The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

BOHN’S CLASSICAL LIBRARY.
PLINY’S
NATURAL HISTORY.

THE
NATURAL HISTORY
OF
PLINY.

TRANSLATED,
WITH COPIOUS NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS

BY THE LATE
JOHN BOSTOCK, M.D., F.R.S.
AND
H. T. RILEY, Esq., B.A.,
LATE SCHOLAR OF CLARE HALL, CAMBRIDGE.

VOL. I.

LONDON:
HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
MDCCCLV.

PRINTED BY TAYLOR AND FRANCIS,
RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.

PREFACE

The only translation of Pliny’s Natural History which has hitherto appeared in the English language is that by Philemon Holland, published in the latter part of the reign of Elizabeth. It is no disparagement to Holland’s merits, as a diligent and generally faithful translator, to say that his work is unsuited to the requirements of the nineteenth century.

In the present translation, the principal editions of Pliny have been carefully consulted, and no pains have been spared, as a reference to the Notes will show, to present to the reader the labours of recent Commentators, among whom stands pre-eminent the celebrated Cuvier. It has been a primary object to bring to the illustration of the work whatever was afforded by the progress of knowledge and modern discoveries in science and art. Without ample illustration, Pliny’s valuable work would want much of the interest which belongs to it, and present difficulties scarcely surmountable by any one who has not made the Author his especial study.

In the first two Books, the text of Hardouin, as given in Lemaire’s edition (Paris, 1827), has been followed; in the remainder that of Sillig (Gotha, 1851-3), excepting in some few instances, where, for reasons given in the Notes, it has been deemed advisable to depart from it. The first two Books, and portions of others, are the performance of the late Dr. Bostock, who contemplated a translation of the entire work; but, unfortunately for the interests of science, he was not permitted to carry his design into execution.

Upwards of a hundred pages had been printed off before the present Translator entered on his duties; and as they had not the advantage of Dr. Bostock’s superintendence through the press, some trifling oversights have occurred. These are, for the most part, corrected in a short [Appendix].

THE
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF PLINY.

Caius Plinius Secundus was born either at Verona or Novum Comum[1], now Como, in Cisalpine Gaul, in the year A.U.C. 776, and A.D. 23. It is supposed that his earlier years were spent in his native province; and that he was still a youth when he removed to Rome, and attended the lectures of the grammarian Apion. It was in about his sixteenth year that he there saw Lollia Paulina[2], as in the following she was divorced by Caligula, and it was probably in his twentieth that he witnessed the capture of a large fish at Ostia, by Claudius and his attendants[3], and in his twenty-second that he visited Africa[4], Egypt, and Greece.

In his twenty-third year Pliny served in Germany under the legatus Pomponius Secundus, whose friendship he soon acquired, and was in consequence promoted to the command of an ala, or troop of cavalry. During his military career he wrote a treatise (now lost) “On the Use of the Javelin by Cavalry,” and travelled over that country[5] as far as the shores of the German Ocean, besides visiting Belgic Gaul. In his twenty-ninth year he returned to Rome, and applied himself for a time to forensic pursuits, which however he appears soon to have abandoned. About this time he wrote the life of his friend Pomponius, and an account of the “Wars in Germany,” in twenty books, neither of which are extant. Though employed in writing a continuation of the “Roman History” of Aufidius Bassus, from the time of Tiberius, he judiciously suspended its publication during the reign of Nero, who appointed him his procurator in Nearer Spain, and not improbably honoured him with equestrian rank. It was during his sojourn in Spain that the death of his brother-in-law, C. Cæcilius, left his nephew C. Plinius Cæcilius Secundus (the author of the Letters) an orphan; whom immediately upon his return to Rome, A.D. 70, he adopted, receiving him and his widowed mother under his roof.

Having been previously known to Vespasian in the German wars, he was admitted into the number of his most intimate friends, and obtained an appointment at court, the nature of which is not known, but Rezzonico conjectures that it was in connexion with the imperial treasury. Though Pliny was on intimate terms also with Titus, to whom he dedicated his Natural History, there is little ground for the assertion, sometimes made, that he served under him in the Jewish wars. His account of Palestine clearly shows that he had never visited that country. It was at this period that he published his Continuation of the History of Aufidius Bassus.

From the titles which he gives to Titus in the dedicatory preface, it is pretty clear that his Natural History was published A.D. 77, two years before his death.

In A.D. 73 or 74, he had been appointed by Vespasian præfect of the Roman fleet at Misenum, on the western coast of Italy. It was to this elevation that he owed his romantic death, somewhat similar, it has been remarked, to that of Empedocles, who perished in the crater of Mount Ætna. The closing scene of his active life, simultaneously with the destruction of Herculaneum and Pompeii, cannot be better described than in the language employed by his nephew in an Epistle to his friend Tacitus the historian[6]:—“My uncle was at Misenum, where he was in personal command of the fleet. On the ninth[7] day before the calends of September, at about the seventh hour, 1 P.M., my mother, observing the appearance of a cloud of unusual size and shape, mentioned it to him. After reclining in the sun he had taken his cold bath; he had then again lain down and, after a slight repast, applied himself to his studies. Immediately upon hearing this, he called for his shoes, and ascended a spot from which he could more easily observe this remarkable phænomenon. The cloud was to be seen gradually rising upwards; though, from the great distance, it was uncertain from which of the mountains it arose; it was afterwards, however, ascertained to be Vesuvius. In appearance and shape it strongly resembled a tree; perhaps it was more like a pine than anything else, with a stem of enormous length reaching upwards to the heavens, and then spreading out in a number of branches in every direction. I have little doubt that either it had been carried upwards by a violent gust of wind, and that the wind dying away, it had lost its compactness, or else, that being overcome by its own weight, it had decreased in density and become extended over a large surface: at one moment it was white, at another dingy and spotted, just as it was more or less charged with earth or with ashes.

“To a man so eager as he was in the pursuit of knowledge, this appeared to be a most singular phænomenon, and one that deserved to be viewed more closely; accordingly he gave orders for a light Liburnian vessel to be got ready, and left it at my option to accompany him. To this however I made answer, that I should prefer continuing my studies; and as it so happened, he himself had just given me something to write. Taking his tablets with him, he left the house. The sailors stationed at Retina, alarmed at the imminence of the danger—for the village lay at the foot of the mountain, and the sole escape was by sea—sent to entreat his assistance in rescuing them from this frightful peril. Upon this he instantly changed his plans, and what he had already begun from a desire for knowledge, he determined to carry out as a matter of duty. He had the gallies put to sea at once, and went on board himself, with the intention of rendering assistance, not only to Retina, but to many other places as well; for the whole of this charming coast was thickly populated. Accordingly he made all possible haste towards the spot, from which others were flying, and steered straight onwards into the very midst of the danger: so far indeed was he from every sensation of fear, that he remarked and had noted down every movement and every change that was to be observed in the appearance of this ominous eruption. The ashes were now falling fast upon the vessels, hotter and more and more thickly the nearer they approached the shore; showers of pumice too, intermingled with black stones, calcined and broken by the action of the flames: the sea suddenly retreated from the shore, where the debris of the mountain rendered landing quite impossible. After hesitating for a moment whether or not to turn back, upon the pilot strongly advising him to do so:—“Fortune favours the bold[8],” said he, “conduct me to Pomponianus.” Pomponianus was then at Stabiæ, a place that lay on the other side of the bay, for in those parts the shores are winding, and as they gradually trend away, the sea forms a number of little creeks. At this spot the danger at present was not imminent, but still it could be seen, and as it appeared to be approaching nearer and nearer, Pomponianus had ordered his baggage on board the ships, determined to take to flight, if the wind, which happened to be blowing the other way, should chance to lull. The wind, being in this quarter, was extremely favourable to his passage, and my uncle soon arriving at Stabiæ, embraced his anxious friend, and did his best to restore his courage; and the better to re-assure him by evidence of his own sense of their safety, he requested the servants to conduct him to the bath. After bathing he took his place at table, and dined, and that too in high spirits, or at all events, what equally shows his strength of mind, with every outward appearance of being so. In the mean time vast sheets of flame and large bodies of fire were to be seen arising from Mount Vesuvius; the glare and brilliancy of which were beheld in bolder relief as the shades of night came on apace. My uncle however, in order to calm their fears, persisted in saying that this was only the light given by some villages which had been abandoned by the rustics in their alarm to the flames: after which he retired to rest, and soon fell fast asleep: for his respiration, which with him was heavy and loud, in consequence of his corpulence, was distinctly heard by the servants who were keeping watch at the door of the apartment. The courtyard which led to his apartment had now become filled with cinders and pumice-stones, to such a degree, that if he had remained any longer in the room, it would have been quite impossible for him to leave it. On being awoke he immediately arose, and rejoined Pomponianus and the others who had in the meanwhile been sitting up. They then consulted together whether it would be better to remain in the house or take their chance in the open air; as the building was now rocking to and fro from the violent and repeated shocks, while the walls, as though rooted up from their very foundations, seemed to be at one moment carried in this direction, at another in that. Having adopted the latter alternative, they were now alarmed at the showers of light calcined pumice-stones that were falling thick about them, a risk however to which as a choice of evils they had to submit. In taking this step I must remark that, while with my uncle it was reason triumphing over reason, with the rest it was only one fear getting the better of the other. Taking the precaution of placing pillows on their heads, they tied them on with towels, by way of protection against the falling stones and ashes. It was now day in other places, though there it was still night, more dark and more profound than any ordinary night; torches however and various lights in some measure served to dispel the gloom. It was then determined to make for the shore, and to ascertain whether the sea would now admit of their embarking; it was found however to be still too stormy and too boisterous to allow of their making the attempt. Upon this my uncle lay down on a sail which had been spread for him, and more than once asked for some cold water, which he drank; very soon however, they were alarmed by the flames and the sulphurous smell which announced their approach, upon which the others at once took to flight, while my uncle arose leaning upon two of the servants for support. Upon making this effort, he instantly fell to the ground; the dense vapour having, I imagine, stopped the respiration and suffocated him; for his chest was naturally weak and contracted, and often troubled with violent palpitations. When day was at last restored, the third after the closing one of his existence, his body was found untouched and without a wound; there was no change to be perceived in the clothes, and its appearance was rather that of a person asleep than of a corpse. In the meantime my mother and myself were at Misenum—that however has nothing to do with the story, as it was only your wish to know the details connected with his death. I shall therefore draw to a conclusion. The only thing that I shall add is the assurance that I have truthfully related all these facts, of which I was either an eye-witness myself, or heard them at the time of their occurrence, a period when they were most likely to be correctly related. You of course will select such points as you may think the most important. For it is one thing to write a letter, another to write history;—one thing to write for a friend, another to write for the public. Farewell.”

Of the mode of life pursued by Pliny, and of the rest of his works, an equally interesting account has been preserved by his nephew, in an Epistle addressed to Macer[9]. We cannot more appropriately conclude than by presenting this Epistle to the reader:—“I am highly gratified to find that you read the works of my uncle with such a degree of attention as to feel a desire to possess them all, and that with this view you inquire, What are their names? I will perform the duties of an index then: and not content with that, will state in what order they were written: for even that is a kind of information which is by no means undesirable to those who are devoted to literary pursuits. His first composition was a treatise ‘on the use of the Javelin by Cavalry,’ in one Book. This he composed, with equal diligence and ingenuity, while he was in command of a troop of horse. His second work was the ‘Life of Q. Pomponius Secundus,’ in two Books, a person by whom he had been particularly beloved.—These books he composed as a tribute which was justly due to the memory of his deceased friend. His next work was twenty Books on ‘the Wars in Germany,’ in which he has compiled an account of all the wars in which we have been engaged with the people of that country. This he had begun while serving in Germany, having been recommended to do so in a dream. For in his sleep he thought that the figure of Drusus Nero[10] stood by him—the same Drusus, who after the most extensive conquests in that country, there met his death. Commending his memory to Pliny’s attentive care, Drusus conjured him to rescue it from the decaying effect of oblivion. Next to these came his three books entitled ‘The Student’[11], divided, on account of their great size, into six volumes. In these he has given instructions for the training of the orator, from the cradle to his entrance on public life. In the latter years of Nero’s reign, he wrote eight books, ‘On Difficulties in the Latin Language[12];’ that being a period at which every kind of study, in any way free-spoken or even of elevated style, would have been rendered dangerous by the tyranny that was exercised. His next work was his ‘Continuation of the History of Aufidius Bassus,’ in thirty-one books; after which came his ‘Natural History,’ in thirty-seven books, a work remarkable for its comprehensiveness and erudition, and not less varied than Nature herself. You will wonder how a man so occupied with business could possibly find time to write such a number of volumes, many of them on subjects of a nature so difficult to be treated of. You will be even more astonished when you learn, that for some time he pleaded at the bar as an advocate, that he was only in his fifty-sixth year at the time of his death, and that the time that intervened was equally trenched upon and frittered away by the most weighty duties of business, and the marks of favour shewn him by princes. His genius, however, was truly quite incredible, his zeal indefatigable, and his power of application wonderful in the extreme. At the festival of the Vulcanalia[13], he began to sit up to a late hour by candle-light, not for the purpose of consulting[14] the stars, but with the object of pursuing his studies; while, in the winter, he would set to work at the seventh hour of the night, or the eighth at the very latest, often indeed at the sixth[15]. By nature he had the faculty of being able to fall asleep in a moment; indeed, slumber would sometimes overtake him in his studies, and then leave him just as suddenly. Before daybreak, he was in the habit of attending the Emperor Vespasian,—for he, too, was one who made an excellent use of his nights,—and then betook himself to the duties with which he was charged. On his return home, he devoted all the time which was still remaining to study. Taking an early repast, after the old fashion, light, and easy of digestion, in the summer time, if he had any leisure to spare, he would lie down in the sun-shine, while some book was read to him, he himself making notes and extracts in the meanwhile; for it was his habit never to read anything without making extracts, it being a maxim of his, that there is no book so bad but that some good may be got out of it. After thus enjoying the sunshine, he generally took a cold bath; after which he would sit down to a slight repast, and then take a short nap. On awaking, as though another day had now commenced, he would study till the hour for the evening meal, during which some book was generally read to him, he making comments on it in a cursory manner. I remember, on one occasion, a friend of his interrupting the reader, who had given the wrong pronunciation to some words, and making him go over them again. “You understood him, didn’t you?” said my uncle. “Yes,” said the other. “Why, then, did you make him go over it again? Through this interruption of yours, we have lost more than ten lines.” So thrifty a manager was he of time! In summer he rose from the evening meal by daylight; and, in winter, during the first hour of the night[16], just as though there had been some law which made it compulsory on him to do so. This is how he lived in the midst of his employments, and the bustle of the city. When in retirement in the country, the time spent in the bath was the only portion that was not allotted by him to study. When I say in the bath, I mean while he was in the water; for while his body was being scraped with the strigil and rubbed, he either had some book read to him, or else would dictate himself. While upon a journey, as though relieved from every other care, he devoted himself to study, and nothing else. By his side was his secretary, with a book and tablets; and, in the winter time, the secretary’s hands were protected by gloves, that the severity of the weather might not deprive his master for a single moment of his services. It was for this reason also that, when at Rome, he would never move about except in a litter. I remember that on one occasion he found fault with me for walking—“You might have avoided losing all those hours,” said he; for he looked upon every moment as lost which was not devoted to study. It was by means of such unremitting industry as this that he completed so many works, and left me 160 volumes of notes[17], written extremely small on both sides, which in fact renders the collection doubly voluminous. He himself used to relate, that when he was procurator in Spain, he might have parted with his common-place book to Largius Licinius for 400,000 sesterces; and at that time the collection was not so extensive as afterwards. When you come to think of how much he must have read, of how much he has written, would you not really suppose that he had never been engaged in business, and had never enjoyed the favour of princes? And yet, on the other hand, when you hear what labour he expended upon his studies, does it not almost seem that he has neither written nor read enough? For, in fact, what pursuits are those that would not have been interrupted by occupations such as his? While, again, what is there that such unremitting perseverance as his could not have effected? I am in the habit, therefore, of laughing at it when people call me a studious man,—me who, in comparison with him, am a downright idler; and yet I devote to study as much time as my public engagements on the one hand, and my duties to my friends on the other, will admit of. Who is there, then, out of all those who have devoted their whole life to literature, that ought not, when put in comparison with him, to quite blush at a life that would almost appear to have been devoted to slothfulness and inactivity? But my letter has already exceeded its proper limits, for I had originally intended to write only upon the subject as to which you made inquiry, the books of his composition that he left. I trust, however, that these particulars will prove no less pleasing to you than the writings themselves; and that they will not only induce you to peruse them, but excite you, by a feeling of generous emulation, to produce some work of a similar nature.—Farewell.”

Of all the works written by Pliny, one only, the ‘Historia Naturalis’ has survived to our times. This work, however, is not a ‘Natural History’ in the modern acceptation of the term, but rather a vast Encyclopædia of ancient knowledge and belief upon almost every known subject—“not less varied than Nature herself,” as his nephew says. It comprises, within the compass of thirty-seven books, 20,000 matters of importance, collected from about 2000 volumes (nearly all of which have now perished), the works, as Pliny himself states, of 100 writers of authority; together with a vast number of additional matters unknown to those authorities, and many of them the results of his own experience and observation. Hardouin has drawn up a catalogue of the authors quoted by Pliny; they amount in number to between 400 and 500.

The following is a brief sketch of the plan of this wonderful monument of human industry. After a dedicatory Epistle to Titus, followed by a table of contents of the other Books, which together form the First Book, the author proceeds to give an account of the prevailing notions as to the universe, the earth, the sun, the moon, the stars, and the more remarkable properties of the elements (partes naturæ). He then passes on to a geographical description of the face of the earth as known to the ancients. After the Geography comes what may in strict propriety be termed “Natural History,” including a history of man, replete indeed with marvels, but interesting in the highest degree. Having mentioned at considerable length the land, animals, fishes, birds, and insects, he passes on to Botany, which in its various aspects occupies the larger portion of the work. At the same time, in accordance with his comprehensive plan, this part includes a vast amount of information on numerous subjects, the culture of the cereals and the manufacture of oil, wine, paper (papyrus), and numerous other articles of daily use. After treating at considerable length of Medical Botany, he proceeds to speak of medicaments derived from the human body, from which he branches off into discussions on the history of medicine, and magic, which last he looks upon as an offshoot from the medical art; and he takes this opportunity of touching upon many of the then current superstitions and notions on astrology. He concludes this portion of his work with an account of the medicinal properties of various waters, and of those of fishes and other aquatic animals. He then presents us with a treatise on Mineralogy, in which he has accumulated every possible kind of information relative to the use of gold, silver, bronze, and other metals; a subject which not unnaturally leads him into repeated digressions relative to money, jewels, plate, statues, and statuaries. Mineral pigments next occupy his attention, with many interesting notices of the great painters of Greece; from which he passes on to the various kinds of stone and materials employed in building, and the use of marble for the purposes of sculpture, including a notice of that art and of the most eminent sculptors. The last Book is devoted to an account of gems and precious stones, and concludes with an eulogium on his native country, as alike distinguished for its fertility, its picturesque beauties, and the natural endowments and high destinies of its people.

From the writings of Pliny we gather of course a large amount of information as to his opinions and the constitution of his mind. His credulity, it must be admitted, is great in the extreme; though, singularly enough, he severely taxes the Greeks with the same failing[18]. Were we not assured from other sources that he was eminently successful in life, was in the enjoyment of opulence, and honoured with the favour and confidence of princes[19], the remarks which he frequently makes on human life, in the Seventh Book more especially, would have led us to the conclusion that he was a disappointed man, embittered against his fellow-creatures, and dissatisfied with the terms on which the tenure of life is granted to us. He opens that Book with a preface replete with querulous dissatisfaction and repinings at the lot of man—the only ‘tearful’ animal—he says[20]. He repines at the helpless and wretched condition of the infant at the moment it is ushered into life, and the numerous pains and vices to which it is doomed to be subject.—Man’s liability to disease is with him a blemish in the economy of nature:—“life,” he says, “this gift of nature, however long it may be, is but too uncertain and too frail; to those even to whom it is most largely granted, it is dealt out with a sparing and niggardly hand, if we only think of eternity[21].” As we cannot have life on our own terms, he does not think it worthy of our acceptance, and more than once expresses his opinion that the sooner we are rid of it the better. Sudden death he looks upon as a remarkable phænomenon, but, at the same time, as the greatest blessing that can be granted to us[22]: and when he mentions cases of resuscitation, it is only to indulge in the querulous complaint, that, “exposed as he is by his birth to the caprices of fortune, man can be certain of nothing; no, not even his own death[23].” Though anything but[24] an Epicurean, in the modern acceptation of the word, he seems to have held some, at least, of the tenets of Epicurus, in reference to the immortality of the soul. Whether he supposed that the soul, at the moment of death, is resolved into its previous atoms or constituent elements, he does not inform us; but he states it as his belief, that after death the soul has no more existence than it had before birth; that all notions of immortality are a mere delusion[25]; and that the very idea of a future existence is ridiculous, and spoils that greatest[26] blessing of nature—death. He certainly speaks of ghosts or apparitions, seen after death; but these he probably looked upon as exceptional cases, if indeed he believed[27] in the stories which he quotes, of which we have no proofs, or rather, indeed, presumptive proofs to the contrary; for some of them he calls “magna[28] fabulosetas,” “most fabulous tales.”

In relation to human inventions, it is worthy of remark, that he states that the first[29] thing in which mankind agreed, was the use of the Ionian alphabet; the second, the practice of shaving[30] the beard, and the employment of barbers; and the third, the division of time into hours.

We cannot more appropriately conclude this review of the Life and Works of Pliny, than by quoting the opinions of two of the most eminent philosophers of modern times, Buffon and Cuvier; though the former, it must be admitted, has spoken of him in somewhat too high terms of commendation, and in instituting a comparison between Pliny’s work and those of Aristotle, has placed in juxtaposition the names of two men who, beyond an ardent thirst for knowledge, had no characteristics in common.

“Pliny,” says Buffon[31], “has worked upon a plan which is much more extensive than that of Aristotle, and not improbably too extensive. He has made it his object to embrace every subject; indeed he would appear to have taken the measure of Nature, and to have found her too contracted for his expansive genius. His ‘Natural History,’ independently of that of animals, plants, and minerals, includes an account of the heavens and the earth, of medicine, commerce, navigation, the liberal and mechanical arts, the origin of usages and customs, in a word, the history of all the natural sciences and all the arts of human invention. What, too, is still more astonishing, in each of these departments Pliny shows himself equally great. The grandeur of his ideas and the dignity of his style confer an additional lustre on the profoundness of his erudition; not only did he know all that was known in his time, but he was also gifted with that comprehensiveness of view which in some measure multiplies knowledge. He had all that delicacy of perception upon which depend so materially both elegance and taste, and he communicates to his readers that freedom of thought and that boldness of sentiment, which constitute the true germ of philosophy. His work, as varied as Nature herself, always paints her in her most attractive colours. It is, so to say, a compilation from all that had been written before his time: a record of all that was excellent or useful; but this record has in it features so grand, this compilation contains matter grouped in a manner so novel, that it is preferable to most of the original works that treat upon similar subjects.”

The judgment pronounced by Cuvier on Pliny’s work, though somewhat less highly coloured, awards to it a high rank among the most valuable productions of antiquity. “The work of Pliny[32],” says he, “is one of the most precious monuments that have come down to us from ancient times, and affords proof of an astonishing amount of erudition in one who was a warrior and a statesman. To appreciate with justice this vast and celebrated composition, it is necessary to regard it in several points of view—with reference to the plan proposed, the facts stated, and the style employed. The plan proposed by the writer is of immense extent—it is his object to write not merely a Natural History in our restricted sense of the term, not an account merely, more or less detailed, of animals, plants, and minerals, but a work which embraces astronomy, physics, geography, agriculture, commerce, medicine, and the fine arts—and all these in addition to natural history properly so called; while at the same time he continually interweaves with his narrative information upon the arts which bear relation to man considered metaphysically, and the history of nations,—so much so indeed, that in many respects this work was the Encyclopædia of its age. It was impossible in running over, however cursorily, such a prodigious number of subjects, that the writer should not have made us acquainted with a multitude of facts, which, while remarkable in themselves, are the more precious from the circumstance that at the present day he is the only author extant who relates them. It is to be regretted however that the manner in which he has collected and grouped this mass of matter, has caused it to lose some portion of its value, from his mixture of fable with truth, and more especially from the difficulty, and in some cases, the impossibility, of discovering exactly of what object[33] he is speaking. But if Pliny possesses little merit as a critic, it is far otherwise with his talent as a writer, and the immense treasury which he opens to us of Latin terms and forms of expression: these, from the very abundance of the subjects upon which he treats, render his work one of the richest repositories of the Roman language. Wherever he finds it possible to give expression to general ideas or to philosophical views, his language assumes considerable energy and vivacity, and his thoughts present to us a certain novelty and boldness which tend in a very great degree to relieve the dryness of his enumerations, and, with the majority of his readers, excuse the insufficiency of his scientific indications. He is always noble and serious, full of the love of justice and virtue, detestation of cruelty and baseness, of which he had such frightful instances before his eyes, and contempt for that unbridled luxury which in his time had so deeply corrupted the Roman people. For these great merits Pliny cannot be too highly praised, and despite the faults which we are obliged to admit in him when viewed as a naturalist, we are bound to regard him as one of the most meritorious of the Roman writers, and among those most worthy to be reckoned in the number of the classics who wrote after the reign of Augustus.”

CONTENTS.
OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

NATURAL HISTORY OF PLINY

BOOK I.[34]
DEDICATION.
C. PLINIUS SECUNDUS TO HIS FRIEND TITUS VESPASIAN.

This treatise on Natural History, a novel work in Roman literature, which I have just completed, I have taken the liberty to dedicate to you, most gracious[35] Emperor, an appellation peculiarly suitable to you, while, on account of his age, that of great is more appropriate to your Father;—

“For still thou ne’er wouldst quite despise

The trifles that I write[36];”

if I may be allowed to shelter myself under the example of Catullus, my fellow-countryman[37], a military term, which you well understand. For he, as you know, when his napkins had been changed[38], expressed himself a little harshly, from his anxiety to show his friendship for his dear little Veranius and Fabius[39]. At the same time this my importunity may effect, what you complained of my not having done in another too forward epistle of mine; it will put upon record, and let all the world know, with what kindness you exercise the imperial dignity. You, who have had the honour of a triumph, and of the censorship, have been six times consul, and have shared in the tribunate; and, what is still more honourable, whilst you held them in conjunction with your Father, you have presided over the Equestrian order, and been the Prefect of the Prætorians[40]: all this you have done for the service of the Republic, and, at the same time, have regarded me as a fellow-soldier and a messmate. Nor has the extent of your prosperity produced any change in you, except that it has given you the power of doing good to the utmost of your wishes. And whilst all these circumstances increase the veneration which other persons feel for you, with respect to myself, they have made me so bold, as to wish to become more familiar. You must, therefore, place this to your own account, and blame yourself for any fault of this kind that I may commit.

But, although I have laid aside my blushes[41], I have not gained my object; for you still awe me, and keep me at a distance, by the majesty of your understanding. In no one does the force of eloquence and of tribunitian oratory blaze out more powerfully! With what glowing language do you thunder forth the praises of your Father! How dearly do you love your Brother! How admirable is your talent for poetry! What a fertility of genius do you possess, so as to enable you to imitate your Brother[42]! But who is there that is bold enough to form an estimate on these points, if he is to be judged by you, and, more especially, if you are challenged to do so? For the case of those who merely publish their works is very different from that of those who expressly dedicate them to you. In the former case I might say, Emperor! why do you read these things? They are written only for the common people, for farmers or mechanics, or for those who have nothing else to do; why do you trouble yourself with them? Indeed, when I undertook this work, I did not expect that you would sit in judgement upon me[43]; I considered your situation much too elevated for you to descend to such an office. Besides, we possess the right of openly rejecting the opinion of men of learning. M. Tullius himself, whose genius is beyond all competition, uses this privilege; and, remarkable as it may appear, employs an advocate in his own defence:—“I do not write for very learned people; I do not wish my works to be read by Manius Persius, but by Junius Congus[44].” And if Lucilius, who first introduced the satirical style[45], applied such a remark to himself, and if Cicero thought proper to borrow it, and that more especially in his treatise “De Republica,” how much reason have I to do so, who have such a judge to defend myself against! And by this dedication I have deprived myself of the benefit of challenge[46]; for it is a very different thing whether a person has a judge given him by lot, or whether he voluntarily selects one; and we always make more preparation for an invited guest, than for one that comes in unexpectedly.

When the candidates for office, during the heat of the canvass, deposited the fine[47] in the hands of Cato, that determined opposer of bribery, rejoicing as he did in his being rejected from what he considered to be foolish honours, they professed to do this out of respect to his integrity; the greatest glory which a man could attain. It was on this occasion that Cicero uttered the noble ejaculation, “How happy are you, Marcus Porcius, of whom no one dares to ask what is dishonourable[48]!” When L. Scipio Asiaticus appealed to the tribunes, among whom was Gracchus, he expressed full confidence that he should obtain an acquittal, even from a judge who was his enemy. Hence it follows, that he who appoints his own judge must absolutely submit to the decision; this choice is therefore termed an appeal[49].

I am well aware, that, placed as you are in the highest station, and gifted with the most splendid eloquence and the most accomplished mind, even those who come to pay their respects to you, do it with a kind of veneration: on this account I ought to be careful that what is dedicated to you should be worthy of you. But the country people, and, indeed, some whole nations offer milk to the Gods[50], and those who cannot procure frankincense substitute in its place salted cakes; for the Gods are not dissatisfied when they are worshiped by every one to the best of his ability. But my temerity will appear the greater by the consideration, that these volumes, which I dedicate to you, are of such inferior importance. For they do not admit of the display of genius, nor, indeed, is mine one of the highest order; they admit of no excursions, nor orations, nor discussions, nor of any wonderful adventures, nor any variety of transactions, nor, from the barrenness of the matter, of anything particularly pleasant in the narration, or agreeable to the reader. The nature of things, and life as it actually exists, are described in them; and often the lowest department of it; so that, in very many cases, I am obliged to use rude and foreign, or even barbarous terms, and these often require to be introduced by a kind of preface. And, besides this, my road is not a beaten track, nor one which the mind is much disposed to travel over. There is no one among us who has ever attempted it, nor is there any one individual among the Greeks who has treated of all the topics. Most of us seek for nothing but amusement in our studies, while others are fond of subjects that are of excessive subtilty, and completely involved in obscurity. My object is to treat of all those things which the Greeks include in the Encyclopædia[51], which, however, are either not generally known or are rendered dubious from our ingenious conceits. And there are other matters which many writers have given so much in detail that we quite loathe them. It is, indeed, no easy task to give novelty to what is old, and authority to what is new; brightness to what is become tarnished, and light to what is obscure; to render what is slighted acceptable, and what is doubtful worthy of our confidence; to give to all a natural manner, and to each its peculiar nature. It is sufficiently honourable and glorious to have been willing even to make the attempt, although it should prove unsuccessful. And, indeed, I am of opinion, that the studies of those are more especially worthy of our regard, who, after having overcome all difficulties, prefer the useful office of assisting others to the mere gratification of giving pleasure; and this is what I have already done in some of my former works. I confess it surprises me, that T. Livius, so celebrated an author as he is, in one of the books of his history of the city from its origin, should begin with this remark, “I have now obtained a sufficient reputation, so that I might put an end to my work, did not my restless mind require to be supported by employment[52].” Certainly he ought to have composed this work, not for his own glory, but for that of the Roman name, and of the people who were the conquerors of all other nations. It would have been more meritorious to have persevered in his labours from his love of the work, than from the gratification which it afforded himself, and to have accomplished it, not for his own sake, but for that of the Roman people.

I have included in thirty-six[53] books 20,000 topics, all worthy of attention, (for, as Domitius Piso[54] says, we ought to make not merely books, but valuable collections,) gained by the perusal of about 2000 volumes, of which a few only are in the hands of the studious, on account of the obscurity of the subjects, procured by the careful perusal of 100 select authors[55]; and to these I have made considerable additions of things, which were either not known to my predecessors, or which have been lately discovered. Nor can I doubt but that there still remain many things which I have omitted; for I am a mere mortal, and one that has many occupations. I have, therefore, been obliged to compose this work at interrupted intervals, indeed during the night, so that you will find that I have not been idle even during this period. The day I devote to you, exactly portioning out my sleep to the necessity of my health, and contenting myself with this reward, that while we are musing[56] on these subjects (according to the remark of Varro), we are adding to the length of our lives; for life properly consists in being awake.

In consideration of these circumstances and these difficulties, I dare promise nothing; but you have done me the most essential service in permitting me to dedicate my work to you. Nor does this merely give a sanction to it, but it determines its value; for things are often conceived to be of great value, solely because they are consecrated in temples.

I have given a full account of all your family—your Father, yourself, and your Brother, in a history of our own times, beginning where Aufidius Bassus concludes[57]. You will ask, Where is it? It has been long completed and its accuracy confirmed[58]; but I have determined to commit the charge of it to my heirs, lest I should have been suspected, during my lifetime, of having been unduly influenced by ambition. By this means I confer an obligation on those who occupy the same ground with myself; and also on posterity, who, I am aware, will contend with me, as I have done with my predecessors.

You may judge of my taste from my having inserted, in the beginning of my book, the names of the authors that I have consulted. For I consider it to be courteous and to indicate an ingenuous modesty, to acknowledge the sources whence we have derived assistance, and not to act as most of those have done whom I have examined. For I must inform you, that in comparing various authors with each other, I have discovered, that some of the most grave and of the latest writers have transcribed, word for word, from former works, without making any acknowledgement; not avowedly rivalling them, in the manner of Virgil, or with the candour of Cicero, who, in his treatise “De Republica[59],” professes to coincide in opinion with Plato, and in his Essay on Consolation for his Daughter, says that he follows Crantor, and, in his Offices[60], Panæcius; volumes, which, as you well know, ought not merely to be always in our hands, but to be learned by heart. For it is indeed the mark of a perverted mind and a bad disposition, to prefer being caught in a theft to returning what we have borrowed, especially when we have acquired capital, by usurious interest[61].

The Greeks were wonderfully happy in their titles. One work they called Κηρίον, which means that it was as sweet as a honeycomb; another Κέρας Ἀμαλθείας, or Cornu copiæ, so that you might expect to get even a draught of pigeon’s milk from it[62]. Then they have their Flowers, their Muses, Magazines, Manuals, Gardens, Pictures, and Sketches[63], all of them titles for which a man might be tempted even to forfeit his bail. But when you enter upon the works, O ye Gods and Goddesses! how full of emptiness! Our duller countrymen have merely their Antiquities, or their Examples, or their Arts. I think one of the most humorous of them has his Nocturnal Studies[64], a term employed by Bibaculus; a name which he richly deserved[65]. Varro, indeed, is not much behind him, when he calls one of his satires A Trick and a Half, and another Turning the Tables[66]. Diodorus was the first among the Greeks who laid aside this trifling manner and named his history The Library[67]. Apion, the grammarian, indeed—he whom Tiberius Cæsar called the Trumpeter of the World, but would rather seem to be the Bell of the Town-crier[68],—supposed that every one to whom he inscribed any work would thence acquire immortality. I do not regret not having given my work a more fanciful title.

That I may not, however, appear to inveigh so completely against the Greeks, I should wish to be considered under the same point of view with those inventors of the arts of painting and sculpture, of whom you will find an account in these volumes, whose works, although they are so perfect that we are never satisfied with admiring them, are inscribed with a temporary title[69], such as “Apelles, or Polycletus, was doing this;” implying that the work was only commenced and still imperfect, and that the artist might benefit by the criticisms that were made on it and alter any part that required it, if he had not been prevented by death. It is also a great mark of their modesty, that they inscribed their works as if they were the last which they had executed, and as still in hand at the time of their death. I think there are but three works of art which are inscribed positively with the words “such a one executed this;” of these I shall give an account in the proper place. In these cases it appears, that the artist felt the most perfect satisfaction with his work, and hence these pieces have excited the envy of every one.

I, indeed, freely admit, that much may be added to my works; not only to this, but to all which I have published. By this admission I hope to escape from the carping critics[70], and I have the more reason to say this, because I hear that there are certain Stoics and Logicians[71], and also Epicureans (from the Grammarians[72] I expected as much), who are big with something against the little work I published on Grammar[73]; and that they have been carrying these abortions for ten years together—a longer pregnancy this than the elephant’s[74]. But I well know, that even a woman once wrote against Theophrastus, a man so eminent for his eloquence that he obtained his name, which signifies the Divine speaker[75], and that from this circumstance originated the proverb of choosing a tree to hang oneself[76].

I cannot refrain from quoting the words of Cato the censor, which are so pertinent to this point. It appears from them, that even Cato, who wrote commentaries on military discipline[77], and who had learned the military art under Africanus, or rather under Hannibal (for he could not endure Africanus[78], who, when he was his general, had borne away the triumph from him), that Cato, I say, was open to the attacks of such as caught at reputation for themselves by detracting from the merits of others. And what does he say in his book? “I know, that when I shall publish what I have written, there will be many who will do all they can to depreciate it, and, especially, such as are themselves void of all merit; but I let their harangues glide by me.” Nor was the remark of Plancus[79] a bad one, when Asinius Pollio[80] was said to be preparing an oration against him, which was to be published either by himself or his children, after the death of Plancus, in order that he might not be able to answer it: “It is only ghosts that fight with the dead.” This gave such a blow to the oration, that in the opinion of the learned generally, nothing was ever thought more scandalous. Feeling myself, therefore, secure against these vile slanderers[81], a name elegantly composed by Cato, to express their slanderous and vile disposition (for what other object have they, but to wrangle and breed quarrels?), I will proceed with my projected work.

And because the public good requires that you should be spared as much as possible from all trouble, I have subjoined to this epistle the contents of each of the following books[82], and have used my best endeavours to prevent your being obliged to read them all through. And this, which was done for your benefit, will also serve the same purpose for others, so that any one may search for what he wishes, and may know where to find it. This has been already done among us by Valerius Soranus, in his work which he entitled “On Mysteries[83].”

The 1st book is the Preface of the Work, dedicated to Titus Vespasian Cæsar.

The 2nd is on the World, the Elements, and the Heavenly Bodies[84].

The 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th books are on Geography, in which is contained an account of the situation of the different countries, the inhabitants, the seas, towns, harbours, mountains, rivers, and dimensions, and the various tribes, some of which still exist and others have disappeared.

The 7th is on Man, and the Inventions of Man.

The 8th on the various kinds of Land Animals.

The 9th on Aquatic Animals.

The 10th on the various kinds of Birds.

The 11th on Insects.

The 12th on Odoriferous Plants.

The 13th on Exotic Trees.

The 14th on Vines.

The 15th on Fruit Trees.

The 16th on Forest Trees.

The 17th on Plants raised in nurseries or gardens.

The 18th on the nature of Fruits and the Cerealia, and the pursuits of the Husbandman.

The 19th on Flax, Broom[85], and Gardening.

The 20th on the Cultivated Plants that are proper for food and for medicine.

The 21st on Flowers and Plants that are used for making Garlands.

The 22nd on Garlands, and Medicines made from Plants.

The 23rd on Medicines made from Wine and from cultivated Trees.

The 24th on Medicines made from Forest Trees.

The 25th on Medicines made from Wild Plants.

The 26th on New Diseases, and Medicines made, for certain Diseases, from Plants.

The 27th on some other Plants and Medicines.

The 28th on Medicines procured from Man and from large Animals.

The 29th on Medical Authors, and on Medicines from other Animals.

The 30th on Magic, and Medicines for certain parts of the Body.

The 31st on Medicines from Aquatic Animals.

The 32nd on the other properties of Aquatic Animals.

The 33rd on Gold and Silver.

The 34th on Copper and Lead, and the workers of Copper.

The 35th on Painting, Colours, and Painters.

The 36th on Marbles and Stones.

The 37th on Gems.

BOOK II.
AN ACCOUNT OF THE WORLD AND THE ELEMENTS.

[I have adopted the division of the chapters from Hardouin, as given in the editions of Valpy, Lemaire, Ajasson, and Sillig; the Roman figures, enclosed between brackets, are the numbers of the chapters in Dalechamps, De Laët, Gronovius, Holland, and Poinsinet. The titles of the chapters are nearly the same with those in Valpy, Lemaire, and Ajasson.]

CHAP. 1. (1.)—WHETHER THE WORLD BE FINITE, AND WHETHER THERE BE MORE THAN ONE WORLD.

The world[86], and whatever that be which we otherwise call the heavens[87], by the vault of which all things are enclosed, we must conceive to be a Deity[88], to be eternal, without bounds, neither created, nor subject, at any time, to destruction[89]. To inquire what is beyond it is no concern of man, nor can the human mind form any conjecture respecting it. It is sacred, eternal, and without bounds, all in all; indeed including everything in itself; finite, yet like what is infinite; the most certain of all things, yet like what is uncertain, externally and internally embracing all things in itself; it is the work of nature, and itself constitutes nature[90].

It is madness to harass the mind, as some have done, with attempts to measure the world, and to publish these attempts; or, like others, to argue from what they have made out, that there are innumerable other worlds, and that we must believe there to be so many other natures, or that, if only one nature produced the whole, there will be so many suns and so many moons, and that each of them will have immense trains of other heavenly bodies. As if the same question would not recur at every step of our inquiry, anxious as we must be to arrive at some termination; or, as if this infinity, which we ascribe to nature, the former of all things, cannot be more easily comprehended by one single formation, especially when that is so extensive. It is madness, perfect madness, to go out of this world and to search for what is beyond it, as if one who is ignorant of his own dimensions could ascertain the measure of any thing else, or as if the human mind could see what the world itself cannot contain.

CHAP. 2. (2.)—OF THE FORM OF THE WORLD[91].

That it has the form of a perfect globe we learn from the name which has been uniformly given to it, as well as from numerous natural arguments. For not only does a figure of this kind return everywhere into itself[92] and sustain itself, also including itself, requiring no adjustments, not sensible of either end or beginning in any of its parts, and is best fitted for that motion, with which, as will appear hereafter, it is continually turning round; but still more, because we perceive it, by the evidence of the sight, to be, in every part, convex and central, which could not be the case were it of any other figure.

CHAP. 3. (3.)—OF ITS NATURE; WHENCE THE NAME IS DERIVED.

The rising and the setting of the sun clearly prove, that this globe is carried round in the space of twenty-four hours, in an eternal and never-ceasing circuit, and with incredible swiftness[93]. I am not able to say, whether the sound caused by the whirling about of so great a mass be excessive, and, therefore, far beyond what our ears can perceive, nor, indeed, whether the resounding of so many stars, all carried along at the same time and revolving in their orbits, may not produce a kind of delightful harmony of incredible sweetness[94]. To us, who are in the interior, the world appears to glide silently along, both by day and by night.

Various circumstances in nature prove to us, that there are impressed on the heavens innumerable figures of animals and of all kinds of objects, and that its surface is not perfectly polished like the eggs of birds, as some celebrated authors assert[95]. For we find that the seeds of all bodies fall down from it, principally into the ocean, and, being mixed together, that a variety of monstrous forms are in this way frequently produced. And, indeed, this is evident to the eye; for, in one part, we have the figure of a wain, in another of a bear, of a bull, and of a letter[96]; while, in the middle of them, over our heads, there is a white circle[97].

(4.) With respect to the name, I am influenced by the unanimous opinions of all nations. For what the Greeks, from its being ornamented, have termed κόσμος, we, from its perfect and complete elegance, have termed mundus. The name cœlum, no doubt, refers to its being engraven, as it were, with the stars, as Varro suggests[98]. In confirmation of this idea we may adduce the Zodiac[99], in which are twelve figures of animals; through them it is that the sun has continued its course for so many ages.

CHAP. 4. (5.)—OF THE ELEMENTS[100] AND THE PLANETS[101].

I do not find that any one has doubted that there are four elements. The highest of these is supposed to be fire, and hence proceed the eyes of so many glittering stars. The next is that spirit, which both the Greeks and ourselves call by the same name, air[102]. It is by the force of this vital principle, pervading all things and mingling with all, that the earth, together with the fourth element, water, is balanced in the middle of space. These are mutually bound together, the lighter being restrained by the heavier, so that they cannot fly off; while, on the contrary, from the lighter tending upwards, the heavier are so suspended, that they cannot fall down. Thus, by an equal tendency in an opposite direction, each of them remains in its appropriate place, bound together by the never-ceasing revolution of the world, which always turning on itself, the earth falls to the lowest part and is in the middle of the whole, while it remains suspended in the centre[103], and, as it were, balancing this centre, in which it is suspended. So that it alone remains immoveable, whilst all things revolve round it, being connected with every other part, whilst they all rest upon it.

(6.) Between this body and the heavens there are suspended, in this aërial spirit, seven stars[104], separated by determinate spaces, which, on account of their motion, we call wandering, although, in reality, none are less so[105]. The sun is carried along in the midst of these, a body of great size and power, the ruler, not only of the seasons and of the different climates, but also of the stars themselves and of the heavens[106]. When we consider his operations, we must regard him as the life, or rather the mind of the universe, the chief regulator and the God of nature; he also lends his light to the other stars[107]. He is most illustrious and excellent, beholding all things and hearing all things, which, I perceive, is ascribed to him exclusively by the prince of poets, Homer[108].

CHAP. 5. (7.)—OF GOD[109].

I consider it, therefore, an indication of human weakness to inquire into the figure and form of God. For whatever God be, if there be any other God[110], and wherever he exists, he is all sense, all sight, all hearing, all life, all mind[111], and all within himself. To believe that there are a number of Gods, derived from the virtues and vices of man[112], as Chastity, Concord, Understanding, Hope, Honour, Clemency, and Fidelity; or, according to the opinion of Democritus, that there are only two, Punishment and Reward[113], indicates still greater folly. Human nature, weak and frail as it is, mindful of its own infirmity, has made these divisions, so that every one might have recourse to that which he supposed himself to stand more particularly in need of[114]. Hence we find different names employed by different nations; the inferior deities are arranged in classes, and diseases and plagues are deified, in consequence of our anxious wish to propitiate them. It was from this cause that a temple was dedicated to Fever, at the public expense, on the Palatine Hill[115], and to Orbona[116], near the Temple of the Lares, and that an altar was elected to Good Fortune on the Esquiline. Hence we may understand how it comes to pass that there is a greater population of the Celestials than of human beings, since each individual makes a separate God for himself, adopting his own Juno and his own Genius[117]. And there are nations who make Gods of certain animals, and even certain obscene things[118], which are not to be spoken of, swearing by stinking meats and such like. To suppose that marriages are contracted between the Gods, and that, during so long a period, there should have been no issue from them, that some of them should be old and always grey-headed and others young and like children, some of a dark, complexion, winged, lame, produced from eggs, living and dying on alternate days, is sufficiently puerile and foolish. But it is the height of impudence to imagine, that adultery takes place between them, that they have contests and quarrels, and that there are Gods of theft and of various crimes[119]. To assist man is to be a God; this is the path to eternal glory. This is the path which the Roman nobles formerly pursued, and this is the path which is now pursued by the greatest ruler of our age, Vespasian Augustus, he who has come to the relief of an exhausted empire, as well as by his sons. This was the ancient mode of remunerating those who deserved it, to regard them as Gods[120]. For the names of all the Gods, as well as of the stars that I have mentioned above[121], have been derived from their services to mankind. And with respect to Jupiter and Mercury, and the rest of the celestial nomenclature, who does not admit that they have reference to certain natural phenomena[122]?

But it is ridiculous to suppose, that the great head of all things, whatever it be, pays any regard to human affairs[123]. Can we believe, or rather can there be any doubt, that it is not polluted by such a disagreeable and complicated office? It is not easy to determine which opinion would be most for the advantage of mankind, since we observe some who have no respect for the Gods, and others who carry it to a scandalous excess. They are slaves to foreign ceremonies; they carry on their fingers the Gods and the monsters whom they worship[124]; they condemn and they lay great stress on certain kinds of food; they impose on themselves dreadful ordinances, not even sleeping quietly. They do not marry or adopt children, or indeed do anything else, without the sanction of their sacred rites. There are others, on the contrary, who will cheat in the very Capitol, and will forswear themselves even by Jupiter Tonans[125], and while these thrive in their crimes, the others torment themselves with their superstitions to no purpose.

Among these discordant opinions mankind have discovered for themselves a kind of intermediate deity, by which our scepticism concerning God is still increased. For all over the world, in all places, and at all times, Fortune is the only god whom every one invokes; she alone is spoken of, she alone is accused and is supposed to be guilty; she alone is in our thoughts, is praised and blamed, and is loaded with reproaches; wavering as she is, conceived by the generality of mankind to be blind, wandering, inconstant, uncertain, variable, and often favouring the unworthy. To her are referred all our losses and all our gains, and in casting up the accounts of mortals she alone balances the two pages of our sheet[126]. We are so much in the power of chance, that chance itself is considered as a God, and the existence of God becomes doubtful.

But there are others who reject this principle and assign events to the influence of the stars[127], and to the laws of our nativity; they suppose that God, once for all, issues his decrees and never afterwards interferes. This opinion begins to gain ground, and both the learned and the unlearned vulgar are falling into it. Hence we have the admonitions of thunder, the warnings of oracles, the predictions of soothsayers, and things too trifling to be mentioned, as sneezing and stumbling with the feet reckoned among omens[128]. The late Emperor Augustus[129] relates, that he put the left shoe on the wrong foot, the day when he was near being assaulted by his soldiers[130]. And such things as these so embarrass improvident mortals, that among all of them this alone is certain, that there is nothing certain, and that there is nothing more proud or more wretched than man. For other animals have no care but to provide for their subsistence, for which the spontaneous kindness of nature is all-sufficient; and this one circumstance renders their lot more especially preferable, that they never think about glory, or money, or ambition, and, above all, that they never reflect on death.

The belief, however, that on these points the Gods superintend human affairs is useful to us, as well as that the punishment of crimes, although sometimes tardy, from the Deity being occupied with such a mass of business, is never entirely remitted, and that the human race was not made the next in rank to himself, in order that they might be degraded like brutes. And indeed this constitutes the great comfort in this imperfect state of man, that even the Deity cannot do everything. For he cannot procure death for himself, even if he wished it, which, so numerous are the evils of life, has been granted to man as our chief good. Nor can he make mortals immortal, or recall to life those who are dead; nor can he effect, that he who has once lived shall not have lived, or that he who has enjoyed honours shall not have enjoyed them; nor has he any influence over past events but to cause them to be forgotten. And, if we illustrate the nature of our connexion with God by a less serious argument, he cannot make twice ten not to be twenty, and many other things of this kind. By these considerations the power of Nature is clearly proved, and is shown to be what we call God. It is not foreign to the subject to have digressed into these matters, familiar as they are to every one, from the continual discussions that take place respecting God[131].

CHAP. 6. (8.)—OF THE NATURE OF THE STARS; OF THE MOTION OF THE PLANETS.

Let us return from this digression to the other parts of nature. The stars which are described as fixed in the heavens[132], are not, as the vulgar suppose, attached each of them to different individuals[133], the brighter to the rich, those that are less so to the poor, and the dim to the aged, shining according to the lot of the individual, and separately assigned to mortals; for they have neither come into existence, nor do they perish in connexion with particular persons, nor does a falling star indicate that any one is dead. We are not so closely connected with the heavens as that the shining of the stars is affected by our death[134]. When they are supposed to shoot or fall[135], they throw out, by the force of their fire, as if from an excess of nutriment, the superabundance of the humour which they have absorbed, as we observe to take place from the oil in our lamps, when they are burning[136]. The nature of the celestial bodies is eternal, being interwoven, as it were, with the world, and, by this union, rendering it solid; but they exert their most powerful influence on the earth. This, notwithstanding its subtilty, may be known by the clearness and the magnitude of the effect, as we shall point out in the proper place[137]. The account of the circles of the heavens will be better understood when we come to speak of the earth, since they have all a reference to it; except what has been discovered respecting the Zodiac, which I shall now detail.

Anaximander the Milesian, in the 58th olympiad[138], is said to have been the first who understood its obliquity, and thus opened the road to a correct knowledge of the subject[139]. Afterwards Cleostratus made the signs in it, first marking those of Aries and Sagittarius; Atlas had formed the sphere long before this time[140]. But now, leaving the further consideration of this subject, we must treat of the bodies that are situated between the earth and the heavens[141].

It is certain that the star called Saturn is the highest, and therefore appears the smallest, that he passes through the largest circuit, and that he is at least thirty years in completing it[142]. The course of all the planets, and among others of the Sun, and the Moon, is in the contrary direction to that of the heavens[143], that is towards the left, while the heavens are rapidly carried about to the right[144]. And although, by the stars constantly revolving with immense velocity, they are raised up, and hurried on to the part where they set, yet they are all forced, by a motion of their own, in an opposite direction[145]; and this is so ordered, lest the air, being always moved in the same direction, by the constant whirling of the heavens, should accumulate into one mass, whereas now it is divided and separated and beaten into small pieces, by the opposite motion of the different stars. Saturn is a star of a cold and rigid nature, while the orbit of Jupiter is much lower, and is carried round in twelve years[146]. The next star, Mars, which some persons call Hercules[147], is of a fiery and burning nature, and from its nearness to the sun is carried round in little less than two years[148]. In consequence of the excessive heat of this star and the rigidity of Saturn, Jupiter, which is interposed between the two, is tempered by both of them, and is thus rendered salutary. The path of the Sun consists of 360 degrees; but, in order that the shadow may return to the same point of the dial[149], we are obliged to add, in each year, five days and the fourth part of a day. On this account an intercalary day is given to every fifth year[150], that the period of the seasons may agree with that of the Sun.

Below the Sun[151] revolves the great star called Venus, wandering with an alternate motion[152], and, even in its surnames, rivalling the Sun and the Moon. For when it precedes the day and rises in the morning, it receives the name of Lucifer, as if it were another sun, hastening on the day. On the contrary, when it shines in the west, it is named Vesper, as prolonging the light, and performing the office of the moon. Pythagoras, the Samian, was the first who discovered its nature[153], about the 62nd olympiad, in the 222nd year of the City[154]. It excels all the other stars in size, and its brilliancy is so considerable, that it is the only star which produces a shadow by its rays. There has, consequently, been great interest made for its name; some have called it the star of Juno[155], others of Isis, and others of the Mother of the Gods. By its influence everything in the earth is generated. For, as it rises in either direction, it sprinkles everything with its genial dew, and not only matures the productions of the earth, but stimulates all living things[156]. It completes the circuit of the zodiac in 348 days, never receding from the sun more than 46 degrees, according to Timæus[157].

Similarly circumstanced, but by no means equal in size and in power, next to it, is the star Mercury, by some called Apollo[158]; it is carried in a lower orbit, and moves in a course which is quicker by nine days, shining sometimes before the rising of the sun, and at other times after its setting, but never going farther from it than 23 degrees[159], as we learn from Timæus and Sosigenes[160]. The nature of these two stars is peculiar, and is not the same with those mentioned above, for those are seen to recede from the sun through one-third or one-fourth part of the heavens, and are often seen opposite to it. They have also other larger circuits, in which they make their complete revolutions, as will be described in the account of the great year[161].

(9.) But the Moon[162], which is the last of the stars, and the one the most connected with the earth, the remedy provided by nature for darkness, excels all the others in its admirable qualities. By the variety of appearances which it assumes, it puzzles the observers, mortified that they should be the most ignorant concerning that star which is the nearest to them. She is always either waxing or waning; sometimes her disc is curved into horns, sometimes it is divided into two equal portions, and at other times it is swelled out into a full orb; sometimes she appears spotted[163] and suddenly becomes very bright; she appears very large with her full orb and suddenly becomes invisible; now continuing during all the night, now rising late, and now aiding the light of the sun during a part of the day; becoming eclipsed and yet being visible while she is eclipsed; concealing herself at the end of the month and yet not supposed to be eclipsed[164]. Sometimes she is low down, sometimes she is high up, and that not according to one uniform course, being at one time raised up to the heavens, at other times almost contiguous to the mountains; now elevated in the north, now depressed in the south; all which circumstances having been noticed by Endymion, a report was spread about, that he was in love with the moon[165]. We are not indeed sufficiently grateful to those, who, with so much labour and care, have enlightened us with this light[166]; while, so diseased is the human mind, that we take pleasure in writing the annals of blood and slaughter, in order that the crimes of men may be made known to those who are ignorant of the constitution of the world itself.

Being nearest to the axis[167], and therefore having the smallest orbit, the Moon passes in twenty-seven days and the one-third part of a day[168], through the same space for which Saturn, the highest of the planets, as was stated above, requires thirty years. After remaining for two days in conjunction with the sun, on the thirtieth day she again very slowly emerges to pursue her accustomed course[169]. I know not whether she ought not to be considered as our instructress in everything that can be known respecting the heavens; as that the year is divided into the twelve divisions of the months, since she follows the sun for the same number of times, until he returns to the commencement of his course; and that her brightness, as well as that of the other stars, is regulated by that of the sun, if indeed they all of them shine by light borrowed from him, such as we see floating about, when it is reflected from the surface of water. On this account it is that she dissolves so much moisture, by a gentle and less perfect force, and adds to the quantity of that which the rays of the sun consume[170]. On this account she appears with an unequal light, because being full only when she is in opposition, on all the remaining days she shows only so much of herself to the earth as she receives light from the sun[171]. She is not seen in conjunction, because, at that time, she sends back the whole stream of light to the source whence she has derived it. That the stars generally are nourished by the terrestrial moisture is evident, because, when the moon is only half visible she is sometimes seen spotted, her power of absorbing moisture not having been powerful enough; for the spots are nothing else than the dregs of the earth drawn up along with the moisture[172]. (10.) But her eclipses and those of the sun, the most wonderful of all the phenomena of nature, and which are like prodigies, serve to indicate the magnitude of these bodies and the shadow[173] which they cast.

CHAP. 7.—OF THE ECLIPSES OF THE MOON AND THE SUN.

For it is evident that the sun is hid by the intervention[174] of the moon, and the moon by the opposition[174] of the earth, and that these changes are mutual, the moon, by her interposition[174], taking the rays of the sun from the earth, and the earth from the moon. As she advances darkness is suddenly produced, and again the sun is obscured by her shade; for night is nothing more than the shade of the earth. The figure of this shade is like that of a pyramid or an inverted top[175]; and the moon enters it only near its point, and it does not exceed the height of the moon, for there is no other star which is obscured in the same manner, while a figure of this kind always terminates in a point. The flight of birds, when very lofty, shows that shadows do not extend beyond a certain distance; their limit appears to be the termination of the air and the commencement of the æther. Above the moon everything is pure and full of an eternal light. The stars are visible to us in the night, in the same way that other luminous bodies are seen in the dark. It is from these causes that the moon is eclipsed during the night[176]. The two kinds of eclipses are not, however, at the stated monthly periods, on account of the obliquity of the zodiac, and the irregularly wandering course of the moon, as stated above; besides that the motions of these stars do not always occur exactly at the same points[177].

CHAP. 8. (11.)—OF THE MAGNITUDE OF THE STARS.

This kind of reasoning carries the human mind to the heavens, and by contemplating the world as it were from thence, it discloses to us the magnitude of the three greatest bodies in nature[178]. For the sun could not be entirely concealed from the earth, by the intervention of the moon, if the earth were greater than the moon[179]. And the vast size of the third body, the sun, is manifest from that of the other two, so that it is not necessary to scrutinize its size, by arguing from its visible appearance, or from any conjectures of the mind; it must be immense, because the shadows of rows of trees, extending for any number of miles, are disposed in right lines[180], as if the sun were in the middle of space. Also, because, at the equinox, he is vertical to all the inhabitants of the southern districts at the same time[181]; also, because the shadows of all the people who live on this side of the tropic fall, at noon, towards the north, and, at sunrise, point to the west. But this could not be the case unless the sun were much greater than the earth; nor, unless it much exceeded Mount Ida in breadth, could he be seen when he rises, passing considerably beyond it to the right and to the left, especially, considering that it is separated by so great an interval[182].

The eclipse of the moon affords an undoubted argument of the sun’s magnitude, as it also does of the small size of the earth[183]. For there are shadows of three figures, and it is evident, that if the body which produces the shadow be equal to the light, then it will be thrown off in the form of a pillar, and have no termination. If the body be greater than the light, the shadow will be in the form of an inverted cone[184] the bottom being the narrowest part, and being, at the same time, of an infinite length. If the body be less than the light, then we shall have the figure of a pyramid[185], terminating in a point. Now of this last kind is the shadow which produces the eclipse of the moon, and this is so manifest that there can be no doubt remaining, that the earth is exceeded in magnitude by the sun, a circumstance which is indeed indicated by the silent declaration of nature herself. For why does he recede from us at the winter half of the year[186]? That by the darkness of the nights the earth may be refreshed, which otherwise would be burned up, as indeed it is in certain parts; so great is his size.

CHAP. 9. (12.)—AN ACCOUNT OF THE OBSERVATIONS THAT HAVE BEEN MADE ON THE HEAVENS BY DIFFERENT INDIVIDUALS.

The first among the Romans, who explained to the people at large the cause of the two kinds of eclipses, was Sulpicius Gallus, who was consul along with Marcellus; and when he was only a military tribune he relieved the army from great anxiety the day before king Perseus was conquered by Paulus[187]; for he was brought by the general into a public assembly, in order to predict the eclipse, of which he afterwards gave an account in a separate treatise. Among the Greeks, Thales the Milesian first investigated the subject, in the fourth year of the forty-eighth olympiad, predicting the eclipse of the sun which took place in the reign of Alyattes, in the 170th year of the City[188]. After them Hipparchus calculated the course of both these stars for the term of 600 years[189], including the months, days, and hours, the situation of the different places and the aspects adapted to each of them; all this has been confirmed by experience, and could only be acquired by partaking, as it were, in the councils of nature. These were indeed great men, superior to ordinary mortals, who having discovered the laws of these divine bodies, relieved the miserable mind of man from the fear which he had of eclipses, as foretelling some dreadful events or the destruction of the stars. This alarm is freely acknowledged in the sublime strains of Stesichorus and Pindar, as being produced by an eclipse of the sun[190]. And with respect to the eclipse of the moon, mortals impute it to witchcraft, and therefore endeavour to aid her by producing discordant sounds. In consequence of this kind of terror it was that Nicias, the general of the Athenians, being ignorant of the cause, was afraid to lead out the fleet, and brought great distress on his troops[191]. Hail to your genius, ye interpreters of heaven! ye who comprehend the nature of things, and who have discovered a mode of reasoning by which ye have conquered both gods and men[192]! For who is there, in observing these things and seeing the labours[193] which the stars are compelled to undergo (since we have chosen to apply this term to them), that would not cheerfully submit to his fate, as one born to die? I shall now, in a brief and summary manner, touch on those points in which we are agreed, giving the reasons where it is necessary to do so; for this is not a work of profound argument, nor is it less wonderful to be able to suggest a probable cause for everything, than to give a complete account of a few of them only.

CHAP. 10. (13.)—ON THE RECURRENCE OF THE ECLIPSES OF THE SUN AND THE MOON.

It is ascertained that the eclipses complete their whole revolution in the space of 223 months[194], that the eclipse of the sun takes place only at the conclusion or the commencement of a lunation, which is termed conjunction[195], while an eclipse of the moon takes place only when she is at the full, and is always a little farther advanced than the preceding eclipse[196]. Now there are eclipses of both these stars in every year, which take place below the earth, at stated days and hours; and when they are above it[197] they are not always visible, sometimes on account of the clouds, but more frequently, from the globe of the earth being opposed to the vault of the heavens[198]. It was discovered two hundred years ago, by the sagacity of Hipparchus, that the moon is sometimes eclipsed after an interval of five months, and the sun after an interval of seven[199]; also, that he becomes invisible, while above the horizon, twice in every thirty days, but that this is seen in different places at different times. But the most wonderful circumstance is, that while it is admitted that the moon is darkened by the shadow of the earth, this occurs at one time on its western, and at another time on its eastern side. And farther, that although, after the rising of the sun, that darkening shadow ought to be below the earth, yet it has once happened, that the moon has been eclipsed in the west, while both the luminaries have been above the horizon[200]. And as to their both being invisible in the space of fifteen days, this very thing happened while the Vespasians were emperors, the father being consul for the third time, and the son for the second[201].

CHAP. 11. (14.)—OF THE MOTION OF THE MOON.

It is certain that the moon, having her horns always turned from the sun, when she is waxing, looks towards the east; when she is waning, towards the west. Also, that, from the second day after the change, she adds 47¹⁄₂ minutes[202] each day, until she is full, and again decreases at the same rate, and that she always becomes invisible when she is within 14 degrees of the sun. This is an argument of the greater size of the planets than of the moon, since these emerge when they are at the distance of 7 degrees only[203]. But their altitude causes them to appear much smaller, as we observe that, during the day, the brightness of the sun prevents those bodies from being seen which are fixed in the firmament, although they shine then as well as in the night: that this is the case is proved by eclipses, and by descending into very deep wells.

CHAP. 12. (15.)—OF THE MOTIONS OF THE PLANETS AND THE GENERAL LAWS OF THEIR ASPECTS[204].

The three planets, which, as we have said, are situated above the sun[205], are visible when they come into conjunction with him. They rise visibly[206] in the morning, when they are not more than 11 degrees from the sun[207]; they are afterwards directed by the contact of his rays[208], and when they attain the trine aspect, at the distance of 120 degrees, they take their morning stationary positions[209], which are termed primary; afterwards, when they are in opposition to the sun, they rise at the distance of 180 degrees from him. And again advancing on the other side to the 120th degree, they attain their evening stations, which are termed secondary, until the sun having arrived within 12 degrees of them, what is called their evening setting becomes no longer visible[210]. Mars, as being nearer to the sun, feels the influence of his rays in the quadrature, at the distance of 90 degrees, whence that motion receives its name, being termed, from the two risings, respectively the first and the second nonagenarian[211]. This planet passes from one station to another in six months, or is two months in each sign; the two other planets do not spend more than four months in passing from station to station.

The two inferior planets are, in like manner, concealed in their evening conjunction, and, when they have left the sun, they rise in the morning the same number of degrees distant from him. After having arrived at their point of greatest elongation[212], they then follow the sun, and having overtaken him at their morning setting, they become invisible and pass beyond him. They then rise in the evening, at the distances which were mentioned above. After this they return back to the sun and are concealed in their evening setting. The star Venus becomes stationary when at its two points of greatest elongation, that of the morning and of the evening, according to their respective risings. The stationary points of Mercury are so very brief, that they cannot be correctly observed.

CHAP. 13.—WHY THE SAME STARS APPEAR AT SOME TIMES MORE LOFTY AND AT OTHER TIMES MORE NEAR.

The above is an account of the aspects and the occultations of the planets, a subject which is rendered very complicated by their motions, and is involved in much that is wonderful; especially, when we observe that they change their size and colour, and that the same stars at one time approach the north, and then go to the south, and are now seen near the earth, and then suddenly approach the heavens. If on this subject I deliver opinions different from my predecessors, I acknowledge that I am indebted for them to those individuals who first pointed out to us the proper mode of inquiry; let no one then ever despair of benefiting future ages.

But these things depend upon many different causes. The first cause is the nature of the circles described by the stars, which the Greeks term apsides[213], for we are obliged to use Greek terms. Now each of the planets has its own circle, and this a different one from that of the world[214]; because the earth is placed in the centre of the heavens, with respect to the two extremities, which are called the poles, and also in that of the zodiac, which is situated obliquely between them. And all these things are made evident by the infallible results which we obtain by the use of the compasses[215]. Hence the apsides of the planets have each of them different centres, and consequently they have different orbits and motions, since it necessarily follows, that the interior apsides are the shortest.

(16.) The apsides which are the highest from the centre of the earth are, for Saturn, when he is in Scorpio, for Jupiter in Virgo, for Mars in Leo, for the Sun in Gemini, for Venus in Sagittarius, and for Mercury in Capricorn, each of them in the middle of these signs; while in the opposite signs, they are the lowest and nearest to the centre of the earth[216]. Hence it is that they appear to move more slowly when they are carried along the highest circuit; not that their actual motions are accelerated or retarded, these being fixed and determinate for each of them; but because it necessarily follows, that lines drawn from the highest apsis must approach nearer to each other at the centre, like the spokes of a wheel; and that the same motion seems to be at one time greater, and at another time less, according to the distance from the centre.

Another cause of the altitudes of the planets is, that their highest apsides, with relation to their own centres, are in different signs from those mentioned above[217]. Saturn is in the 20th degree of Libra, Jupiter in the 15th of Cancer, Mars in the 28th of Capricorn, the Sun in the 19th of Aries, Venus in the 27th of Pisces, Mercury in the 15th of Virgo, and the Moon in the 3rd of Taurus.

The third cause of the altitude depends on the form of the heavens, not on that of the orbits; the stars appearing to the eye to mount up and to descend through the depth of the air[218]. With this cause is connected that which depends on the latitude of the planets and the obliquity of the zodiac. It is through this belt that the stars which I have spoken of are carried, nor is there any part of the world habitable, except what lies under it[219]; the remainder, which is at the poles, being in a wild desert state. The planet Venus alone exceeds it by 2 degrees, which we may suppose to be the cause why some animals are produced even in these desert regions of the earth. The moon also wanders the whole breadth of the zodiac, but never exceeds it. Next to these the planet Mercury moves through the greatest space; yet out of the 12 degrees (for there are so many degrees of latitude in the zodiac[220]), it does not pass through more than 8, nor does it go equally through these, 2 of them being in the middle of the zodiac, 4 in the upper part, and 2 in the lower part[221]. Next to these the Sun is carried through the middle of the zodiac, winding unequally through the two parts of his tortuous circuit[222]. The star Mars occupies the four middle degrees; Jupiter the middle degree and the two above it; Saturn, like the sun, occupies two[223]. The above is an account of the latitudes as they descend to the south or ascend to the north[224]. Hence it is plain that the generality of persons are mistaken in supposing the third cause of the apparent altitude to depend on the stars rising from the earth and climbing up the heavens. But to refute this opinion it is necessary to consider the subject with very great minuteness, and to embrace all the causes.

It is generally admitted, that the stars[225], at the time of their evening setting, are nearest to the earth, both with respect to latitude and altitude[226], that they are at the commencement of both at their morning risings, and that they become stationary at the middle points of their latitudes, what are called the ecliptics[227]. It is, moreover, acknowledged, that their motion is increased when they are in the vicinity of the earth, and diminished when they are removed to a greater altitude[228]; a point which is most clearly proved by the different altitudes of the moon. There is no doubt that it is also increased at the morning risings[229], and that the three superior planets are retarded, as they advance from the first station to the second. And since this is the case, it is evident, that the latitudes are increased from the time of their morning risings, since the motions afterwards appear to receive less addition; but they gain their altitude in the first station, since the rate of their motion then begins to diminish[230], and the stars to recede.

And the reason of this must be particularly set forth. When the planets are struck by the rays of the sun, in the situation which I have described, i. e. in their quadrature, they are prevented from holding on their straight forward course, and are raised on high by the force of the fire[231]. This cannot be immediately perceived by the eye, and therefore they seem to be stationary, and hence the term station is derived. Afterwards the violence of the rays increases, and the vapour being beaten back forces them to recede.

This exists in a greater degree in their evening risings, the sun being then turned entirely from them, when they are drawn into the highest apsides; and they are then the least visible, since they are at their greatest altitude and are carried along with the least motion, as much less indeed as this takes place in the highest signs of the apsides. At the time of the evening rising the latitude decreases and becomes less as the motion is diminished, and it does not increase again until they arrive at the second station, when the altitude is also diminished; the sun’s rays then coming from the other side, the same force now therefore propels them towards the earth which before raised them into the heavens, from their former triangular aspect[232]. So different is the effect whether the rays strike the planets from below or come to them from above. And all these circumstances produce much more effect when they occur in the evening setting. This is the doctrine of the superior planets; that of the others is more difficult, and has never been laid down by any one before me[233].

CHAP. 14. (17.)—WHY THE SAME STARS HAVE DIFFERENT MOTIONS.

I must first state the cause, why the star Venus never recedes from the sun more than 46 degrees, nor Mercury more than 23[234], while they frequently return to the sun within this distance[235]. As they are situated below the sun, they have both of them their apsides turned in the contrary direction; their orbits are as much below the earth as those of the stars above mentioned are above it, and therefore they cannot recede any farther, since the curve of their apsides has no greater longitude[236]. The extreme parts of their apsides therefore assign the limits to each of them in the same manner, and compensate, as it were, for the small extent of their longitudes, by the great divergence of their latitudes[237]. It may be asked, why do they not always proceed as far as the 46th and the 23rd degrees respectively? They in reality do so, but the theory fails us here. For it would appear that the apsides are themselves moved, as they never pass over the sun[238]. When therefore they have arrived at the extremities of their orbits on either side, the stars are then supposed to have proceeded to their greatest distance; when they have been a certain number of degrees within their orbits, they are then supposed to return more rapidly, since the extreme point in each is the same. And on this account it is that the direction of their motion appears to be changed. For the superior planets are carried along the most quickly in their evening setting, while these move the most slowly; the former are at their greatest distance from the earth when they move the most slowly, the latter when they move the most quickly. The former are accelerated when nearest to the earth, the latter when at the extremity of the circle; in the former the rapidity of the motion begins to diminish at their morning risings, in the latter it begins to increase; the former are retrograde from their morning to their evening station, while Venus is retrograde from the evening to the morning station. She begins to increase her latitude from her morning rising, her altitude follows the sun from her morning station, her motion being the quickest and her altitude the greatest in her morning setting. Her latitude decreases and her altitude diminishes from her evening rising, she becomes retrograde, and at the same time decreases in her altitude from her evening station.

Again, the star Mercury, in the same way, mounts up in both directions[239] from his morning rising, and having followed the sun through a space of 15 degrees, he becomes almost stationary for four days. Presently he diminishes his altitude, and recedes from his evening setting to his morning rising. Mercury and the Moon are the only planets which descend for the same number of days that they ascend. Venus ascends for fifteen days and somewhat more; Saturn and Jupiter descend in twice that number of days, and Mars in four times. So great is the variety of nature! The reason of it is, however, evident; for those planets which are forced up by the vapour of the sun likewise descend with difficulty.

CHAP. 15.—GENERAL LAWS[240] OF THE PLANETS.

There are many other secrets of nature in these points, as well as the laws to which they are subject, which might be mentioned. For example, the planet Mars, whose course is the most difficult to observe[241], never becomes stationary when Jupiter is in the trine aspect, very rarely when he is 60 degrees from the sun, which number is one-sixth of the circuit of the heavens[242]; nor does he ever rise in the same sign with Jupiter, except in Cancer and Leo. The star Mercury seldom has his evening risings in Pisces, but very frequently in Virgo, and his morning risings in Libra; he has also his morning rising in Aquarius, very rarely in Leo. He never becomes retrograde either in Taurus or in Gemini, nor until the 25th degree of Cancer. The Moon makes her double conjunction with the sun in no other sign except Gemini, while Sagittarius is the only sign in which she has sometimes no conjunction at all. The old and the new moon are visible on the same day or night in no other sign except Aries, and indeed it has happened very seldom to any one to have witnessed it. Prom this circumstance it was that the tale of Lynceus’s quick-sightedness originated[243]. Saturn and Mars are invisible at most for 170 days; Jupiter for 36, or, at the least, for 10 days less than this; Venus for 69, or, at the least, for 52; Mercury for 13, or, at the most, for 18[244].

CHAP. 16. (18.)—THE REASON WHY THE STARS ARE OF DIFFERENT COLOURS.

The difference of their colour depends on the difference in their altitudes; for they acquire a resemblance to those planets into the vapour of which they are carried, the orbit of each tinging those that approach it in each direction. A colder planet renders one that approaches it paler, one more hot renders it redder, a windy planet gives it a lowering aspect, while the sun, at the union of their apsides, or the extremity of their orbits, completely obscures them. Each of the planets has its peculiar colour[245]; Saturn is white, Jupiter brilliant, Mars fiery, Lucifer is glowing, Vesper refulgent, Mercury sparkling, the Moon mild; the Sun, when he rises, is blazing, afterwards he becomes radiating. The appearance of the stars, which are fixed in the firmament, is also affected by these causes. At one time we see a dense cluster of stars around the moon, when she is only half-enlightened, and when they are viewed in a serene evening; while, at another time, when the moon is full, there are so few to be seen, that we wonder whither they are fled; and this is also the case when the rays of the sun, or of any of the above-mentioned bodies[246], have dazzled our sight. And, indeed, the moon herself is, without doubt, differently affected at different times by the rays of the sun; when she is entering them, the convexity of the heavens[247] rendering them more feeble than when they fall upon her more directly[248]. Hence, when she is at a right angle to the sun, she is half-enlightened; when in the trine aspect, she presents an imperfect orb[249], while, in opposition, she is full. Again, when she is waning, she goes through the same gradations, and in the same order, as the three stars that are superior to the sun[250].

CHAP. 17. (19.)—OF THE MOTION OF THE SUN AND THE CAUSE OF THE IRREGULARITY OF THE DAYS.

The Sun himself is in four different states; twice the night is equal to the day, in the Spring and in the Autumn, when he is opposed to the centre of the earth[251], in the 8th degree of Aries and Libra[252]. The length of the day and the night is then twice changed, when the day increases in length, from the winter solstice in the 8th degree of Capricorn, and afterwards, when the night increases in length from the summer solstice in the 8th degree of Cancer[253]. The cause of this inequality is the obliquity of the zodiac, since there is, at every moment of time, an equal portion of the firmament above and below the horizon. But the signs which mount directly upwards, when they rise, retain the light for a longer space, while those that are more oblique pass along more quickly.

CHAP. 18. (20.)—WHY THUNDER IS ASCRIBED TO JUPITER.

It is not generally known, what has been discovered by men who are the most eminent for their learning, in consequence of their assiduous observations of the heavens, that the fires which fall upon the earth, and receive the name of thunder-bolts, proceed from the three superior stars[254], but principally from the one which is situated in the middle. It may perhaps depend on the superabundance of moisture from the superior orbit communicating with the heat from the inferior, which are expelled in this manner[255]; and hence it is commonly said, the thunder-bolts are darted by Jupiter. And as, in burning wood, the burnt part is cast off with a crackling noise, so does the star throw off this celestial fire, bearing the omens of future events, even the part which is thrown off not losing its divine operation. And this takes place more particularly when the air is in an unsettled state, either because the moisture which is then collected excites the greatest quantity of fire, or because the air is disturbed, as if by the parturition of the pregnant star.

CHAP. 19. (21.)—OF THE DISTANCES OF THE STARS.

Many persons have attempted to discover the distance of the stars from the earth, and they have published as the result, that the sun is nineteen times as far from the moon, as the moon herself is from the earth[256]. Pythagoras, who was a man of a very sagacious mind, computed the distance from the earth to the moon to be 126,000 furlongs, that from her to the sun is double this distance, and that it is three times this distance to the twelve signs[257]; and this was also the opinion of our countryman, Gallus Sulpicius[258].

CHAP. 20. (22.)—OF THE HARMONY OF THE STARS.

Pythagoras, employing the terms that are used in music, sometimes names the distance between the Earth and the Moon a tone; from her to Mercury he supposes to be half this space, and about the same from him to Venus. From her to the Sun is a tone and a half; from the Sun to Mars is a tone, the same as from the Earth to the Moon; from him there is half a tone to Jupiter, from Jupiter to Saturn also half a tone, and thence a tone and a half to the zodiac. Hence there are seven tones, which he terms the diapason harmony[259], meaning the whole compass of the notes. In this, Saturn is said to move in the Doric time, Jupiter in the Phrygian[260], and so forth of the rest; but this is a refinement rather amusing than useful.

CHAP. 21. (23.)—OF THE DIMENSIONS OF THE WORLD.

The stadium is equal to 125 of our Roman paces, or 625 feet[261]. Posidonius[262] supposes that there is a space of not less than 40 stadia around the earth, whence mists[263], winds and clouds[263] proceed; beyond this he supposes that the air is pure and liquid, consisting of uninterrupted light; from the clouded region to the moon there is a space of 2,000,000 of stadia, and thence to the sun of 500,000,000[264]. It is in consequence of this space that the sun, notwithstanding his immense magnitude, does not burn the earth. Many persons have imagined that the clouds rise to the height of 900 stadia. These points are not completely made out, and are difficult to explain; but we have given the best account of them that has been published, and if we may be allowed, in any degree, to pursue these investigations, there is one infallible geometrical principle, which we cannot reject. Not that we can ascertain the exact dimensions (for to profess to do this would be almost the act of a madman), but that the mind may have some estimate to direct its conjectures. Now it is evident that the orbit through which the sun passes consists of nearly 366 degrees, and that the diameter is always the third part and a little less than the seventh of the circumference[265]. Then taking the half of this (for the earth is placed in the centre) it will follow, that nearly one-sixth part of the immense space, which the mind conceives as constituting the orbit of the sun round the earth, will compose his altitude. That of the moon will be one-twelfth part, since her course is so much shorter than that of the sun; she is therefore carried along midway between the sun and the earth[266]. It is astonishing to what an extent the weakness of the mind will proceed, urged on by a little success, as in the above-mentioned instance, to give full scope to its impudence! Thus, having ventured to guess at the space between the sun and the earth, we do the same with respect to the heavens, because he is situated midway between them; so that we may come to know the measure of the whole world in inches. For if the diameter consist of seven parts, there will be twenty-two of the same parts in the circumference; as if we could measure the heavens by a plumb-line!

The Egyptian calculation, which was made out by Petosiris and Necepsos, supposes that each degree of the lunar orbit (which, as I have said, is the least) consists of little more than 33 stadia; in the very large orbit of Saturn the number is double; in that of the sun, which, as we have said, is in the middle[267], we have the half of the sum of these numbers. And this is indeed a very modest calculation[268], since if we add to the orbit of Saturn the distance from him to the zodiac, we shall have an infinite number of degrees[269].

CHAP. 22. (24.)—OF THE STARS WHICH APPEAR SUDDENLY, OR OF COMETS[270].

A few things still remain to be said concerning the world; for stars are suddenly formed in the heavens themselves; of these there are various kinds.

(25.) The Greeks name these stars comets[271]; we name them Crinitæ, as if shaggy with bloody locks, and surrounded with bristles like hair. Those stars, which have a mane hanging down from their lower part, like a long beard, are named Pogoniæ[272]. Those that are named Acontiæ[273] vibrate like a dart with a very quick motion. It was one of this kind which the Emperor Titus described in his very excellent poem, as having been seen in his fifth consulship; and this was the last of these bodies which has been observed. When they are short and pointed they are named Xiphiæ[274]; these are the pale kind; they shine like a sword and are without any rays; while we name those Discei[275], which, being of an amber colour, in conformity with their name, emit a few rays from their margin only. A kind named Pitheus[276] exhibits the figure of a cask, appearing convex and emitting a smoky light. The kind named Cerastias[277] has the appearance of a horn; it is like the one which was visible when the Greeks fought at Salamis. Lampadias[278] is like a burning torch; Hippias[279] is like a horse’s mane; it has a very rapid motion, like a circle revolving on itself. There is also a white comet, with silver hair, so brilliant that it can scarcely be looked at, exhibiting, as it were, the aspect of the Deity in a human form. There are some also that are shaggy, having the appearance of a fleece, surrounded by a kind of crown. There was one, where the appearance of a mane was changed into that of a spear; it happened in the 109th olympiad, in the 398th year of the City[280]. The shortest time during which any one of them has been observed to be visible is 7 days, the longest 180 days.

CHAP. 23.—THEIR NATURE, SITUATION, AND SPECIES.

Some of them move about in the manner of planets[281], others remain stationary. They are almost all of them seen towards the north[282], not indeed in any particular portion of it, but generally in that white part of it which has obtained the name of the Milky Way. Aristotle informs us that several of them are to be seen at the same time[283], but this, as far as I know, has not been observed by any one else; also that they prognosticate high winds and great heat[284]. They are also visible in the winter months, and about the south pole, but they have no rays proceeding from them. There was a dreadful one observed by the Æthiopians and the Egyptians, to which Typhon, a king of that period, gave his own name; it had a fiery appearance, and was twisted like a spiral; its aspect was hideous, nor was it like a star, but rather like a knot of fire[285]. Sometimes there are hairs attached to the planets and the other stars. Comets are never seen in the western part of the heavens. It is generally regarded as a terrific star, and one not easily expiated; as was the case with the civil commotions in the consulship of Octavius, and also in the war of Pompey and Cæsar[286]. And in our own age, about the time when Claudius Cæsar was poisoned and left the Empire to Domitius Nero, and afterwards, while the latter was Emperor[287], there was one which was almost constantly seen and was very frightful. It is thought important to notice towards what part it darts its beams, or from what star it receives its influence, what it resembles, and in what places it shines. If it resembles a flute, it portends something unfavourable respecting music; if it appears in the parts of the signs referred to the secret members, something respecting lewdness of manners; something respecting wit and learning, if they form a triangular or quadrangular figure with the position of some of the fixed stars; and that some one will be poisoned, if they appear in the head of either the northern or the southern serpent.

Rome is the only place in the whole world where there is a temple dedicated to a comet; it was thought by the late Emperor Augustus to be auspicious to him, from its appearing during the games which he was celebrating in honour of Venus Genetrix, not long after the death of his father Cæsar, in the College which was founded by him[288]. He expressed his joy in these terms: “During the very time of these games of mine, a hairy star was seen during seven days, in the part of the heavens which is under the Great Bear. It rose about the eleventh hour of the day[289], was very bright, and was conspicuous in all parts of the earth. The common people supposed the star to indicate, that the soul of Cæsar was admitted among the immortal Gods; under which designation it was that the star was placed on the bust which was lately consecrated in the forum[290].” This is what he proclaimed in public, but, in secret, he rejoiced at this auspicious omen, interpreting it as produced for himself; and, to confess the truth, it really proved a salutary omen for the world at large[291].

Some persons suppose that these stars are permanent, and that they move through their proper orbits, but that they are only visible when they recede from the sun. Others suppose that they are produced by an accidental vapour together with the force of fire, and that, from this circumstance, they are liable to be dissipated[292].

CHAP. 24. (26.)—THE DOCTRINE OF HIPPARCHUS[293] ABOUT THE STARS.

This same Hipparchus, who can never be sufficiently commended, as one who more especially proved the relation of the stars to man, and that our souls are a portion of heaven, discovered a new star that was produced in his own age, and, by observing its motions on the day in which it shone, he was led to doubt whether it does not often happen, that those stars have motion which we suppose to be fixed. And the same individual attempted, what might seem presumptuous even in a deity, viz. to number the stars for posterity and to express their relations by appropriate names; having previously devised instruments[294], by which he might mark the places and the magnitudes of each individual star. In this way it might be easily discovered, not only whether they were destroyed or produced, but whether they changed their relative positions, and likewise, whether they were increased or diminished; the heavens being thus left as an inheritance to any one, who might be found competent to complete his plan.

CHAP. 25.—EXAMPLES FROM HISTORY OF CELESTIAL PRODIGIES; FACES, LAMPADES, AND BOLIDES[295].

The faces shine brilliantly, but they are never seen excepting when they are falling[296]; one of these darted across the heavens, in the sight of all the people, at noon-day, when Germanicus Cæsar was exhibiting a show of gladiators[297]. There are two kinds of them; those which are called lampades and those which are called bolides, one of which latter was seen during the troubles at Mutina[298]. They differ from each other in this respect, that the faces produce a long train of light, the fore-part only being on fire; while the bolides, being entirely in a state of combustion, leave a still longer track behind them.

CHAP. 26.—TRABES CELESTES; CHASMA CŒLI.

The trabes also, which are named δοκοὶ[299], shine in the same manner; one of these was seen at the time when the Lacedæmonians, by being conquered at sea, lost their influence in Greece. An opening sometimes takes place in the firmament, which is named chasma[300].

CHAP. 27. (27.)—OF THE COLOURS OF THE SKY AND OF CELESTIAL FLAME.

There is a flame of a bloody appearance (and nothing is more dreaded by mortals) which falls down upon the earth[301], such as was seen in the third year of the 103rd olympiad, when King Philip was disturbing Greece. But my opinion is, that these, like everything else, occur at stated, natural periods, and are not produced, as some persons imagine, from a variety of causes, such as their fine genius may suggest. They have indeed been the precursors of great evils, but I conceive that the evils occurred, not because the prodigies took place, but that these took place because the evils were appointed to occur at that period[302]. Their cause is obscure in consequence of their rarity, and therefore we are not as well acquainted with them as we are with the rising of the stars, which I have mentioned, and with eclipses and many other things.

CHAP. 28. (28.)—OF CELESTIAL CORONÆ.

Stars are occasionally seen along with the sun, for whole days together, and generally round its orb, like wreaths made of the ears of corn, or circles of various colours[303]; such as occurred when Augustus, while a very young man, was entering the city, after the death of his father, in order to take upon himself the great name which he assumed[304]. (29.) The same coronæ occur about the moon and also about the principal stars, which are stationary in the heavens.

CHAP. 29.—OF SUDDEN CIRCLES.

A bow appeared round the sun in the consulship of L. Opimius and L. Fabius[305], and a circle in that of C. Porcius and M. Acilius. (30.) There was a little circle of a red colour in the consulship of L. Julius and P. Rutilius.

CHAP. 30.—OF UNUSUALLY LONG ECLIPSES OF THE SUN.

Eclipses of the sun also take place which are portentous and unusually long, such as occurred when Cæsar the Dictator was slain, and in the war against Antony, the sun remained dim for almost a whole year[306].

CHAP. 31. (31.)—MANY SUNS.

And again, many suns have been seen at the same time[307]; not above or below the real sun, but in an oblique direction, never near nor opposite to the earth, nor in the night, but either in the east or in the west. They are said to have been seen once at noon in the Bosphorus, and to have continued from morning until sunset. Our ancestors have frequently seen three suns at the same time[308], as was the case in the consulship of Sp. Postumius and L. Mucius, of L. Marcius and M. Portius, that of M. Antony and Dolabella, and that of M. Lepidus and L. Plancus. And we have ourselves seen one during the reign of the late Emperor Claudius, when he was consul along with Corn. Orfitus. We have no account transmitted to us of more than three having been seen at the same time.

CHAP. 32. (32.)—MANY MOONS.

Three moons have also been seen, as was the case in the consulship of Cn. Domitius and C. Fannius; they have generally been named nocturnal suns[309].

CHAP. 33. (33.)—DAYLIGHT IN THE NIGHT.

A bright light has been seen proceeding from the heavens in the night time, as was the case in the consulship of C. Cæcilius and Cn. Papirius, and at many other times, so that there has been a kind of daylight in the night[310].

CHAP. 34. (34.)—BURNING SHIELDS[311].

A burning shield darted across at sunset, from west to east, throwing out sparks, in the consulship of L. Valerius and C. Marius[312].

CHAP. 35. (35.)—AN OMINOUS APPEARANCE IN THE HEAVENS, THAT WAS SEEN ONCE ONLY.

We have an account of a spark falling from a star, and increasing as it approached the earth, until it became of the size of the moon, shining as through a cloud[313]; it afterwards returned into the heavens and was converted into a lampas; this occurred in the consulship of Cn. Octavius and C. Scribonius. It was seen by Silanus, the proconsul, and his attendants[314].

CHAP. 36. (36.)—OF STARS WHICH MOVE ABOUT IN VARIOUS DIRECTIONS.

Stars are seen to move about in various directions, but never without some cause, nor without violent winds proceeding from the same quarter[315].

CHAP. 37. (37.)—OF THE STARS WHICH ARE NAMED CASTOR AND POLLUX[316].

These stars occur both at sea and at land. I have seen, during the night-watches of the soldiers, a luminous appearance, like a star, attached to the javelins on the ramparts. They also settle on the yard-arms and other parts of ships while sailing, producing a kind of vocal sound, like that of birds flitting about. When they occur singly they are mischievous, so as even to sink the vessels, and if they strike on the lower part of the keel, setting them on fire[317]. When there are two of them they are considered auspicious, and are thought to predict a prosperous voyage, as it is said that they drive away that dreadful and terrific meteor named Helena. On this account their efficacy is ascribed to Castor and Pollux, and they are invoked as gods. They also occasionally shine round the heads of men in the evening[318], which is considered as predicting something very important. But there is great uncertainty respecting the cause of all these things, and they are concealed in the majesty of nature.

CHAP. 38. (38.)—OF THE AIR AND ON THE CAUSE OF THE SHOWERS OF STONES.

So far I have spoken of the world itself and of the stars. I must now give an account of the other remarkable phænomena of the heavens. For our ancestors have given the name of heavens, or, sometimes, another name, air, to all the seemingly void space, which diffuses around us this vital spirit. It is situated beneath the moon, indeed much lower, as is admitted by every one who has made observations on it, and is composed of a great quantity of air from the upper regions, mixed with a great quantity of terrestrial vapour, the two forming a compound. Hence proceed clouds, thunder and lightning of all kinds; hence also hail, frost, showers, storms and whirlwinds; hence proceed many of the evils incident to mortals, and the mutual contests of the various parts of nature. The force of the stars keeps down all terrestrial things which tend towards the heavens, and the same force attracts to itself those things which do not go there spontaneously. The showers fall, mists rise up, rivers are dried up, hail-storms rush down, the rays of the sun parch the earth, and impel it from all quarters towards the centre. The same rays, still unbroken, dart back again, and carry with them whatever they can take up. Vapour falls from on high and returns again to the same place. Winds arise which contain nothing, but which return loaded with spoils. The breathing of so many animals draws down the spirit from the higher regions; but this tends to go in a contrary direction, and the earth pours out its spirit into the void space of the heavens. Thus nature moving to and fro, as if impelled by some machine[319], discord is kindled by the rapid motion of the world. Nor is the contest allowed to cease, for she is continually whirled round and lays open the causes of all things, forming an immense globe about the earth, while she again, from time to time, covers this other firmament with clouds[320]. This is the region of the winds. Here their nature principally originates, as well as the causes of almost all other things[321]; since most persons ascribe the darting of thunder and lightning to their violence. And to the same cause are assigned the showers of stones, these having been previously taken up by the wind, as well as many other bodies in the same way. On this account we must enter more at large on this subject.

CHAP. 39. (39.)—OF THE STATED SEASONS.

It is obvious that there are causes of the seasons and of other things which have been stated, while there are some things which are casual, or of which the reason has not yet been discovered. For who can doubt that summer and winter, and the annual revolution of the seasons are caused by the motion of the stars[322]? As therefore the nature of the sun is understood to influence the temperature of the year, so each of the other stars has its specific power, which produces its appropriate effects. Some abound in a fluid retaining its liquid state, others, in the same fluid concreted into hoar frost, compressed into snow, or frozen into hail; some are prolific in winds, some in heat, some in vapours, some in dew, some in cold. But these bodies must not be supposed to be actually of the size which they appear, since the consideration of their immense height clearly proves, that none of them are less than the moon. Each of them exercises its influence over us by its own motions; this is particularly observable with respect to Saturn, which produces a great quantity of rain in its transits. Nor is this power confined to the stars which change their situations, but is found to exist in many of the fixed stars, whenever they are impelled by the force of any of the planets, or excited by the impulse of their rays; as we find to be the case with respect to the Suculæ[323], which the Greeks, in reference to their rainy nature, have termed the Hyades[324]. There are also certain events which occur spontaneously, and at stated periods, as the rising of the Kids[325]. The star Arcturus scarcely ever rises without storms of hail occurring.

CHAP. 40. (40.)—OF THE RISING OF THE DOG-STAR.

Who is there that does not know that the vapour of the sun is kindled by the rising of the Dog-star? The most powerful effects are felt on the earth from this star. When it rises, the seas are troubled, the wines in our cellars ferment, and stagnant waters are set in motion. There is a wild beast, named by the Egyptians Oryx, which, when the star rises, is said to stand opposite to it, to look steadfastly at it, and then to sneeze, as if it were worshiping it[326]. There is no doubt that dogs, during the whole of this period, are peculiarly disposed to become rabid[327].

CHAP. 41. (41.)—OF THE REGULAR INFLUENCE OF THE DIFFERENT SEASONS.

There is moreover a peculiar influence in the different degrees of certain signs, as in the autumnal equinox, and also in the winter solstice, when we find that a particular star is connected with the state of the weather[328]. It is not so much the recurrence of showers and storms, as of various circumstances, which act both upon animals and vegetables. Some are planet-struck[329], and others, at stated times, are affected in the bowels, the sinews, the head, or the intellect. The olive, the white poplar, and the willow turn their leaves round at the summer solstice. The herb pulegium, when dried and hanging up in a house, blossoms on the very day of the winter solstice, and bladders burst in consequence of their being distended with air[330]. One might wonder at this, did we not observe every day, that the plant named heliotrope always looks towards the setting sun, and is, at all hours, turned towards him, even when he is obscured by clouds[331]. It is certain that the bodies of oysters and of whelks[332], and of shell-fish generally, are increased in size and again diminished by the influence of the moon. Certain accurate observers have found out, that the entrails of the field-mouse[333] correspond in number to the moon’s age, and that the very small animal, the ant, feels the power of this luminary, always resting from her labours at the change of the moon. And so much the more disgraceful is our ignorance, as every one acknowledges that the diseases in the eyes of certain beasts of burden increase and diminish according to the age of the moon. But the immensity of the heavens, divided as they are into seventy-two[334] constellations, may serve as an excuse. These are the resemblances of certain things, animate and inanimate, into which the learned have divided the heavens. In these they have announced 1600 stars, as being remarkable either for their effects or their appearance; for example, in the tail of the Bull there are seven stars, which are named Vergiliæ[335]; in his forehead are the Suculæ; there is also Bootes, which follows the seven northern stars[336].

CHAP. 42. (42.)—OF UNCERTAIN STATES OF THE WEATHER.

But I would not deny, that there may exist showers and winds, independent of these causes, since it is certain that an exhalation proceeds from the earth, which is sometimes moist, and at other times, in consequence of the vapours, like dense smoke; and also, that clouds are formed, either from the fluid rising up on high, or from the air being compressed into a fluid[337]. Their density and their substance is very clearly proved from their intercepting the sun’s rays, which are visible by divers, even in the deepest waters[338].

CHAP. 43. (43.)—OF THUNDER AND LIGHTNING.

It cannot therefore be denied, that fire proceeding from the stars which are above the clouds, may fall on them, as we frequently observe on serene evenings, and that the air is agitated by the impulse, as darts when they are hurled whiz through the air. And when it arrives at the cloud, a discordant kind of vapour is produced, as when hot iron is plunged into water, and a wreath of smoke is evolved. Hence arise squalls. And if wind or vapour be struggling in the cloud, thunder is discharged; if it bursts out with a flame, there is a thunderbolt; if it be long in forcing out its way, it is simply a flash of lightning[339]. By the latter the cloud is simply rent, by the former it is shattered. Thunder is produced by the stroke given to the condensed air, and hence it is that the fire darts from the chinks of the clouds. It is possible also that the vapour, which has risen from the earth, being repelled by the stars, may produce thunder, when it is pent up in a cloud; nature restraining the sound whilst the vapour is struggling to escape, but when it does escape, the sound bursting forth, as is the case with bladders that are distended with air. It is possible also that the spirit, whatever it be, may be kindled by friction, when it is so violently projected. It is possible that, by the dashing of the two clouds, the lightning may flash out, as is the case when two stones are struck against each other. But all these things appear to be casual. Hence there are thunderbolts which produce no effect, and proceed from no immediate actual cause; by these mountains and seas are struck, and no injury is done. Those which prognosticate future events proceed from on high and from stated causes, and they come from their peculiar stars[340].

CHAP. 44.—THE ORIGIN OF WINDS.

In like manner I would not deny that winds, or rather sudden gusts, are produced by the arid and dry vapours of the earth; that air may also be exhaled from water, which can neither be condensed into a mist, nor compressed into a cloud; that it may be also driven forward by the impulse of the sun, since by the term ‘wind’ we mean nothing more than a current of air, by whatever means it may be produced[341]. For we observe winds to proceed from rivers and bays, and from the sea, even when it is tranquil; while others, which are named Altani, rise up from the earth; when they come back from the sea they are named Tropæi, but if they go straight on, Apogæi[342].

(44.) The windings and the numerous peaks of mountains, their ridges, bent into angles or broken into defiles, with the hollow valleys, by their irregular forms, cleaving the air which rebounds from them (which is also the cause why voices are, in many cases, repeated several times in succession), give rise to winds.

(45.) There are certain caves, such as that on the coast of Dalmatia, with a vast perpendicular chasm, into which, if a light weight only be let down, and although the day be calm, a squall issues from it like a whirlwind. The name of the place is Senta. And also, in the province of Cyrenaica, there is a certain rock, said to be sacred to the south wind, which it is profane for a human hand to touch, as the south wind immediately rolls forwards clouds of sand[343]. There are also, in many houses, artificial cavities, formed in the walls[344], which produce currents of air; none of these are without their appropriate cause.

CHAP. 45.—VARIOUS OBSERVATIONS RESPECTING WINDS.

But there is a great difference between a gale and a wind[345]. The former are uniform and appear to rush forth[346]; they are felt, not in certain spots only, but over whole countries, not forming breezes or squalls, but violent storms[347]. Whether they be produced by the constant revolution of the world and the opposite motion of the stars, or whether they both of them depend on the generative spirit of the nature of things, wandering, as it were, up and down in her womb, or whether the air be scourged by the irregular strokes of the wandering stars[348], or the various projections of their rays, or whether they, each of them, proceed from their own stars, among which are those that are nearest to us, or whether they descend from those that are fixed in the heavens, it is manifest that they are all governed by a law of nature, which is not altogether unknown, although it be not completely ascertained.

(46.) More than twenty old Greek writers have published their observations upon this subject. And this is the more remarkable, seeing that there is so much discord in the world, and that it is divided into different kingdoms, that is into separate members, that there should have been so many who have paid attention to these subjects, which are so difficult to investigate. Especially when we consider the wars and the treachery which everywhere prevail; while pirates, the enemies of the human race, have possession of all the modes of communication, so that, at this time, a person may acquire more correct information about a country from the writings of those who have never been there, than from the inhabitants themselves. Whereas, at this day, in the blessed peace which we enjoy, under a prince who so greatly encourages the advancement of the arts, no new inquiries are set on foot, nor do we even make ourselves thoroughly masters of the discoveries of the ancients. Not that there were greater rewards held out, from the advantages being distributed to a greater number of persons, but that there were more individuals who diligently scrutinized these matters, with no other prospect but that of benefiting posterity. It is that the manners of men are degenerated, not that the advantages are diminished. All the seas, as many as there are, being laid open, and a hospitable reception being given us at every shore, an immense number of people undertake voyages; but it is for the sake of gain, not of science. Nor does their understanding, which is blinded and bent only on avarice, perceive that this very thing might be more safely done by means of science. Seeing, therefore, that there are so many thousands of persons on the seas, I will treat of the winds with more minuteness than perhaps might otherwise appear suitable to my undertaking.

CHAP. 46. (47.)—THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF WINDS[349].

The ancients reckoned only four winds (nor indeed does Homer mention more[350]) corresponding to the four parts of the world; a very poor reason, as we now consider it. The next generation added eight others, but this was too refined and minute a division; the moderns have taken a middle course, and, out of this great number, have added four to the original set. There are, therefore, two in each of the four quarters of the heavens. From the equinoctial rising of the sun[351] proceeds Subsolanus[352], and, from his brumal rising, Vulturnus[353]; the former is named by the Greeks Apeliotes[354], the latter Eurus. From the south we have Auster, and from the brumal setting of the sun, Africus; these were named Notos and Libs. From the equinoctial setting proceeds Favonius[355], and from the solstitial setting, Corus[356]; these were named Zephyrus and Argestes. From the seven stars comes Septemtrio, between which and the solstitial rising we have Aquilo, named Aparctias and Boreas[357]. By a more minute subdivision we interpose four others, Thrascias, between Septemtrio and the solstitial setting; Cæcias, between Aquilo and the equinoctial rising; and Phœnices, between the brumal rising and the south. And also, at an equal distance from the south and the winter setting, between Libs and Notos, and compounded of the two, is Libonotos. Nor is this all. For some persons have added a wind, which they have named Meses, between Boreas and Cæcias, and one between Eurus and Notos, named Euronotus[358].

There are also certain winds peculiar to certain countries, which do not extend beyond certain districts, as Sciron in Attica, deviating a little from Argestes, and not known in the other parts of Greece. In other places it is a little higher on the card and is named Olympias; but all these have gone by the name of Argestes. In some places Cæcias is named Hellespontia, and the same is done in other cases. In the province of Narbonne the most noted wind is Circius; it is not inferior to any of the winds in violence, frequently driving the waves before it, to Ostia[359], straight across the Ligurian sea. Yet this same wind is unknown in other parts, not even reaching Vienne, a city in the same province; for meeting with a high ridge of hills, just before it arrives at that district, it is checked, although it be the most violent of all the winds. Fabius also asserts, that the south winds never penetrate into Egypt. Hence this law of nature is obvious, that winds have their stated seasons and limits.

CHAP. 47.—THE PERIODS OF THE WINDS[360].

The spring opens the seas for the navigators. In the beginning of this season the west winds soften, as it were, the winter sky, the sun having now gained the 25th degree of Aquarius; this is on the sixth day before the Ides of February[361]. This agrees, for the most part, with all the remarks that I shall subsequently make, only anticipating the period by one day in the intercalary year, and again, preserving the same order in the succeeding lustrum[362]. After the eighth day before the Calends of March[363], Favonius is called by some Chelidonias[364], from the swallows making their appearance. The wind, which blows for the space of nine days, from the seventy-first day after the winter solstice[365], is sometimes called Ornithias, from the arrival of the birds[366]. In the contrary direction to Favonius is the wind which we name Subsolanus, and this is connected with the rising of the Vergiliæ, in the 25th degree of Taurus, six days before the Ides of May[367], which is the time when south winds prevail: these are opposite to Septemtrio. The dog-star rises in the hottest time of the summer, when the sun is entering the first degree of Leo[368]; this is fifteen days before the Calends of August. The north winds, which are called Prodromi[369], precede its rising by about eight days. But in two days after its rising, the same north winds, which are named Etesiæ[370], blow more constantly during this period; the vapour from the sun, being increased twofold by the heat of this star, is supposed to render these winds more mild; nor are there any which are more regular. After these the south winds become more frequent, until the appearance of Arcturus[371], which rises eleven days before the autumnal equinox. At this time Corus sets in; Corus is an autumnal wind, and is in the opposite direction to Vulturnus. After this, and generally for forty-four days after the equinox, at the setting of the Vergiliæ, the winter commences, which usually happens on the third of the Ides of November[372]. This is the period of the winter north wind, which is very unlike the summer north wind, and which is in the opposite direction to Africus. For seven days before the winter solstice, and for the same length of time after it, the sea becomes calm, in order that the king-fishers may rear their young; from this circumstance they have obtained the name of the halcyon days[373]; the rest of the season is winterly[374]. Yet the severity of the storms does not entirely close up the sea. In former times, pirates were compelled, by the fear of death, to rush into death, and to brave the winter ocean; now we are driven to it by avarice[375].

CHAP. 48.—NATURE OF THE WINDS[376].

Those are the coldest winds which are said to blow from the seven stars, and Corus, which is contiguous to them; these also restrain the others and dispel the clouds. The moist winds are Africus, and, still more, the Auster of Italy. It is said that, in Pontus, Cæcias attracts the clouds. The dry winds are Corus and Vulturnus, especially when they are about to cease blowing. The winds that bring snow are Aquilo and Septemtrio; Septemtrio brings hail, and so does Corus; Auster is sultry, Vulturnus and Zephyrus are warm. These winds are more dry than Subsolanus, and generally those which blow from the north and west are more dry than those which blow from the south and east. Aquilo is the most healthy of them all; Auster is unhealthy, and more so when dry; it is colder, perhaps because it is moist. Animals are supposed to have less appetite for food when this wind is blowing. The Etesiæ generally cease during the night, and spring up at the third hour of the day[377]. In Spain and in Asia these winds have an easterly direction, in Pontus a northerly, and in other places a southerly direction. They blow also after the winter solstice, when they are called Ornithiæ[378], but they are more gentle and continue only for a few days. There are two winds which change their nature with their situation; in Africa Auster is attended with a clear sky, while Aquilo collects the clouds[379]. Almost all winds blow in their turn, so that when one ceases its opposite springs up. When winds which are contiguous succeed each other, they go from left to right, in the direction of the sun. The fourth day of the moon generally determines their direction for the whole of the monthly period[380]. We are able to sail in opposite directions by means of the same wind, if we have the sails properly set; hence it frequently happens that, in the night, vessels going in different directions run against each other. Auster produces higher winds than Aquilo, because the former blows, as it were, from the bottom of the sea, while the latter blows on the surface; it is therefore after south winds that the most mischievous earthquakes have occurred. Auster is more violent during the night, Aquilo during the day; winds from the east continue longer than from the west. The north winds generally cease blowing on the odd days, and we observe the prevalence of the odd numbers in many other parts of nature; the male winds are therefore regulated by the odd numbers[381]. The sun sometimes increases and sometimes restrains winds; when rising and setting it increases them; while, when on the meridian, it restrains them during the summer. They are, therefore, generally lulled during the middle of the day and of the night, because they are abated either by excessive cold or heat; winds are also lulled by showers. We generally expect them to come from that quarter where the clouds open and allow the clear sky to be seen. Eudoxus[382] supposes that the same succession of changes occurs in them after a period of four years, if we observe their minute revolutions; and this applies not only to winds, but to whatever concerns the state of the weather. He begins his lustrum at the rising of the dog-star, in the intercalary year. So far concerning winds in general.

CHAP. 49. (48.)—ECNEPHIAS AND TYPHON.

And now respecting the sudden gusts[383], which arising from the exhalations of the earth, as has been said above, and falling down again, being in the mean time covered by a thin film of clouds, exist in a variety of forms. By their wandering about, and rushing down like torrents, in the opinion of some persons, they produce thunder and lightning[384]. But if they be urged on with greater force and violence, so as to cause the rupture of a dry cloud, they produce a squall[385], which is named by the Greeks Ecnephias[386]. But, if these are compressed, and rolled up more closely together, and then break without any discharge of fire, i. e. without thunder, they produce a squall, which is named Typhon[387], or an Ecnephias in a state of agitation. It carries along a portion of the cloud which it has broken off, rolling it and turning it round, aggravating its own destruction by the weight of it, and whirling it from place to place. This is very much dreaded by sailors, as it not only breaks their sail-yards, but the vessels themselves, bending them about in various ways. This may be in a slight degree counteracted by sprinkling it with vinegar, when it comes near us, this substance being of a very cold nature[388]. This wind, when it rebounds after the stroke, absorbs and carries up whatever it may have seized on.

CHAP. 50.—TORNADOES; BLASTING WINDS; WHIRLWINDS[389], AND OTHER WONDERFUL KINDS OF TEMPESTS.

But if it burst from the cavity of a cloud which is more depressed, but less capacious than what produces a squall, and is accompanied by noise, it is called a whirlwind, and throws down everything which is near it. The same, when it is more burning and rages with greater heat, is called a blasting wind[390], scorching and, at the same time, throwing down everything with which it comes in contact. (49.) Typhon never comes from the north, nor have we Ecnephias when it snows, or when there is snow on the ground. If it breaks the clouds, and, at the same time, catches fire or burns, but not until it has left the cloud, it forms a thunder-bolt. It differs from Prester as flame does from fire; the former is diffused in a gust, the latter is condensed with a violent impulse[391]. The whirlwind, when it rebounds, differs from the tornado in the same manner as a loud noise does from a dash.

The squall differs from both of them in its extent, the clouds being more properly rent asunder than broken into pieces. A black cloud is formed, resembling a great animal, an appearance much dreaded by sailors. It is also called a pillar, when the moisture is so condensed and rigid as to be able to support itself. It is a cloud of the same kind, which, when drawn into a tube, sucks up the water[392].

CHAP. 51. (50.)—OF THUNDER[393]; IN WHAT COUNTRIES IT DOES NOT FALL, AND FOR WHAT REASON.

Thunder is rare both in winter and in summer[394], but from different causes; the air, which is condensed in the winter, is made still more dense by a thicker covering of clouds, while the exhalations from the earth, being all of them rigid and frozen, extinguish whatever fiery vapour it may receive. It is this cause which exempts Scythia and the cold districts round it from thunder. On the other hand, the excessive heat exempts Egypt; the warm and dry vapours of the earth being very seldom condensed, and that only into light clouds. But, in the spring and autumn, thunder is more frequent, the causes which produce summer and winter being, in each season, less efficient. From this cause thunder is more frequent in Italy, the air being more easily set in motion, in consequence of a milder winter and a showery summer, so that it may be said to be always spring or autumn. Also in those parts of Italy which recede from the north and lie towards the south, as in the district round our city, and in Campania, it lightens equally both in winter and in summer, which is not the case in other situations.

CHAP. 52. (51.)—OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF LIGHTNING[395] AND THEIR WONDERFUL EFFECTS.

We have accounts of many different kinds of thunder-storms. Those which are dry do not burn objects, but dissipate them; while those which are moist do not burn, but blacken them. There is a third kind, which is called bright lightning[396], of a very wonderful nature, by which casks are emptied, without the vessels themselves being injured, or there being any other trace left of their operation[397]. Gold, copper, and silver are melted, while the bags which contain them are not in the least burned, nor even the wax seal much defaced. Marcia, a lady of high rank at Rome, was struck while pregnant; the fœtus was destroyed, while she herself survived without suffering any injury[398]. Among the prognostics which took place at the time of Catiline’s conspiracy, M. Herennius, a magistrate of the borough of Pompeii, was struck by lightning when the sky was without clouds[399].

CHAP. 53. (52.)—THE ETRURIAN[400] AND THE ROMAN OBSERVATIONS ON THESE POINTS.

The Tuscan books inform us, that there are nine Gods who discharge thunder-storms, that there are eleven different kinds of them, and that three of them are darted out by Jupiter. Of these the Romans retained only two, ascribing the diurnal kind to Jupiter, and the nocturnal to Summanus[401]; this latter kind being more rare, in consequence of the heavens being colder, as was mentioned above. The Etrurians also suppose, that those which are named Infernal burst out of the ground; they are produced in the winter and are particularly fierce and direful, as all things are which proceed from the earth, and are not generated by or proceeding from the stars, but from a cause which is near at hand, and of a more disorderly nature. As a proof of this it is said, that all those which proceed from the higher regions strike obliquely, while those which are termed terrestrial strike in a direct line. And because these fall from matter which is nearer to us, they are supposed to proceed from the earth, since they leave no traces of a rebound; this being the effect of a stroke coming not from below, but from an opposite quarter. Those who have searched into the subject more minutely suppose, that these come from the planet Saturn, as those that are of a burning nature do from Mars. In this way it was that Volsinium, the most opulent town of the Tuscans, was entirely consumed by lightning[402]. The first of these strokes that a man receives, after he has come into possession of any property, is termed Familiar[403], and is supposed to prognosticate the events of the whole of his life. But it is not generally supposed that they predict events of a private nature for a longer space than ten years, unless they happen at the time of a first marriage or a birth-day; nor that public predictions extend beyond thirty years[404], unless with respect to the founding of colonies[405].

CHAP. 54. (53.)—OF CONJURING UP THUNDER.

It is related in our Annals, that by certain sacred rites and imprecations, thunder-storms may be compelled or invoked[406]. There is an old report in Etruria, that thunder was invoked when the city of Volsinium had its territory laid waste by a monster named Volta[407]. Thunder was also invoked by King Porsenna. And L. Piso[408], a very respectable author, states in the first book of his Annals, that this had been frequently done before his time by Numa, and that Tullus Hostilius, imitating him, but not having properly performed the ceremonies, was struck with the lightning[409]. We have also groves, and altars, and sacred places, and, among the titles of Jupiter, as Stator, Tonans, and Feretrius, we have a Jupiter Elicius[410]. The opinions entertained on this point are very various, and depend much on the dispositions of different individuals. To believe that we can command nature is the mark of a bold mind, nor is it less the mark of a feeble one to reject her kindness[411]. Our knowledge has been so far useful to us in the interpretation of thunder, that it enables us to predict what is to happen on a certain day, and we learn either that our fortune is to be entirely changed, or it discloses events which are concealed from us; as is proved by an infinite number of examples, public and private. Wherefore let these things remain, according to the order of nature, to some persons certain, to others doubtful, by some approved, by others condemned. I must not, however, omit the other circumstances connected with them which deserve to be related.

CHAP. 55. (54.)—GENERAL LAWS OF LIGHTNING.

It is certain that the lightning is seen before the thunder is heard, although they both take place at the same time. Nor is this wonderful, since light has a greater velocity than sound. Nature so regulates it, that the stroke and the sound coincide[412]; the sound is, however, produced by the discharge of the thunder, not by its stroke. But the air is impelled quicker than the lightning[413], on which account it is that everything is shaken and blown up before it is struck, and that a person is never injured when he has seen the lightning and heard the thunder. Thunder on the left hand is supposed to be lucky, because the east is on the left side of the heavens[414]. We do not regard so much the mode in which it comes to us, as that in which it leaves us, whether the fire rebounds after the stroke, or whether the current of air returns when the operation is concluded and the fire is consumed. In relation to this object the Etrurians have divided the heavens into sixteen parts[415]. The first great division is from north to east; the second to the south; the third to the west, and the fourth occupies what remains from west to north. Each of these has been subdivided into four parts, of which the eight on the east have been called the left, and those on the west the right divisions. Those which extend from the west to the north have been considered the most unpropitious. It becomes therefore very important to ascertain from what quarter the thunder proceeds, and in what direction it falls. It is considered a very favourable omen when it returns into the eastern divisions. But it prognosticates the greatest felicity when the thunder proceeds from the first-mentioned part of the heavens and falls back into it; it was an omen of this kind which, as we have heard, was given to Sylla, the Dictator. The remaining quarters of the heavens are less propitious, and also less to be dreaded. There are some kinds of thunder which it is not thought right to speak of, or even to listen to, unless when they have been disclosed to the master of a family or to a parent. But the futility of this observation was detected when the temple of Juno was struck at Rome, during the consulship of Scaurus, he who was afterwards the Prince of the Senate[416].

It lightens without thunder more frequently in the night than in the day[417]. Man is the only animal that is not always killed by it, all other animals being killed instantly, nature having granted to him this mark of distinction, while so many other animals excel him in strength. All animals fall down on the opposite side to that which has been struck; man, unless he be thrown down on the parts that are struck, does not expire. Those who are struck directly from above sink down immediately. When a man is struck while he is awake, he is found with his eyes closed; when asleep, with them open. It is not considered proper that a man killed in this way should be burnt on the funeral pile; our religion enjoins us to bury the body in the earth[418]. No animal is consumed by lightning unless after having been previously killed. The parts of the animal that have been wounded by lightning are colder than the rest of the body.

CHAP. 56. (55.)—OBJECTS WHICH ARE NEVER STRUCK.

Among the productions of the earth, thunder never strikes the laurel[419], nor does it descend more than five feet into the earth. Those, therefore, who are timid consider the deepest caves as the most safe; or tents made of the skins of the animal called the sea-calf, since this is the only marine animal which is never struck[420]; as is the case, among birds, with the eagle; on this account it is represented as the bearer of this weapon[421]. In Italy, between Terracina and the temple of Feronia, the people have left off building towers in time of war, every one of them having been destroyed by thunderbolts.

CHAP. 57. (56.)—SHOWERS OF MILK, BLOOD, FLESH, IRON, WOOL, AND BAKED TILES[422].

Besides these, we learn from certain monuments, that from the lower part of the atmosphere[423] it rained milk and blood, in the consulship of M’ Acilius and C. Porcius, and frequently at other times[424]. This was the case with respect to flesh, in the consulship of P. Volumnius and Servius Sulpicius, and it is said, that what was not devoured by the birds did not become putrid. It also rained iron among the Lucanians, the year before Crassus was slain by the Parthians, as well as all the Lucanian soldiers, of whom there was a great number in this army. The substance which fell had very much the appearance of sponge[425]; the augurs warned the people against wounds that might come from above. In the consulship of L. Paulus and C. Marcellus it rained wool, round the castle of Carissanum, near which place, a year after, T. Annius Milo was killed. It is recorded, among the transactions of that year, that when he was pleading his own cause, there was a shower of baked tiles.

CHAP. 58. (57.)—RATTLING OF ARMS AND THE SOUND OF TRUMPETS HEARD IN THE SKY.

We have heard, that during the war with the Cimbri, the rattling of arms and the sound of trumpets were heard through the sky, and that the same thing has frequently happened before and since[426]. Also, that in the third consulship of Marius, armies were seen in the heavens by the Amerini and the Tudertes, encountering each other, as if from the east and west, and that those from the east were repelled[427]. It is not at all wonderful for the heavens themselves to be in flames[428], and it has been more frequently observed when the clouds have taken up a great deal of fire.

CHAP. 59. (58.)—OF STONES THAT HAVE FALLEN FROM THE CLOUDS[429]. THE OPINION OF ANAXAGORAS RESPECTING THEM.

The Greeks boast that Anaxagoras[430], the Clazomenian, in the second year of the 78th Olympiad, from his knowledge of what relates to the heavens, had predicted, that at a certain time, a stone would fall from the sun[431]. And the thing accordingly happened, in the daytime, in a part of Thrace, at the river Ægos. The stone is now to be seen, a waggon-load in size and of a burnt appearance; there was also a comet shining in the night at that time[432]. But to believe that this had been predicted would be to admit that the divining powers of Anaxagoras were still more wonderful, and that our knowledge of the nature of things, and indeed every thing else, would be thrown into confusion, were we to suppose either that the sun is itself composed of stone, or that there was even a stone in it; yet there can be no doubt that stones have frequently fallen from the atmosphere. There is a stone, a small one indeed, at this time, in the Gymnasium of Abydos, which on this account is held in veneration, and which the same Anaxagoras predicted would fall in the middle of the earth. There is another at Cassandria, formerly called Potidæa[433], which from this circumstance was built in that place. I have myself seen one in the country of the Vocontii[434], which had been brought from the fields only a short time before.

CHAP. 60. (59.)—THE RAINBOW.

What we name Rainbows frequently occur, and are not considered either wonderful or ominous; for they do not predict, with certainty, either rain or fair weather. It is obvious, that the rays of the sun, being projected upon a hollow cloud, the light is thrown back to the sun and is refracted[435], and that the variety of colours is produced by a mixture of clouds, air, and fire[436]. The rainbow is certainly never produced except in the part opposite to the sun, nor even in any other form except that of a semicircle. Nor are they ever formed at night, although Aristotle asserts that they are sometimes seen at that time; he acknowledges, however, that it can only be on the 14th day of the moon[437]. They are seen in the winter the most frequently, when the days are shortening, after the autumnal equinox[438]. They are not seen when the days increase again, after the vernal equinox, nor on the longest days, about the summer solstice, but frequently at the winter solstice, when the days are the shortest. When the sun is low they are high, and when the sun is high they are low; they are smaller when in the east or west, but are spread out wider; in the south they are small, but of a greater span. In the summer they are not seen at noon, but after the autumnal equinox at any hour: there are never more than two seen at once.

CHAP. 61.—THE NATURE OF HAIL, SNOW, HOAR, MIST, DEW; THE FORMS OF CLOUDS.

I do not find that there is any doubt entertained respecting the following points. (60.) Hail is produced by frozen rain, and snow by the same fluid less firmly concreted, and hoar by frozen dew[439]. During the winter snow falls, but not hail; hail itself falls more frequently during the day than the night, and is more quickly melted than snow. There are no mists either in the summer or during the greatest cold of winter. There is neither dew nor hoar formed during great heat or winds, nor unless the night be serene. Fluids are diminished in bulk by being frozen, and, when the ice is melted, we do not obtain the same quantity of fluid as at first[440].

(61.) The clouds are varied in their colour and figure according as the fire which they contain is in excess or is absorbed by them.

CHAP. 62. (62.)—THE PECULIARITIES OF THE WEATHER IN DIFFERENT PLACES.

There are, moreover, certain peculiarities in certain places. In Africa dew falls during the night in summer. In Italy, at Locri, and at the Lake Velinum, there is never a day in which a rainbow is not seen[441]. At Rhodes and at Syracuse the sky is never so covered with clouds, but that the sun is visible at one time or another; these things, however, will be better detailed in their proper place. So far respecting the air.

CHAP. 63. (63.)—NATURE OF THE EARTH.

Next comes the earth, on which alone of all parts of nature we have bestowed the name that implies maternal veneration. It is appropriated to man as the heavens are to God. She receives us at our birth, nourishes us when born, and ever afterwards supports us; lastly, embracing us in her bosom when we are rejected by the rest of nature, she then covers us with especial tenderness; rendered sacred to us, inasmuch as she renders us sacred, bearing our monuments and titles, continuing our names, and extending our memory, in opposition to the shortness of life. In our anger we imprecate her on those who are now no more[442], as if we were ignorant that she is the only being who can never be angry with man. The water passes into showers, is concreted into hail, swells into rivers, is precipitated in torrents; the air is condensed into clouds, rages in squalls; but the earth, kind, mild, and indulgent as she is, and always ministering to the wants of mortals, how many things do we compel her to produce spontaneously! What odours and flowers, nutritive juices, forms and colours! With what good faith does she render back all that has been entrusted to her! It is the vital spirit which must bear the blame of producing noxious animals; for the earth is constrained to receive the seeds of them, and to support them when they are produced. The fault lies in the evil nature which generates them. The earth will no longer harbour a serpent after it has attacked any one[443], and thus she even demands punishment in the name of those who are indifferent about it themselves[444]. She pours forth a profusion of medicinal plants, and is always producing something for the use of man. We may even suppose, that it is out of compassion to us that she has ordained certain substances to be poisonous, in order that when we are weary of life, hunger, a mode of death the most foreign to the kind disposition of the earth[445], might not consume us by a slow decay, that precipices might not lacerate our mangled bodies, that the unseemly punishment of the halter may not torture us, by stopping the breath of one who seeks his own destruction, or that we may not seek our death in the ocean, and become food for our graves, or that our bodies may not be gashed by steel. On this account it is that nature has produced a substance which is very easily taken, and by which life is extinguished, the body remaining undefiled and retaining all its blood, and only causing a degree of thirst. And when it is destroyed by this means, neither bird nor beast will touch the body, but he who has perished by his own hands is reserved for the earth.

But it must be acknowledged, that everything which the earth has produced, as a remedy for our evils, we have converted into the poison of our lives. For do we not use iron, which we cannot do without, for this purpose? But although this cause of mischief has been produced, we ought not to complain; we ought not to be ungrateful to this one part of nature[446]. How many luxuries and how many insults does she not bear for us! She is cast into the sea, and, in order that we may introduce seas into her bosom, she is washed away by the waves. She is continually tortured for her iron, her timber, stone, fire, corn, and is even much more subservient to our luxuries than to our mere support. What indeed she endures on her surface might be tolerated, but we penetrate also into her bowels, digging out the veins of gold and silver, and the ores of copper and lead; we also search for gems and certain small pebbles, driving our trenches to a great depth. We tear out her entrails in order to extract the gems with which we may load our fingers. How many hands are worn down that one little joint may be ornamented! If the infernal regions really existed, certainly these burrows of avarice and luxury would have penetrated into them. And truly we wonder that this same earth should have produced anything noxious! But, I suppose, the savage beasts protect her and keep off our sacrilegious hands[447]. For do we not dig among serpents and handle poisonous plants along with those veins of gold? But the Goddess shows herself more propitious to us, inasmuch as all this wealth ends in crimes, slaughter, and war, and that, while we drench her with our blood, we cover her with unburied bones; and being covered with these and her anger being thus appeased, she conceals the crimes of mortals[448]. I consider the ignorance of her nature as one of the evil effects of an ungrateful mind.

CHAP. 64. (64.)—OF THE FORM OF THE EARTH.

Every one agrees that it has the most perfect figure[449]. We always speak of the ball of the earth, and we admit it to be a globe bounded by the poles. It has not indeed the form of an absolute sphere, from the number of lofty mountains and flat plains; but if the termination of the lines be bounded by a curve[450], this would compose a perfect sphere. And this we learn from arguments drawn from the nature of things, although not from the same considerations which we made use of with respect to the heavens. For in these the hollow convexity everywhere bends on itself, and leans upon the earth as its centre. Whereas the earth rises up solid and dense, like something that swells up and is protruded outwards. The heavens bend towards the centre, while the earth goes from the centre, the continual rolling of the heavens about it forcing its immense globe into the form of a sphere[451].

CHAP. 65. (65.)—WHETHER THERE BE ANTIPODES?

On this point there is a great contest between the learned and the vulgar. We maintain, that there are men dispersed over every part of the earth, that they stand with their feet turned towards each other, that the vault of the heavens appears alike to all of them, and that they, all of them, appear to tread equally on the middle of the earth. If any one should ask, why those situated opposite to us do not fall, we directly ask in return, whether those on the opposite side do not wonder that we do not fall. But I may make a remark, that will appear plausible even to the most unlearned, that if the earth were of the figure of an unequal globe, like the seed of a pine[452], still it may be inhabited in every part.

But of how little moment is this, when we have another miracle rising up to our notice! The earth itself is pendent and does not fall with us; it is doubtful whether this be from the force of the spirit which is contained in the universe[453], or whether it would fall, did not nature resist, by allowing of no place where it might fall. For as the seat of fire is nowhere but in fire, nor of water except in water, nor of air except in air, so there is no situation for the earth except in itself, everything else repelling it. It is indeed wonderful that it should form a globe, when there is so much flat surface of the sea and of the plains. And this was the opinion of Dicæarchus, a peculiarly learned man, who measured the heights of mountains, under the direction of the kings, and estimated Pelion, which was the highest, at 1250 paces perpendicular, and considered this as not affecting the round figure of the globe. But this appears to me to be doubtful, as I well know that the summits of some of the Alps rise up by a long space of not less than 50,000 paces[454]. But what the vulgar most strenuously contend against is, to be compelled to believe that the water is forced into a rounded figure[455]; yet there is nothing more obvious to the sight among the phænomena of nature. For we see everywhere, that drops, when they hang down, assume the form of small globes, and when they are covered with dust, or have the down of leaves spread over them, they are observed to be completely round; and when a cup is filled, the liquid swells up in the middle. But on account of the subtile nature of the fluid and its inherent softness, the fact is more easily ascertained by our reason than by our sight. And it is even more wonderful, that if a very little fluid only be added to a cup when it is full, the superfluous quantity runs over, whereas the contrary happens if we add a solid body, even as much as would weigh 20 denarii. The reason of this is, that what is dropt in raises up the fluid at the top, while what is poured on it slides off from the projecting surface. It is from the same cause[456] that the land is not visible from the body of a ship when it may be seen from the mast; and that when a vessel is receding, if any bright object be fixed to the mast, it seems gradually to descend and finally to become invisible. And the ocean, which we admit to be without limits, if it had any other figure, could it cohere and exist without falling, there being no external margin to contain it? And the same wonder still recurs, how is it that the extreme parts of the sea, although it be in the form of a globe, do not fall down? In opposition to which doctrine, the Greeks, to their great joy and glory, were the first to teach us, by their subtile geometry, that this could not happen, even if the seas were flat, and of the figure which they appear to be. For since water always runs from a higher to a lower level, and this is admitted to be essential to it, no one ever doubted that the water would accumulate on any shore, as much as its slope would allow it. It is also certain, that the lower anything is, so much the nearer is it to the centre, and that all the lines which are drawn from this point to the water which is the nearest to it, are shorter than those which reach from the beginning of the sea to its extreme parts[457]. Hence it follows, that all the water, from every part, tends towards the centre, and, because it has this tendency, does not fall.

CHAP. 66.—HOW THE WATER IS CONNECTED WITH THE EARTH. OF THE NAVIGATION OF THE SEA AND THE RIVERS.

We must believe, that the great artist, Nature, has so arranged it, that as the arid and dry earth cannot subsist by itself and without moisture, nor, on the other hand, can the water subsist unless it be supported by the earth, they are connected by a mutual union. The earth opens her harbours, while the water pervades the whole earth, within, without, and above; its veins running in all directions, like connecting links, and bursting out on even the highest ridges; where, forced up by the air, and pressed out by the weight of the earth, it shoots forth as from a pipe, and is so far from being in danger of falling, that it bounds up to the highest and most lofty places. Hence the reason is obvious, why the seas are not increased by the daily accession of so many rivers[458].

(66.) The earth has, therefore, the whole of its globe girt, on every side, by the sea flowing round it. And this is not a point to be investigated by arguments, but what has been ascertained by experience.

CHAP. 67. (67.)—WHETHER THE OCEAN SURROUNDS THE EARTH.

The whole of the western ocean is now navigated, from Gades and the Pillars of Hercules, round Spain and Gaul. The greater part of the northern ocean has also been navigated, under the auspices of the Emperor Augustus, his fleet having been carried round Germany to the promontory of the Cimbri[459]; from which spot they descried an immense sea, or became acquainted with it by report, which extends to the country of the Scythians, and the districts that are chilled by excessive moisture[460]. On this account it is not at all probable, that the ocean should be deficient in a region where moisture so much abounds. In like manner, towards the east, from the Indian sea, all that part which lies in the same latitude[461], and which bends round towards the Caspian[462], has been explored by the Macedonian arms, in the reigns of Seleucus and Antiochus, who wished it to be named after themselves, the Seleucian or Antiochian Sea. About the Caspian, too, many parts of the shores of the ocean have been explored, so that nearly the whole of the north has been sailed over in one direction or another. Nor can our argument be much affected by the point that has been so much discussed, respecting the Palus Mæotis, whether it be a bay of the same ocean[463], as is, I understand, the opinion of some persons, or whether it be the overflowing of a narrow channel connected with a different ocean[464]. On the other side of Gades, proceeding from the same western point, a great part of the southern ocean, along Mauritania, has now been navigated. Indeed the greater part of this region, as well as of the east, as far as the Arabian Gulf, was surveyed in consequence of Alexander’s victories. When Caius Cæsar, the son of Augustus[465], had the conduct of affairs in that country, it is said that they found the remains of Spanish vessels which had been wrecked there. While the power of Carthage was at its height, Hanno published an account of a voyage which he made from Gades to the extremity of Arabia[466]; Himilco was also sent, about the same time, to explore the remote parts of Europe. Besides, we learn from Corn. Nepos, that one Eudoxus, a contemporary of his[467], when he was flying from king Lathyrus, set out from the Arabian Gulf, and was carried as far as Gades[468]. And long before him, Cælius Antipater[469] informs us, that he had seen a person who had sailed from Spain to Æthiopia for the purposes of trade. The same Cornelius Nepos, when speaking of the northern circumnavigation, tells us that Q. Metellus Celer, the colleague of L. Afranius in the consulship, but then a proconsul in Gaul[470], had a present made to him by the king of the Suevi, of certain Indians, who sailing from India for the purpose of commerce, had been driven by tempests into Germany[471]. Thus it appears, that the seas which flow completely round the globe, and divide it, as it were, into two parts[472], exclude us from one part of it, as there is no way open to it on either side. And as the contemplation of these things is adapted to detect the vanity of mortals, it seems incumbent on me to display, and lay open to our eyes, the whole of it, whatever it be, in which there is nothing which can satisfy the desires of certain individuals.

CHAP. 68. (68.)—WHAT PART OF THE EARTH IS INHABITED.

In the first place, then, it appears, that this should be estimated at half the globe[473], as if no portion of this half was encroached upon by the ocean. But surrounding as it does the whole of the land, pouring out and receiving all the other waters, furnishing whatever goes to the clouds, and feeding the stars themselves, so numerous and of such great size as they are, what a great space must we not suppose it to occupy! This vast mass must fill up and occupy an infinite extent. To this we must add that portion of the remainder which the heavens[474] take from us. For the globe is divided into five parts[475], termed zones, and all that portion is subject to severe cold and perpetual frost which is under the two extremities, about each of the poles, the nearer of which is called the north, and the opposite the south, pole. In all these regions there is perpetual darkness, and, in consequence of the aspect of the milder stars being turned from them, the light is malignant, and only like the whiteness which is produced by hoar frost. The middle of the earth, over which is the orbit of the sun, is parched and burned by the flame, and is consumed by being so near the heat. There are only two of the zones which are temperate, those which lie between the torrid and the frigid zones, and these are separated from each other, in consequence of the scorching heat of the heavenly bodies. It appears, therefore, that the heavens take from us three parts of the earth; how much the ocean steals is uncertain.

And with respect to the part which is left us, I do not know whether that is not even in greater danger. This same ocean, insinuating itself, as I have described it, into a number of bays, approaches with its roaring[476] so near to the inland seas, that the Arabian Gulf is no more than 115 miles from the Egyptian Sea[477], and the Caspian only 375 miles from the Euxine. It also insinuates itself into the numerous seas by which it separates Africa, Europe, and Asia; hence how much space must it occupy? We must also take into account the extent of all the rivers and the marshes, and we must add the lakes and the pools. There are also the mountains, raised up to the heavens, with their precipitous fronts; we must also subtract the forests and the craggy valleys, the wildernesses, and the places, which, from various causes, are desert. The vast quantity which remains of the earth[478], or rather, as many persons have considered it, this speck of a world[479] (for the earth is no more in regard to the universe), this is the object, the seat of our glory—here we bear our honours, here we exercise our power, here we covet wealth, here we mortals create our disturbances, here we continually carry on our wars, aye, civil wars, even, and unpeople the earth by mutual slaughter. And not to dwell on public feuds, entered into by nations against each other, here it is that we drive away our neighbours, and enclose the land thus seized upon within our own fence[480]; and yet the man who has most extended his boundary, and has expelled the inhabitants for ever so great a distance, after all, what mighty portion of the earth is he master of? And even when his avarice has been the most completely satisfied, what part of it can he take with him into the grave?

CHAP. 69. (69.)—THAT THE EARTH IS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WORLD.

It is evident from undoubted arguments, that the earth is in the middle of the universe[481], but it is the most clearly proved by the equality of the days and the nights at the equinox[482]. It is demonstrated by the quadrant[483], which affords the most decisive confirmation of the fact, that unless the earth was in the middle, the days and nights could not be equal; for, at the time of the equinox, the rising and setting of the sun are seen on the same line, and the rising of the sun, at the summer solstice, is on the same line with its setting at the winter solstice; but this could not happen if the earth was not situated in the centre.

CHAP. 70. (70.)—OF THE OBLIQUITY OF THE ZONES[484].

The three circles[485], which are connected with the above-mentioned zones, distinguish the inequalities of the seasons; these are, the solstitial circle, which proceeds from the part of the Zodiac the highest to us and approaching the nearest to the district of the north; on the other side, the brumal, which is towards the south pole; and the equinoctial, which traverses the middle of the Zodiac.

CHAP. 71.—OF THE INEQUALITY OF CLIMATES.

The cause of the other things which are worthy of our admiration depends on the figure of the earth itself, which, together with all its waters, is proved, by the same arguments, to be a globe. This certainly is the cause why the stars of the northern portion of the heavens never set to us, and why, on the other hand, those in the south never rise, and again, why the latter can never be seen by the former, the globe of the earth rising up and concealing them. The Northern Wain is never seen in Troglodytice[486], nor in Egypt, which borders on it[487]; nor can we, in Italy, see the star Canopus[488], or Berenice’s Hair[489]; nor what, under the Emperor Augustus, was named Cæsar’s Throne, although they are, there[490], very brilliant stars. The curved form of the earth is so obvious, rising up like a ridge, that Canopus appears to a spectator at Alexandria to rise above the horizon almost the quarter of a sign; the same star at Rhodes appears, as it were, to graze along the earth, while in Pontus it is not seen at all; where the Northern Wain appears considerably elevated. This same constellation cannot be seen at Rhodes, and still less at Alexandria. In Arabia, in the month of November, it is concealed during the first watch of the night, but may be seen during the second[491]; in Meroë it is seen, for a short time, in the evening, at the solstice, and it is visible at day-break, for a few days before the rising of Arcturus[492]. These facts have been principally ascertained by the expeditions of navigators; the sea appearing more elevated or depressed in certain parts[493]; the stars suddenly coming into view, and, as it were, emerging from the water, after having been concealed by the bulging out of the globe[494]. But the heavens do not, as some suppose, rise higher at one pole, otherwise[495] its stars would be seen from all parts of the world; they indeed are supposed to be higher by those who are nearest to them, but the stars are sunk below the horizon to those who are more remote. As this pole appears to be elevated to those who are beneath it; so, when we have passed along the convexity of the earth, those stars rise up, which appear elevated to the inhabitants of those other districts; all this, however, could not happen unless the earth had the shape of a globe.

CHAP. 72.—IN WHAT PLACES ECLIPSES ARE INVISIBLE, AND WHY THIS IS THE CASE.

Hence it is that the inhabitants of the east do not see those eclipses of the sun or of the moon which occur in the evening, nor the inhabitants of the west those in the morning, while such as take place at noon are more frequently visible[496]. We are told, that at the time of the famous victory of Alexander the Great, at Arbela[497], the moon was eclipsed at the second hour of the night, while, in Sicily, the moon was rising at the same hour. The eclipse of the sun which occurred the day before the calends of May, in the consulship of Vipstanus and Fonteius[498], not many years ago, was seen in Campania between the seventh and eighth hour of the day; the general Corbulo informs us, that it was seen in Armenia, between the eleventh and twelfth hour[499]; thus the curve of the globe both reveals and conceals different objects from the inhabitants of its different parts. If the earth had been flat, everything would have been seen at the same time, from every part of it, and the nights would not have been unequal; while the equal intervals of twelve hours, which are now observed only in the middle of the earth, would in that case have been the same everywhere.

CHAP. 73. (71.)—WHAT REGULATES THE DAYLIGHT ON THE EARTH.

Hence it is that there is not any one night and day the same, in all parts of the earth, at the same time; the intervention of the globe producing night, and its turning round producing day[500]. This is known by various observations. In Africa and in Spain it is made evident by the Towers of Hannibal[501], and in Asia by the beacons, which, in consequence of their dread of pirates, the people erected for their protection; for it has been frequently observed, that the signals, which were lighted at the sixth hour of the day, were seen at the third hour of the night by those who were the most remote[502]. Philonides, a courier of the above-mentioned Alexander, went from Sicyon to Elis, a distance of 1200 stadia, in nine hours, while he seldom returned until the third hour of the night, although the road was down-hill[503]. The reason is, that, in going, he followed the course of the sun, while on his return, in the opposite direction, he met the sun and left it behind him. For the same reason it is, that those who sail to the west, even on the shortest day, compensate for the difficulty of sailing in the night and go farther[504], because they sail in the same direction with the sun.

CHAP. 74. (72.)—REMARKS ON DIALS, AS CONNECTED WITH THIS SUBJECT.

The same dial-plates[505] cannot be used in all places, the shadow of the sun being sensibly different at distances of 300, or at most of 500 stadia[506]. Hence the shadow of the dial-pin, which is termed the gnomon, at noon and at the summer solstice, in Egypt, is a little more than half the length of the gnomon itself. At the city of Rome it is only ¹⁄₉ less than the gnomon, at Ancona not more than ¹⁄₃₅ less, while in the part of Italy which is called Venetia, at the same hour, the shadow is equal to the length of the gnomon[507].

CHAP. 75. (73.)—WHEN AND WHERE THERE ARE NO SHADOWS.

It is likewise said, that in the town of Syene, which is 5000 stadia south of Alexandria[508], there is no shadow at noon, on the day of the solstice; and that a well, which was sunk for the purpose of the experiment, is illuminated by the sun in every part. Hence it appears that the sun, in this place, is vertical, and Onesicritus informs us that this is the case, about the same time, in India, at the river Hypasis[509]. It is well known, that at Berenice, a city of the Troglodytæ, and 4820 stadia beyond that city, in the same country, at the town of Ptolemais, which was built on the Red Sea, when the elephant was first hunted, this same thing takes place for forty-five days before the solstice and for an equal length of time after it, and that during these ninety days the shadows are turned towards the south[510]. Again, at Meroë, an island in the Nile and the metropolis of the Æthiopians, which is 5000 stadia[511] from Syene, there are no shadows at two periods of the year, viz. when the sun is in the 18th degree of Taurus and in the 14th of Leo[512]. The Oretes, a people of India, have a mountain named Maleus[513], near which the shadows in summer fall towards the south and in winter towards the north. The seven stars of the Great Bear are visible there for fifteen nights only. In India also, in the celebrated sea-port Patale[514], the sun rises to the right hand and the shadows fall towards the south. While Alexander was staying there it was observed, that the seven northern stars were seen only during the early part of the night[515]. Onesicritus, one of his generals, informs us in his work, that in those places in India where there are no shadows, the seven stars are not visible[516]; these places, he says, are called “Ascia[517],” and the people there do not reckon the time by hours[518].

CHAP. 76. (74.)—-WHERE THIS TAKES PLACE TWICE IN THE YEAR AND WHERE THE SHADOWS FALL IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS.

Eratosthenes informs us, that in the whole of Troglodytice, for twice forty-five days in the year, the shadows fall in the contrary direction[519].

CHAP. 77. (75.)—WHERE THE DAYS ARE THE LONGEST AND WHERE THE SHORTEST.

Hence it follows, that in consequence of the daylight increasing in various degrees, in Meroë the longest day consists of twelve æquinoctial hours and eight parts of an hour[520], at Alexandria of fourteen hours, in Italy of fifteen, in Britain of seventeen; where the degree of light, which exists in the night, very clearly proves, what the reason of the thing also obliges us to believe, that, during the solstitial period, as the sun approaches to the pole of the world, and his orbit is contracted, the parts of the earth that lie below him have a day of six months long, and a night of equal length when he is removed to the south pole. Pytheas, of Marseilles[521], informs us, that this is the case in the island of Thule[522], which is six days’ sail from the north of Britain. Some persons also affirm that this is the case in Mona, which is about 200 miles from Camelodunum[523], a town of Britain.

CHAP. 78. (76.)—OF THE FIRST DIAL.

Anaximenes the Milesian, the disciple of Anaximander, of whom I have spoken above[524], discovered the theory of shadows and what is called the art of dialling, and he was the first who exhibited at Lacedæmon the dial which they call sciothericon[525].

CHAP. 79. (77.)—OF THE MODE IN WHICH THE DAYS ARE COMPUTED.

The days have been computed by different people in different ways. The Babylonians reckoned from one sunrise to the next; the Athenians from one sunset to the next; the Umbrians from noon to noon; the multitude, universally, from light to darkness; the Roman priests and those who presided over the civil day, also the Egyptians and Hipparchus, from midnight to midnight[526]. It appears that the interval from one sunrise to the next is less near the solstices than near the equinoxes, because the position of the zodiac is more oblique about its middle part, and more straight near the solstice[527].

CHAP. 80. (78.)—OF THE DIFFERENCE OF NATIONS AS DEPENDING ON THE NATURE OF THE WORLD.

To these circumstances we must add those that are connected with certain celestial causes. There can be no doubt, that the Æthiopians are scorched by their vicinity to the sun’s heat, and they are born, like persons who have been burned, with the beard and hair frizzled[528]; while, in the opposite and frozen parts of the earth, there are nations with white skins and long light hair. The latter are savage from the inclemency of the climate, while the former are dull from its variableness[529]. We learn, from the form of the legs, that in the one, the fluids, like vapour, are forced into the upper parts of the body, while in the other, being a gross humour, it is drawn downwards into the lower parts[530]. In the cold regions savage beasts are produced, and in the others, various forms of animals, and many kinds of birds[531]. In both situations the body grows tall, in the one case by the force of fire, and in the other by the nutritive moisture.

In the middle of the earth there is a salutary mixture of the two, a tract fruitful in all things, the habits of the body holding a mean between the two, with a proper tempering of colours; the manners of the people are gentle, the intellect clear[532], the genius fertile and capable of comprehending every part of nature. They have formed empires, which has never been done by the remote nations; yet these latter have never been subjected by the former, being severed from them and remaining solitary, from the effect produced on them by their savage nature.

CHAP. 81. (79.)—OF EARTHQUAKES.

According to the doctrine of the Babylonians, earthquakes and clefts of the earth, and occurrences of this kind, are supposed to be produced by the influence of the stars, especially of the three to which they ascribe thunder[533]; and to be caused by the stars moving with the sun, or being in conjunction with it, and, more particularly, when they are in the quartile aspect[534]. If we are to credit the report, a most admirable and immortal spirit, as it were of a divine nature, should be ascribed to Anaximander the Milesian, who, they say, warned the Lacedæmonians to beware of their city and their houses[535]. For he predicted that an earthquake was at hand, when both the whole of their city was destroyed and a large portion of Mount Taygetus, which projected in the form of a ship, was broken off, and added farther ruin to the previous destruction. Another prediction is ascribed to Pherecydes, the master of Pythagoras, and this was divine; by a draught of water from a well, he foresaw and predicted that there would be an earthquake in that place[536]. And if these things be true, how nearly do these individuals approach to the Deity, even during their lifetime! But I leave every one to judge of these matters as he pleases. I certainly conceive the winds to be the cause of earthquakes; for the earth never trembles except when the sea is quite calm, and when the heavens are so tranquil that the birds cannot maintain their flight, all the air which should support them being withdrawn[537]; nor does it ever happen until after great winds, the gust being pent up, as it were, in the fissures and concealed hollows. For the trembling of the earth resembles thunder in the clouds; nor does the yawning of the earth differ from the bursting of the lightning; the enclosed air struggling and striving to escape[538].

CHAP. 82. (80.)—OF CLEFTS OF THE EARTH.

The earth is shaken in various ways, and wonderful effects are produced[539]; in one place the walls of cities being thrown down, and in others swallowed up by a deep cleft[540]; sometimes great masses of earth are heaped up, and rivers forced out, sometimes even flame and hot springs[541], and at others the course of rivers is turned. A terrible noise precedes and accompanies the shock[542]; sometimes a murmuring, like the lowing of cattle, or like human voices, or the clashing of arms. This depends on the substance which receives the sound, and the shape of the caverns or crevices through which it issues; it being more shrill from a narrow opening, more hoarse from one that is curved, producing a loud reverberation from hard bodies, a sound like a boiling fluid[543] from moist substances, fluctuating in stagnant water, and roaring when forced against solid bodies. There is, therefore, often the sound without any motion. Nor is it a simple motion, but one that is tremulous and vibratory. The cleft sometimes remains, displaying what it has swallowed up; sometimes concealing it, the mouth being closed and the soil being brought over it, so that no vestige is left; the city being, as it were, devoured, and the tract of country engulfed. Maritime districts are more especially subject to shocks. Nor are mountainous tracts exempt from them; I have found, by my inquiries, that the Alps and the Apennines are frequently shaken. The shocks happen more frequently in the autumn and in the spring, as is the case also with thunder. There are seldom shocks in Gaul and in Egypt; in the latter it depends on the prevalence of summer, in the former, of winter. They also happen more frequently in the night than in the day. The greatest shocks are in the morning and the evening; but they often take place at day-break, and sometimes at noon. They also take place during eclipses of the sun and of the moon, because at that time storms are lulled. They are most frequent when great heat succeeds to showers, or showers succeed to great heat[544].

CHAP. 83. (81.)—SIGNS OF AN APPROACHING EARTHQUAKE.

There is no doubt that earthquakes are felt by persons on shipboard, as they are struck by a sudden motion of the waves, without these being raised by any gust of wind. And things that are in the vessels shake as they do in houses, and give notice by their creaking; also the birds, when they settle upon the vessels, are not without their alarms. There is also a sign in the heavens; for, when a shock is near at hand, either in the daytime or a little after sunset, a cloud is stretched out in the clear sky, like a long thin line[545]. The water in wells is also more turbid than usual, and it emits a disagreeable odour[546].

CHAP. 84. (82.)—PRESERVATIVES AGAINST FUTURE EARTHQUAKES.

These same places[547], however, afford protection, and this is also the case where there is a number of caverns, for they give vent to the confined vapour, a circumstance which has been remarked in certain towns, which have been less shaken where they have been excavated by many sewers. And, in the same town, those parts that are excavated[548] are safer than the other parts, as is understood to be the case at Naples in Italy, the part of it which is solid being more liable to injury. Arched buildings are also the most safe, also the angles of walls, the shocks counteracting each other; walls made of brick also suffer less from the shocks[549]. There is also a great difference in the nature of the motions[550], where various motions are experienced. It is the safest when it vibrates and causes a creaking in the building, and where it swells and rises upwards, and settles with an alternate motion. It is also harmless when the buildings coming together butt against each other in opposite directions, for the motions counteract each other. A movement like the rolling of waves is dangerous, or when the motion is impelled in one direction. The tremors cease when the vapour bursts out[551]; but if they do not soon cease, they continue for forty days; generally, indeed, for a longer time: some have lasted even for one or two years.