No More Learning

III

Roman poetry continued for no less than five centuries after the death
of Vergil--and by Roman poetry I mean a Latin poetry classical in form
and sentiment. But of these five centuries only two count. The second
and third centuries A. D. are a Dark Age dividing the silver twilight of
the century succeeding the age of Horace from the brief but brilliant
Renaissance of the fourth century: and in the fifth century we pass into
a new darkness. The infection of the Augustan tradition is sufficiently
powerful in the first century to give the impulse to poetic work of high
and noble quality. And six considerable names adorn the period from Nero
to Domitian. Of these the greatest are perhaps those of Seneca, Lucan,
and Martial. All three are of Spanish origin: and it is perhaps to their
foreign blood that they owe the genius which redeems their work from its
very obvious faults. It is the fashion to decry Seneca and Lucan as mere
rhetoricians. Yet in both there is something greater and deeper than
mere rhetoric. They move by habit grandly among large ideas. Life is
still deep and tremendous and sonorous. Their work has a certain Titanic
quality. We judge their poetry too much by their biography, and their
biography too little in relation to the terrible character of their
times.
Martial is a poet of a very different order. Yet in an inferior
_genre_ he is supreme. No other poet in any language has the same
never-failing grace and charm and brilliance, the same arresting
ingenuity, an equal facility and finish. We speak of his faults, yet, if
the truth must be told, his poetry is faultless--save for one fault: its
utter want of moral character. The three other great names of the period
are Statius, Silius, and Valerius. Poets of great talent but no genius,
they 'adore the footsteps' of an unapproachable master. Religiously
careful artists, they see the world through the eyes of others. Sensible
to the effects of Greatness, they have never touched and handled it.
They know it only from the poets whom they imitate. The four winds of
life have never beat upon their decorous faces. We would gladly give the
best that they offer us--and it is often of fine quality--for something
much inferior in art but superior in the indefinable qualities of
freshness and gusto. The exhaustion of the period is well seen in
Juvenal--in the jaded relish of his descriptions of vice, in the
complete unreality of his moral code, in a rhetoric which for ever just
misses the fine effects which it laboriously calculates.

The second century is barren. Yet we are dimly aware in the reign of
Hadrian of an abortive Revival. We hear of a school of _neoterici_: and
these _neoterici_ aimed at just what was needed--greater freshness and
life. They experimented in metre, and they experimented in language.