they please even when they are rejected; often, shut out, they are at last let in. For they put even this to their credit, that they are repelled, and cannot be put down even by an insult. Incredible is what I am about to say, but true nonetheless: each man lies most open on the side by which he is assailed; perhaps, indeed, he is assailed for that very reason, because he lies open.

Habent hoc in se naturale blanditiae: etiam cum reiciuntur placent; saepe exclusae nouissime recipiuntur. Hoc enim ipsum imputant, quod repelluntur, et subigi ne contumelia quidem possunt. Incredibile est quod dicturus sum, sed tamen uerum: ea maxime quisque patet, qua petitur; fortasse enim ideo, quia patet, petitur.

So shape yourself in this way — knowing that you cannot manage to be impenetrable: when you have guarded against everything, you will be struck through your ornaments. One man will use flattery covertly, sparingly; another openly, in the open, with a feigned rusticity, as if that were simplicity and not art. Plancus, the greatest craftsman before Vitellius, used to say there is no flattering covertly or under cover: "It is wasted wooing," he said, "if it is hidden."

Sic ergo formare, ut scias non posse te consequi, ut sis impenetrabilis: cum omnia caueris, per ornamenta ferieris. Alius adulatione clam utetur, parce, alius ex aperto, palam, rusticitate simulata, quasi simplicitas illa, non ars sit. Plancus, artifex ante Vitellium maximus, aiebat non esse occulte nec ex dissimulato blandiendum: "Perit, inquit, procari, si latet."

The flatterer profits most when he has been caught; more still if he has been rebuked, if he has blushed. Reckon that there will be many a Plancus in your case, and that this is no remedy for so great an evil — to be unwilling to be praised. Crispus Passienus, than whom I have known no one subtler in all matters indeed, but most of all in distinguishing and treating vices, often used to say that we do not shut the door against flattery, but only draw it to — and that, indeed, in the way a door is usually set against a mistress: if she has pushed it, it is welcome; more welcome, if she has broken it down.

Plurimum adulator, cum deprehensus est, proficit; plus etiamnunc, si obiurgatus est, si erubuit. Futuros multos in persona tua Plancos cogita et hoc non esse remedium tanti mali, nolle laudari. Crispus Passienus, quo ego nil cognoui subtilius in omnibus quidem rebus, maxime in distinguendis et curandis uitiis, saepe dicebat adulationi nos non claudere ostium sed operire, et quidem sic, quemadmodum opponi amicae solet: quae, si impulit, grata est; gratior, si effregit.

I remember Demetrius, that excellent man, saying to a certain powerful freedman that the road to riches was easy for him, on the day he should come to regret a sound mind. "Nor shall I begrudge you this art," he said, "but I will teach those who have need of gain how they may, without undergoing the doubtful fortune of the sea, the quarrels of buying and selling, the uncertain trust of the countryside or the more uncertain trust of the forum, make money by a road not only easy but even cheerful, and despoil men while the men are glad of it."

Demetrium egregium uirum memini dicere cuidam libertino potenti facilem sibi esse ad diuitias uiam, quo die paenituisset bonae mentis. "Nec inuidebo, inquit, uobis hac arte, sed docebo eos, quibus quaesito opus est, quemadmodum non dubiam fortunam maris, non emendi uendendique litem subeant, non incertam fidem ruris, incertiorem fori temptent, quemadmodum non solum facili sed etiam hilari uia pecuniam faciant gaudentesque despolient."

"I will swear," he said, "that you are taller than Fidus Annaeus and the boxer Apollonius, although you have the stature of a monkey matched against a Thracian. As for there being no man more open-handed, I shall not be lying, since you may seem to have given to all whatever you have left behind."

"Te, inquit, longiorem Fido Annaeo iurabo et Apollonio pycte, quamuis staturam habeas pithecii cum Thraece compositi. Hominem quidem non esse ullum liberaliorem non mentiar, cum possis uideri omnibus donasse quicquid dereliquisti."

So it is, my Junior: the more open the flattery, the more shameless, the more it has rubbed its own brow smooth and brought down another’s, the quicker it storms the citadel. For we have come now to such a pitch of madness that the man who flatters sparingly passes for malicious.

Ita est, mi Iunior: quo apertior est adulatio, quo improbior, quo magis frontem suam perfricuit, cecidit alienam, hoc citius expugnat. Eo enim iam dementiae uenimus, ut qui parce adulatur, pro maligno sit.

I used to tell you of my brother Gallio — whom no one loves too little, not even the man who cannot love him more — that, ignorant of other vices, he hated this one. You assailed him from every side: you began to look up to his genius, the greatest of all and most worthy to be hallowed rather than worn down — he took to his heels; you began to praise his frugality, which has so recoiled from our manners that it seems neither to possess them nor to condemn them — at the very first words he cut you short;

Solebam tibi dicere Gallionem si, fratrem meum, quem nemo non parum amat, etiam qui amare plus non potest, alia uitia non nosse, hoc eum odisse. Ab omni illum parte temptasti: ingenium suspicere coepisti omnium maximum et dignissimum, quod consecrari mallet quam conteri: pedes abstulit; frugalitatem laudare coepisti, quae sic a nostris moribus resiluit, ut illos nec habere nec damnare uideatur: prima statim uerba praecidit;

you began to marvel at his affability and unstudied sweetness, which carries off even those it merely passes, his gratuitous kindness even to chance-met strangers (for no mortal is so sweet to one as he is to all — while meanwhile, so great is the force of a natural good when it does not reek of art and pretense, there is no one who does not seek to have the public’s goodwill set to his own account): on this ground too he stood against your blandishments, so that you cried out you had found a man impregnable against the snares which no one fails to take into his bosom.

coepisti mirari comitatem et in compositam suauitatem, quae illos quoque quos transit abducit, gratuitum etiam in obuios meritum (nemo enim mortalium uni tam dulcis est quam hic omnibus, cum interim - tanta naturalis boni uis est, ubi artem simulationemque non redolet - nemo non imputari sibi bonitatem publicam petitur): hoc quoque loco blanditiis tuis restitit, ut exclamares inuenisse te inexpugnabilem uirum aduersus insidias, quas nemo non in sinum recipit.

And all the more you confessed that you looked up to this prudence of his and his persistence in avoiding the unavoidable evil, because you had hoped it could be received with open ears, that however blandly you spoke, you spoke the truth. But all the more he understood that he must hold out: for the authority of the true is always sought by falsehoods from the truth. Yet I would not have you displeased with yourself, as if you had done badly, or as if he had suspected some jest or trick: he did not catch you out — he repelled you.

Eo quidem magis hanc eius prudentiam et in euitando ineuitabili malo pertinaciam te suspicere confessus es, quia speraueras posse apertis auribus recipi, quamuis blanda diceres, quia uera dicebas. Sed eo magis intellexit obstandum: semper enim falsis a uero petitur ueri ‹aucto›ritas. Nolo tamen displiceas tibi, quasi male egeris minium et quasi ille aliquid iocorum aut doli suspicatus sit: non deprehendit te sed reppulit.

Compose yourself to this model. When some flatterer has approached you, say: "Are you willing to carry those words — which already pass from one magistrate to another along with the lictors — to someone who, meaning to do the like in return, wants to hear whatever he has said? I neither wish to deceive nor can be deceived: I would wish to be praised by you, if only you did not praise bad men too." But what need is there to come down to this, that they can assail you at close quarters? Let there be a long interval between you.

Ad hoc exemplar componere. Cum quis ad te adulator accesserit, dicito: "Vis tu ista uerba, quae iam ab alio magistratu ad alium cum lictoribus transeunt, ferre ad aliquem, qui paria facturus uult quicquid dixerit audire? Ego nec decipere uolo nec decipi possum: laudari me a uobis, nisi laudaretis etiam malos, uellem". Quid autem necesse est in hoc descendere, ut te petere comminus possint? Longum inter uos interuallum sit.

When you have wished to be well praised, why should you owe this to anyone? Praise yourself; say: "I gave myself to liberal studies. Although poverty urged otherwise and my talent drew me where there is a present reward for study, I turned aside to unpaid poetry and betook myself to the saving study of philosophy."

Cum cupieris bene laudari, quare hoc ulli debeas? Ipse te lauda, dic: Liberalibus me studiis tradidi. Quamquam paupertas alia suaderet et ingenium eo duceret ubi praesens studii pretium est, ad gratuita carmina deflexi me et ad salutare philosophiae contuli studium.

"I showed that virtue falls into every breast and, having struggled out of the narrowness of my birth and measured myself not by my lot but by my spirit, I stood the equal of the greatest. Gaius did not snatch my faith from me in the friendship of Gaetulicus; nor, in the case of others unhappily loved, could Messallina and Narcissus — long the enemies of the public before they were their own — overturn my resolve: I set my neck against them for faith’s sake; no word was wrung from me that did not come forth with a clear good conscience; for my friends I feared everything, for myself nothing, except that I might have been too poor a friend."

Ostendi in omne pectus cadere uirtutem et, eluctatus natalium angustias nec sorte me sed animo mensus, par maximis steti. Non mihi in amicitia Gaetulici Gaius fidem eripuit; non in aliorum persona infeliciter amatorum Messallina et Narcissus, diu publici hostes antequam sui, propositum meum potuerunt euertere: ceruicem pro fide opposui; nullum uerbum mihi, quod non salua bona conscientia procederet, excussum est; pro amicis omnia timui, pro me nihil, nisi ne parum bonus amicus fuissem.

"No womanish tears flowed from me; I hung as a suppliant from no man’s hands; I did nothing unbecoming to a good man, or to a man at all. Greater than my own perils, ready to go into the very things that threatened, I gave thanks to Fortune, that she had been willing to test how highly I valued faith (so great a matter ought not to cost me little); I did not even weigh it long (for the scales did not hang even) — whether it were better that I should perish for faith, or faith for me;"

Non mihi muliebres fluxere lacrimae; non e manibus ullius supplex pependi; nihil indecorum nec bono nec uiro feci. Periculis meis maior, paratus ire in ea quae minabantur, egi gratias fortunae, quod experiri uoluisset quanti aestimarem fidem (non debebat mihi paruo res tanta constare); ne examinaui quidem diu (neque enim paria pendebant), utrum satius esset me perire pro fide an fidem pro me;

"I did not in headlong impulse fling myself into that last counsel by which I might snatch myself from the fury of the powerful. I saw the tortures under Gaius, I saw the fires, I knew that long since, under him, human affairs had sunk to such a state that the slain were counted among examples of mercy: yet I did not fall upon the sword, nor leap into the sea with open mouth, lest I should seem able to die only for faith."

non praecipiti impetu in ultimum consilium, quo me eriperem furori potentium, misi. Uidebam apud Gaium tormenta, uidebam ignes, sciebam olim sub illo in eum statum res humanas decidisse, ut inter misericordiae exempla haberentur occisi: non tamen ferro incubui nec in mare aperto ore desilui, ne uiderer pro fide tantum mori posse.

Add a spirit unconquered by gifts and, in so great a contest of avarice, a hand never slipped under for the sake of gain; add frugality of diet, modesty of speech, humanity toward inferiors, reverence toward superiors. After this, consult yourself, whether you have recounted things true or false: if true, you have been praised before a great witness; if false, you have been mocked with no witness by.

Adice inuictum muneribus animum et in tanto auaritiae certamme numquam suppositam manum lucro; adice uictus parsimoniam, sermonis modestiam se, aduersus minores humanitatem, aduersus maiores reuerentiam. Post haec ipse te consule, uerane an falsa memoraueris: si uera surit, coram magno teste laudatus es; si falsa, sine teste derisus es.

I too can now seem either to be courting you or testing you: believe whichever you like, and begin to fear all men, beginning with me. Hear that line of Virgil, "nowhere is faith safe," or that of Ovid, "wherever the earth lies open, the savage Fury reigns: you would think men had sworn an oath to crime," or that of Menander (for who has not roused the greatness of his own genius upon this theme, in detestation of the human race’s consensus straining toward vice?): he says all men live as bad men, and leapt onto the stage like a rustic poet; he excepts neither old man nor boy nor woman nor man, and he adds that it is not single men who sin, nor a few, but that crime is by now woven whole.

Possum et ipse nunc uideri te aut captare aut experiri: utrumlibet crede et omnes timere a me incipe. Vergilianum illud exaudi "nusquam tuta fides", aut Ouidianum "qua terra patet, fera regnat Erinys: in facinus iurasse putes", aut illud Menandri (quis enim non in hoc magnitudinem ingenii sui concitauit, detestatus consensum humani generis tendentis ad uitia?): omnes ait malos uiuere et in scaenam uelut rusticus poeta prosiluit; non senem excipit, non puerum, non feminam, non uirum, et adicit non singulos peccare nec paucos, sed iam scelus esse contextum.

We must flee, then, and withdraw into ourselves; nay, even withdraw from ourselves. This I will try to render you, even though we are parted by the sea: that from time to time, laying my hand on you, I may lead you on to better things, and, lest you feel your solitude, from here I will mingle conversations with you: we shall be together in the part where we are best; we shall give each other counsels not hanging on the listener’s face;

Fugiendum ergo et in se recedendum est; immo etiam a se recedendum. Hoc tibi, etsi diuidimur mari, praestare temptabo, ut subinde te iniecta manu ad meliora perducam, et, ne solitudinem sentias, hinc tecum miscebo sermones: erimus una, qua parte optimi sumus; dabimus inuicem consilia non ex uultu audientis pendentia;

I will lead you far away from that province of yours, lest perhaps you believe there is great trust to be put in histories and begin to please yourself, as often as you reflect: "This province I hold under my own jurisdiction, which has both sustained and broken the armies of the greatest cities, when it lay as the prize of a vast war between Carthage and Rome; which saw the forces of four Roman chiefs — that is, of the whole empire — drawn together into one place and fed them, which bent the fortune of Pompey, wore out that of Caesar, transferred that of Lepidus, and took them all in;"

longe te ab ista prouincia abducam, ne forte magnam historiis esse fidem credas et placere tibi incipias, quotiens cogitaueris: "Hanc ego habeo sub meo iure prouinciam, quae maximarum urbium exercitus et sustinuit et fregit, cum inter Carthaginem et Romam ingentis belli pretium iacuit; quae quattuor Romanorum principum, id est totius imperii, uires contractas in unum locum uidit aluitque, Pompeii fortunam flexit, Caesaris fatigauit, Lepidi transtulit, omnium cepit;

"which was present at that mighty spectacle, from which it could be plain to mortals how swift the fall from the summit to the bottom would be, and by how diverse a road Fortune destroys great power: for at one and the same time it saw Pompey and Lepidus, cast down from the highest pinnacle in different ways, the one fleeing another’s army, the other his own."

quae illi ingenti spectaculo interfuit, ex quo liquere mortalibus posset quam uelox foret ad imum lapsus e summo, quamque diuersa uia magnam potentiam fortuna destrueret: uno enim tempore uidit Pompeium Lepidumque ex maximo fastigio aliter ad extrema deiectos, cum Pompeius alienum exercitum fugeret, Lepidus suum".

And so, to draw you away from there entirely — although Sicily has many marvels in itself and around itself — I will for the moment pass over all the inquiries of your province and drag your thoughts in a different direction. For I will ask with you what I deferred in the previous book: why the Nile floods in the summer months. The philosophers have reported that the Danube has a nature like it, because both its source is unknown and it is greater in summer than in winter.

Itaque, ut totum inde te abducam, quamuis multa habeat Sicilia in se circaque se mirabilia, omnes interim prouinciae tuae quaestiones praeteribo et in diuersum cogitationes tuas abstraham. Quaeram enim tecum id quod libro superiore distuli, quid ita Nilus aestiuis mensibus abundet. Cui Danuuium similem habere naturam philosophi tradiderunt, quod et fontis ignoti et aestate quam hieme maior sit.

Both proved false: for we have found that its source is in Germany; and it does indeed begin to rise in summer, but, while the Nile still keeps within its own measure, at the first heats, when the sun, growing stronger within the last days of spring, softens the snows — which it consumes before the Nile begins to swell; and through the rest of the summer it diminishes and returns to its winter size, and from that it sinks lower. But the Nile rises before the rising of the Dog-star, in the midst of the summer heats, beyond the equinox.

Utrumque apparuit falsum: nam et caput eius in Germania esse comperimus, et aestate quidem incipit crescere sed, adhuc manente intra mensuram suam Nilo, primis caloribus, cum sol uehementior intra extrema ueris niues mollit, quas ante consumit quam tumescere Nilus incipiat; reliquo uero aestatis minuitur et ad hibernam magnitudinem redit atque ex ea demittitur. At Nilus ante exortum Caniculae augetur mediis aestibus ultra aequinoctium.

This most noble of rivers nature raised up before the eyes of the human race, and so arranged that it should flood Egypt at the very time when the earth, scorched by the heats, would draw the waters up most deeply, taking only so much as could suffice for the year’s drought. For in that part which slopes toward Ethiopia there are either no rains or rare ones, which do not help a land unaccustomed to water from the sky.

Hunc nobilissimum amnium natura extulit ante humani generis oculos et ita disposuit, ut eo tempore inundaret Aegyptum quo maxime usta feruoribus terra undas altius traheret, tantum usura quantum siccitati annuae sufficere possit. Nam in ea parte, quae in Aethiopiam uergit, aut nulli imbres sunt aut rari et qui insuetam aquis caelestibus terrain non adiuuent.

Egypt, as you know, has its one hope in this: accordingly the year is barren or fertile, according as the river has flowed in great or more sparingly; "none of the plowmen looks up at the sky." Why should I not jest with my own poet and fling at him an Ovid of his own, who says, "nor does the grass make supplication to Jupiter the Rain-giver"?

Unam, ut scis, Aegyptus in hoc spem suam habet: proinde aut sterilis annus aut fertilis est, prout ille magnus influxit aut parcior; "nemo aratorum respicit caelum". Quare non cum poeta meo iocor et illi Ouidium a suum impingo, qui ait "nec Pluuio supplicat herba Ioui"?

If it could be grasped where it begins to rise, the causes of its rising too would be found: but as it is, having wandered through great wastes and spread into marshes and scattered in vast windings, around Philae it is first gathered out of its vague and erring course. Philae is an island, rough and steep on every side; it is girt by two rivers about to come together into one, which are changed into the Nile and bear its name; it embraces the whole town.

Unde crescere incipiat si comprehendi posset, causae quoque incrementi inuenirentur: nunc uero magnas solitudines peruagatus et in paludes diffusus ‹flexibusque in›gentibus sparsus circa Philas primum ex uago et errante colligitur. Philae insula est aspera et undique prearupta; duobus in unum coituris amnibus bus cingitur, qui Nilo mutantur et eius nomen ferunt; urbem totam complectitur.

Issuing from this, the Nile, great rather than violent, glides past Ethiopia and the sands through which lies the route to the commerce of the Indian Sea. The Cataracts receive it, a place noted for a remarkable spectacle:

Ab hac Nilus magnus magis quam uiolentus egressus, Aethiopiam harenasque, per quas iter ad commercia Indici maris est, praelabitur. Excipiunt eum Cataractae, nobilis insigni spectaculo locus:

there, through cliffs steep and cut away in many places, the Nile rears up and rouses its strength. For it is broken by the rocks that meet it, and, having struggled through the narrows, wherever it conquers or is conquered, it surges; and there, the waters first stirred up which it had led without tumult in a gentle bed, violent and torrential it leaps forth through the grudging passages, unlike itself — for up to that point it flows muddy and turbid; but when it has lashed the crags and the sharp points of the rocks, it foams, and its color comes not from its own nature but from the injury of the place; and at last, having struggled through the obstacles, suddenly left without support it falls into a vast depth with a huge roar of the surrounding regions. The people settled there by the Persians could not endure it, their ears dulled by the constant crash, and for that reason moved their dwellings to quieter places.

ibi per arduas excisasque pluribus locis rupes Nilus insurgit et uires suas concitat. Frangitur enim occurrentibus saxis et per angusta eluctatus, ubicumque uincit aut uincitur, fluctuat et illic excitatis primum aquis, quas sine tumultu leni alueo duxerat, uiolentus et torrens per malignos transitus prosilit dissimilis sibi, quippe ad id lutosus et turbidus fluit; at ubi scopulos et acuta cautium uerberauit, spumat, et illi non ex natura sua sed ex iniuria loci color est, tandemque eluctatus obstantia in uastam altitudinem subito destitutus cadit cum ingenti circumiacentium regionum strepitu. Quem perferre gens ibi a Persis collocata non potuit obtusis assiduo fragore auribus et ob hoc sedibus ad quietiora translatis.

Among the marvels of the river I have heard of the incredible daring of the inhabitants: two men board tiny boats, of whom one steers the boat, the other bails; then, much tossed amid the rapid madness of the Nile and the recoiling waves, at last they hold the thinnest channels, through which they escape the narrows of the rocks and, poured out with the whole river, control the plunging boat by hand; and, to the great fear of the onlookers, sent headfirst, when you have already wept for them and believed them sunk and overwhelmed by so great a mass, far from the place into which they fell they are sailing, shot out as if from an engine; nor does the falling wave drown them, but delivers them to smooth waters.

Inter miracula fluminis incredibilem incolarum audaciam accepi: bini paruula nauigia conscendunt, quorum alter nauem regit, alter exhaurit; deinde multum inter rapidam insaniam Nili et reciprocos fluctus uolutati tandem tenuissimos canales tenent, per quos angusta rupium effugiunt et, cum toto flumine effusi, nauigium ruens manu temperant magnoque spectantium metu in caput missi, cum iam adploraueris mersosque atque obrutos tanta mole credideris, longe ab eo, in quem cediderunt, loco nauigant tormenti modo missi; nec mergit illos cadens unda sed planis aquis tradit.

The first rising of the Nile is observed around the island I just mentioned, Philae: a short space from it a rock divides the river (the Greeks call it Abaton, and none but the priests tread it); those rocks first feel the river’s increase. Then, after a great space, two crags stand out (the inhabitants call them the veins of the Nile), from which a great force is poured, not however such as could cover Egypt. Into these mouths the priests cast offerings, and the prefects golden gifts, when the solemn rite comes.

Primum incrementum Nili circa insulam, quam modo rettuli Philas uisitur: exiguo ab hac spatio petra diuiditur (Abaton Graeci uocant, nec illam ulli nisi antistites calcant); illa primum saxa auctum fluminis sentiunt. Post magnum deinde spatium duo eminent scopuli (Nili uenas uocant incolae) ex quibus magna uis funditur, non tamen quanta operire possit Aegyptum. In haec ora stipem sacerdotes et aurea dona praefecti, cum sollemne uenit sacrum, iaciunt.

From here the Nile, now manifest in new strength, is borne in a high and deep bed, pressed by the barrier of the mountains so that it does not spread in breadth. Around Memphis at last, free and wandering through the plains, it is split into several rivers, and, channels being made by hand so that the measure is in the power of those who divert it, it runs throughout all Egypt. At first it is drawn apart, then, the waters joined again, it stands in pool in the likeness of a broad and turbid sea: the breadth of the regions into which it stretches takes from it its course and its violence, as it embraces all Egypt on the right and the left.

Hinc iam manifestus nouarum uirium Nilus alto ac profundo alueo fertur, ne in latitudinem excedat, obiectu montium pressus. Circa Memphim demum liber et per campestria uagus in plura scinditur flumina manuque canalibus factis, ut sit modus in deriuantium potestate, per totam discurrit Aegyptum. Initio diducitur, deinde continuatis aquis in faciem lati ac turbidi maris stagnat: cursum illi uiolentiamque eripit latitudo regionum in quas extenditur dextra laeuaque totam amplexus Aegyptum.

By as much as the Nile has risen, by so much is the hope for the year; nor does the reckoning deceive the farmer, so closely does the earth answer to the measure of the river that makes it fertile. To the sandy and thirsty soil it brings both water and earth: for, since it flows turbid, it leaves all its dregs in the dry and gaping places and smears whatever fat it carried with it onto the parched ground, and it helps the fields for two reasons, both because it floods and because it silts. And so whatever it has not helped lies barren and squalid; if it has risen above what is due, it has done harm.

Quantum creuit Nilus, tantum spei in annum est; nec computatio fallit agricolam, adeo ad mensuram fluminis terra respondet, quam fertilem facit Nilus. Is harenoso ac sitienti solo et aquam inducit et terram: nam cum turbulentus fluat, omnem in siccis atque hiantibus locis faecem relinquit et, quicquid pingue secum tulit, arentibus locis allinit iuuatque agros duabus ex causis, et quod inundat et quod oblimat. Itaque quicquid non adiuit, sterile ac squalidum iacet; si creuit super debitum, nocuit.

Marvelous, then, is the nature of the river, in that, while other rivers wash the lands away and disembowel them, the Nile, so much greater than the rest, so far from eating anything away or scraping it off that on the contrary it adds strength, and least of all in it is what merely tempers the soil: for by the silt it brings it saturates and binds the sands, and Egypt owes to it not only the fertility of its lands but the very lands themselves.

Mira itaque natura fluminis quod, cum ceteri amnes abluant terras et euiscerent, Nilus, tanto ceteris maior, adeo nihil exedit nec abradit, ut contra adiciat uires minimumque in eo sit, quod solum temperat: illato enim limo harenas saturat ac iungit, debetque illi Aegyptus non tantum fertilitatem terrarum, sed ipsas.

That sight is most beautiful when the Nile has now thrust itself into the fields: the plains lie hidden and the valleys are covered, the towns stand out in the manner of islands, there is no commerce for the inland places except by boats, and the joy of the peoples is the greater the less they see of their own lands.

Illa facies pulcherrima est cum iam se in agros Nilus ingessit: latent campi opertaeque sunt ualles, oppida insularum modo exstant, nullum mediterraneis nisi per nauigia commercium est maiorque est laetitia gentibus quo minus terrarum suarum uident.

Even so, when the Nile keeps within its banks, it is discharged into the sea through seven mouths: whichever of these you choose, it is a sea. It nonetheless stretches out many obscure branches onto one shore and another. For the rest, it brings up monsters equal to those of the sea either in size or in harmfulness, and from this its size can be estimated, that it holds huge animals both with sufficient food and with room to roam.

Sic quoque, cum se ripis continet Nilus, per septena ostia in mare emittitur: quodcumque ex his elegeris, mare est. Multos nihilominus ignobiles ramos in aliud atque aliud litus porrigit. Ceterum beluas marinis uel magnitudine uel noxa pares educat, et ex eo quantus sit aestimari potest quod ingentia animalia et pabulo sufficienti et ad uagandum loco continet.

Balbillus, the best of men and most exquisitely accomplished in every kind of letters, is the authority that, when he himself held Egypt as prefect, at the Heracleotic mouth of the Nile, which is the largest, he had the spectacle of dolphins coming in from the sea and crocodiles driving a battle-line against them from the river, as though a battle were fought for opposing sides; and that the crocodiles were beaten by the gentle, harmless-biting creatures.

Balbillus, uirorum optimus perfectusque in omni litterarum genere rarissime, auctor est, cum ipse praefectus obtineret Aegyptum, Heracleotico ostio Nili, quod est maximum, spectaculo sibi fuisse delphinorum a mari occurrentium et crocodillorum a flumine aduersum agmen agentium uelut pro partibus proelium; crocodillos ab animalibus placidis morsuque innoxiis uictos.

For these the upper part of the body is hard and impenetrable even to the teeth of larger animals, but the lower part is soft and tender. This the dolphins, diving, would wound with the spines they bear standing up on their backs, and, striving upward, would cleave it; and, several being cut open in this way, the rest fled as if their line were turned: a creature that flees the bold, most bold against the fearful!

His superior pars corporis dura et impenetrabilis est etiam maiorum animalium dentibus, at inferior mollis ac tenera. Hanc delphini spinis, quas dorso eminentes gerunt, submersi uulnerabant et in aduersum enisi diuidebant; rescissis hoc modo pluribus ceteri uelut acie uersa refugerunt: fugax animal audaci, audacissimum timido!

Nor do the Tentyrites overcome them by any property of their breed or blood, but by contempt and recklessness. For of their own accord they pursue, and drag the fleeing crocodiles with a thrown noose: most perish — those who had too little presence of mind for the pursuit.

Nec illos Tentyritae generis aut sanguinis proprietate superant, sed contemptu et temeritate. Ultro enim insequuntur fugientesque iniecto trahunt laqueo: plerique pereunt, quibus minus praesens animus ad persequendum fuit.

Theophrastus is the authority that the Nile once carried down sea-water. It is established that for two continuous years, in the reign of Cleopatra, it did not rise, in the tenth and eleventh years of her reign. They say that this signified the failure of the two who held power: for the empire of Antony and Cleopatra failed. Callimachus is the authority that in earlier ages the Nile did not rise for nine years.

Nilum aliquando marinam aquam detulisse Theophrastus estÆ auctor. Biennio continuo regnante Cleopatra non ascendisse, decimo regni anno et undecimo, constat. Significatam aiunt duobus rerum potientibus defectionem: Antonii enim Cleopatraeque defecit imperium. Per nouem annos non ascendisse Nilum superioribus saeculis Callimachus est auctor.

But now I will come to examining the causes for which the Nile rises in summer, and I will begin from the most ancient. Anaxagoras says that snows loosened from the heights of Ethiopia run down all the way to the Nile. All antiquity was of the same opinion: this Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides hand down. But that it is false is plain from several arguments.

Sed nunc ad inspiciendas causas, propter quas aestate Nilus crescat, accedam et ab antiquissimis incipiam. Anaxagoras ait ex Aethiopiae iugis solutas niues ad Nilum usque decurrere. In eadem opinione omnis uetustas fuit: hoc Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides tradunt. Sed falsum esse argumentis pluribus patet.

First, that Ethiopia is most burning is shown by the scorched color of the men and by the Troglodytes, whose houses are underground. The rocks grow hot as if with fire, not only at midday but also when the day declines; the dust is burning and will not bear a human footstep; silver is unsoldered; the joints of statues come apart; no coating remains on overlaid material. The south wind too, which comes from that tract, is the hottest of the winds. None of those animals that lie hidden in winter is ever shut away there; even through the winters the snake is in the open and aboveground. At Alexandria too, which is set far from the immoderate heats, snows do not fall; the upper regions lack rain.

Primo Aethiopiam feruentissimam esse indicat hominum adustus color et Trogodytae, quibus subterraneae domus sunt. Saxa uelut igni feruescunt non tantum medio sed inclinato quoque die; ardens puluis nec humani uestigii patiens; argentum replumbatur; signorum coagmenta soluuntur; nullum materiae superadornatae manet operimentum. Auster quoque, qui ex illo tractu uenit, uentorum calidissimus est. Nullum ex his animalibus quae latent bruma umquam reconditur, etiam per hiemes in summo et aperto serpens est. Alexandriae quoque, quae longe ab immodicis caloribus posita est, niues non cadunt; superiora pluuia carent.

How then does a region subject to such heats receive snows that will last through the whole summer? Granted that some mountains there too may catch them: surely no more than the Alps, than the ridges of Thrace or the Caucasus? And yet the rivers of these mountains swell in spring and early summer, then are smaller in winter: for in the spring season the rains dissolve the snow, and the first heat scatters its remnants.

Quemadmodum ergo regio tantis subiecta feruoribus duraturas per totam aestatem niues recipit? Quas sane aliqui montes illic quoque excipiant: numquid magis quam Alpes, quam Thraciae iuga aut Caucasus? Atqui horum montium flumina uere et prima aestate intumescunt, deinde hibernis minora sunt: quippe uernis temporibus imbres niuem diluunt, reliquias eius primus calor dissipat.

Neither the Rhine nor the Rhone nor the Hister nor the Cayster lying beneath Tmolus comes on in summer: and on those, as in the north, the snows lie unbroken all year. The Phasis too and the Borysthenes would grow at the same season, if snows could bring forth great rivers against the summer.

Nec Rhenus nec Rhodanus nec Hister nec Caystrus subiacens Tmolo aestate proueniunt: et illis altissimae, ut in septemtrionibus, iugiter sunt niues. Phasis quoque per idem tempus et Borysthenes crescerent, ut niues flumina possent contra aestatem magna producere.

Besides, if this cause raised the Nile, it would flow fullest in early summer; for then the snows are still most whole, and the thaw is from the softest: but the Nile is liquefied through four months and its accession is even.

Praeterea si haec causa attolleret Nilum, aestate prima plenissimus flueret; tunc enim maxime integrae adhuc niues ex mollissimoque tabes est: Nilus autem per menses quattuor liquitur et illi aequalis accessio est.

If you believe Thales, the Etesian winds resist the descending Nile and check its course, the sea being driven against its mouths: so, beaten back, it runs upon itself and does not grow, but, prevented from going out, it stands, and, congested by whatever force it presently can muster, it bursts forth. Euthymenes of Massilia gives his testimony: "I sailed," he says, "the Atlantic sea: from there the Nile flows, greater so long as the Etesian winds keep their season; for then the sea is cast out by the pressing winds. When they have subsided, the deep too grows quiet, and there is less force in the Nile descending from there. For the rest, the taste of the sea is sweet, and the monsters are like those of the Nile."

Si Thaleti credis, etesiae descendenti Nilo resistunt et cursum eius acto contra ostia mari sustinent: ita reuerberatus in se recurrit nec crescit, sed exitu prohibitus resistit et quacumque mox potuit ui congestus erumpit. Euthymenes Massiliensis testimonium dicit: "Nauigaui, inquit, Atlanticum mare: inde Nilus fluit, maior, quamdiu etesiae tempus obseruant; tunc enim eicitur mare instantibus uentis. Cum resederunt, et pelagus conquiescit minorque descendenti inde uis Nilo est. Ceterum dulcis mari sapor est et similes Niloticis beluae".

Why then, if the Etesian winds provoke the Nile, does its rising begin both before them and last after them? Besides, it does not grow greater the more vehemently they have blown, nor is it slackened and quickened according as their onset was: which would happen if it grew by their force. What of the fact that the Etesian winds lash the Egyptian shore, and the Nile descends against them, about to come from where they come, if its origin were from them? Besides, it would flow out from the sea pure and blue, not come turbid as it now does.

Quare ergo, si Nilum etesiae prouocant, et ante illos incipit incrementum eius et post eos durat? Praeterea non fit maior quo illi flauere uehementius, nec remittitur incitaturque prout illis impetus fuit: quod fieret, si illorum uiribus cresceret. Quid, quod etesiae litus Aegyptium uerberant et contra illos Nilus descendit, inde uenturus unde illi, si origo ab illis esset? Praeterea ex mari purus et caeruleus efllueret, non ut nunc turbidus ueniret.

Add that his testimony is refuted by a throng of witnesses. Then there was room for a lie; when foreign things were unknown, they were free to send out fables; but now the whole shore of the outer sea is grazed by merchants’ ships, of whom none reports a beginning of the Nile or a sea of a different taste: which nature forbids us to believe, because the sun draws off the sweetest and the lightest of everything.

Adice quod testimonium eius testium turba coarguitur. Tunc erat mendacio locus; cum ignota essent externa, licebat illis fabulas mittere; nunc uero tota exteri maris ora mercatorum nauibus stringitur, quorum nemo narrat initium Nili aut mare saporis alterius: quod natura credi uetat, quia dulcissimum quodque et leuissimum sol trahit.

Besides, why does it not grow in winter? Then too the sea can be stirred by winds, indeed somewhat greater ones: for the Etesians are temperate. But if it were borne from the Atlantic sea, it would fill Egypt all at once: whereas now it grows by degrees.

Praeterea quare hieme non crescit? Et tunc potest uentis concitari mare aliquanto quidem maioribus: nam etesiae temperati sunt. Quod si e mari ferretur Atlantico, semel oppleret Aegyptum: at nunc per gradus crescit.

Oenopides of Chios says that in winter the heat is held beneath the earth: therefore the caves too are warm and the water in wells more tepid, and so the veins are dried by the inner heat. But in other lands the rivers are increased by rains; the Nile, because it is helped by no rain, is thinned; then it grows through summer, at the time when the inner parts of the earth are cold and the chill returns to the springs.

Oenopides Chius ait hieme calorem sub terris contineri: ideo et specus calidos esse et tepidiorem puteis aquam, itaque uenas interno calore siccari. Sed in aliis terris augeri imbribus flumina; Nilum, quia nullo imbre adiuuetur, tenuari; deinde crescere per aestatem, quo tempore fripent interiora terrarum et redit rigor fontibus.

But if this were true, all rivers would grow in summer, and wells would be abundant in summer. Next, it is false that the heat is greater beneath the earth in winter. But why are caves and wells warm? Because they do not receive the air that is cold outside: so they do not have heat, but shut out the cold. From the same cause they grow cool in summer, because the heated air does not reach them, remote and withdrawn as they are.

Quod si uerum esset, aestate flumina crescerent omnia, putei aestate abundarent. Deinde falsum est calorem hieme sub terris esse maiorem. At quare specus et putei tepent? Quia aera frigentem extrinsecus non recipiunt: ita non calorem habent, sed frigus excludunt. Ex eadem causa aestate refrigescunt, quia ad illos remotos seductosque calefactus non peruertit.

Diogenes of Apollonia says: "The sun snatches moisture to itself: this the dried-out earth draws from the sea, then from the other waters. But it cannot be that one earth is dry, another abundant; for all things are perforated and mutually passable, and the dry take from the wet. Otherwise, unless the earth received something, it would have dried up. So the sun draws from every quarter, but most from those it presses hardest; and these are the southern parts."

Diogenes Apolloniates ait: "Sol umorem ad se rapit: hunc adsiccata tellus ex mari ducit, tum ex ceteris aquis. Fieri autem non potest, ut alia sicca sit tellus, alia abundet; sunt enim perforata omnia et inuicem peruia, et sicca ab umidis sumunt. Alioquin, nisi aliquid terra acciperet, exaruisset. Ergo undique sol trahit, sed ex his quae premit maxime; haec meridiana sunt.

"When the earth has dried out, it brings more moisture to itself: as in lamps the oil flows to where it is being burned, so the water leans toward where the force of the heat and of the seething earth summons it. Whence, then, does it draw? From those parts, of course, that are always wintry: the northern parts overflow. For this reason the Pontus flows constantly, rapid, into the lower sea — not, like the other seas, with tides alternating to and fro, but ever forward in one direction and torrential. But unless what each part lacks were easily restored by these routes, and what each has to spare carried off, by now all things would be either dry or flooded."

Terra cum exaruit, plus ad se umoris adducit: ut in lucernis oleum illo fluit ubi exuritur, sic aqua illo incumbit quo uis caloris et terrae aestuantis arcessit. Unde ergo trahit? Ex illis scilicet partibus semper hibernis: septentrionales exundant. Ob hoc Pontus in infernum mare assidue fluit rapidus (non ut cetera maria alternatis ultro citro aestibus) in unam partem semper promus et torrens. Quod nisi facile his itineribus quod cuique deest redderetur, quod cuique superest emit, teretur, iam aut sicca essent omnia aut inundata".

I should like to ask Diogenes why, since all things are pierced through and pass into one another, rivers are not greater everywhere in summer. "The sun bakes Egypt more: and so the Nile grows more. But in the other lands too some addition is made to the rivers." Next, why is any part of the earth without moisture, when all of it draws to itself from other regions, and the more so the hotter it is? Next, why is the Nile sweet, if this water comes to it from the sea? For to no river is the taste sweeter…

Interrogare Diogenem libet quare, cum pertusa sint cuncta et inuicem commeant, non omnibus locis aestate maiora sint flumina. "Aegyptum sol magis percoquit: itaque Nilus magis crescit. Sed in ceteris quoque terris aliqua fluminibus fiat adiectio." Deinde quare ulla pars terrae sine umore est, cum omnis ad se ex aliis regionibus trahat, eo quidem magis quo calidior est? Deinde quare Nilus dulcis est, si haec illi e mari unda est? Nec enim ulli flumini mini dulcior gustus...

If I assure you that hail forms in the same way that ice forms among us — the whole cloud frozen — I will have done too bold a thing. So I count myself among the witnesses of the second rank, who deny that they themselves have seen it; or I will do what the historians do: when they have lied much at their own discretion, they are unwilling to vouch for some one thing, but add: "The credit shall rest with my authorities."

Grandinem hoc modo fieri si tibi affirmauero quo apud nos glacies fit, gelata nube tota, nimis audacem rem fecero. Itaque ex his me testibus numero secundae notae, qui uidisse quidem se negant; aut, quod historici faciunt, et ipse faciam: illi cum multa mentiti sunt ad arbitrium suum, unam aliquam rem nolunt spondere sed adiciunt: "Penes auctores fides erit".

So if you believe me too little, Posidonius pledges you his authority both for what has gone before and for what is to follow: for he will affirm that hail forms from a cloud already watery and turned to moisture, just as if he had been present.

Ergo si mihi parum credis, Posidonius tibi auctoritatem promittit tam in illo quod praeteriit, quam in hoc quod secuturum est: grandinem enim fieri ex nube aquosa iam et in umorem uersa sic affirmabit tamquam interfuerit.

Why hail is round you could know even without a teacher, once you have noticed that every drip rounds itself into a ball — which appears both on mirrors, that gather moisture from breath, and on sprinkled cups and every other smooth surface; no less, if any drops have clung to leaves, they lie in a round.

Quare autem rotunda sit grando, etiam sine magistro scire possis, cum adnotaueris stillicidium omne glomerari, quod et in speculis apparet, quae umorem halitu colligunt, et in poculis sparsis aliaque omni leuitate; non minus foliis si quae guttae adhaeserunt, in rotundum iacent.

"What is harder than rock? What softer than wave? Yet hard rocks are hollowed by soft water." Or, as another poet says: "The fall of the drip hollows the stone." This very hollowing comes out round; from which it appears that what does the hollowing is itself like this too: for it carves out for itself a place answering to its own form and shape.

"Quid magis est saxo durum? Quid mollius unda? Dura tamen molli saxa cauantur aqua." Aut, ut alius poeta ait: "stillicidi casus lapidem cauat." Haec ipsa excauatio rotunda fit; ex quo apparet illud quoque huic simile esse quod cauat: locum enim sibi ad formam et habitum sui exsculpit.

Besides, even if the hail was not such to begin with, it can be rounded off as it is borne down, and, rolled so many times through a space of dense air, be worn evenly and into a sphere. This snow cannot undergo, because it is not so solid — rather because it is loose, and does not fall from a great height but has its beginning near the earth: so its slip through the air is not long but from close at hand.

Praeterea potest, etiamsi non fuit grando talis, dum defertur, corrotundari et, totiens per spatium aeris densi deuoluta, aequabiliter atque in orbem teri. Quod nix pati non potest, quia non est tam solida, immo quia fusa est, et non per magnam altitudinem cadit sed circa terras initium eius est: ita non longus illi per aera sed ex proximo lapsus est.

Why should I not allow myself the same as Anaxagoras did? Among none more than among philosophers ought there to be equal liberty: hail is nothing other than suspended ice, snow ice hanging in hoar-frost. For we have already said that the difference there is between dew and water, the same difference there is between hoar-frost and ice, and likewise between snow and hail.

Quare non et ego mihi idem permittam quod Anaxagoras? Inter nullos magis quam inter philosophos esse debet aequa libertas: grando nihil aliud est quam suspensa glacies, nix pruina pendens. Illud enim iam diximus, quod inter rorem et aquam interest, hoc inter pruinam et glaciem nec non inter niuem et grandinem interesse.

I could dismiss myself, the inquiry done; but I will give good measure, and, since I have begun to be a bother to you, I will say whatever is asked on this head. It is asked why in winter it snows and does not hail, while in spring, the cold already broken, hail falls. For — grant that I am deceived as far as you are concerned — I at least am persuaded of the truth, I who show myself credulous up to these lighter lies, in which the face gets cut, not the eyes gouged:

Poteram me peracta quaestione dimittere sed bene mensum dabo et, quoniam coepi tibi molestus esse, quicquid in hoc loco quaeritur dicam; quaeritur autem quare hieme ningat, non grandinet, uere iam frigore infracto grando cadat. Nam, ut fallar tibi, uerum mihi quidem persuadetur, qui me usque ad mendacia haec leuiora, in quibus os percidi non oculi erui solent, credulum praesto:

in winter the air is stiff, and so is not yet turned into water but into snow, to which the air is nearer; when spring has begun, a greater turning of the season follows, and under a warmer sky the drips grow larger. Therefore (as our Virgil says) "when the rain-bearing spring rushes down," the change of the air is more violent, the air opened on every side and dissolving itself with the season’s help: for this reason the storm-clouds come down heavy and vast rather than persistent.

hieme aer riget et ideo nondum in aquam uertitur sed in niuem, cui aer propior est; cum uer coepit, maior inclinatio temporis sequitur et calidiore caelo maiora fiunt stillicidia. Ideo (ut ait Vergilius noster) "cum ruit imbriferum uer", uehementior mutatio est aeris undique patefacti et soluentis se ipso tempore adiuuante: ob hoc nimbi graues magis uastique quam pertinaces deferuntur.

Midwinter has slow rains and thin, such as often come between, when the sparse and fine rain has snow mixed in too; we call a day snowy when the cold is deep and the sky is grim. Besides, when the north wind blows or holds its own sky, the rains are fine; under the south wind the downpour is more shameless and the drops fuller.

Bruma lentas pluuias habet et tenues, quales saepe solent interuenire, cum pluuia rara et minuta niuem quoque admixtam habet; dicimus niualem diem, cum altum frigus et triste caelum est. Praeterea, aquilone flante aut suum caelum habente, minutae pluuiae sunt; austro imber improbior est et guttae pleniores.

A point put forward by our school I dare neither state, because it looks weak, nor pass over: for what harm is there in writing something even for a more lenient judge? Indeed, if we begin to test all arguments by the touchstone, silence will be the verdict: for very few are without an opponent; the rest, even if they win, are still at law.

Rem a nostris positam nec dicere audeo, quia infirma uidetur, nec praeterire: quid enim mali est aliquid et faciliori iudici scribere? Immo si omnia argumenta ad obrussam coeperimus exigere, silentium indicetur: pauca enim admodum sunt sine aduersario; cetera, etiamsi uincunt, litigant.

They say that in spring whatever about Scythia and Pontus and the northern tract has been frozen and bound up is loosened; that then the frozen rivers break apart, then the buried mountains release their snow. It is credible, then, that cold blasts arise from there and are remixed into the spring sky.

Aiunt uere, quicquid circa Scythiam et Pontum et septemtrionalem plagam glaciatum et astrictum est, relaxari; tunc flumina gelata discedere, tunc obrutos montes niuem soluere. Credibile est ergo frigidos spiritus inde fieri et uerno caelo remisceri.

They add this too, which I have neither tested nor mean to test (you too, I judge, if you wish to seek out the truth, might make your trial of snow on a Carian): they say that the feet of those who tread fixed and hard snow are less cold than those of men who tread it soft and crumbling.

Illud quoque adiciunt, quod nec sum expertus nec experiri cogito (tu quoque, censeo, si uolueris uerum exquirere, niuem in Care experiaris): minus algere aiunt pedes eorum, qui fixam et duram niuem calcant quam eorum, qui teneram et labefactam.

So, if they do not lie, whatever is borne from those northern places, the snow now broken up and the ice shattering, binds and constricts the now-warming and moist air of the southern region: thus what was going to be rain becomes hail by the injury of the cold.

Ergo, si non mentiuntur, quicquid ex illis septemtrionalibus locis iam disturbata niue et glacie frangente se fertur, id meridianae partis tepentem iam umidumque aera alligat et praestringit: ita quae pluuia futura erat, grando fit iniuria frigoris.

I do not restrain myself from bringing out all our people’s follies. They affirm that certain men are skilled in observing the clouds and foretell when hail is going to come. This they could grasp by experience itself, once they had marked the color of the clouds that hail so often followed.

Non tempero mihi quominus omnes nostrorum ineptias proferam. Quosdam peritos obseruandarum nubium esse affirmant et praedicere cum grando uentura sit. Hoc intellegere usu ipso potuerunt, cum colorem nubium notassent, quem grando totiens insequebatur.

This is past belief: that at Cleonae there were publicly appointed hail-wardens (chalazophylakes), watchmen for coming hail. When these had given the sign that hail was now at hand, what do you expect — that men ran off for their cloaks or their leather coats? No: each for himself, one would sacrifice a lamb, another a chicken; and at once those clouds turned aside elsewhere, once they had tasted a little blood.

Illud incredibile, Cleonis fuisse publice praepositos chalazophylacas, speculatores uenturae grandinis. Hi cum signum dedissent adesse iam grandinem, quid expectas? ut homines ad paenulas discurrerent aut ad scorteas? Immo pro se quisque alius agnum immolabat, alius pullum: protinus illae nubes alio declinabant, cum aliquid gustassent sanguinis.

You laugh at this? Take something to laugh at more: if a man had neither lamb nor chicken, he would lay hands on himself — which could be done without loss — and, lest you think the clouds greedy or cruel, he would prick his own finger with a good sharp stylus and make his offering with this blood; and no less did the hail turn away from his little plot than from the one where it had been entreated with larger victims.

Hoc rides? Accipe quod magis rideas: si quis nec agnum nec pullum habebat, quod sine damno fieri poterat, manus sibi afferebat, et, ne tu auidas aut crudeles existimes nubes, digitum suum bene acuto graphio pungebat et hoc sanguine litabat; nec minus ab huius agello grando se uertebat quam ab illo, in quo maioribus hostiis exorata erat.

They seek the reason for this. The one party, as becomes the wisest of men, deny that it can come about that anyone strike a bargain with hail and buy off storms with little gifts, however much gifts conquer even the gods. The other party say that the men themselves suspect there is in the blood itself a certain power potent to turn aside and repel the cloud.

Rationem huius rei quaerunt: alteri, ut homines sapientissimos decet, negant posse fieri ut cum grandine aliquis paciscatur et tempestates munusculis redimat, quamuis munera et deos uincant. Alteri suspicari ipsos aiunt esse in ipso sanguine uim quandam potentem auertendae nubis ac repellendae.

But how can there be in so scant a blood so great a power that it pierces to the heights and the clouds feel it? How much readier it was to say: it is a lie and a fairy-tale. Yet the men of Cleonae used to render judgments against those to whom the care of providing against storms had been entrusted, on the ground that through their negligence the vineyards had been thrashed or the crops beaten down. And among us it is provided in the Twelve Tables "that no one shall sing away another’s crops."

Sed quomodo in tam exiguo sanguine potest esse uis tanta, ut in altum penetret et illam sentiant nubes? Quanto expeditius erat dicere: mendacium et fabula est. At Cleonaei iudicia reddebant in illos quibus delegata erat cura prouidendae tempestatis, quod neglegentia eorum uineae uapulassent aut segetes procidissent. Et apud nos in XII tabulis cauetur "ne quis alienos fructus excantassit".

Antiquity, still raw, believed that rains were both drawn on and driven off by chants — none of which can be done, so plainly that for this matter one need enter no philosopher’s school.

Rudis adhuc antiquitas credebat et attrahi cantibus imbres et repelli, quorum nihil posse fieri tam palam est, ut huius rei causa nullius philosophi schola intranda sit.

One thing I will add to this, and you will be glad to favor it and applaud. They say that snow forms in that part of the air which is near the earth. For this part has more heat, from four causes. One, that all the earth’s exhalation, since it holds within itself much that is fiery and dry, is the hotter the fresher it is. Another, that the sun’s rays rebound from the earth and run back upon themselves: their doubling warms each nearest thing up from the earth, which therefore have more warmth because they feel the sun twice. The third cause is that the upper regions are more blown through, whereas whatever lies low is less lashed by the winds.

Unam rem ad hoc adiciam et fauere te ac plaudere iuuabit. Aiunt niuem in ea parte aeris fieri quae prope terras est. Hanc enim plus habere caloris ex quattuor causis: una, quod omnis terrarum euaporatio, cum multum in se feruidi aridique habeat, hoc est calidior quo recentior; altera, quod radii solis a terra resiliunt et in se recurrunt: horum duplicatio proxima quaeque a terris calefacit, quae ideo plus habent teporis quia solem bis sentiunt; tertia causa est, quod magis superiora perflantur, at quaecumque depressa sunt minus uentis uerberantur.

To these is added the reasoning of Democritus: "Every body, the more solid it is, the quicker it takes in heat and the longer it keeps it. So if you set in the sun a bronze vessel and a glass one and a silver one, heat will reach the bronze quicker and cling to it longer." Then he adds why he thinks this happens. "In these bodies," he says, "which are harder and more compressed, the pores must be smaller and the breath in each thinner: it follows that, just as smaller bath-tubs and smaller water-heaters warm up quicker, so these pores, hidden and escaping the eyes, both feel the heat the more quickly and, on account of those same narrows, give back more slowly whatever they have taken in." These things, prepared from far off, lead up to the question now at issue.

Accedit his ratio Democriti: "Omne corpus, quo solidius est hoc calorem citius concipit, diutius seruat. Itaque si in sole posueris aeneum uas et uitreum et argenteum, aeneo citius calor accedet, diutius haerebit." Adicit deinde quare hoc existimet fieri. "His, inquit, corporibus, quae duriora et pressiora sunt, necesse est minora foramina esse et tenuiorem in singulis spiritum: sequitur ut, quemadmodum minora balnearia et minora miliaria citius calefiunt, sic haec foramina occulta et oculos effugientia et celerius feruorem sentiant et propter easdem angustias, quicquid receperunt, tardius reddant." Haec longe praeparata ad id perducunt, de quo nunc quaeritur.

All air, the nearer it is to the earth, the thicker. Just as in water and in every liquid the dregs lie at the bottom, so in the air the densest parts settle down. Now it has already been proved that all things, the thicker and more solid their matter, keep heat received the more faithfully. The higher air, the farther it has withdrawn from the filth of the earth, is the purer and cleaner; and so it does not retain the sun but transmits it as though through a void: therefore it is less warmed.

Omnis aer quo propior est terris, hoc crassior. Quemadmodum in aqua et in omni umore faex ima est, ita in aere spississima quaeque desidunt. Iam autem probatum est omnia, quo crassioris solidiorisque materiae sunt, hoc fidelius custodire calorem receptum. Editior aer, quo longius a terrarum colluuie recessit, hoc sincerior puriorque est; itaque solem non retinet sed uelut per inane transmittit: ideo minus calefit.

On the contrary, some say that the peaks of mountains ought to be the hotter, the nearer they are to the sun: who seem to me to err in this, that they think the Apennine and the Alps and the other mountains noted for their exceeding height grow up so far that their magnitude can feel the nearness of the sun.

Contra quidam aiunt cacumina montium hoc calidiora esse debere, quo propiora soli sunt: qui mihi uidentur errare, quod Apenninum et Alpes et alios notos ob eximiam altitudinem montes in tantum putant crescere, ut illorum magnitudo sentire solis uiciniam possit:

Those are lofty, so long as they are compared with us; but truly, when you have looked to the universe, the lowness of them all is plain. Among themselves they are surpassed and surpass; for the rest, nothing rises so high that in comparison with the whole there is any portion even for the greatest: and were it not so, we would not say that the whole globe of the earth is a ball.

excelsa sunt ista, quamdiu nobis comparantur; at uero, ubi ad uniuersum respexeris, manifesta est omnium humilitas. Inter se uincuntur et uincunt; ceterum in tantum nihil attollitur, ut in collatione totius ulla sit uel maximis portio: quod nisi esset, non diceremus totum orbem terrarum pilam esse.

The property of a ball is roundness with a certain evenness; and take this evenness to be the kind you see in a playing-ball: its seams and cracks do not much keep it from being called equal to itself on every side. As in this ball those intervals do nothing against the look of roundness, so not even in the whole globe of the earth do the lofty mountains, whose height is swallowed up in comparison with the whole world.

Pilae proprietas est cum aequalitate quadam rotunditas, aequalitatem autem hanc accipe quam uides in lusoria pila: non multum illi commissurae et rimae nocent quo minus par sibi ab omni parte dicatur. Quomodo in hac pila nihil illa interualla officiunt ad speciem rotundi, sic ne in uniuerso quidem orbe terrarum editi montes, quorum altitudo totius mundi collatione consumitur.

He who says that a higher mountain, because it catches the sun nearer, ought to be hotter, may say likewise that a taller man ought to warm up quicker than a tiny one, and the head quicker than the feet: but whoever has reckoned the world by its own measure and has reflected that the earth holds the place of a point, will understand that nothing on it can stand out so far as to feel the heavens more, as though it had drawn near to them.

Qui dicit altiorem montem, quia solem propius excipiat, magis calere debere, idem dicere potest longiorem hominem citius quam pusillum debere calefieri et caput citius quam pedes: at quisquis mundum mensura sua aestimauerit et terram cogitauerit tenere puncti locum, intelleget nihil in illa posse ita eminere, ut caelestia magis sentiat, uelut in propinquum illis accesserit.

Those mountains we look up at, and their peaks beset by everlasting snow, are nonetheless at the bottom; and a mountain is indeed nearer the sun than a plain or a valley, but in the way one hair is thicker than another. For in that fashion one tree too will be called nearer the sky than another. Which is false, because among tiny things there can be no great difference, except while they are compared among themselves. When it comes to comparison with an immense body, it makes no difference how much one is bigger than the other, because, even by a great difference, they are still the smallest of things.

Montes isti, quos suspicimus, et uertices aeterna niue obsessi nihilominus in imo sunt; et propius quidem est a sole mons quam campus aut uallis, sed sic quomodo est pilus pilo crassior. Isto enim modo et arbor alia magis quam alia dicetur uicina caelo. Quod est falsum, quia inter pusilla non potest magnum esse discrimen, nisi dum inter se comparantur. Ubi ad collationem immensi corporis uentum est, nihil interest quanto sit alterum altero maius, quia, etiamsi magno discrimine, tamen minima uincuntur.

But to return to my theme: on account of these causes I have recounted, most have held that snow is conceived in that part of the air which is near the earth, and is therefore bound together the less because it sets with less cold. For the neighboring air has both more cold than to pass into water and rain, and less than to be hardened into hail: by this middle cold, not too intensely strained, snows are formed when the waters are compacted.

Sed ut ad propositum reuertar, propter has quas rettuli causas plerisque placuit in ea parte aeris niuem concipi quae uicina terris est, et ideo minus alligari quia minore rigore coit. Nam uicinus aer et plus habet frigoris quam ut in aquam imbremque transeat, et minus quam ut duretur in grandinem: hoc medio frigore non nimis intento niues fiunt coactis aquis.

"Why," you say, "do you pursue so laboriously these trifles, which make a man more lettered, not better? You tell how snows form, when it would concern us far more for you to tell why snows ought not to be bought." You bid me, then, go to law with luxury at last? That is a daily quarrel, and without effect. Let us quarrel nonetheless, even though she is going to come out on top: let her conquer us fighting and struggling against her.

"Quid istas, inquis, ineptias, quibus litteratior est quisque, non melior, tam operose persequeris? Quomodo fiant niues dicis, cum multo magis ad nos dici a te pertineat quare emendae non sint niues." Iubes me tandem cum luxuria litigare? Cotidianum istud et sine effectu iurgium est. Litigemus tamen, etiamsi superior futura est: pugnantes ac reluctantes uincat.

What further? Do you judge this very inspection of nature to contribute nothing to what you want? When we ask how snow forms, and say that it has a nature like hoar-frost, that there is more breath in it than water, do you not think it a reproach to these men that, when buying water is already shameful, what they buy is not even water?

Quid porro? Hanc ipsam inspectionem naturae nihil iudicas ad id, quod uis, conferre? Cum quaeramus quomodo nix fiat et dicimus illam pruinae similem habere naturam, plus illi spiritus quam aquae inesse, non putas exprobrari illis, cum emere aquam turpe sit, si ne aquam quidem emunt?

Let us rather ask how snows are made than how they are kept, since, not content to rack our wines, to arrange our cellars by flavors and vintages, we have found out how to pack snow, that it might outlast the summer and be defended against the year’s heat by the coldness of its place. What have we gained by this diligence? Why, that we buy water that costs nothing: it grieves us that we cannot buy breath, cannot buy the sun, that this air comes easily and unbought even to the delicate and the rich. How ill it goes with us, that anything has been left by nature open to all!

Nos uero quaeramus potius quomodo fiant niues quam quomodo seruentur, quoniam non contenti uina diffundere, ueteraria per sapores aetatesque disponere, inuenimus quomodo stiparemus niuem, ut ea aestatem euinceret et contra anni feruorem defenderetur loci frigore. Quid hac diligentia consecuti sumus? Nempe ut gratuitam mercemur aquam: nobis dolet quod spiritum, quod solem emere non possumus, quod hic aer etiam delicatis diuitibusque ex facili nec emptus uenit. O quam nobis male est, quod quicquam a rerum natura in medio relictum est!

This, which she willed to flow and lie open to all, whose drinking she made the common right of life; this which she poured out lavishly and bountifully for the use of man as much as of beasts and birds and the most sluggish animals — luxury, ingenious against itself, has reduced to a price: so true is it that nothing can please it unless it is dear. This one thing there was that would bring the rich down level with the crowd, in which they could not outstrip the poorest man: for him to whom riches are a burden, a way has been devised by which even water might take on luxury.

Hoc quod illa fluere et patere omnibus uoluit, cuius haustum uitae publicum fecit, hoc quod tam homini quam feris auibusque et inertissimis animalibus in usum large ac beate profudit, contra se ingeniosa luxuria redegit ad pretium: adeo nihil illi potest placere nisi carum. Unum hoc erat quod diuites in aequum turbae deduceret, quo non possent antecedere pauperrimum: illi, cui diuitiae molestae sunt, excogitatum est quemadmodum etiam caperet aqua luxuriam.

How we have come to this — that no flowing water seems to us cold enough — I will tell. So long as the stomach is sound and able to take in wholesome food, and is filled, not overloaded, it is content with natural comforts; but when, scorched by daily indigestions, it feels not the season’s heat but its own; when continual drunkenness has settled in the vitals and the bile, into which it turns, burns the midriff, then of necessity something is sought to break that heat, which grows hot from the very water: the disease is provoked by its remedies. So not in summer only but in midwinter too they drink snow for this cause.

Unde ad hoc peruentum sit ut nulla nobis aqua satis frigida uideretur quae flueret, dicam. Quamdiu sanus et salubris cibi capax stomachus est impleturque, non premitur, naturalibus fomentis contentus est: ubi cotidianis cruditatibus perustus non temporis aestus sed suos sentit, ubi ebrietas continua uisceribus insedit et praecordia bile, in quam uertitur, torret, aliquid necessario quaeritur, quo aestus ille frangatur, qui ipsis aquis incalescit: remediis incitatur uitium. Itaque non aestate tantum sed et media hieme niuem hac causa bibunt.

What is the cause of this but an inward evil and a midriff corrupted by excess? To which no interval was ever given for rest, but luncheons were heaped upon dinners drawn out till daybreak, and the revel sank them deeper, distended as they were with abundance and variety of courses; then intemperance, never broken off, made savage whatever it had boiled down of the spirit and kindled it into a craving always for some fresh chill.

Quae huius rei causa est nisi intestinum malum et luxu corrupta praecordia? Quibus nullum interuallum umquam, quo interquiescerent, datum est, sed prandia cenis usque in lucem perductis ingesta sunt et distentos copia ferculorum ac uarietate comessatio altius mersit; deinde numquam intermissa intemperantia quicquid animi decoxerat efferauit et in desiderium semper noui rigoris accendit.

And so, though they wall their dining-rooms with curtains and window-panes and tame the winter with much fire, nonetheless that slack stomach, languid with its own heat, seeks something to rouse it. For just as we sprinkle cold water on those who have fainted and lie stunned, that they may come back to a sense of themselves, so the vitals of these men, torpid with vices, feel nothing unless you have scorched them with a more violent cold.

Itaque quamuis cenationem uelis ac specularibus muniant et igne multo doment hiemem, nihilominus stomachus ille solutus et aestu suo languidus quaerit aliquid quo erigatur. Nam sicut animo relictos stupentesque frigida spargimus, ut ad sensum sui redeant, ita uiscera istorum uitiis torpentia nihil sentiunt, nisi frigore illa uehementiore perusseris.

Hence it is, I say, that they are not content even with snow, but seek out ice — as though its chill, being from the solid, were the surer — and dilute it with waters often drawn again: ice not taken from the surface, but, that it may have more force and a more stubborn cold, dug out from a hidden place. And so there is not even one price for it, but water has its hawkers and its market-rate — for shame! — varying.

Inde est, inquam, quod ne niue quidem contenti sunt, sed glaciem, uelut certior illi ex solido rigor sit, exquirunt ac saepe repetitis aquis diluunt: quae non e summo tollitur sed, ut uim maiorem habeat et pertinacius frigus, ex abdito effoditur. Itaque ne unum quidem eius est pretium, sed habet institores aqua et annonam (pro pudor!) uariam.

The Lacedaemonians expelled the perfumers from their city and bade them quit their territory in haste, because they wasted oil: what would they have done, had they seen workshops for storing snow, and so many beasts of burden in the service of carrying water — water whose color and taste they spoil with the chaff in which they keep it?

Unguentarios Lacedaemonii urbe expulerunt et propere cedere finibus suis iusserunt, quia oleum disperderent: quid illi fecissent, si uidissent reponendae niuis officinas et tot iumenta portandae aquae deseruientia, cuius colorem saporemque paleis, quibus custodiunt, inquinant?

But, good gods, how easy it is to quench a healthy thirst! Yet what can a dead throat feel, calloused with burning foods? As nothing is cold enough for them, so nothing is hot enough, but they gulp down mushrooms, scalding and dipped hastily in their own sauce, almost smoking — which they then put out with snow-cooled drinks. You will see, I say, certain slight men, wrapped in a little cloak and a muffler, pale and sick, not only sipping snow but even eating it and dropping bits of it into their cups, lest these grow tepid during the very delay of drinking.

At, dii boni, quam facile est extinguere sitim sanam! Sed quid sentire possunt emortuae fauces et occallatae cibis ardentibus? Quemadmodum nihil illis satis frigidum, sic nihil satis calidum est, sed ardentes boletos et raptim indumento suo mersatos demittunt paene fumantes, quos deinde restinguant niuatis potionibus. Videbis, inquam, quosdam graciles et palliolo focalique circumdatos, pallentes et aegros non sorbere solum niuem sed etiam esse et frusta eius in scyphos suos deicere, ne tepescant inter ipsam bibendi moram.

Do you think that is thirst? It is a fever — and the sharper because it is caught neither by the touch of the pulse nor by heat poured out onto the skin, but it boils the very heart. Luxury is an unconquered evil, and out of soft and fluid become hard and enduring. Do you not understand that all things lose their force by habit? And so that snow, in which by now you even swim, has come by use and the daily servitude of the stomach to hold the place of water. Seek out, then, something colder still than it, since a familiar chill counts for nothing.

Sitim istam esse putas? Febris est, et quidem eo acrior quod non tactu uenarum nec in cutem effuso calore deprehenditur sed cor ipsum excoquit. Luxuria inuictum malum et ex molli fluidoque durum atque patiens. Non intellegis omnia consuetudine uim suam perdere? Itaque nix ista, in qua iam etiam natatis, eo peruenit usu et cotidiana stomachi seruitute, ut aquae locum obtineat. Aliquid adhuc quaerite illa frigidius, quia pro nihilo est familiaris rigor.

Wind is flowing air. Some have defined it thus: wind is air flowing in one direction. This definition seems the more careful, because the air is never so motionless as not to be in some agitation; thus the sea is called calm when it is lightly stirred and does not incline in one direction: and so, if you read "when the sea stood placid before the winds," know that it does not stand but is lightly shaken, and is called calm because it takes its impulse neither this way nor that.

Uentus est fluens aer. Quidam ita definierunt: uentus est aer fluens in unam partem. Haec definitio uidetur diligentior, quia numquam aer tam immobilis est ut non in aliqua sit agitatione; sic tranquillum mare dicitur, cum leuiter commouetur nec in unam partem inclinatur: itaque si legeris "cum placidum uentis staret mare", scito illud non stare sed succuti leuiter et dici tranquillum, quia nec hoc nec illo impetum capiat.

The same is to be judged of the air: that it is never motionless, even when it is at rest. Which you may understand from this: when the sun has been poured into some enclosed place, we see the tiniest motes borne to and fro, some upward, some downward, variously colliding.

Idem et de aere iudicandum est, non esse umquam immobilem, etiamsi quietus sit. Quod ex hoc intellegas licet: cum sol in aliquem clausum locum infusus est, uidemus corpuscula minima in aduersum ferri, alia sursum, alia deorsum uarie concursantia.

Therefore, just as he will grasp what he means too carelessly who says "a wave is an agitation of the sea" (since the calm sea too is agitated), but he will have guarded himself amply whose definition is "a wave is an agitation of the sea in one direction"; so in this matter too he will not be hemmed in who conducts himself so as to say: "wind is air flowing in one direction," or "air flowing with an impulse," or "a force of air going in one direction," or "a course of air somewhat quickened."

Ergo ut parum diligenter comprehendet quod uult, qui dixerit: "fluctus est maris agitatio", quia tranquillum quoque agitatur, at ille abunde sibi cauerit, cuius definitio haec fuerit: "fluctus est maris in unam partem agitatio"; sic in hac quoque re non circumscribetur qui ita se gesserit ut dicat: "uentus est fluens in unam partem aer" aut "aer fluens impetu" aut "uis aeris in unam partem euntis" aut "cursus aeris aliquo concitatior".

I know what can be answered for the other definition: what need is there for you to add "in one direction"? For surely whatever flows, flows in one direction; no one says water flows if it only moves within itself, but if it is carried somewhere: a thing can therefore be moved and not flow, and on the contrary it cannot flow except in one direction.

Scio quid responderi pro altera definitione possit: quid necesse est adicere te "in unam partem"? Utique enim quod fluit in unam partem fluit; nemo aquam fluere dicit, si tantum intra se mouetur, sed si aliquo fertur: potest ergo aliquid moueri et non fluere, et e contrario non potest fluere nisi in unam partem.

But whether this brevity is safe enough from cavil, let us use it; or if anyone is more circumspect, let him not spare the word whose addition will be able to shut out all quibbling. Now let us approach the thing itself, since enough has been disputed about the formula.

Sed siue haec breuitas satis a calumnia tuta est, hac utamur; siue aliquis circumspectior est, uerbo non parcat, cuius adiectio cauillationem omnem poterit excludere. Nunc ad ipsam rem accedamus, quoniam satis de formula disputatum est.

Democritus says that, when in a narrow void there are many little bodies — which he calls atoms — wind follows; but on the contrary the state of the air is quiet and placid when in a great void there are few little bodies. For just as in a marketplace or a street, so long as there are few people, one walks without tumult, but where a crowd has run together into a narrow space a brawl arises of one falling upon another: so in this space by which we are surrounded, when many bodies have filled a scant place, it must be that they fall upon one another and push and are pushed back and are entangled and compressed, from which wind is born. But where few bodies move in great roominess, they can neither butt nor be driven.

Democritus ait, cum in angusto inani multa sint corpuscula, quae ille atomos uocat, sequi uentum; at contra quietum et placidum aeris statum esse, cum in multo inani pauca sint corpuscula. Nam quemadmodum in foro aut uico, quamdiu paucitas est, sine tumultu ambulatur, ubi turba in angustum concurrit, aliorum in alios incidentium rixa fit: sic in hoc quo circumdati sumus spatio, cum exiguum locum multa corpora impleuerint, necesse est alia aliis incidant et impellant ac repellantur implicenturque et comprimantur, ex quibus nascitur uentus. At ubi in magna laxitate corpora pauca uersantur, nec arietare possunt nec impelli.

That this is false you may gather even from this, that there is least wind precisely when the air is heavy with cloud: and yet then the most bodies have gathered themselves into a narrow space, and thence comes the heaviness of thick clouds.

Hoc falsum esse uel ex eo colligas licet quod tunc minime uentus est, cum aer nubilo grauis est: atqui tunc plurima corpora se in angustum contulerunt, et inde est spissarum nubium grauitas.

Add now that around rivers and lakes there is frequent mist, the bodies being packed and heaped together, and yet there is no wind. Sometimes indeed so great a fog is poured out that it snatches away the sight of those standing nearby — which would not happen unless many bodies had driven themselves into a small place. And yet no time more than a foggy one is without wind.

Adice nunc quod circa flumina et lacus frequens nebula est artatis congestisque corporibus, nec tamen uentus est. Interdum uero tanta caligo effunditur ut conspectum in uicino stantium eripiat, quod non eueniret, nisi in paruum locum corpora se multa compellerent. Atqui nullum tempus magis quam nebulosum caret uento.

Add now that on the contrary it happens that the sun thins the thick and moist morning air by its rising; then a breeze arises, when room has been given to the bodies and their packing and crowd has been loosed.

Adice nunc quod e contrario euenit ut sol matutinum aera spissum et umidum ortu suo tenuet; tunc surgit aura, cum datum est laxamentum corporibus et stipatio illorum ac turba resoluta est.

How then, you say, do winds come to be, since you deny this happens? — Not in one way: for sometimes the earth itself casts out a great force of air and breathes from its hidden depths; sometimes, when a great and continuous evaporation from below has driven into the heights what it had sent up, the very change of the mixed exhalation turns into wind.

Quo modo ergo, inquis, uenti fiunt, quoniam hoc negas fieri? - Non uno modo: alias enim terra ipsa magnam uim aeris eicit et ex abdito spirat, alias, cum magna et continua ex imo euaporatio in altum egit quae emiserat, mutatio ipsa halitus mixti in uentum uertitur.

For this I can be persuaded neither to believe nor to keep silent about: just as in our bodies inflation arises from food, so they think that this great nature of things too, digesting its nourishment, sends out a breath. It goes well with us that she always digests: otherwise we should fear something less clean.

Illud enim nec ut credam mihi persuaderi potest nec ut taceam: quomodo in nostris corporibus cibo fit inflatio, sic putant et hanc magnam rerum naturam alimenta mutantem emittere spiritum. Bene nobiscum agitur quod semper concoquit: alioquin immundius aliquid timeremus.

Is it not, then, truer to say that many little bodies are borne ceaselessly from every part of the earth? Which, when they have been heaped up and then begin to be thinned by the sun, since everything that is dilated in a narrow space requires a greater room, a wind arises.

Numquid ergo hoc uerius est dicere, multa ex omni parte terrarum et assidua ferri corpuscula? Quae cum coaceruata sunt, deinde extenuari sole coeperunt, quia omne quod in angusto dilatatur, spatium maius desiderat, uentus existit.

What then? Do I judge this the sole cause of wind, the evaporations of waters and lands? I do indeed judge this too a cause. But that other is far stronger and truer: that the air has a natural power of moving itself, and does not take it from elsewhere but has within it, as of other things, so of this, the potency.

Quid ergo? Hanc solam esse causam uenti existimo, aquarum terrarumque euaporationes? Ego uero et hanc iudico. Ceterum illa est longe ualentior ueriorque, habere aera naturalem uim mouendi se nec aliunde concipere sed inesse illi, ut aliarum rerum, ita huius potentiam.

Or do you think this — that to us indeed were given powers by which we might move ourselves, but that the air was left inert and unstirrable, when water has its own motion even while the winds are at rest? For otherwise it would not bring forth living things; we see moss too grow upon waters and certain grassy things floating on the surface: there is, then, something vital in water.

An hoc existimas, nobis quidem datas uires quibus nos moueremus, aera autem relictum inertem et inagitabilem esse, cum aqua motum suum habeat etiam uentis quiescentibus? Nec enim aliter animalia ederet; muscum quoque innasci aquis et herbosa quaedam uidemus summo innatantia: est ergo aliquid in aqua uitale.

Do I speak of water? Fire, which consumes all things, creates some, and — what cannot seem like the truth, yet is true — living things are generated by fire. The air, then, has some vital force, and therefore now thickens itself, now spreads out and purges itself, and at other times contracts, divides, and scatters. This, then, is the difference between air and wind, that there is between a lake and a river. Sometimes the sun by itself is the cause of wind, dissolving the stiff air and unfolding it from the dense and compacted.

De aqua dico? Ignis, qui omnia consumit, quaedam creat et, quod uideri non potest simile ueri, tamen uerum est, animalia igne generari. Habet ergo aliquam uim uitalem aer et ideo modo spissat se modo expandit et purgat et alias contrahit diducit ac differt. Hoc ergo interest inter aera et uentum quod inter lacum et flumen. Aliquando per se ipse sol causa uenti est fundens rigentem aera et ex denso coactoque explicans.

We have spoken of winds in general: now let us begin to examine them one by one. Perhaps it will appear how they form, if it has appeared when and whence they proceed. First, then, let us inspect the pre-dawn breezes, which are borne either from rivers or from valleys or from some hollow.

In uniuersum de uentis diximus: nunc uiritim incipiamus illos excutere. Fortasse apparebit quemadmodum fiant, si apparuerit quando et unde procedant. Primum ergo antelucanos flatus inspiciamus, qui aut ex fluminibus aut ex conuallibus aut aliquo sinu feruntur.

None of these is persistent, but it falls when the sun is now stronger, nor does it carry beyond the sight of land. This kind of wind begins in spring, does not last beyond summer, and comes most from where there is the most of waters and mountains. Flat lands, though they abound in waters, lack the breeze — this, I mean, that has the force of a wind.

Nullus ex his pertinax est sed cadit fortiore iam sole nec fert ultra terrarum conspectum. Hoc uentorum genus incipit uere, non ultra aestatem durat et inde maxime uenit ubi aquarum plurimum et montium est. Plana, licet abundent aquis, carent aura; hac, dico, quae pro uento ualet.

How then is such a breeze conceived — the one the Greeks call enkolpian (gulf-wind)? Whatever the marshes and rivers give off is by day food for the sun; by night it is not drawn off and, shut in by the mountains, is gathered into one region; when it has filled that and now does not hold itself, it is squeezed out somewhere and proceeds in one direction: hence is wind. And so it leans where a freer exit invites and the roominess of the place.

Quomodo ergo talis flatus concipitur quem Graeci egkolpian uocant? Quicquid ex se paludes et flumina remittunt, per diem solis alimentum est, nocte non exhauritur et montibus inclusum in unam regionem colligitur; cum illam impleuit et iam se non capit, exprimitur aliquo et in unam partem procedit: hinc uentus est. Itaque eo incumbit quo liberior exitus inuitat et loci laxitas.

The proof of this is that in the first part of the night it does not blow: for then that collection begins to form, which around dawn is now full; loaded, it seeks where it may flow down, and goes out most of all where there is most emptiness and a great and open space. The sun’s rising adds spurs to it, striking the chilled air; for even before it appears, it is strong by the light itself, and does not yet indeed drive the air with its rays, yet already provokes and irritates it with the light sent ahead;

Huius rei argumentum est, quod prima noctis parte non spirat: incipit enim fieri illa collectio, quae circa lucem iam plena est; onerata quaerit quo defluat, et eo potissimum exit ubi plurimum uacui est et magna ac patens area. Adicit autem ei stimulos ortus solis feriens gelidum aera; nam etiam antequam appareat, lumine ipso ualet et nondum quidem radiis aera impellit, iam tamen lacessit et irritat luce praemissa;

for when it has itself come forth, some bodies are snatched up higher, others are diffused by the warmth: therefore they are given no leave to flow beyond the morning; all their force is extinguished at the sight of the sun. Even if they have blown more violently, around midday nonetheless they slacken, nor is the breeze ever prolonged up to noon; one breeze, however, is weaker and shorter, according as it was gathered from stronger or smaller causes.

nam cum ipse processit, alia superius rapiuntur, alia diffunduntur tepore: ideo non ultra matutinum illis datur fluere; omnis illorum uis conspectu solis extinguitur. Etiamsi uiolentiores flauere, circa medium tamen diem relanguescunt, nec unquam usque in meridiem aura producitur; alia autem imbecillior ac breuior est, prout ualentioribus minoribusue collecta causis est.

Why, however, are such winds stronger in spring and summer? Because spring is watery from the rains, and from places saturated and overflowing, by reason of the moist nature of the sky, the evaporation is greater.

Quare tamen tales uenti uere et aestate ualidiores sunt? quia uer aquosum est ex pluuialibus aquis, locisque ob umidam caeli naturam saturis et redundantibus maior euaporatio est.

But why is it poured out equally in summer? Because after sunset the day’s heat remains and lasts through a great part of the night; which calls out the things going forth and more vehemently draws whatever is wont to be given back from these of its own accord, then has not so much strength as to consume what it has called out: for this reason the little bodies, accustomed to flow out for a longer time and to be breathed from the earth, send the air and the moisture out of themselves.

At quare aestate aeque profunditur? Quia post occasum solis remanet diurnus calor et magna noctis parte perdurat; qui euocat exeuntia ac uehementius trahit quicquid ex his sponte reddi solet, deinde non tantum habet uirium ut quod euocauit absumat: ob hoc diutius corpuscula emanare solita et efflari e terra, aera ex se atque umorem mittunt.

The sunrise makes wind not by heat only but also by a blow: for the light, as I said, which precedes the sun, does not yet warm the air but only strikes it, and the air, struck, gives way to the side. Although I would not even concede this, that light itself is without heat, since it comes from heat:

Facit autem uentum ortus non calore tantum sed etiam ictu: lux enim, ut dixi, quae solem antecedit, nondum aera calefacit sed percutit tantum, percussus autem in latus cedit. Quamquam ego ne illud quidem concesserim, lucem ipsam sine calore esse, cum ex calore sit:

it has perhaps not so much warmth as may appear to the touch, yet it does its own work and parts the dense and thins it; for this reason places which, by some unfairness of nature, are so shut in that they cannot receive the sun, those too are warmed by the cloudy and grim light, and through the day are less stiff than by night.

non habet forsitan tantum teporis, quantum tactu appareat, opus tamen suum facit et densa diducit ac tenuat; propterea loca, quae aliqua iniquitate naturae ita clausa sunt ut solem accipere non possint, illa quoque nubila et tristi luce calefiunt et per diem minus quam noctibus rigent.

Even now, all heat by its nature drives off the mists and repels them from itself: therefore the sun too does the same, and so, as it seems to some, the blast is from where the sun is.

Etiamnunc natura calor omnis abigit nebulas et a se repellit: ergo sol quoque idem facit, et ideo, ut quibusdam uidetur, inde flatus est unde sol.

That this is false appears from this, that the breeze carries in every direction, and one sails against the sunrise with full sails: which would not happen if the wind were always borne from the sun. The Etesian winds too, which are summoned by some in argument, do not much help the proposition.

Hoc falsum esse ex eo apparet quod aura in omnem partem uehit et contra ortum plenis uelis nauigatur: quod non eueniret, si semper uentus ferretur a sole. Etesiae quoque, qui in argumentum a quibusdam aduocantur, non nimis propositum adiuuant.

I will say first what pleases them, then why it displeases me. The Etesians, they say, are not in winter, because on the shortest days the sun gives out before the cold is overcome; in summer they begin to blow, when both the day is extended longer and the rays are directed straight upon us.

Dicam primum quid illis placeat, deinde cur displiceat mihi. Etesiae, inquiunt, hieme non sunt, quia breuissimis diebus sol desinit, priusquam frigus euincatur: aestate incipiunt flare, cum et longius extenditur dies et recti in nos radii diriguntur.

It is therefore likely that the snows, shaken by the great heat, breathe out more moisture; likewise that the lands, unburdened of snow and uncovered, breathe more freely: so that more bodies go out from the northern part of the sky and are borne down into these places, which are lower and warmer; thus the Etesians take their impulse.

Ueri ergo simile est concussas calore magno niues plus umidi efflare, item terras exoneratas niue retectasque spirare liberius: ita plura ex septemtrionali parte caeli corpora exire et in haec loca, quae sunt summissiora ac tepidiora, deferri; sic impetum etesias sumere.

And for this reason their beginning is from the solstice, because now much has been discharged from the cold part of the sky into this one, and the sun, its course changed, tends straighter into our quarter and draws one part of the air to it, but drives the other. So that blast of the Etesians breaks the summer and defends us from the heaviness of the most burning months.

Et ob hoc a solstitio illis initium est, quia iam multum e frigida caeli parte in hanc egestum est ac sol mutato cursu in nostram rectior tendit et alteram partem aeris attrahit, alteram uero impellit. Sic ille etesiarum flatus aestatem frangit et a mensium feruentissimorum grauitate defendit.

Now it must be said why the Etesians do not help us nor contribute anything to this cause. We said before that the breeze is stirred before dawn, and the same subsides when the sun has touched it. And yet the Etesians are for this reason called by the sailors sleepy and dainty, because, as Gallio says, "they do not know how to get up in the morning": they begin to come forth about the time when not even the breeze is persistent. Which would not happen if the sun diminished them as it does the breeze.

Nunc dicendum est quare etesiae nos non adiuuent nec quicquam huic conferant causae. Diximus ante lucem auram incitari, eandem subsidere, cum illam sol attigit. Atqui etesiae ob hoc somniculosi a nautis et delicati uocantur quod, ut ait Gallio, "mane nesciunt surgere": eo tempore fere incipiunt prodire quo ne pertinax quidem aura est. Quod non accideret, si ut auram ita illos comminueret sol.

Add now that, if the cause of their blast were the length of the day and its extent, they would blow even before the solstice, when the days are longest and the snows are most melting; for in the month of July everything is already stripped, or at any rate very little still lies under snow.

Adice nunc quod, si causa illis flatus esset spatium diei ac longitudo, et ante solstitium flarent, cum longissimi dies sunt et cum maxime niues tabescunt; Iulio enim mense iam despoliata sunt omnia aut certe admodum pauca iacent adhuc sub niue.

There are certain kinds of winds which burst clouds, broken and loosed downward, send out: these the Greeks call eknephias (cloud-burst winds). Which come to be, as I think, in this way: when a great inequality and dissimilarity of bodies goes aloft, and some of these bodies are dry, others moist, out of so great a discord of bodies fighting among themselves, when they have been balled into one, it is likely that certain hollow clouds are formed and intervals are left between them, tube-like and narrow in the manner of a pipe.

Sunt quaedam genera uentorum quae ruptae nubes et in pronum solutae emittunt: hos Graeci uentos eknephias uocant. Qui hoc, ut puto, modo fiunt: cum magna inaequalitas ac dissimilitudo corporum in sublime eat et alia ex his corporibus sicca sint, alia umida, ex tanta discordia corporum inter se pugnantium, cum in unum conglobata sunt, uerisimile est quasdam cauas effici nubes et interualla inter illas relinqui fistulosa et in modum tibiae angusta.

In these intervals a thin breath is shut up, which requires more space when, beaten about by a course too little free, it has grown hot and on this account becomes larger, and it splits what surrounds it and bursts out into a wind, which is generally squally, because it is sent down from above, and falls upon us violent and sharp, because it does not come diffused nor through the open but labors and prepares a way for itself by force and struggle. This blast is generally brief; therefore it comes tumultuous, sometimes not without fire and the sound of the sky.

His interuallis tenuis includitur spiritus, qui maius desiderat spatium, cum euerberatus cursu parum libero incaluit et ob hoc amplior fit, scinditque cingentia et erumpit in uentum, qui fere procellosus est, quia superne demittitur, et in nos cadit uehemens et acer, quia non fusus nec per apertum uenit sed laborat et iter sibi ui ac pugna parat. Hic fere breuis flatus est, ideo tumultuosus uenit, aliquando non sine igne ac sono caeli.

These winds are much greater and longer-lasting if they have taken into themselves other blasts also rushing from the same cause, and several have flowed together into one; just as torrents are of moderate size, so long as each has its own course apart, but when several have turned their waters into one, they exceed the size of proper and perennial rivers:

Hi uenti multo maiores diuturnioresque sunt, si alios quoque flatus ex eadem causa ruentes in se abstulerunt et in unum confluxere plures; sicut torrentes modicae magnitudinis sunt, quamdiu separatis suus cursus est, cum uero plures in se aquas conuerterunt, fluminum iustorum ac perennium magnitudinem excedunt:

the same, it is credible, happens in squalls too, that they are brief so long as they are single; but when they have allied their forces and the breath squeezed out from several parts of the sky has betaken itself to one place, both impulse and duration accrue to them.

idem credibile est fieri et in procellis, ut breues sint, quamdiu singulae sunt; ubi uero sociauere uires et ex pluribus caeli partibus elisus spiritus eodem se contulit, et impetus illis accedit et mora.

A loosed cloud, then, makes wind, and it is loosed in several ways: sometimes the breath breaks that ball, sometimes the struggle of the breath shut in and striving for an exit, sometimes heat, which now the sun makes, now the very butting and friction of the bodies wandering among themselves.

Facit ergo uentum resoluta nubes, quae pluribus modis soluitur: nonnumquam conglobationem illam spiritus rumpit, nonnumquam inclusi et in exitum nitentis luctatio, nonnumquam calor, quem modo sol facit, modo ipsa arietatio uagorumque inter se corporum attritus.

Here, if it seems good to you, it can be asked why a whirlwind forms. It is wont to happen in rivers that, so long as they are borne without hindrance, their path is simple and straight; but where they have run upon some rock jutting out at the side of the bank, they are twisted back and bend the waters into a circle without exit, so that, carried round, they are swallowed into themselves and make a vortex.

Hoc loco, si tibi uidetur, quaeri potest cur turbo fiat. Euenire in fluminibus solet ut, quamdiu sine impedimento feruntur, simplex et rectum illis iter sit; ubi incurrerunt in aliquod saxum ad latus ripae prominens, retorqueantur et in orbem aquas sine exitu flectant, ita ut circumlata in se sorbeantur et uerticem efficiant.

So the wind, so long as nothing has stood in its way, pours out its forces; but where it has been beaten back by some headland or gathered into a sloping and narrow channel by places coming together, it rolls upon itself more often and makes, like those waters, a vortex.

Sic uentus, quamdiu nihil obstitit, uires suas effundit: ubi aliquo promontorio repercussus est aut locorum coeuntium in canalem deuexum tenuemque collectus, saepius in se uolutatur similemque illis aquis facit uerticem.

This wind, driven round and circling the same place and rousing itself by its own whirling, is a whirlwind (turbo). And if it is more pugnacious and has been whirled longer, it catches fire and produces what the Greeks call prester: this is the fiery whirlwind. And nearly all the perils of wind that has burst from clouds reveal themselves in this — by which the rigging is snatched away and whole ships are lifted aloft.

Hic uentus circumactus et eundem ambiens locum ac se ipsa uertigine concitans turbo est. Qui si pugnacior est ac diutius uolutatus, inflammatur et efficit quod prestera Graeci uocant: hic est igneus turbo. Ac fere omnia pericula uenti erupti de nubibus produnt, quibus armamenta rapiantur et totae naues in sublime tollantur.

Even now certain winds generate diverse winds out of themselves and scatter the driven air into other directions also. Just as drops, although they already incline and slide, do not yet make a fall, but when several have come together and the crowd has given strength, then they are said to flow and to go, so, as long as the motions of the air, stirred in several places, are light, there is not yet a wind; then it begins to be, when it has mixed all those and brought them into one impulse. The measure separates breath from wind: for the more vehement breath is wind, and in turn wind is air flowing gently.

Etiamnunc quidam uenti diuersos ex se generant et impulsum aera in alias quoque partes dispergunt. Quemadmodum stillicidia, quamuis iam inclinent se et labantur, nondum tamen efficere lapsum, sed ubi plura coiere et turba uires dedit, tunc fluere et ire dicuntur, sic, quamdiu leues sunt aeris motus agitati pluribus locis, nondum uentus est; tunc esse incipit, cum omnes illos miscuit et in unum impetum contulit. Spiritum a uento modus separat: uehementior enim spiritus uentus est, inuicem spiritus leniter fluens aer.

I will now repeat what I had said in the beginning: that winds are put forth from a cave and from the inner recess of the lands. Not the whole earth is founded down to the bottom in solid texture, but in many parts it is hollow and suspended over blind lairs, in some places it abounds in waters, in others it has empty spaces without moisture.

Repetam nunc quod in primo dixeram: edi e specu uentos recessuque interiore terrarum. Non tota solido contextu terra in imum usque fundatur, sed multis partibus caua et caecis suspensa latebris, aliubi abundat aquas, aliubi habet inania sine umore.

There, even though no light shows the distinctions of the air, I will say nonetheless that clouds and mists stand in the dark. For not even these above the earth exist because they are seen, but are seen because they exist: there too no less there are rivers; there you may know that streams equal to ours glide down, some led gently, others sounding by their headlong rush in rugged places. What then? Will you not equally grant that there are also some lakes beneath the earth, and certain waters that stagnate without exit?

Ibi etiamsi nulla lux discrimen aeris monstrat, dicam tamen nubes nebulasque in obscuro consistere. Nam ne haec quidem supra terras, quia uidentur, sunt, sed quia sunt, uidentur: illic quoque nihilo minus sunt flumina; illic scias licet nostris paria sublabi, alia leniter ducta, alia in confragosis locis praecipitando sonantia. Quid ergo? Non illud aeque dabis, esse aliquos et sub terra lacus et quasdam aquas sine exitu stagnare?

And if these things are so, that other too is necessary: that the air is loaded and, loaded, presses down and rouses wind by its own thrust. And from those subterranean clouds, then, we shall know that blasts are nourished amid the darkness, until they have taken as much strength as either to carry off the resistance of the earth or to seize upon some open path to these exhalations and be carried out through this cavern into our abodes.

Quae si ita sunt, necesse est et illud: aera onerari oneratumque incumbere et uentum propulsu suo concitare. Et ex illis ergo subterraneis nubibus sciemus nutriri inter obscura flatus, dum tantum uirium ceperint quanto aut terrae obstantiam auferant aut aliquod apertum ad hos efflatus iter occupent et per hanc cauernam in nostras sedes efferantur.

But this indeed is plain, that there is beneath the earth a great force of sulphur and of other things no less feeding fire: through these places, when the breath, seeking an exit, has twisted itself, it must kindle a flame by the very friction; then, the flames spread more widely, even if there was any sluggish air, it is thinned and moved and seeks a way with a vast roaring and impulse. But these things I will pursue more carefully, when I inquire about the movements of the earth.

Illud uero manifestum est, magnam esse sub terris uim sulphuris et aliorum non minus ignem alentium: per haec loca cum se exitum quaerens spiritus torsit, accendat flammam ipso affrictu necesse est, deinde flammis latius fusis, etiam si quid ignaui aeris erat, extenuatum moueri et uiam cum fremitu uasto atque impetu quaerere. Sed haec diligentius persequar, cum quaeram de motibus terrae.

Now allow me to tell a story. Asclepiodotus is the authority that very many men were sent down by Philip into an old mine, long since abandoned, to explore what its richness was, what its state; that they descended with much light, enough to last many days, then, wearied by the long way, saw huge rivers and vast reservoirs of inert waters, equal to ours and not even compressed by the earth overhanging but of free roominess — seen not without horror.

Nunc mihi permitte narrare fabulam. Asclepiodotus auctor est demissos quam plurimos a Philippo in metallum antiquum olim destitutum, ut explorarent quae ubertas eius esset, quis status; descendisse illos cum multo lumine et multos duraturo dies, deinde longa uia fatigatos uidisse flumina ingentia et conceptus aquarum inertium uastos, pares nostris nec compressos quidem terra supereminente sed liberae laxitatis, non sine horrore uisos.

I read this with great pleasure; for I understood that our age labors not under new vices but under those handed down even from of old, and that it is not first in our time that avarice has searched the veins of the earth and of the rocks and sought things ill-hidden in the darkness: those ancestors of ours, whom we celebrate with praises, led by hope cut down mountains and stood upon their gain beneath a ruin.

Cum magna hoc legi uoluptate; intellexi enim saeculum nostrum non nouis uitiis sed iam inde antiquitus traditis laborare, nec nostra aetate primum auaritiam uenas terrarum lapidumque rimatam in tenebris male abstrusa quaesisse: illi maiores nostri, quos celebramus laudibus, spe ducti montes ceciderunt et supra lucrum sub ruina steterunt.

Before Philip and the kings of the Macedonians there were men who would follow money down to the deepest lairs and let themselves down with upright and free breath into those caves, into which no distinction of nights and days could reach. What hope so great was it to leave the light behind one’s back? What necessity so great bent down a man, erected toward the stars, and buried him and sank him into the bottom of the innermost earth, that he might dig out gold to be sought with no less peril than to be possessed?

Ante Philippum Macedonumque reges fuere qui pecuniam in altissimis usque latebris sequerentur et recto spiritu liberoque in illos se demitterent specus, in quos nullum noctium perueniret dierumque discrimen. A tergo lucem relinquere quae tanta spes fuit? Quae tanta necessitas hominem ad sidera erectum incuruauit et defodit et in fundum telluris intimae mersit, ut erueret aurum non minore periculo quaerendum quam possidendum?

For this he drove tunnels and crept about his muddy and uncertain prey, forgetful of the days, forgetful of the better nature of things, from which he turned away. Is the earth so heavy upon any dead man as upon these, over whom avarice has cast a vast weight of earth, from whom it has taken away the sky, whom it has buried at the bottom? They dared to descend where they might experience a new disposition of things, the look of hanging lands, and winds empty through the blind dark, and the dreadful springs of waters flowing to nowhere, and a second and perpetual night: then, when they have done these things, they fear the underworld!

Propter hoc cuniculos egit et circa praedam lutulentam incertamque reptauit oblitus dierum, oblitus rerum naturae melioris, a qua se auertit. Ulli ergo mortuo terra tam grauis est quam istis, supra quos auaritia ingens terrarum pondus iniecit, quibus abstulit caelum, quos in imo infodit? Illo descendere ausi sunt ubi nouam rerum positionem, terrarum pendentium habitus uentosque per caecum inanes experirentur et aquarum nulli fluentium horridos fontes et alteram perpetuamque noctem: deinde, cum ista fecerunt, inferos metuunt!

But to return to what is in hand: the winds are four, divided into east, west, south, and north; the rest are attached to these. "Eurus withdrew to the Dawn and the Nabataean realms and Persia and the ridges set beneath the morning rays. The evening, and the shores that grow warm under the setting sun, are nearest to the Zephyrs. Into Scythia and the seven plough-oxen the bristling Boreas has burst: the opposite land grows wet with ceaseless clouds and the rainy South."

Sed ut ad id, de quo agitur, reuertar: uenti quattuor sunt, in ortum, occasum, meridiem septemtrionemque diuisi; ceteri his applicantur. "Eurus ad Auroram Nabataeaque regna recessit Persidaque et radiis iuga subdita matutinis. Uesper et occiduo quae litora sole tepescunt proxima sunt zephyris. Scythiam septemque triones horrifer inuasit boreas: contraria tellus nubibus assiduis pluuioque madescit ab austro."

Or, if you prefer to embrace them more briefly, let them be gathered into one storm — which can by no means happen: "Together East and South rush down, and the African, thick with squalls" — and the one that had no place in that brawl, the North wind (Aquilo).

Uel, si breuius illos complecti mauis, in unam tempestatem, quod fieri nullo modo potest, congregentur: "una Eurusque Notusque ruunt creberque procellis Africus" et, qui locum in illa rixa non habuit, Aquilo.

Some make them twelve: for they divide the four quarters of the sky into threes and give two sub-prefects to each of the single winds. By this art Varro, a careful man, arranges them, and not without cause. For the sun does not always rise or set in the same place, but the equinoctial rising and setting is one, the solstitial another, the winter one another.

Quidam illos duodecim faciunt: quattuor enim caeli partes in ternas diuidunt et singulis uentis binos subpraefectos dant. Hac arte Uarro, uir diligens, illos ordinat, nec sine causa. Non enim eodem semper loco sol oritur aut occidit, sed alius est ortus occasusque aequinoctialis, alius solstitialis, alius hibernus.

The wind that rises from the equinoctial east is among us called subsolanus; the Greeks call it apheliotes. From the winter east comes Eurus, which our people called Vulturnus — and Livy calls it by this name in that battle so little prosperous for the Romans, in which Hannibal, with our army set both against the rising sun and against the wind, conquered by the help of the wind and of the glare dazzling the enemies’ eyes; Varro too uses this name, but Eurus has now been granted citizenship. The one excited from the solstitial east the Greeks call kaikias; among us it is without a name.

Qui surgit ab oriente aequinoctiali, subsolanus apud nos dicitur, Graeci illum aphelioten uocant. Ab oriente hiberno eurus exit, quem nostri uocauere uulturnum et Liuius hoc illum nomine appellat in illa pugna Romanis parum prospera, in qua Hannibal et contra solem orientem exercitum nostrum, et contra uentum constitutum uenti adiutorio ac fulgoris praestringentis oculos hostium uicit; Uarro quoque hoc nomen usurpat, sed et eurus iam ciuitate donatus est. Ab oriente solstitiali excitatum kaikian Graeci appellant, apud nos sine nomine est.

The equinoctial west sends Favonius, which even those who do not know how to speak Greek will tell you is Zephyrus. From the solstitial west comes Corus, which among some is called argestes: to me it does not seem so, because the force of Corus is violent and rapacious in one direction, while argestes is generally soft and as common to those going as to those returning. From the winter west the raging and rushing Africus blows; among the Greeks it is called lips.

Aequinoctialis occidens fauonium mittit, quem zephyrum esse dicent tibi etiam qui Graece nesciunt loqui. A solstitiali occidente corus uenit, qui apud quosdam argestes dicitur: mihi non uidetur, quia cori uiolenta uis est et in unam partem rapax, argestes fere mollis est et tam euntibus communis quam redeuntibus. Ab occidente hiberno africus furibundus et ruens, apud Graecos lips dicitur.

On the northern side the highest is Aquilo, the middle Septentrio, the lowest thrascias: for this there is no word among us. From the southern axis is euronotos; then notos, in Latin Auster; then leukonotos, which among us is without a name.

A septemtrionali latere summus est aquilo, medius septemtrio, imus thrascias: huic deest apud nos uocabulum. A meridiano axe euronotos est; deinde notos, Latine auster; deinde leukonotos, qui apud nos sine nomine est.

It is held, moreover, that there are twelve winds, not because there are everywhere so many, but because nowhere are there more. So we say there are six cases, not because every noun takes six, but because none takes more than six.

Placet autem duodecim uentos esse, non quia ubique tot sunt, sed quia plures nusquam sunt. Sic casus sex dicimus, non quia omne nomen sex recipit, sed quia nullum plures quam sex.

Those who said the winds are twelve followed this: that there are as many winds as there are divisions of the sky. The sky, moreover, is divided into five circles, which go through the cardinal points of the world: there is the northern, the solstitial, the equinoctial, the brumal, and the one opposite to the northern. To these a sixth is added, which separates the upper part of the world from the lower:

Qui duodecim uentos esse dixerunt, hoc secuti sunt, totidem uentorum esse quot caeli discrimina. Caelum autem diuiditur in circulos quinque, qui per mundi cardines eunt: est septemtrionalis, est solstitialis, est aequinoctialis, est brumalis, est contrarius septemtrionali. His sextus accedit, qui superiorem partem mundi ab inferiore secernit:

this line, which is between the open and the hidden — that is, this circle — the Greeks call horizon; our people said it was the finitor (bounder), others the finiens (bounding). There is still to be added the meridian circle, which cuts the horizon at right angles. Of these, certain circles run crosswise and split others by their intervention; and there must be as many distinctions of the air as there are parts:

hanc lineam, quae inter aperta et occulta est, id est hunc circulum Graeci horizonta uocant, nostri finitorem esse dixerunt, alii finientem. Adiciendus est adhuc meridianus circulus, qui horizonta rectis angulis secat. Ex his quidam circuli in transuersa currunt et alios interuentu suo scindunt; necesse est autem tot aeris discrimina esse quot partes:

therefore the horizon, or bounding circle, bounding those five circles, makes ten parts, five from the rising, five from the setting; the meridian circle, which runs into the horizon, adds two regions: thus the air receives twelve distinctions and makes as many winds.

ergo horizon, siue finiens circulus, quinque illos orbes finiens, efficit decem partes, quinque ab ortu, quinque ab occasu; meridianus circulus, qui in horizonta incurrit, regiones duas adicit: sic duodecim aer discrimina accipit et totidem facit uentos.

There are certain winds proper to certain places, which do not pass across but carry to the next region: atabulus infests Apulia, iapyx Calabria, sciron Athens, crageus Pamphylia, circius Gaul (to which, though it shakes their buildings, the inhabitants nonetheless give thanks, as though they owed the healthfulness of their sky to it: the deified Augustus at least both vowed and built a temple to it, while he was tarrying in Gaul). It is endless, if I should wish to pursue them one by one; for there is almost no region that does not have some blast born from itself and falling around itself.

Quidam sunt quorundam locorum proprii, qui non transmittunt sed in proximum ferunt: atabulus Apuliam infestat, Calabriam iapyx, Athenas sciron, Pamphyliam crageus, Galliam circius (cui aedificia quassanti tamen incolae gratias agunt, tamquam salubritatem caeli sui debeant ei: diuus certe Augustus templum illi, cum in Gallia moraretur, et uouit et fecit). Infinitum est, si singulos uelim persequi; nulla enim propemodum regio est quae non habeat aliquem flatum ex se nascentem et circa se cadentem.

Among the other works of providence, therefore, someone may look up to this one too as worthy of wonder: for it was not from one cause that providence either invented the winds or disposed them through diverse quarters, but first so that they should not let the air grow sluggish but, by continual harassment, render it useful and vital for those who will draw it in;

Inter cetera itaque prouidentiae opera hoc quoque aliquis ut dignum admiratione suspexerit: non enim ex una causa uentos aut inuenit aut per diuersa disposuit, sed primum ut aera non sinerent pigrescere sed assidua uexatione utilem redderent uitalemque tracturis,

then so that they might supply rains to the lands and likewise restrain excessive ones. For now they bring up clouds, now lead them off, that the rains may be divided over the whole world: into Italy the south wind drives them, the north wind throws them back into Africa, the Etesians do not suffer the clouds to stand still among us; the same winds water all India and Ethiopia with continuous rains during that season.

deinde ut imbres terris subministrarent idemque nimios compescerent. Nam modo adducunt nubes, modo deducunt, ut per totum orbem pluuiae diuidi possint: in Italiam auster impellit, aquilo in Africam reicit, etesiae non patiuntur apud nos nubes consistere; idem totam Indiam et Aethiopiam continuis per id tempus aquis irrigant.

What of the fact that the crops could not ripen, unless the superfluous matter mixed in with what is to be kept were winnowed by the blast, unless there were something to rouse the standing grain and to open the hidden seed, its coverings broken (the farmers call them husks)?

Quid, quod fruges percoqui non possent, nisi flatu superuacua inmixta seruandis uentilarentur, nisi esset quod segetem excitaret et latentem frugem ruptis uelamentis suis adaperiret?

What of the fact that it gave all peoples commerce among themselves and mingled nations scattered by their places? A vast benefit of nature — if only the madness of men did not turn it to their own injury! Now what was commonly said of Gaius Marius, and set down by Titus Livius — that it is uncertain whether it profited the commonwealth more for him to be born or not to be born — can be said of the winds too; so true is it that whatever is useful and necessary in them cannot be weighed against those things which the madness of the human race devises for its own destruction.

Quid, quod omnibus inter se populis commercium dedit et gentes dissipatas locis miscuit? Ingens naturae beneficium, si illud in iniuriam suam non uertat hominum furor! Nunc quod de C. Mario uulgo dictatum est et a Tito Liuio positum, in incerto esse utrum illum magis nasci an non nasci reipublicae profuerit, dici etiam de uentis potest; adeo quicquid ex illis utile et necessarium est non potest his repensari quae in perniciem suam generis humani dementia excogitat.

But these things are not therefore not good by nature, if they do harm through the vice of those who use them ill: it was not for this that providence, and that disposer of the world, god, gave the air to be exercised by the winds and poured them out from every quarter — not that we might fill ships, about to occupy a part of the strait, with armed soldiery and seek an enemy on the sea or beyond the sea.

Sed non ideo non sunt ista natura bona, si uitio male utentium nocent: non in hoc prouidentia ac dispositor ille mundi deus aera uentis exercendum dedit et illos ab omni parte effudit, ut nos classes partem freti occupaturas compleremus milite armato et hostem in mari aut post mare quaereremus.

What madness drives us and arrays us for mutual destruction? We give our sails to the winds in order to seek war, and we run risks for the sake of risk, we try uncertain fortune, the force of storms surmountable by no human aid, and death without hope of burial.

Quae nos dementia exagitat et in mutuum componit exitium? Uela uentis damus bellum petituri et periclitamur periculi causa, incertam fortunam experimur, uim tempestatum nulla ope humana superabilem et mortem sine spe sepulturae.

It would not be worth so much, if we were borne by these things toward peace: now, when we have escaped so many hidden reefs and the snares of the shoaly sea, when we have fled the squally mountains overhead, the days wrapped in cloud and the nights dreadful with storms and thunders, the ships torn apart by whirlwinds — what will be the fruit of this toil and dread, what harbor will receive us, worn out by so many evils? War, of course, and an enemy meeting us on the shore, and nations to be butchered and for the most part to drag down the victor with them, and the burning of ancient cities.

Non erat tanti, si ad pacem per ista ueheremur: nunc cum euaserimus tot scopulos latentes et insidias uadosi maris, cum effugerimus procellosos desuper montes, cum inuolutos nubilo dies et nimbis ac tonitribus horridas noctes, cum turbinibus diuulsa nauigia, quis erit huius laboris ac metus fructus, quis nos fessos tot malis portus excipiet? Bellum scilicet et obuius in litore hostis et trucidandae gentes tracturaeque magna ex parte uictorem et antiquarum urbium flamma.

Why do we drive peoples into arms? Why do we enroll armies to draw up a battle-line in the midst of the waves? Why do we trouble the seas? The land lies broad enough, it seems, for our deaths! Too daintily does fortune treat us, too hard the bodies she has given us, our too sound health; no chance running upon us decimates us; each is allowed to measure out his own years at his ease and run down to old age: so then, let us go out to sea and summon upon ourselves the fates that loiter.

Quid in arma cogimus populos? Quid exercitus scribimus directuros aciem in mediis fluctibus? Quid maria inquietamus? Parum uidelicet ad mortes nostras terra late patet. Nimis delicate fortuna nos tractat, nimis dura dedit nobis corpora, felicem ualetudinem; non depopulatur nos casus incurrens, emetiri cuique annos suos ex commodo licet et ad senectutem decurrere: itaque eamus in pelagus et uocemus in nos fata cessantia.

Wretches, what do you seek? Death, which is everywhere in reserve? It will seek you out even from your little bed — but let it seek you innocent; it will overtake you in your own house — but let it overtake you contriving no evil. What else would anyone call this but madness — to carry perils about and rush upon strangers, angry without an injury, devastating what we meet and killing in the manner of wild beasts the man you do not hate? Yet for them there is biting for the sake of vengeance or out of hunger: we, without any sparing of our own blood or another’s, move our hand and launch our ships, commit our safety to the waves, and pray for favorable winds — whose good fortune is to be carried through to wars.

Miseri, quid quaeritis? mortem, quae ubique superest? Petet illa uos et ex lectulo, sed innocentes petat; occupabit uos in uestra domo, sed occupet nullum molientes malum. Hoc uero quid aliud quis dixerit quam insaniam, circumferre pericula et ruere in ignotos, iratum sine iniuria occurrentia deuastantem ac ferarum more occidere quem non oderis? Illis tamen in ultionem aut ex fame morsus est: nos sine ulla parsimonia nostri alienique sanguinis mouemus manum et nauigia deducimus, salutem committimus fluctibus, secundos optamus uentos, quorum felicitas est ad bella perferri.

How far have our own evils swept us? It is too little to rage within our own world: so the Persian king, most stupid, will cross over into Greece, which his army will not conquer though it has filled it. So Alexander will wish to be beyond the Bactrians and the Indians, and will ask what there is beyond the great sea, and will be indignant that there is anything that is last to him. So avarice will give Crassus to the Parthians: he will not shudder at the curses of the tribune calling him back, nor at the storms of a very long sea, nor at the prophetic lightnings about the Euphrates and the gods resisting: through the wraths of men and gods one will go to gold.

Quousque nos mala nostra rapuerunt? Parum est intra orbem suum furere: sic Persarum rex stolidissimus in Graeciam traiciet, quam exercitus non uincet, cum impleuerit. Sic Alexander ulterior Bactris et Indis uolet quaeretque quid sit ultra magnum mare, et indignabitur esse aliquid ultimum sibi. Sic Crassum auaritia Parthis dabit, non horrebit reuocantis diras tribuni, non tempestates longissimi maris, non circa Euphratem praesaga fulmina et deos resistentes: per hominum et deorum iras ad aurum ibitur.

Therefore not without reason would one say that nature would have dealt better with us, if it had forbidden the winds to blow and, the running-about of the raging being checked, had bidden each to stand in his own land: if nothing else, at least each would be born only for his own and his own people’s harm; as it is, my domestic troubles being too few for me, I must labor at foreign ones too.

Ergo non immerito quis dixerit rerum naturam melius acturam fuisse nobiscum, si uentos flare uetuisset et inhibito discursu furentium in sua quemque terra stare iussisset: si nihil aliud, certe suo quisque tantum ac suorum malo nasceretur; nunc parum mihi domestica, externis quoque laborandum est.

No land is so far removed that it cannot send out some evil of its own: how do I know whether now some master of a great nation in a hidden place, swollen by fortune’s indulgence, does not keep his arms within his borders, whether he is preparing fleets and plotting things unknown? How do I know whether this wind or that brings war upon me? A great part of human peace was that the seas be barred.

Nulla terra tam longe remota est quae non emittere aliquod suum malum possit: unde scio an nunc aliquis magnae gentis in abdito dominus, fortunae indulgentia tumens, non contineat intra terminos arma, an paret classes ignota moliens? Unde scio hic mihi an ille uentus bellum inuehat? Magna pars erat pacis humanae maria praecludi.

Yet, as I was saying a little before, we cannot complain of god, the author of our being, if we corrupt his benefits and have made them be the opposite. He gave the winds to guard the temperateness of sky and lands, to call out and to suppress the waters, to nourish the fruits of crops and trees, which the very tossing brings to maturity — among other causes — drawing nourishment to the surface and stirring them lest they grow torpid.

Non tamen, ut paulo ante dicebam, queri possumus de auctore nostri deo, si beneficia eius corrumpimus et ut essent contraria effecimus. Dedit ille uentos ad custodiendam caeli terrarumque temperiem, ad euocandas supprimendasque aquas, ad alendos satorum atque arborum fructus, quos ad maturitatem cum aliis causis adducit ipsa iactatio attrahens cibum in summa et ne torpeant permouens.

He gave the winds for the knowing of further things: for man would have been an unskilled animal and without great experience of things, if he were circumscribed by the bound of his native soil. He gave the winds, that the goods of each region might become common — not that they might carry legions and cavalry, nor that nations might transport pernicious arms across.

Dedit uentos ad ulteriora noscenda: fuisset enim imperitum animal et sine magna experientia rerum homo, si circumscriberetur natalis soli fine. Dedit uentos, ut commoda cuiusque regionis fierent communia, non ut legiones equitemque gestarent nec ut perniciosa gentes arma transueherent.

If we weigh nature’s benefits by the depravity of those who use them, we have received nothing not to our own harm: to whom does it profit to see? to whom to speak? to whom is life not a torment? You will find nothing of so manifest a usefulness that does not pass into its opposite through fault. So nature had invented the winds too, destined to be a good: we ourselves have made them adverse.

Si beneficia naturae utentium prauitate perpendimus, nihil non nostro malo accepimus: cui uidere expedit? cui loqui? cui non uita tormentum est? Nihil inuenies tam manifestae utilitatis quod non in contrarium transeat culpa. Sic uentos quoque natura bono futuros inuenerat: ipsi illos contrarios fecimus.

All of them lead us to some evil. The cause of casting off is not the same for these men and for those, but for none is it just. For by diverse incitements we are driven to attempt the sea; at all events it is for some vice that one sails. Excellently does Plato say — who must now, near our close, be given the place of a witness — that the things men buy with their life are of the smallest worth. Nay, dearest Lucilius, if you have rightly estimated their madness — that is, our own — you will laugh the more, when you consider that things are got ready for life on which life itself is spent.

Omnes in aliquod nos malum ducunt. Non eadem est his et illis causa soluendi, sed iusta nulli. Diuersis enim irritamentis ad temptandum mare impellimur, utique alicui uitio nauigatur. Egregie Plato dicit, qui nobis circa exitum iam testium loco dandus est, minima esse quae homines emant uita. Immo, Lucili carissime, si bene illorum furorem aestimaueris, id est nostrum, magis ridebis, cum cogitaueris uitae parari in quae uita consumitur.

Pompeii, the famous city of Campania — where on one side the Surrentine and Stabian shore, on the other the Herculanean, come together, and the sea, withdrawn from the open, girds it with a charming bay — has subsided in an earthquake, all the adjacent regions being shaken, Lucilius, best of men, as we have heard; and that, too, on winter days, which our ancestors used to promise were free from such danger.

Pompeios, celebrem Campaniae urbem, in quam ab altera parte Surrentinum Stabianumque litus, ab altera Herculanense conueniunt et mare ex aperto reductum amoeno sinu cingunt, consedisse terrae motu uexatis quaecumque adiacebant regionibus, Lucili uirorum optime, audiuimus, et quidem hibernis diebus, quos uacare a tali periculo maiores nostri solebant promittere.

This shock fell on the Nones of February, in the consulship of Regulus and Verginius, and laid waste Campania — never safe from this evil, yet hitherto unharmed and so often let off with mere fright — with great destruction: for a part of the town of Herculaneum fell, and even what is left standing stands doubtfully; the colony of the Nucerians, though without disaster, is not without complaint; Naples too lost much privately, nothing publicly, lightly grazed by the vast evil: but villas were overthrown, and everywhere, without injury, things trembled.

Nonis Februariis hic fuit motus Regulo et Uerginio consulibus, qui Campaniam, numquam securam huius mali, indemnem tamen et totiens defunctam metu, magna strage uastauit: nam et Herculanensis oppidi pars ruit dubieque stant etiam quae relicta sunt, et Nucerinorum colonia ut sine clade ita non sine querela est; Neapolis quoque priuatim multa, publice nihil amisit leuiter ingenti malo perstricta: uillae uero prorutae, passim sine iniuria tremuere.

To these are added the following: a flock of six hundred sheep killed, statues split, and some persons, their minds unhinged afterward and not masters of themselves, who wandered about. To shake out the causes of these things, both the connected sequence of the work I have proposed demands, and the very chance, falling in with this moment.

Adiciuntur his illa: sexcentarum ouium gregem exanimatum et diuisas statuas, motae post hoc mentis aliquos atque impotentes sui errasse. Quorum ut causas excutiamus, et propositi operis contextus exigit et ipse in hoc tempus congruens casus.

Solaces must be sought for the trembling, and their great fear must be taken away. For what can seem safe enough to anyone, if the world itself is shaken and its most solid parts totter? If that which alone is immovable in it and fixed, so as to sustain all things that lean upon it, fluctuates; if the earth has lost what is proper to it — to stand still: where, at last, will our fears settle?

Quaerenda sunt trepidis solacia et demendus ingens timor. Quid enim cuiquam satis tutum uideri potest, si mundus ipse concutitur et partes eius solidissimae labant? Si quod unum immobile est in illo fixumque, ut cuncta in se intenta sustineat, fluctuatur; si quod proprium habet terra perdidit, stare: ubi tandem resident metus nostri?

There is universal consternation when the roofs have creaked and ruin has given its sign. Then each man flings himself out headlong and deserts his household gods and trusts himself to the open: what hiding-place do we look out for, what aid, if the globe itself sets ruins in motion, if this which guards and sustains us, upon which cities are set, which some have called the foundation of the world, departs and reels?

Consternatio omnium est, ubi tecta crepuerunt et ruina signum dedit. Tunc praeceps quisque se proripit et penates suos deserit ac se publico credit: quam latebram prospicimus, quod auxilium, si orbis ipse ruinas agitat, si hoc quod nos tuetur ac sustinet, supra quod urbes sitae sunt, quod fundamentum quidam mundi esse dixerunt, discedit ac titubat?

What can there be for you — I do not say of aid, but of solace — when fear has lost its flight? I will repel an enemy with a wall, and forts of sheer height will delay even great armies by the difficulty of approach; a harbor saves us from a storm; roofs throw off the poured-out force of clouds and the waters falling without end; fire does not pursue those who flee; against thunder and the threats of the sky, underground houses and caverns dug deep are remedies; in pestilence one may change one’s seat: no evil is without an escape.

Quid tibi esse non dico auxilii sed solacii potest, ubi timor fugam perdidit? Hostem muro repellam, et praeruptae altitudinis castella uel magnos exercitus difficultate aditus morabuntur; a tempestate nos uindicat portus; nimborum uim effusam et sine fine cadentes aquas tecta propellunt; fugientes non sequitur incendium; aduersus tonitruum et minas caeli subterraneae domus et defossi in altum specus remedia sunt; in pestilentia mutare sedes licet: nullum malum sine effugio est.

Never have thunderbolts scorched whole peoples; a pestilent sky has drained cities, not carried them off: this evil spreads most widely, inescapable, greedy, harmful to all in common. For it does not engulf homes alone, or families, or single cities, but submerges whole nations and regions, and now covers them with ruins, now buries them in a deep chasm, and does not even leave that from which it might appear that what now is not at least once was, but over the noblest cities the bare ground is spread without any trace of its former condition.

Numquam fulmina populos perusserunt; pestilens caelum exhausit urbes, non abstulit: hoc malum latissime patet ineuitabile, auidum, publice noxium. Non enim domos solum aut familias aut urbes singulas haurit, gentes totas regionesque submergit et modo ruinis operit, modo in altam uoraginem condit ac ne id quidem relinquit ex quo appareat quod non est saltem fuisse, sed supra nobilissimas urbes sine ullo uestigio prioris habitus solum extenditur.

Nor are there lacking those who fear this kind of death the more, in that they go down into the abyss with their own dwellings and, alive, are carried off from the number of the living — as though every fate did not come to the same end. Nature has this above all else among the marks of her justice, that, when it has come to the end, we are all on an equal footing.

Nec desunt qui hoc genus mortis magis timeant quo in abruptum cum sedibus suis eunt et e uiuorum numero uiui auferuntur, tamquam non omne fatum ad eundem terminum ueniat. Hoc habet inter cetera iustitiae suae natura praecipuum quod, cum ad exitum uentum est, omnes in aequo sumus.

It therefore makes no difference whether one stone crushes me or I am pressed by a whole mountain; whether the weight of a single house comes upon me and I breathe out my last under its small heap and dust, or the whole globe of the earth hides my head; whether I render this breath in the light and in the open, or in the vast gulf of lands gaping apart; whether I am borne into that deep alone or with a great company of peoples falling together; it makes no difference to me how great a tumult there is around my death: death itself is everywhere just the same.

Nihil itaque interest utrum me lapis unus elidat, an monte toto premar; utrum supra me domus unius onus ueniat et sub exiguo eius cumulo ac puluere exspirem, an totus caput meum terrarum orbis abscondat; in luce hunc et in aperto spiritum reddam an in uasto terrarum dehiscentium sinu; solus in illud profundum an cum magno comitatu populorum concadentium ferar; nihil interest mea quantus circa mortem meam tumultus sit: ipsa ubique tantundem est.

Therefore let us take a great spirit against this disaster, which can neither be avoided nor foreseen, and let us cease to listen to those who have renounced Campania and who, after this calamity, have emigrated and declare they will never approach that region again: for who promises them that this soil or that stands on better foundations?

Proinde magnum sumamus animum aduersus istam cladem, quae nec euitari nec prouideri potest, desinamusque audire istos, qui Campaniae renuntiauerunt quique post hunc casum emigrauerunt negantque ipsos umquam in illam regionem accessuros: quis enim illis promittit melioribus fundamentis hoc aut illud solum stare?

All things are of the same lot, and, if not yet moved, are nonetheless movable: this place in which you stand more securely, perhaps this night or this day before night will split. How do you know whether the condition of those places is not better, in which fortune has already spent its forces and which are propped up for the future by their own ruin?

Omnia eiusdem sortis sunt et, si nondum mota, tamen mobilia: hunc fortasse in quo securius consistitis locum haec nox aut hic ante noctem dies scindet. Unde scis an non melior eorum locorum condicio sit in quibus iam uires suas fortuna consumpsit et quae in futurum ruina sua fulta sunt?

For we err, if we believe any part of the lands exempt and immune from this peril: all lie under the same law; nothing did nature conceive so as to be immovable; some things fall at one time, others at another, and, just as in great cities now this house and now that is shored up, so in this globe of the earth now this part is faulty, now that.

Erramus enim, si ullam terrarum partem exceptam immunemque ab hoc periculo credimus: omnes sub eadem iacent lege; nihil ita ut immobile esset natura concepit; alia temporibus aliis cadunt et, quemadmodum in urbibus magnis nunc haec domus nunc illa suspenditur, ita in hoc orbe terrarum nunc haec pars facit uitium nunc illa.

Tyre was once notorious for its ruins, Asia lost twelve cities at once; the year before, whatever this force of the evil is that runs upon us, struck Achaia and Macedonia, now it has hurt Campania: fate goes round, and, if it has long passed something by, it comes back for it. Some places it troubles more rarely, some more often: it lets nothing be immune and unharmed.

Tyros aliquando infamis ruinis fuit, Asia duodecim urbes simul perdidit; anno priore in Achaiam et Macedoniam, quaecumque est ista uis mali quae incurrit, nunc Campaniam laesit: circumit fatum et, si quid diu praeteriit, repetit. Quaedam rarius sollicitat, saepius quaedam: nihil immune esse et innoxium sinit.

Not men only — we who are born a brief and falling thing — but cities and the coasts of lands and shores and the very sea come into the servitude of fate. And yet we promise ourselves that fortune’s goods will abide with us, and we believe that felicity — whose fickleness is the swiftest of all human things — will have in our case some weight and delay;

Non homines tantum, qui breuis et caduca res nascimur, urbes oraeque terrarum et litora et ipsum mare in seruitutem fati uenit. Nos tamen nobis permansura promittimus bona fortunae, et felicitatem, cuius ex omnibus rebus humanis uelocissima est leuitas, habituram in aliquo pondus ac moram credimus;

and it does not come into the mind of those who promise themselves all things as perpetual, that the very thing on which we stand is not stable. For this fault is not Campania’s or Achaia’s but of all soil — to cohere ill, and to be loosed from several causes, and, while the surface remains, to fall in its parts.

et perpetua sibi omnia promittentibus in mentem non uenit id ipsum supra quod stamus stabile non esse. Neque enim Campaniae istud aut Achaiae sed omnis soli uitium est, male cohaerere et ex causis pluribus solui et summa manere, partibus ruere.

What am I doing? I had promised solace against rare perils: behold, I announce things to be feared on every side, I deny that there is any eternal quiet to anything that can perish and destroy. But this very thing I put in the place of solace, and indeed of the strongest, since fear without remedy belongs to fools: reason shakes off terror from the prudent; for the unskilled, great security comes from despair.

Quid ago? Solacium aduersus pericula rara promiseram: ecce undique timenda denuntio, nego quicquam esse quietis aeternae, quod perire possit et perdere. Ego uero hoc ipsum solacii loco pono et quidem ualentissimi, quando quidem sine remedio timor stultis est: ratio terrorem prudentibus excutit; imperitis magna fit ex desperatione securitas.

So think it said to the human race what was said to those men, stunned by sudden captivity amid fires and the enemy: “the one safety for the conquered is to hope for no safety.”

Hoc itaque generi humano dictum puta quod illis subita captiuitate inter ignes et hostem stupentibus dictum est: "una salus uictis nullam sperare salutem."

If you wish to fear nothing, reflect that all things are to be feared; look about at by how slight causes we are shattered: not food, not drink, not waking, not sleep is wholesome for us without a certain measure; now you will understand that we are trifling and feeble little bodies, fluid, to be destroyed without any great effort. Doubtless this is our one peril — that the lands tremble, that suddenly they are scattered and bring down what is set upon them!

Si uultis nihil timere, cogitate omnia esse metuenda; circumspicite quam leuibus causis discutiamur: non cibus nobis, non umor, non uigilia, non somnus sine mensura quadam salubria sunt; iam intellegetis nugatoria esse nos et imbecilla corpuscula, fluida, non magna molitione perdenda. Sine dubio id unum periculi nobis est quod tremunt terrae, quod subito dissipantur ac superposita deducunt!

He values himself highly who dreads thunderbolts and the movements of the lands and their gapings. Is he willing — conscious of his own weakness — to fear a phlegm? So, forsooth, we were born, allotted such happy limbs, grown to this magnitude! And on this account, unless the parts of the world are moved, unless the sky has thundered, unless the earth has subsided, we cannot perish!

Magni se aestimat qui fulmina et motus terrarum hiatusque formidat. Uult ille imbecillitatis sibi suae conscius timere pituitam? Ita uidelicet nati sumus, tam felicia sortiti membra, in hanc magnitudinem creuimus! Et ob hoc, nisi mundi partibus motis, nisi caelum intonuerit, nisi terra subsederit, perire non possumus!

The pain of a little fingernail — and not even of the whole of it, but some splitting at its side — finishes us off! And shall I fear the trembling lands, I whom a thicker saliva chokes? Shall I dread the sea moved from its seat, and lest the tide, drawing more waters in a greater course than usual, come over me — when a draught ill-slipped down the throat has strangled some men? How foolish it is to shudder at the sea, when you know you can perish by a drop!

Unguiculi nos et ne totius quidem dolor sed aliqua ab latere eius scissura conficit! Et ego timeam terras trementes, quem crassior saliua suffocat? Ego extimescam emotum sedibus suis mare, et ne aestus maiore quam solet cursu plus aquarum trahens superueniat, cum quosdam strangulauerit potio male lapsa per fauces? Quam stultum est mare horrere, cum scias stillicidio perire te posse!

There is no greater solace for death than mortality itself, and none, of all those things that terrify from without, than that innumerable perils are in our very bosom. For what is madder than to sink down at thunders and to creep under the earth in fear of lightning? What is more foolish than to fear the nodding of the earth, or the sudden slides of mountains, and the irruptions of the sea cast out beyond the shore, when death is everywhere at hand and meets us from every side, and nothing is so small but that it has force enough for the destruction of the human race?

Nullum maius solacium est mortis quam ipsa mortalitas, nullum autem omnium istorum quae extrinsecus terrent quam quod innumerabilia pericula in ipso sinu sunt. Quid enim dementius quam ad tonitrua succidere et sub terram correpere fulminum metu? Quid stultius quam timere nutationem terrae aut subitos montium lapsus et irruptiones maris extra litus eiecti, cum mors ubique praesto sit et undique occurrat nihilque sit tam exiguum quod non in perniciem generis humani satis ualeat?

So far ought these things not to confound us, as though they had in them more of evil than the common death, that, on the contrary, since it is necessary to go out of life and at some time to send forth the soul, it is a pleasure to perish by a greater reckoning. It is necessary to die somewhere, at some time: though this ground stand and hold itself within its own bounds and be tossed by no injury, it will at some time be above me. What does it matter whether I lay it upon myself or it lays itself upon me?

Adeo non debent nos ista confundere, tamquam plus in se mali habeant quam uulgaris mors, ut contra, cum sit necessarium e uita exire et aliquando emittere animam, maiore perire ratione iuuet. Necesse est mori ubicumque, quandoque: stet licet ista humus et se teneat suis finibus nec ulla iactetur iniuria, supra me quandoque erit. Quid interest, ego illam mihi an ipsa se mihi imponat?

It is parted, and by the vast power of some evil or other it is burst, and carries me off into an immeasurable depth; what then? Is death lighter on the level? What have I to complain of, if nature does not wish me to lie in an ignoble death, if it casts upon me a part of itself?

Diducitur et ingenti potentia nescio cuius mali rumpitur et me in immensam altitudinem abducit; quid porro? Mors leuior in plano est? Quid habeo quod querar, si rerum natura me non uult iacere ignobili leto, si mihi inicit sui partem?

Excellently my Vagellius in that famous poem: “If I must fall,” he says, “I would have fallen from the sky.” The same one may say: if I must fall, let me fall with the world shaken — not because it is right to wish for a public disaster, but because it is a vast solace of death to see that the earth too is mortal.

Egregie Uagellius meus in illo inclito carmine: "Si cadendum est", inquit, "e caelo cecidisse uelim". Idem licet dicere: si cadendum est, cadam orbe concusso, non quia fas est optare publicam cladem, sed quia ingens mortis solacium est terram quoque uidere mortalem.

This too will profit, to assume beforehand in the mind that the gods do none of these things, and that neither sky nor earth is shaken by the wrath of the divine powers: those things have their own causes, nor do they rage at command, but, like our bodies, are disturbed by certain faults, and then, when they seem to do an injury, are receiving one.

Illud quoque proderit praesumere animo, nihil horum deos facere, nec ira numinum aut caelum concuti aut terram: suas ista causas habent nec ex imperio saeuiunt sed quibusdam uitiis ut corpora nostra turbantur et tunc, cum facere uidentur iniuriam, accipiunt.

But to us, ignorant of the truth, all things are more terrible, especially those whose fear rarity increases: things familiar fall more lightly, but from the unwonted the dread is greater. But why is anything unwonted to us? Because we comprehend nature with our eyes, not with reason, and do not consider what she can do, but only what she has done. We pay, therefore, the penalty of this negligence, terrified as by new things, when those things are not new but unwonted.

Nobis autem ignorantibus uerum omnia terribiliora sunt, utique quorum metum raritas auget: leuius accidunt familiaria, at ex insolito formido maior est. Quare autem quicquam nobis insolitum est? Quia naturam oculis, non ratione, comprehendimus nec cogitamus quid illa facere possit, sed tantum quid fecerit. Damus itaque huius neglegentiae poenas tamquam nouis territi, cum illa non sint noua sed insolita.

What then? Does it not strike religion into minds — and that publicly — whether the sun has seemed to fail, or the moon (whose obscuration is more frequent), and has hidden either part of itself or the whole? And far more those things: torches driven crosswise, and a great part of the sky on fire, and bearded stars, and several orbs of the sun, and stars seen by day, and the sudden coursings of fires drawing much light behind them?

Quid ergo? Non religionem incutit mentibus, et quidem publice, siue deficere sol uisus est, siue luna, cuius obscuratio frequentior, aut parte sui aut tota delituit? Longeque magis illa, actae in transuersum faces et caeli magna pars ardens et crinita sidera et plures solis orbes et stellae per diem uisae subitique transcursus ignium multam post se lucem trahentium?

None of these do we wonder at without fear: and since the cause of fearing is not to know, is it not worth so much to know, that you may not fear? How much better it is to inquire into the causes — and that with the whole mind intent upon this! For nothing worthier can be found, on which one may not merely bestow but spend oneself.

Nihil horum sine timore miramur: et cum timendi sit causa nescire, non est tanti scire, ne timeas? Quanto satius est causas inquirere, et quidem toto in hoc intentum animo! Neque enim illo quicquam inueniri dignius potest, cui se non tantum commodet sed impendat.

Let us inquire, then, what it is that moves the earth from its lowest depth, that drives the mass of so great a weight; what it is, stronger than the earth, that shakes so vast a burden by its force; why now it trembles, now, loosened, subsides, now, divided into parts, draws asunder and at times long keeps the gap of its own ruin, at times quickly closes it; now turns inward rivers of noted size, now squeezes out new ones; sometimes opens veins of warm waters, sometimes cools them, and now and then sends forth fires through some opening of mountain or rock unknown before, sometimes shuts up fires long famous through the ages. It moves a thousand marvels and changes the face of places: it carries off mountains, raises plains, swells up valleys, rears new islands in the deep — from what causes these things happen is a matter worth examining.

Quaeramus ergo quid sit quod terram ab infimo moueat, quod tanti molem ponderis pellat; quid sit illa ualentius quod tantum onus ui sua labefactet; cur modo tremat, modo laxata subsidat, nunc in partes diuisa discedat et alias interuallum ruinae suae diu seruet, alias cito comprimat; nunc amnes magnitudinis notae conuertat introrsum, nunc nouos exprimat; aperiat aliquando aquarum calentium uenas, aliquando refrigeret, ignesque nonnumquam per aliquod ignotum antea montis aut rupis foramen emittat, aliquando notos et per saecula nobiles comprimat. Mille miracula mouet faciemque mutat locis et defert montes, subrigit plana, ualles extuberat, nouas in profundo insulas erigit: haec ex quibus causis accidant, digna res excuti.

"What," you say, "will be the reward of the labor?" That than which none is greater: to know nature. For the treatment of this material has in it nothing more beautiful — though it has much that will be of use — than that it holds a man by its own magnificence and is cultivated not for hire but for wonder. Let us look, then, at what it is on account of which these things happen: the inspection of which is so sweet to me that, although once as a young man I published a volume on the movement of the lands, nevertheless I wished to try myself and to test whether age has added anything to me, either toward knowledge or at least toward diligence.

Quod, inquis, erit pretium operae? Quo nullum maius est, nosse naturam. Neque enim quicquam habet in se huius materiae tractatio pulchrius, cum multa habeat futura usui, quam quod hominem magnificentia sui detinet nec mercede sed miraculo colitur. Inspiciamus ergo quid sit propter quod haec accidant: quorum adeo est mihi dulcis inspectio ut, quamuis aliquando de motu terrarum uolumen iuuenis ediderim, tamen temptare me uoluerim et experiri, si aetas aliquid nobis aut ad scientiam aut certe ad diligentiam adiecerit.

Some have thought the cause by which the earth is shaken to be in water, some in fires, some in the earth itself, some in breath, some in several of these, some in all of them; certain ones said that it was clear to them that some one of these was a cause, but not clear which it was.

Causam qua terra concutitur alii in aqua esse, alii in ignibus, alii in ipsa terra, alii in spiritu putauerunt, alii in pluribus, alii in omnibus his; quidam liquere ipsis aliquam ex istis causam esse dixerunt, sed non liquere quae esset.

Now I will pursue them one by one. This above all must be said by me: that the old opinions are too little exact and are rough; men were still erring around the truth; all things were new to those first attempting; afterward those same things were polished, and, if anything was discovered, it must nonetheless be set down to their credit: it was a thing of great spirit to move aside the hiding-places of nature and, not content with its outer aspect, to look within and to descend into the secrets of the gods. He contributed most to discovery who hoped it could be discovered.

Nunc singula persequar. Illud ante omnia mihi dicendum est, opiniones ueteres parum exactas esse et rudes: circa uerum adhuc errabatur; noua omnia erant primo temptantibus; postea eadem illa limata sunt et, si quid inuentum est, illis nihilominus referri debet acceptum: magni animi res fuit rerum naturae latebras dimouere nec contentum exteriore eius aspectu introspicere et in deorum secreta descendere. Plurimum ad inueniendum contulit qui sperauit posse reperiri.

With an indulgence, therefore, the ancients are to be heard: no thing is finished while it begins; nor in this matter only, the greatest of all and the most involved, but in every other business too, beginnings were always far from the perfect.

Cum excusatione itaque ueteres audiendi sunt: nulla res consummata est, dum incipit; nec in hac tantum re omnium maxima atque inuolutissima sed et in omni alio negotio longe semper a perfecto fuere principia.

That the cause is in water has been said neither by one man nor in one way. Thales of Miletus judges that the whole earth is carried by the water set beneath it and floats — whether you call that the Ocean, or the great sea, or water of another nature, still simple, and the moist element. By this wave, he says, the globe is sustained like some great ship and heavy upon those waters which it presses.

In aqua causam esse nec ab uno dictum est nec uno modo. Thales Milesius totam terram subiecto iudicat umore portari et innare, siue illud oceanum uocas, siue magnum mare, siue alterius naturae simplicem adhuc aquam et umidum elementum. Hac, inquit, unda sustinetur orbis uelut aliquod grande nauigium et graue his aquis quas premit.

It is superfluous to render the causes on account of which he thinks the heaviest part of the world cannot be carried by so thin and fleeting a breath; for now it is not the position of the lands that is at issue but the motion. In the place of an argument he puts this, that waters are the cause by which this globe is shaken — that in every greater shock new springs generally burst out.

Superuacuum est reddere causas propter quas existimat grauissimam partem mundi non posse spiritu tam tenui fugacique gestari; non enim nunc de situ terrarum sed de motu agitur. Illud argumenti loco ponit aquas esse in causa quibus hic orbis agitetur, quod in omni maiore motu erumpunt fere noui fontes.

That this opinion is false need not be long in the proving: for if the earth were sustained by water, it would both sometimes be shaken and always be moved, and we should wonder not that it is agitated but that it stays still; then it would be shaken whole, not in part; but as it is, the motion is not of the lands all together but in part: how then can it be that what is carried whole is not agitated whole, if it has been agitated by that on which it is carried?

Hanc opinionem falsam esse non est diu colligendum: nam si terra aqua sustineretur, et ea aliquando concuteretur et semper moueretur, nec agitari illam miraremur sed manere; deinde tota concuteretur, non ex parte; nunc uero terrarum non uniuersarum sed ex parte motus est: quomodo ergo fieri potest ut, quod totum uehitur, totum non agitetur, si eo quo uehitur agitatum est?

"But why do the waters burst out?" First of all, the earth has often trembled and no new moisture has flowed; then, if the wave broke out from this cause, it would be poured round the sides of the earth; finally, the eruption would not be so scanty as you say, nor would the bilge creep up as if through a crack, but there would be a vast inundation, as from a boundless liquid and one bearing all things along.

"At quare aquae erumpunt?" Primum omnium saepe tremuit terra et nihil umoris noui fluxit; deinde si ex hac causa unda prorumperet, a lateribus terrae circumfunderetur; ad ultimum non tam exigua fieret quam tu dicis eruptio nec uelut per rimam sentina subreperet, sed fieret ingens inundatio ut ex infinito liquore et ferente uniuersa.

Some have charged the movement of the lands to water, but not from the same cause. Through all the earth, he says, many kinds of waters run down: in some places perpetual rivers, whose size is navigable even without the help of rains: hence the Nile, which through the summer brings in vast waters; hence the Danube and the Rhine, flowing between the pacified and the hostile — the one checking Sarmatian onsets and dividing Europe from Asia, the other repelling the Germans, a people greedy for war.

Quidam motum terrarum aquae imputauerunt, sed non ex eadem causa. Per omnem, inquit, terram multa aquarum genera decurrunt: aliubi perpetui amnes, quorum nauigabilis etiam sine adiutorio imbrium magnitudo est: hinc Nilus, per aestatem ingentes aquas inuehit; hinc, qui medius inter pacata et hostilia fluit, Danuuius ac Rhenus, alter Sarmaticos impetus cohibens et Europam Asiamque disterminans, alter Germanos, auidam belli gentem, repellens.

Add now the most open lakes and pools surrounded by peoples unknown to one another, and marshes not to be struggled through by ship, not passable even among themselves by those who dwell on them; then so many springs, so many heads of rivers vomiting sudden streams out of the hidden; then so many onsets of torrents gathered for a time, whose forces are as sudden as they are brief.

Adice nunc patentissimos lacus et stagna populis inter se ignotis circumdata et ineluctabiles nauigio paludes, ne ipsis quidem inter se peruias quibus incoluntur; deinde tot fontes, tot capita fluminum subitos et ex occulto amnes uomentia, tot deinde ad tempus collectos torrentium impetus, quorum uires quam repentinae tam breues.

There is every nature and face of waters within the earth too: there also some are borne down in a vast course and, rolled headlong, fall, others, more sluggish, are poured out over shallows and flow gently and quietly; and who would deny that they are gathered in vast reservoirs and lie idle in many places? It need not be long proved that there are many waters there, whence all waters come; for the earth would not suffice to put forth so many rivers, unless it poured from a stored and abundant supply.

Omnis aquarum et intra terram natura faciesque est: illic quoque aliae uasto cursu deferuntur et in praeceps uolutae cadunt, aliae languidiores in uadis refunduntur et leniter ac quiete fluunt; quis autem neget uastis illas receptaculis concipi et cessare multis inertes locis? Non est diu probandum ibi multas aquas esse, unde omnes sunt; neque enim sufficeret tellus ad tot flumina edenda, nisi ex reposito multoque funderet.

If this is true, it must be that sometimes a river there swells and, leaving its banks, runs violently against what stands in its way: so will come the motion of some part against which the river has given its onset and which it will lash until it subsides. It can happen that a flowing stream eats away some region and drags some mass with it, by whose sliding the things set above are shaken.

Si hoc uerum est, necesse est aliquando illic amnis excrescat et relictis ripis uiolentus in obstantia incurrat: sic fiet motus alicuius partis in quam flumen impetum dedit et quam, donec decrescat, uerberabit. Potest fieri ut aliquam regionem riuus affluens exedat ac secum trahat aliquam molem, qua lapsa superposita quatiantur.

He now trusts his eyes too much and does not know how to lead his mind beyond them, who does not believe there are in the hidden depth of the earth gulfs of a vast sea. For I do not see what prevents or stands in the way of the earth’s having some shore even in the hidden, and a sea received through covert entrances, which there too holds just as much room, or perhaps more, in that the upper regions had to be divided among so many living things: for things hidden away and deserted, without a possessor, lie open more freely to the waves.

Iam uero nimis oculis permittit nec ultra illos scit producere animum, qui non credit esse in abdito terrae sinus maris uasti. Nec enim uideo quid prohibeat aut obstet quo minus habeat aliquod etiam in abdito litus et per occultos aditus receptum mare, quod illic quoque tantundem loci teneat aut fortassis hoc amplius quod superiora cum tot animalibus erant diuidenda: abstrusa enim et sine possessore deserta liberius undis uacant.

And what forbids those waters to fluctuate there, and to be driven by winds, which every interval of the lands and all air creates? A storm, then, arisen greater than usual, can move some part of the lands, struck more vehemently. For among us too many things that had been far from the sea have suddenly been thrashed by its approach, and a wave that was heard far off has invaded villas set in the prospect; there too the nether sea can advance and recede: neither of which happens without a motion of what stands above.

Quas quid uetat illic fluctuare et uentis, quos omne interuallum terrarum et omnis aer creat, impelli? Potest ergo maior solito exorta tempestas aliquam partem terrarum impulsam uehementius commouere. Nam apud nos quoque multa quae procul a mari fuerant subito eius accessu uapulauerunt et uillas in prospectu collocatas fluctus qui longe audiebatur inuasit; illic quoque potest accedere ac recedere pelagus infernum: quorum neutrum fit sine motu superstantium.

I do not indeed suppose you will long hesitate to believe that there are subterranean rivers and a hidden sea: for whence do these creep forth, whence do they come to us, unless because the origin of the moisture is shut up within?

Non quidem existimo diu te haesitaturum an credas esse subterraneos amnes et mare absconditum: unde enim ista prorepunt, unde ad nos ueniunt, nisi quod origo umoris inclusa est?

Come, when you see the Tigris interrupted and dried up in the middle of its course, and not turned aside entire, but little by little, with no apparent losses, first diminished, then consumed, whither do you think it goes off but into the dark places of the lands — especially when you see it emerge again, no smaller than that which had flowed before? What, when you see the Alpheus, celebrated by the poets, sink in Achaia and, the sea crossed, pour out again in Sicily the most charming spring Arethusa?

Age, cum uides interruptum Tigrin in medio itinere siccari et non uniuersum auerti, sed paulatim non apparentibus damnis minui primum, deinde consumi, quo illum putas abire nisi in obscura terrarum, utique cum uideas emergere iterum non minorem eo qui prius fluxerat? Quid, cum uides Alpheon, celebratum poetis, in Achaia mergi et in Sicilia rursus traiecto mari effundere amoenissimum fontem Arethusam?

And do you not know that among the opinions by which the summer flood of the Nile is explained, this too is one — that it bursts from the earth and is increased not by waters from above but by waters given back from the deep? I myself heard two centurions, whom Nero Caesar — most loving of truth, as of the other virtues — had sent to investigate the source of the Nile, telling that they had accomplished a long journey, when, equipped with aid by the king of Ethiopia and commended to the neighboring kings, they had penetrated to the farther ones.

Nescis autem inter opiniones, quibus enarratur Nili aestiua inundatio, et hanc esse, a terra illum erumpere et augeri non supernis aquis sed ex intimo redditis? Ego quidem centuriones duos, quos Nero Caesar, ut aliarum uirtutum ita ueritatis in primis amantissimus, ad inuestigandum caput Nili miserat, audiui narrantes longum illos iter peregisse, cum a rege Aethiopiae instructi auxilio commendatique proximis regibus penetrassent ad ulteriorem.

"Thence," as some of them said, "we came to immense marshes, whose outlet neither the inhabitants knew nor can anyone hope for: so entangled are the plants with the waters, and the waters not to be struggled through on foot nor by boat, which the muddy and overgrown marsh will not bear unless it is small and holds one man. There," he said, "we saw two rocks, from which a vast force of river fell out."

Inde, ut quidam aiebant, peruenimus ad immensas paludes, quarum exitum nec incolae nouerant nec sperare quisquam potest: ita implicatae aquis herbae sunt et aquae nec pediti eluctabiles nec nauigio, quod nisi paruum et unius capax limosa et obsita palus non fert. Ibi, inquit, uidimus duas petras, ex quibus ingens uis fluminis excidebat.

But whether that is the head or an accession of the Nile, whether it is then born or returns into the lands, taken back from an earlier course, do you not believe that it, whatever it is, rises from a great lake of the lands? For they must have moisture scattered in several places and gathered into one, that they may be able to belch it out with so great an impulse.

Sed siue caput illa siue accessio est Nili, siue tunc nascitur siue in terras ex priore recepta cursu redit, nonne tu credis illam, quicquid est, ex magno terrarum lacu ascendere? Habeant enim oportet pluribus locis sparsum umorem et in uno coactum, ut eructare tanto impetu possint.

Some judge fire to be the cause of motion, foremost Anaxagoras, who thinks that from a cause almost alike both the air is shaken and the earth: when in the lower part the breath has burst the thick air, compacted into clouds, by the same force by which among us too the storm-clouds are wont to be broken, and fire has flashed out from this collision of clouds and the course of the struck-out air, this very fire runs upon what it meets, seeking an exit, and tears apart what resists, until either through a narrow it has found a way of going out to the sky or has made one by force and violence.

Ignem causam motus quidam iudicant, imprimis Anaxagoras, qui existimat simili paene ex causa et aera concuti et terram: cum in inferiore parte spiritus crassum aera et in nubes coactum eadem ui qua apud nos quoque nubila frangi solent rupit et ignis ex hoc collisu nubium cursuque elisi aeris emicuit, hic ipse in obuia incurrit exitum quaerens ac diuellit repugnantia, donec per angustum aut nactus est uiam exeundi ad caelum aut ui et iniuria fecit.

Others judge that fire is indeed a cause, but not for this reason — rather because, buried in several places, it burns and consumes whatever is nearest; and if these things, eaten away, have at some time fallen, then follows the motion of those parts which, deprived of their underlying supports, totter, until they have collapsed with nothing meeting them to take up the weight; then chasms, then vast gapings open, or, when they have long wavered, they settle themselves upon those things which are left and stand.

Alii in igne causam quidem esse, sed non ob hoc iudicant, sed quia pluribus obrutus locis ardeat et proxima quaeque consumat; quae si quando exesa ceciderint, tunc sequi motum earum partium quae subiectis adminiculis destitutae labant, donec corruerunt nullo occurrente quod onus exciperet; tunc chasmata, tunc hiatus uasti aperiuntur aut, cum diu dubitauerunt, super ea se quae supersunt stantque componunt.

This we see happen among us too, whenever a part of the city labors under a fire: when the beams have been burnt up, or what gave firmness to the upper parts has been spoiled, then the long-shaken gables fall, and so long are carried down and uncertain, until they have settled on the solid.

Hoc apud nos quoque uidemus accidere, quotiens incendio laborat pars ciuitatis: cum exustae trabes sunt aut corrupta quae superioribus firmamentum dabant, tunc diu agitata fastigia concidunt et tam diu deferuntur atque incerta sunt, donec in solido resederunt.

Anaximenes says that the earth itself is the cause of its own motion, and that nothing runs in from without to drive it, but within itself and out of itself: for some parts of it fall away, which either moisture has loosened, or fire has eaten, or the violence of breath has shaken out. But even when these are at rest, there is no lack of a cause for which something should drop away or be torn off; for first, all things slide with age, and nothing is safe from old age: it plucks at even the solid and things of great strength.

Anaximenes ait terram ipsam sibi causam esse motus nec extrinsecus incurrere quod illam impellat, sed intra ipsam et ex ipsa: quasdam enim partes eius decidere, quas aut umor resoluerit aut ignis exederit aut spiritus uiolentia excusserit. Sed his quoque cessantibus non deesse propter quod aliquid abscedat aut reuellatur; nam primum omnia uetustate labuntur nec quicquam tutum a senectute est; haec solida quoque et magni roboris carpit.

And so, just as in old buildings certain parts fall, though unstruck, when they have had more weight than strength, so in this whole body of the earth it happens that its parts are loosened by age, and, loosened, fall and bring a tremor to the things above: first, while they go away; then, when they have fallen, taken up by the solid, they rebound after the manner of a ball; but if they have been borne down into standing waters, this very fall shakes the neighborhood by the wave which the weight, hurled suddenly and vast from on high, has cast out.

Itaque quemadmodum in aedificiis ueteribus quasdam non percussa tamen decidunt, cum plus ponderis habuere quam uirium, ita in hoc uniuerso terrae corpore euenit ut partes eius uetustate soluantur, solutae cadant et tremorem superioribus afferant: primum, dum abscedunt; deinde, cum deciderunt, solido exceptae resiliunt pilae more; si uero in stagnantibus aquis delatae sunt, hic ipse casus uicina concutit fluctu, quem subitum uastumque illisum ex alto pondus eiecit.

Some assign this tremor to fires indeed, but otherwise. For since they burn in several places, they must roll up a vast vapor without exit, which by its force strains the breath, and, if it has pressed more sharply, splits what is opposed to it; but if it was slacker, it does nothing more than move it. We see water foam with fire set beneath: what fire does in this water, shut up and confined, let us believe it does much more there, when, violent and vast, it stirs up huge waters: then, by that evaporation of the fluctuating waves, whatever it has struck is shaken.

Quidam ignibus quidem assignant hunc tremorem, sed aliter. Nam cum pluribus locis ferueant, necesse est ingentem uaporem sine exitu uoluant, qui ui sua spiritum intendit et, si acrius institit, opposita diffindit, si uero remissior fuit, nihil amplius quam mouet. Uidemus aquam spumare igne subiecto: quod in hac aqua facit inclusa et angusta, multo magis illum facere credamus, cum uiolentus ac uastus ingentes aquas excitat: tunc illa euaporatione fluctuantium undarum quicquid pulsauit, agitatur.

That it is breath which moves the earth pleases both the most and the greatest authorities. Archelaus, a man indeed careful enough, says thus: Winds are borne down into the hollows of the lands; then, when now all the spaces are full and the air has been condensed as far as it could be, that breath which comes over the top presses and squeezes out the earlier one and, with frequent blows, first compacts it, then drives it on;

Spiritum esse qui moueat et plurimis et maximis auctoribus placet. Archelaus, uir quidem satis diligens, ait ita: Uenti in concaua terrarum deferuntur; deinde, ubi iam omnia spatia plena sunt et in quantum aer potuit densatus est, is qui superuertit spiritus priorem premit et elidit ac frequentibus plagis primo cogit, deinde proturbat;

then that breath, seeking room, moves aside all the narrows and tries to break open its barriers: so it comes about that the lands, with the breath struggling and seeking flight, are moved. And so, when an earthquake is going to be, there precedes a tranquillity and quiet of the air — evidently because the force of breath, which is wont to rouse the winds, is held back in its lower seat. Now too, when this shock was in Campania, although in a wintry and unquiet season, through the preceding days the air stood still in the sky.

tunc ille quaerens locum omnes angustias dimouet et claustra sua conatur effringere: sic euenit ut terrae, spiritu luctante et fugam quaerente, moueantur. Itaque cum terrae motus futurus est, praecedit aeris tranquillitas et quies, uidelicet quia uis spiritus, quae concitare uentos solet, in inferna sede retinetur. Nunc quoque, cum hic motus in Campania fuit, quamuis hiberno tempore et inquieto, per superiores dies caelo aer stetit.

What then? Has the earth never been shaken with a wind blowing? Very rarely; it happens if two winds have blown at once; yet it both can and is wont to. And if we admit this, and it is agreed that two winds carry on the business at once, why might it not happen that one stirs the upper air, the other the nether?

Quid ergo? Numquam flante uento terra concussa est? Admodum raro; duo si simul flauere uenti fieri; tamen et potest et solet. Quod si recipimus et constat duos uentos rem simul gerere, quidni accidere possit ut alter superiorem aera agitet, alter infernum?

In this opinion you may set Aristotle and his disciple Theophrastus — not, as it seemed to the Greeks, a man divine, yet of a sweet and bright eloquence without labor. What pleases both I will expound. There is always some evaporation from the earth, which is now dry, now mixed with moisture; this, put forth from the lowest and raised as far as it could be, when it has no further place into which to go out, is borne back and rolls upon itself; then the brawl of the breath running to and fro tosses what stands in its way and, whether shut in or forced through narrows, rouses motion and tumult.

In hac sententia licet ponas Aristotelem et discipulum eius Theophrastum (non, ut Graecis uisum est, diuini, tamen et dulcis eloquii uirum et nitidi sine labore). Quid utrique placeat exponam. Semper aliqua euaporatio est e terra, quae modo arida est, modo umido mixta; haec ab infimo edita et in quantum potuit elata, cum ulteriorem locum in quem exeat non habet, retro fertur atque in se reuoluitur; deinde rixa spiritus reciprocantis iactat obstantia et, siue interclusus siue per angusta enisus est, motum ac tumultum ciet.

Strato is from the same school, who cultivated this part of philosophy most and was an inquirer into the nature of things; his doctrine is of this sort. The cold and the hot always go off into contraries, they cannot be in one place: cold flows together thither whence the force of the hot has departed, and in turn the hot is there whence the cold has been expelled. That what I say is true, and that each is driven into its contrary, may appear to you from this:

Straton ex eadem schola est, qui hanc partem philosophiae maxime coluit et rerum naturae inquisitor fuit; huius tale decretum est. Frigidum et calidum semper in contraria abeunt, una esse non possunt: eo frigidum confluit unde uis calidi discessit, et inuicem ibi calidum est unde frigus expulsum est. Hoc quod dico uerum esse et utrumque in contrarium agi ex hoc tibi appareat:

in the wintry season, when above the earth there is cold, wells are warm, and no less caverns and all the recesses beneath the earth, because the heat has betaken itself thither, yielding to the cold that possesses the upper regions; and when it has come into the lower parts and crowded itself there as much as it could, the denser it is, the stronger. Upon the cold comes the force of the hot, to which that cold, now gathered together and pressed into a narrow space, necessarily yields its place.

hiberno tempore, cum supra terram frigus est, calent putei nec minus specus atque omnes sub terra recessus, quia illo se calor contulit superiora possidenti frigori cedens; qui, cum in inferiora peruenit et eo se quantum poterat ingessit, quo densior, hoc ualidior est. Frigori calidi uis superuenit, cui necessario congregatus ille iam et in angustum pressus loco cedit.

The same happens conversely: when a greater force of cold has been brought into the caverns, whatever heat lurks there, yielding to the cold, goes off into a narrow space and is driven with great impulse, because the nature of the two does not allow concord nor a delay in one place. Fleeing, therefore, and desiring in every way to get out, it heaves up and tosses whatever is nearest.

Idem contrario euenit: cum uis maior frigidi illata in cauernis est, quicquid illic calidi latet, frigori cedens abit in angustum et magno impetu agitur, quia non patitur utriusque natura concordiam nec in uno moram. Fugiens ergo et omni modo cupiens excedere proxima quaeque remolitur ac iactat.

And so, before the earth moves, there is wont to be heard a lowing, the winds tumultuating in the hidden depth. For it could not otherwise be, as our Virgil says, that “the ground lows beneath the feet and the high ridges move,” unless this were the work of the winds.

Ideoque antequam terra moueatur, solet mugitus audiri uentis in abdito tumultuantibus. Nec enim aliter posset, ut ait noster Uergilius, "sub pedibus mugire solum et iuga celsa moueri", nisi hoc esset uentorum opus.

Then the turns of this struggle are the same: there comes a gathering of the hot and again an eruption; then the cold things are checked and withdraw, soon to be more powerful. While, therefore, the alternating force runs to and fro and the breath passes back and forth, the earth is shaken.

Uices deinde huius pugnae sunt eaedem: fit calidi congregatio ac rursus eruptio; tunc frigida compescuntur et secedunt mox futura potentiora. Dum ergo alterna uis cursat et ultro citroque spiritus commeat, terra concutitur.

There are those who think that the earth indeed trembles by breath and by no other reckoning, but from another cause than pleased Aristotle. Hear what is said by these: our body is irrigated both with blood and with breath, which runs down along its own paths. We have, moreover, certain narrower receptacles of the spirit through which it does nothing more than pass, certain more open ones in which it gathers and whence it is divided into parts. So this whole body of all the lands is pervious both to waters, which hold the place of blood, and to winds, which one would call nothing else than its breath. These two in some places run, in others stand still.

Sunt qui existiment spiritu quidem et nulla alia ratione tremere terram, sed ex alia causa quam Aristoteli placuit. Quid sit quod ab his dicatur audi: corpus nostrum et sanguine irrigatur et spiritu, qui per sua itinera decurrit. Habemus autem quaedam angustiora receptacula animae per quae nihil amplius quam meat, quaedam patentiora in quibus colligitur et unde diuiditur in partes. Sic hoc totum terrarum omnium corpus et aquis, quae uicem sanguinis tenent, et uentis, quos nihil aliud quis quam animam uocauerit, peruium est. Haec duo aliubi currunt, aliubi consistunt.

But just as in our body, while there is good health, the unperturbed mobility of the veins too keeps measure — when there is anything adverse, it beats more often, and there are sighs and pantings, signs of the laboring and weary — so the lands too, while their natural position is theirs, remain unshaken; when something is amiss, then there is, as it were, the motion of a sick body, that breath which flowed more modestly being struck more vehemently and shaking its own veins. And it is not as those said a little before, to whom it pleases that the earth is a living creature: for in us a fever does not drive some parts more slowly, others more quickly, but runs through all with equal evenness.

Sed quemadmodum in corpore nostro, dum bona ualetudo est, uenarum quoque imperturbata mobilitas modum seruat; ubi aliquid aduersi est, micat crebrius et suspiria atque anhelitus laborantis ac fessi signa sunt: ita terrae quoque, dum illis positio naturalis est, inconcussae manent; cum aliquid peccatur, tunc uelut aegri corporis motus est, spiritu illo qui modestius perfluebat icto uehementius et quassante uenas suas. Nec, ut illi paulo ante dicebant, quibus animal placet esse terram; neque enim in nobis febris alias partes moratius, alias citius impellit, sed per omnes pari aequalitate discurrit.

See, then, whether any breath enters into the earth from the surrounding air. Which, so long as it has an exit, glides without injury; if it strikes something and falls upon what would close its way, then it is loaded, the air first pouring in behind it, then it flees grudgingly through some crack and is borne the more sharply the narrower it is. This cannot happen without a struggle, nor a struggle without motion.

Uide ergo num quid intret in illam spiritus ex circumfuso aere. Qui, quamdiu habet exitum, sine iniuria labitur; si offendit aliquid et incidit quod uiam clauderet, tunc oneratur primo infundente se a tergo aere, deinde per aliquam rimam maligne fugit et hoc acrius fertur, quo angustius. Id sine pugna non potest fieri, nec pugna sine motu.

But if it does not find even a crack through which to flow out, balled together it rages there and is driven round this way and that and throws down some things, cuts off others, since it is the finest and likewise the strongest, and creeps in even into the obstructed, and parts and scatters by its force whatever it has entered. Then the earth is tossed: for either it parts to give place to the wind, or, when it has given place, deprived of its foundation, it settles into the very cavern by which it let the wind out.

At si ne rimam quidem per quam efflueret inuenit, conglobatus illic furit et hoc atque illo circumagitur aliaque deicit, alia intercidit, cum tenuissimus idemque fortissimus et irrepat quamuis in obstructa et quicquid intrauit ui sua diducat ac dissipet. Tunc terra iactatur: aut enim datura uento locum discedit, aut, cum dedit, in ipsam qua illum emisit cauernam fundamento spoliata considit.

Some think thus: the earth is perforated in many places, and has not only those first entrances which it received from its beginning as breathing-holes, but chance has imposed many on it. In one place water has carried off whatever of earth was on the surface, in another torrents have cut; others, burst apart by great heats, have gaped open. Through these intervals the breath enters: which, if the sea has shut it in and driven it deeper and not allowed the wave to go back, then, its exit and return alike blocked, it rolls about, and, because it cannot stretch straight on — which is natural to it — it strains itself aloft and beats apart the earth that presses it.

Quidam ita existimant: terra multis locis perforata est nec tantum primos illos aditus habet quos uelut spiramenta ab initio sui recepit, sed multos illi casus imposuit. Aliubi deduxit quicquid superne terreni erat aqua, alia torrentes cecidere, alia aestibus magnis disrupta patuerunt. Per haec interualla intrat spiritus: quem si inclusit mare et altius adegit nec fluctus retro abire permisit, tunc ille exitu simul redituque praecluso uolutatur et, quia in rectum non potest tendere, quod illi naturale est, in sublime se intendit et terram prementem diuerberat.

Even now must be said what pleases most authorities, and to which perhaps the division of opinion will incline. That the earth is not without breath is plain — I mean not only that breath by which it holds itself and joins its parts, which is in stones too and in dead bodies, but I mean that vital and quickening breath that nourishes all things. Unless it had this, how would it pour breath into so many groves living from no other source, and into so many crops? How would it foster roots so diverse, sunk into it one way and another, unless it had much of soul, generating things so many and so various and rearing them by the drinking and nourishment of itself?

Etiamnunc dicendum est quod plerisque auctoribus placet et in quod fortasse fiet discessio. Non esse terram sine spiritu palam est, non tantum illo dico quo se tenet ac partes sui iungit, qui inest etiam saxis mortuisque corporibus, sed illo dico uitali et uegeto et alente omnia. Hunc nisi haberet, quomodo tot arbustis spiritum infunderet non aliunde uiuentibus et tot satis? Quemadmodum tam diuersas radices aliter atque aliter in se mersas foueret, nisi multum haberet animae tam multa tam uaria generantis et haustu atque alimento sui educantis?

I argue still with light arguments: this whole sky, which the fiery aether, the topmost part of the world, encloses, all these stars, whose number cannot be reckoned, all this assembly of the heavenly bodies and — to pass over the rest — this sun driving its course so near to us, more than once greater than the whole circuit of the lands, all draw nourishment from the earthy and divide it among themselves, and are sustained, surely, by nothing else than the exhalation of the lands: this is their food, this their pasture.

Leuibus adhuc argumentis ago: totum hoc caelum, quod igneus aether, mundi summa pars, claudit, omnes hae stellae, quarum iniri non potest numerus, omnis hic caelestium coetus et, ut alia praeteream, hic tam prope a nobis agens cursum sol, omni terrarum ambitu non semel maior, alimentum ex terreno trahunt et inter se partiuntur nec ullo alio scilicet quam halitu terrarum sustinentur: hoc illis alimentum, hic pastus est.

But it could not nourish so many things, and things so much greater than itself, unless it were full of soul, which it pours by day and night from all its parts; for it cannot be that much does not remain over to it, from which so much is sought and taken. And for the time, indeed, what goes out is born anew; but nonetheless it must abound and be full and bring forth from its store:

Non posset autem tam multa tantoque se ipsa maiora nutrire, nisi plena esset animae, quam per diem ac noctem ab omnibus partibus sui fundit; fieri enim non potest ut non multum illi supersit, ex qua tantum petitur ac sumitur. Et ad tempus quidem quod exeat nascitur, sed tamen necesse est abundet ac plena sit et ex condito proferat:

there is no doubt, then, that much breath lurks within, and that broad air holds the blind spaces beneath the earth. And if this is true, that must often be moved which is full of the most movable thing: for can it be doubtful to anyone that nothing is so restless as air, so changeable and rejoicing in agitation?

non est ergo dubium quin multum spiritus intus lateat et caeca sub terra spatia aer latus obtineat. Quod si uerum est, necesse est id saepe moueatur quod re mobilissima plenum est: numquid enim dubium esse cuiquam potest quin nihil sit tam inquietum quam aer, tam uersabile et agitatione gaudens?

It follows, then, that it exercises its own nature, and that what always wishes to be moved sometimes moves other things too. When does this happen? When its course has been forbidden it. For so long as it is not hindered, it goes peaceably; when it is struck against and held back, it goes mad and snatches away its own delays, no otherwise than that “Araxes indignant at a bridge”:

Sequitur ergo ut naturam suam exerceat et quod semper moueri uult, aliquando et alia moueat. Id quando fit? Quando illi cursus interdictus est. Nam quamdiu non impeditur, it placide; cum offenditur et retinetur, insanit et moras suas abripit, non aliter quam ille "pontem indignatus Araxes":

so long as its channel is easy and free, it unfolds each first wave; where rocks brought in by hand or by chance have checked its coming, then it seeks its impulse from delay and, the more things are opposed, the more strength it finds: for all that wave, which comes up from behind and grows upon itself, when it could not sustain its own load, prepares force by collapse and flees headlong with the very things that lay in its way. The same happens with breath, which, the stronger and nimbler it is, the quicker is snatched away and the more vehemently disturbs every barrier: from which comes the motion — of that part, namely, under which the struggle has been.

quamdiu illi facilis et liber est alueus, primas quasque aquas explicat; ubi saxa manu uel casu illata repressere uenientem, tunc impetum mora quaerit et, quo plura opposita sunt, plus inuenit uirium: omnis enim illa unda, quae a tergo superuenit et in se crescit, cum onus suum sustinere non potuit, uim ruina parat et prona cum ipsis quae obiacebant fugit. Idem spiritu fit, qui quo ualentior agiliorque est, citius eripitur et uehementius saeptum omne disturbat: ex quo motus fit, scilicet eius partis sub qua pugnatum est.

That this is said truly is proved by this too: often, when there has been an earthquake, if only some part of it has been burst, a wind has flowed from there for many days, as is recorded to have happened in that quake by which Chalcis labored: which you will find in Asclepiodotus, the pupil of Posidonius, in these very inquiries into natural causes. You will find in other authors too that the earth gaped in one place and from there breathed a wind for no short time — which, namely, had made for itself that road through which it was borne.

Quod dicitur uerum esse et illo probatur: saepe, cum terrae motus fuit, si modo pars eius aliqua disrupta est, inde uentus per multos dies fluxit, ut traditur factum eo motu quo Chalcis laborauit: quod apud Asclepiodotum inuenies, auditorem Posidonii, in his ipsis quaestionum naturalium causis. Inuenies et apud alios auctores hiasse uno loco terram et inde non exiguo tempore spirasse uentum, qui scilicet illud iter ipse sibi fecerat per quod ferebatur.

The greatest cause, therefore, on account of which the earth is moved is breath — its nature swift and changing place from place. This, so long as it is not driven and lurks in empty space, lies harmless and is no trouble to what lies around it;

Maxima ergo causa est propter quam terra moueatur spiritus natura citus et locum e loco mutans. Hic quamdiu non impellitur et in uacanti spatio latet, iacet innoxius nec circumiectis molestus est;

when a cause coming over it from without rouses and drives it and forces it into a strait, if it is still permitted, it only yields and wanders: when the power of withdrawing has been snatched away and it is resisted on every side, then “with the great murmur of the mountain it roars about its barriers,” which, long beaten, it tears apart and tosses, the sharper the more it has struggled with a stronger delay.

ubi illum extrinsecus superueniens causa sollicitat compellitque et in artum agit, si licet adhuc, cedit tantum et uagatur: ubi erepta discedendi facultas est et undique obsistitur, tunc "magno cum murmure montis circum claustra" fremit, quae diu pulsata conuellit ac iactat, eo acrior quo cum mora ualentiore luctatus est.

Then, when it has ranged round all by which it was held and could not escape, from there, where it was most driven back, it rebounds, and either is divided through the hidden, a rareness made by the very earthquake, or has flashed out through a new wound: so its great force cannot be restrained, nor does any joining hold the wind. For it loosens whatever bond, and carries every burden with it, and, poured through the smallest spaces, prepares a loosening for itself, and by the untamed power of nature frees itself, especially when, roused, it claims its own right.

Deinde cum circa perlustrauit omne quo tenebatur, nec potuit euadere, inde, quo maxime impactus est, resilit et aut per occulta diuiditur ipso terrae motu raritate facta, aut per nouum uulnus emicuit: ita eius non potest uis tanta cohiberi nec uentum tenet ulla compages. Soluit enim quodcumque uinculum et onus omne fert secum infususque per minima laxamentum sibi parat et indomita naturae potentia liberat se, utique cum concitatus sibi ius suum uindicat.

But breath is an unconquered thing: there will be nothing that may “press down with command the struggling winds and the sounding storms, and curb them with chains and a prison.”

Spiritus uero inuicta res est: nihil erit quod "luctantes uentos tempestatesque sonoras imperio premat ac uinclis et carcere frenet."

Doubtless the poets wished this to seem a prison in which, shut up beneath the earth, they lay hidden; but this they did not understand — that neither is what is shut up still wind, nor can what is wind now be shut up. For what is in confinement is at rest, and is a standstill of air; all wind is in flight.

Sine dubio poetae hunc uoluerunt uideri carcerem in quo sub terra clausi laterent, sed hoc non intellexerunt, nec id quod clausum est esse adhuc uentum nec id quod uentus est posse iam claudi. Nam quod in clauso est quiescit et aeris statio est; omnis in fuga uentus est.

Even now there is added to these arguments that by which it appears the motion is effected by breath: that our bodies too tremble no otherwise than if some cause disturbs the breath, when it is contracted by fear, when it grows languid with age and droops with torpid veins, when it is checked by cold or cast down from its course under an attack of fever.

Etiamnunc et illud accedit his argumentis per quod appareat motum effici spiritu, quod corpora quoque nostra non aliter tremunt quam si spiritum aliqua causa perturbat, cum timore contractus est, cum senectute languescit et uenis torpentibus marcet, cum frigore inhibetur aut sub accessionem cursu suo deicitur.

For so long as it flows through without injury and proceeds after its wont, there is no tremor to the body: when something meets it that hinders its function, then, too little able to bear what it had borne when whole, failing, it shakes whatever it was holding taut by its own vigor.

Nam quamdiu sine iniuria perfluit et ex more procedit, nullus est tremor corpori: cum aliquid occurrit quod inhibeat eius officium, tunc parum potens in perferendis his quae integer tulerat, deficiens concutit quicquid suo uigore tendebat.

S eneca Entire

Natural Questions

Cite this passage

Support this project