Trips to the Moon - Lucian
The multitude perhaps, indeed, may admire such things; but the
judicious few whose opinion you despise will always laugh at what is
absurd, incongruous, and inconsistent. Everything has a beauty
peculiar to itself; but if you put one instead of another, the most
beautiful becomes ugly, because it is not in its proper place. I
need not add, that praise is agreeable only to the person praised,
and disgustful to everybody else, especially when it is lavishly
bestowed; as is the practice of most writers, who are so extremely
desirous of recommending themselves by flattery, and dwell so much
upon it as to convince the reader it is mere adulation, which they
have not art enough to conceal, but heap up together, naked,
uncovered, and totally incredible, so that they seldom gain what
they expected from it; for the person flattered, if he has anything
noble or manly in him, only abhors and despises them for it as mean
parasites. Aristobulus, after he had written an account of the
single combat between Alexander and Porus, showed that monarch a
particular part of it, wherein, the better to get into his good
graces, he had inserted a great deal more than was true; when
Alexander seized the book and threw it (for they happened at that
time to be sailing on the Hydaspes) directly into the river:
"Thus," said he, "ought you to have been served yourself for
pretending to describe my battles, and killing half a dozen
elephants for me with a single spear." This anger was worthy of
Alexander, of him who could not bear the adulation of that architect
{29} who promised to transform Mount Athos into a statue of him; but
he looked upon the man from that time as a base flatterer, and never
employed him afterwards.
What is there in this custom, therefore, that can be agreeable,
unless to the proud and vain; to deformed men or ugly women, who
insist on being painted handsome, and think they shall look better
if the artist gives them a little more red and white! Such, for the
most part, are the historians of our times, who sacrifice everything
to the present moment and their own interest and advantage; who can
only be despised as ignorant flatterers of the age they live in; and
as men, who, at the same time, by their extravagant stories, make
everything which they relate liable to suspicion. If
notwithstanding any are still of opinion, that the agreeable should
be admitted in history, let them join that which is pleasant with
that which is true, by the beauties of style and diction, instead of
foisting in, as is commonly done, what is nothing to the purpose.
I will now acquaint you with some things I lately picked up in Ionia
and Achaia, from several historians, who gave accounts of this war.
By the graces I beseech you to give me credit for what I am going to
tell you, as I could swear to the truth of it, if it were polite to
swear in a dissertation. One of these gentlemen begins by invoking
the Muses, and entreats the goddesses to assist him in the
performance. What an excellent setting out and how properly is this
form of speech adapted to history! A little farther on, he compares
our emperor to Achilles, and the Persian king to Thersites; not
considering that his Achilles would have been a much greater man if
he had killed Hector rather than Thersites; if the brave should fly,
he who pursues must be braver. Then follows an encomium on himself,
showing how worthy he is to recite such noble actions; and when he
is got on a little, he extols his own country, Miletus, adding that
in this he had acted better than Homer, who never tells us where he
was born. He informs us, moreover, at the end of his preface, in
the most plain and positive terms, that he shall take care to make
the best he can of our own affairs, and, as far as lies in his
power, to get the upper hand of our enemies the barbarians. After
investigating the cause of the war, he begins thus: "That vilest of
all wretches, Vologesus, entered upon the war for these reasons."
Such is this historian's manner. Another, a close imitator of
Thucydides, that he may set out as his master does, gives us an
exordium that smells of the true Attic honey, and begins thus:
"Creperius Calpurnianus, a citizen of Pompeia, hath written the
history of the war between the Parthians and the Romans, showing how
they fought with one another, commencing at the time when it first
broke out." After this, need I inform you how he harangued in
Armenia, by another Corcyraean orator? or how, to be revenged of the
Nisibaeans for not taking part with the Romans, he sent the plague
amongst them, taking the whole from Thucydides, excepting the long
walls of Athens. He had begun from AEthiopia, descended into Egypt,
and passed over great part of the royal territory. Well it was that
he stopped there. When I left him, he was burying the miserable
Athenians at Nisibis; but as I knew what he was going to tell us, I
took my leave of him.
Another thing very common with these historians is, by way of
imitating Thucydides, to make use of his phrases, perhaps with a
little alteration, to adopt his manner, in little modes and
expressions, such as, "you must yourself acknowledge," "for the same
reason," "a little more, and I had forgot," and the like. This same
writer, when he has occasion to mention bridges, fosses, or any of
the machines used in war, gives them Roman names; but how does it
suit the dignity of history, or resemble Thucydides, to mix the
Attic and Italian thus, as if it was ornamental and becoming?
Another of them gives us a plain simple journal of everything that
was done, such as a common soldier might have written, or a sutler
who followed the camp. This, however, was tolerable, because it
pretended to nothing more; and might be useful by supplying
materials for some better historian. I only blame him for his
pompous introduction: "Callimorphus, physician to the sixth legion
of spearmen, his history of the Parthian war." Then his books are
all carefully numbered, and he entertains us with a most frigid
preface, which he concludes with saying that "a physician must be
the fittest of all men to write history, because AEsculapius was the
son of Apollo, and Apollo is the leader of the Muses, and the great
prince of literature."
Besides this, after setting out in delicate Ionic, he drops, I know
not how, into the most vulgar style and expressions, used only by
the very dregs of the people.
And here I must not pass over a certain wise man, whose name,
however, I shall not mention; his work is lately published at
Corinth, and is beyond everything one could have conceived. In the
very first sentence of his preface he takes his readers to task, and
convinces them by the most sagacious method of reasoning that "none
but a wise man should ever attempt to write history." Then comes
syllogism upon syllogism; every kind of argument is by turns made
use of, to introduce the meanest and most fulsome adulation; and
even this is brought in by syllogism and interrogation. What
appeared to me the most intolerable and unbecoming the long beard of
a philosopher, was his saying in the preface that our emperor was
above all men most happy, whose actions even philosophers did not
disdain to celebrate; surely this, if it ought to be said at all,
should have been left for us to say rather than himself.
Neither must we here forget that historian who begins thus: "I come
to speak of the Romans and Persians;" and a little after he says,
"for the Persians ought to suffer;" and in another place, "there was
one Osroes, whom the Greeks call Oxyrrhoes," with many things of
this kind. This man is just such a one as him I mentioned before,
only that one is like Thucydides, and the other the exact
resemblance of Herodotus.
But there is yet another writer, renowned for eloquence, another
Thucydides, or rather superior to him, who most elaborately
describes every city, mountain, field, and river, and cries out with
all his might, "May the great averter of evil turn it all on our
enemies!" This is colder than Caspian snow, or Celtic ice. The
emperor's shield takes up a whole book to describe. The Gorgon's
{35} eyes are blue, and black, and white; the serpents twine about
his hair, and his belt has all the colours of the rainbow. How many
thousand lines does it cost him to describe Vologesus's breeches and
his horse's bridle, and how Osroes' hair looked when he swam over
the Tigris, what sort of a cave he fled into, and how it was shaded
all over with ivy, and myrtle, and laurel, twined together. You
plainly see how necessary this was to the history, and that we could
not possibly have understood what was going forward without it.
From inability, and ignorance of everything useful, these men are
driven to descriptions of countries and caverns, and when they come
into a multiplicity of great and momentous affairs, are utterly at a
loss. Like a servant enriched on a sudden by coming into his
master's estate, who does not know how to put on his clothes, or to
eat as he should do; but when fine birds, fat sows, and hares are
placed before him, falls to and eats till he bursts, of salt meat
and pottage. The writer I just now mentioned describes the
strangest wounds, and the most extraordinary deaths you ever heard
of; tells us of a man's being wounded in the great toe, and expiring
immediately; and how on Priscus, the general, bawling out loud,
seven-and-twenty of the enemy fell down dead upon the spot. He has
told lies, moreover, about the number of the slain, in contradiction
to the account given in by the leaders. He will have it that
seventy thousand two hundred and thirty-six of the enemy died at
Europus, and of the Romans only two, and nine wounded. Surely
nobody in their senses can bear this.
Another thing should be mentioned here also, which is no little
fault. From the affectation of Atticism, and a more than ordinary
attention to purity of diction, he has taken the liberty to turn the
Roman names into Greek, to call Saturninus, [Greek], Chronius;
Fronto, [Greek], Frontis; Titianus, [Greek], Titanius, and others
still more ridiculous. With regard to the death of Severian, he
informs us that everybody else was mistaken when they imagined that
he perished by the sword, for that the man starved himself to death,
as he thought that the easiest way of dying; not knowing (which was
the case) that he could only have fasted three days, whereas many
have lived without food for seven; unless we are to suppose that
Osroes stood waiting till Severian had starved himself completely,
and for that reason he would not live out the whole week.
But in what class, my dear Philo, shall we rank those historians who
are perpetually making use of poetical expressions, such as "the
engine crushed, the wall thundered," and in another place, "Edessa
resounded with the shock of arms, and all was noise and tumult
around;" and again, "often the leader in his mind revolved how best
he might approach the wall." At the same time amongst these were
interspersed some of the meanest and most beggarly phrases, such as
"the leader of the army epistolised his master," "the soldiers
bought utensils," "they washed and waited on them," with many other
things of the same kind, like a tragedian with a high cothurnus on
one foot and a slipper on the other. You will meet with many of
these writers, who will give you a fine heroic long preface, that
makes you hope for something extraordinary to follow, when after
all, the body of the history shall be idle, weak, and trifling, such
as puts you in mind of a sporting Cupid, who covers his head with
the mask of a Hercules or Titan. The reader immediately cries out,
"The mountain {39} has brought forth!" Certainly it ought not to be
so; everything should be alike and of the same colour; the body
fitted to the head, not a golden helmet, with a ridiculous breast-
plate made of stinking skins, shreds, and patches, a basket shield,
and hog-skin boots; and yet numbers of them put the head of a
Rhodian Colossus on the body of a dwarf, whilst others show you a
body without a head, and step directly into the midst of things,
bringing in Xenophon for their authority, who begins with "Darius
and Parysatis had two sons;" so likewise have other ancient writers;
not considering that the narration itself may sometimes supply the
place of preface, or exordium, though it does not appear to the
vulgar eye, as we shall show hereafter.
All this, however, with regard to style and composition, may be
borne with, but when they misinform us about places, and make
mistakes, not of a few leagues, but whole day's journeys, what shall
we say to such historians? One of them, who never, we may suppose,
so much as conversed with a Syrian, or picked up anything concerning
them in the barbers' {40} shop, when he speaks of Europus, tells us,
"it is situated in Mesopotamia, two days' journey from Euphrates,
and was built by the Edessenes." Not content with this, the same
noble writer has taken away my poor country, Samosata, and carried
it off, tower, bulwarks, and all, to Mesopotamia, where he says it
is shut up between two rivers, which at least run close to, if they
do not wash the walls of it. After this, it would be to no purpose,
my dear Philo, for me to assure you that I am not from Parthia, nor
do I belong to Mesopotamia, of which this admirable historian has
thought fit to make me an inhabitant.
What he tells us of Severian, and which he swears he heard from
those who were eye-witnesses of it, is no doubt extremely probable;
that he did not choose to drink poison, or to hang himself, but was
resolved to find out some new and tragical way of dying; that
accordingly, having some large cups of very fine glass, as soon as
he had taken the resolution to finish himself, he broke one of them
in pieces, and with a fragment of it cut his throat; he would not
make use of sword or spear, that his death might be more noble and
heroic.
To complete all, because Thucydides {41} made a funeral oration on
the heroes who fell at the beginning of the Peloponnesian war, he
also thought something should be said of Severian. These
historians, you must know, will always have a little struggle with
Thucydides, though he had nothing to do with the war in Armenia; our
writer, therefore, after burying Severian most magnificently, places
at his sepulchre one Afranius Silo, a centurion, the rival of
Pericles, who spoke so fine a declamation upon him as, by heaven,
made me laugh till I cried again, particularly when the orator
seemed deeply afflicted, and with tears in his eyes, lamented the
sumptuous entertainments and drinking bouts which he should no more
partake of. To crown all with an imitation of Ajax, {42} the orator
draws his sword, and, as it became the noble Afranius, before all
the assembly, kills himself at the tomb. So Mars defend me! but he
deserved to die much sooner for making such a declamation. When
those, says he, who were present beheld this, they were filled with
admiration, and beyond measure extolled Afranius. For my own part,
I pitied him for the loss of the cakes and dishes which he so
lamented, and only blamed him for not destroying the writer of the
history before he made an end of himself.
Others there are who, from ignorance and want of skill, not knowing
what should be mentioned, and what passed over in silence, entirely
omit or slightly run through things of the greatest consequence, and
most worthy of attention, whilst they most copiously describe and
dwell upon trifles; which is just as absurd as it would be not to
take notice of or admire the wonderful beauty of the Olympian
Jupiter, {43} and at the same time to be lavish in our praises of
the fine polish, workmanship, and proportion of the base and
pedestal.
I remember one of these who despatches the battle at Europus in
seven lines, and spends some hundreds in a long frigid narration,
that is nothing to the purpose, showing how "a certain Moorish
cavalier, wandering on the mountains in search of water, lit on some
Syrian rustics, who helped him to a dinner; how they were afraid of
him at first, but afterwards became intimately acquainted with him,
and received him with hospitality; for one of them, it seems, had
been in Mauritania, where his brother bore arms." Then follows a
long tale, "how he hunted in Mauritania, and saw several elephants
feeding together; how he had like to have been devoured by a lion;
and how many fish he bought at Caesarea." This admirable historian
takes no notice of the battle, the attacks or defences, the truces,
the guards on each side, or anything else; but stands from morning
to night looking upon Malchion, the Syrian, who buys cheap fish at
Caesarea: if night had not come on, I suppose he would have supped
there, as the chars {44} were ready. If these things had not been
carefully recorded in the history we should have been sadly in the
dark, and the Romans would have had an insufferable loss, if
Mausacas, the thirsty Moor, could have found nothing to drink, or
returned to the camp without his supper; not to mention here, what
is still more ridiculous, as how "a piper came up to them out of the
neighbouring village, and how they made presents to each other,
Mausacas giving Malchion a spear, and Malchion presenting Mausacas
with a buckle." Such are the principal occurrences in the history
of the battle of Europus. One may truly say of such writers that
they never saw the roses on the tree, but took care to gather the
prickles that grew at the bottom of it.
Another of them, who had never set a foot out of Corinth, or seen
Syria or Armenia, begins thus: "It is better to trust our eyes than
our ears; I write, therefore, what I have seen, and not what I have
heard;" he saw everything so extremely well that he tells us, "the
Parthian dragons (which amongst them signifies no more than a great
number, {45} for one dragon brings a thousand) are live serpents of
a prodigious size, that breed in Persia, a little above Iberia; that
these are lifted up on long poles, and spread terror to a great
distance; and that when the battle begins, they let them loose on
the enemy." Many of our soldiers, he tells us, were devoured by
them, and a vast number pressed to death by being locked in their
embraces: this he beheld himself from the top of a high tree, to
which he had retired for safety. Well it was for us that he so
prudently determined not to come nigh them; we might otherwise have
lost this excellent writer, who with his own brave hand performed
such feats in this battle; for he went through many dangers, and was
wounded somewhere about Susa, I suppose, in his journey from Cranium
to Lerna. All this he recited to the Corinthians, who very well
knew that he had never so much as seen a view of this battle painted
on a wall; neither did he know anything of arms, or military
machines, the method of disposing troops, or even the proper names
of them. {46}
Another famous writer has given an account of everything that
passed, from beginning to end, in Armenia, Syria, Mesopotamia, upon
the Tigris, and in Media, and all in less than five hundred lines;
and when he had done this, tells us, he has written a history. The
title, which is almost as long as the work, runs thus: "A narrative
of everything done by the Romans in Armenia, Media, and Mesopotamia,
by Antiochianus, who gained a prize in the sacred games of Apollo."
I suppose, when he was a boy, he had conquered in a running match.
I have heard of another likewise, who wrote a history of what was to
happen hereafter, {47} and describes the taking of Vologesus
prisoner, the murder of Osroes, and how he was to be given to a
lion; and above all, our own much-to-be-wished-for triumph, as
things that must come to pass. Thus prophesying away, he soon got
to the end of the story. He has built, moreover, a new city in
Mesopotamia, most magnificently magnificent, and most beautifully
beautiful, and is considering with himself whether he shall call it
Victoria, from victory, or the City of Concord, or Peace, which of
them, however, is not yet determined, and this fine city must remain
without a name, filled as it is with nothing but this writer's folly
and nonsense. He is now going about a long voyage, and to give us a
description of what is to be done in India; and this is more than a
promise, for the preface is already made, and the third legion, the
Gauls, and a small part of the Mauritanian forces under Cassius,
have already passed the river; what they will do afterwards, or how
they will succeed against the elephants, it will be some time before
our wonderful writer can be able to learn, either from Mazuris or
the Oxydraci.
Thus do these foolish fellows trifle with us, neither knowing what
is fit to be done, nor if they did, able to execute it, at the same
time determined to say anything that comes into their ridiculous
heads; affecting to be grand and pompous, even in their titles: of
"the Parthian victories so many books;" Parthias, says another, like
Atthis; another more elegantly calls his book the Parthonicica of
Demetrius.
I could mention many more of equal merit with these, but shall now
proceed to make my promise good, and give some instructions how to
write better. I have not produced these examples merely to laugh at
and ridicule these noble histories; but with the view of real
advantages, that he who avoids their errors, may himself learn to
write well--if it be true, as the logicians assert, that of two
opposites, between which there is no medium, the one being taken
away, the other must remain. {49}
Somebody, perhaps, will tell me that the field is now cleansed and
weeded, that the briars and brambles are cut up, the rubbish cleared
off, and the rough path made smooth; that I ought therefore to build
something myself, to show that I not only can pull down the
structures of others, but am able to raise up and invent a work
truly great and excellent, which nobody could find fault with, nor
Momus himself turn into ridicule.
I say, therefore, that he who would write history well must be
possessed of these two principal qualifications, a fine
understanding and a good style: one is the gift of nature, and
cannot be taught; the other may be acquired by frequent exercise,
perpetual labour and an emulation of the ancients. To make men
sensible and sagacious, who were not born so, is more than I pretend
to; to create and new-model things in this manner would be a
glorious thing indeed; but one might as easily make gold out of
lead, silver out of tin, a Titornus out of a Conon, or a Milo out of
a Leotrophides. {50}
What then is in the power of art or instruction to perform? not to
create qualities and perfections already bestowed, but to teach the
proper use of them; for as Iccus, Herodicus, Theon, {51} or any
other famous wrestler, would not promise to make Antiochus a
conqueror in the Olympic games, or equal to a Theagenes, or
Polydamas; but only that where a man had natural abilities for this
exercise he could, by his instruction, render him a greater
proficient in it: far be it from me, also, to promise the invention
of an art so difficult as this, nor do I say that I can make anybody
an historian; but that I will point out to one of good
understanding, and who has been in some measure used to writing,
certain proper paths (if such they appear to him), which if any man
shall tread in, he may with greater ease and despatch do what he
ought to do, and attain the end which he is in pursuit of.
Neither can it be here asserted, be he ever so sensible or
sagacious, that he doth not stand in need of assistance with regard
to those things which he is ignorant of; otherwise he might play on
the flute or any other instrument, who had never learned, and
perform just as well; but without teaching, the hands will do
nothing; whereas, if there be a master, we quickly learn, and are
soon able to play by ourselves.
Give me a scholar, therefore, who is able to think and to write, to
look with an eye of discernment into things, and to do business
himself, if called upon, who hath both civil and military knowledge;
one, moreover, who has been in camps, and has seen armies in the
field and out of it; knows the use of arms, and machines, and
warlike engines of every kind; can tell what the front, and what the
horn is, how the ranks are to be disposed, how the horse is to be
directed, and from whence to advance or to retreat; one, in short,
who does not stay at home and trust to the reports of others: but,
above all, let him be of a noble and liberal mind; let him neither
fear nor hope for anything; otherwise he will only resemble those
unjust judges who determine from partiality or prejudice, and give
sentence for hire: but, whatever the man is, as such let him be
described. The historian must not care for Philip, when he loses
his eye by the arrow of Aster, {53a} at Olynthus, nor for Alexander,
when he so cruelly killed Clytus at the banquet: Cleon must not
terrify him, powerful as he was in the senate, and supreme at the
tribunal, nor prevent his recording him as a furious and pernicious
man; the whole city of Athens must not stop his relation of the
Sicilian slaughter, the seizure of Demosthenes, {53b} the death of
Nicias, their violent thirst, the water which they drank, and the
death of so many of them whilst they were drinking it. He will
imagine (which will certainly be the case) that no man in his senses
will blame him for recording things exactly as they fell out.
However some may have miscarried by imprudence, or others by ill
fortune, he is only the relator, not the author of them. If they
are beaten in a sea-fight, it is not he who sinks them; if they fly,
it is not he who pursues them; all he can do is to wish well to, and
offer up his vows for them; but by passing over or contradicting
facts, he cannot alter or amend them. It would have been very easy
indeed for Thucydides, with a stroke of his pen, to have thrown down
the walls of Epipolis, sunk the vessel of Hermocrates, or made an
end of the execrable Gylippus, who stopped up all the avenues with
his walls and ditches; to have thrown the Syracusans on the
Lautumiae, and have let the Athenians go round Sicily and Italy,
according to the early hopes of Alcibiades: but what is past and
done Clotho cannot weave again, nor Atropos recall.