Chapter XIV: Preface (2)

Furthermore, sometimes even the setting sun produces a rainbow; surely at that time, being near[30] the earth, he strikes the clouds on their lower side. And yet then, too, the bow is only a semicircle, though the clouds receive the sunlight on their lower and darker portions. The Stoics, who hold that the light is reflected in the cloud as 4 in a mirror, make the cloud hollow like the section of a ball. Such a mirror, being but part of a circle, cannot, they think, reproduce a whole circle. I give my adherence to the proposition, but I cannot agree to the argument in its support. For, if the whole figure of a circle placed opposite a concave mirror is reproduced in it, then there can surely be nothing to prevent the whole of a ball being seen in a semicircular circular mirror. Besides, we have already shown that 5 complete rings resembling a rainbow surround the sun and the moon at times. Why should the circle be complete in the halo, but never in the rainbow? And then again, why should the clouds that receive the sunlight be always hollow ones, and not sometimes flat or bulging?

[30] The common reading makes this adjective refer to clouds--the
clouds which are near the earth.

Aristotle says that rainbows are formed, after the autumnal equinox, at any hour of the day, but in summer only either in the early part of the day, or when the sun has begun to sink. The cause of this is obvious. In the first place, about midday the great heat of the sun 6 dispels the clouds: he cannot be reflected in the clouds which he breaks up. But in the early morning and as he sinks toward the west, his rays have less power, and can thus be resisted and reflected by the clouds. In the second place, the sun is not wont to form a bow except when he faces the clouds in which it is formed. When the days are 7 shortening in autumn, his rays are always slanting. Therefore, he has some clouds facing him that he can strike, at any part of the day, even at the hour at which he attains his meridian height. But in the summer season he sails right overhead. Therefore, in the great altitude of his midday course, he looks down on the earth too directly to encounter any clouds. He has them at that period all beneath him.

IX

I must now go on to speak of _Streaks_ (watergalls, sun-dogs), which 1 are as bright and varied as the rainbow, and commonly received by us as equally indicative of rain. No great labour need be spent in explaining them, for they are just incomplete rainbows. They have the variegated 2 appearance of the bow, but none of its curve. They lie in a straight line. They are formed near the sun, as a rule, in a moist cloud that has begun to break up. Thus, they have the same colour as is found in the rainbow, but there is a difference in the shape, due to the corresponding difference in the clouds over which they stretch.

X

There is a similar variety of colours in _Halos_. But there is this difference in the various phenomena: Halos are formed at any point in the sky, wherever there is a heavenly body; rainbows are not found except opposite the sun; streaks, only in the neighbourhood of the sun. I may express their difference in another way: Bisect a halo and you have a rainbow; make it a straight line and you have a streak. In all three there is the same multiplicity of colours, the scale running from dark blue to orange. Streaks, then, are found only close to the sun. Rainbows are all either solar or lunar. Halos are seen with all the heavenly bodies.

XI

Another kind of streak is visible when thin rays of bright light 1 equidistant from one another are shot out through narrow apertures in the clouds. These, too, are a prognostication of rain. How am I to express myself here? What shall I call them? Images of the sun? The chroniclers call them merely suns, and have put on record that they have been seen in twos and threes. The Greeks call them _Mock 2 Suns_ (parelia = beside the sun), because they are generally seen in proximity to the sun, and somewhat resemble the sun. They do not give a complete reproduction of the sun, but exhibit only his size and shape. They are dull, however, and languid without any of his heat. What name are we to apply to them? Shall I do as Virgil did---hesitating about the name, employ the very name which causes the hesitation?

And by what name[31] shall I call you, Rhaetian wine?
But yet you must not seek to compete with the Falernian bins.

[31] He has altered Virgil’s word “carmine” to “nomine” to suit his
meaning, or, as the editors say, _lapsu memoriae_.

There is no objection to my calling these, mock suns. They are, in fact, images of the sun formed in a thick cloud close to him after 3 the fashion of a mirror. Some writers define a mock sun as a cloud, round, bright, and resembling the sun. The mock sun follows the sun, and is never left farther behind him in his orbit than it was at its first appearance. None of us, I suppose, is surprised at seeing a reflection of the sun in some fountain or quiet lake. Well, his disc may be reflected in the heavens just as readily as on earth, if only the material is suitable to produce the reflection.

XII

Whenever we wish to observe an eclipse of the sun, we place on the 1 ground basins filled with oil or pitch. The thick liquid is not easily disturbed, and therefore retains the images it receives. Images, I may observe, cannot be seen except in a liquid at rest. Then we are in the habit of noting how the moon obstructs the sun, and by the interposition of her body hides his, which is so much larger, sometimes partially, if it so fall out that she only encounter a portion of his orb, sometimes completely. The latter is called a total eclipse: it quite shuts out the light and shows us the stars; it occurs when the 2 centre of the two bodies lies in the same straight line. Now, just as the image of both sun and moon can be seen on earth, so it is in the case of mock suns in the atmosphere. The still air is so compact and yet clear that it can receive the sun’s likeness. Other clouds receive it, but let it go if they are either in motion, or thin, or black. The moving clouds disperse it, the rare let it slip, the black and impure do not take the impress of it, just as on earth soiled objects do not reflect an image.

XIII

Mock suns are wont to be formed in pairs and on the same principle. 1 There is nothing, in fact, to prevent the formation of as many as there are clouds suitable for exhibiting an image of the sun. Some writers are inclined to hold that when two such phantoms are visible, one arises directly from the sun, the other from his image. For, to use an illustration from common experience, when several mirrors are so arranged that one is in sight of the other, all reflect the same image; but only one is directly from the original, the rest are reflections of images. The nature of the object presented to the mirror makes 2 no difference in the effect. Whatever it sees it reproduces. So, up on high there, if some chance has so disposed the clouds that they face one another, one of them reflects the image of the sun, the other the image of his image. The clouds that produce this effect must be dense, smooth, bright and flat, analogous in character to the sun. All phantoms of this kind are white and resemble so many discs of the moon, for the reason that the sun’s light that they receive and reflect back is always oblique. If the cloud, on the contrary, is beneath the 3 sun and too near him, his rays dispel it: or again, if situated too far away, it does not reflect them nor produce any image. In ordinary experience in the same way mirrors withdrawn to a distance from us do not reproduce our features because our sight cannot carry back to us from them.

These suns, too--to employ the name given by the chroniclers,--are an indication of rain, especially if they have their position in a southern quarter, from which the most heavily-charged clouds chiefly come up. When such an image surrounds the sun on both sides, then, if we are to believe Aratus, a storm is brewing.

XIV

It is now high time that I ran over the other varieties of celestial 1 fires, whose forms are diverse one from the other. Sometimes there is a shooting star, sometimes there are glowing lights, which are occasionally stationary, sticking to one spot, and at times able to rush through the air. Several species of these may be observed. There are, for example, _Bothynae_ (cave-like meteors) when within an outer circle there is a blazing gulf in the sky like a circular grotto excavated in it. Then there are _Pithitae_ (barrel-shaped meteors) when a vast circular mass of fire like a cask either rushes through the sky, or blazes away in one spot. There are _Chasmata_ (chasms), too, when 2 there is a subsidence of some portion of the heavens, which sends out hissing flame, as it were, from its hidden recesses. There are also a great number of colours in all these. Some are of brightest red, some of light insubstantial flame, some of white light, some glittering, some with a uniform glow of orange without sparks or rays. We see, therefore,

The stars’ long tracks that gleam white behind.

These stars, for so they appear to be, dart forth and flit across 3 the sky, and by reason of their extraordinary rapidity seem to leave a long trail of fire. Our sight cannot follow their course, and wherever their career leads we imagine the heaven is all on fire. Such is the swiftness of their flight that its separate portions are not distinguished and it can be grasped only as a whole. We are aware rather of the quarter in which the star appears than of its route. It, therefore, seems to mark its entire course with a line of continuous 4 fire, because the slowness of our vision fails to keep pace with the stages of its career and sees at the same moment the start and the finish; as happens in a flash of lightning, the fire seems a long train because the meteor traverses its path rapidly and the space through which it falls presents itself to our eyes as a whole. But, as a matter of fact, the fire does not extend itself all through the space crossed by the meteor. Nor have such long thin bodies strength enough for the 5 effort. How, then, it may be asked, do they issue forth? The answer is, the fire is kindled by the friction of the atmosphere and is urged headlong by the wind. Still, it does not always arise from wind or friction. Sometimes its origin is due to certain peculiar conditions in the atmosphere; for on high there are many elements, dry and hot and earthy, among which fire is generated. It then streams down in pursuit of fuel to sustain it, and therefore is hurried rapidly along. The reason for the differences of colour it presents lies in the 6 nature of the material set on fire and in the degree of violence of the conflagration. A falling body of this kind betokens wind, which may be looked for in the quarter in which the meteor has burst out.

XV

How, some one further inquires, are those bright gleams of light 1 which the Greeks call _Sela_ (luminosities) produced? In many ways, people say. They may arise from the violence of the winds, or from the fervent heat of the upper heavens. Fire is a very widely diffused element there, and sometimes catches the lower regions if they are combustible. The mere motion of the stars in their courses may kindle fire, and convey it to all that lies beneath them. Nay, is it not quite possible that the atmosphere should drive up even to the ether the germs of fire, from which may arise a glow or burning or darting resembling a star? Some of these gleams rush headlong like shooting 2 stars, some remain fixed in their place, emitting light sufficient to dispel darkness and reinstate daylight, until their fuel is used up, and they gradually grow dimmer, and by and by, just like a flame which is dying out, are by gradual subsidence reduced to nothingness. Some of these appear in the clouds, some above them: in such cases the thick 3 air nearer the earth feeds them for a long time, but eventually forces them right up to the stars. Certain of these last no considerable time: they straightway dart across the sky, or are extinguished just at their point of origin. These are called gleams because their appearance is fitful and short-lived, though their fall is not always unattended by injury: they have often caused as much damage as lightning. One has seen houses struck by them, what the Greeks call _astrapoplecta_[32] (= star-struck). Those that have a longer career and a stronger fire 4 which follows the motion of the heavens, or those that pursue an orbit of their own, are regarded by the Stoic philosophers as Comets: of which more anon. Different kinds of these are _pogoniae_ (bearded), _lampades_ (torches), and _cyparissiae_ (like cypress trees), and all the rest of them: they have a thin tail of fire. It is doubtful whether beams (_trabes_) and the rare barrel-meteors (_pithitae_) should be placed in this category or not. Such meteors require a great mass of 5 fire, since their immense orb sometimes surpasses in size that of the morning sun.

[32] The term might also mean _struck by lightning_. A commoner
reading gives the meaning: which, when grazed by this means, the
Greeks called plecta (= struck).

Among these should certainly be placed a phenomenon of which we often read in the chronicles--the heavens appeared to be on fire. The blaze of it is occasionally so high as to mount to the very stars; occasionally it is so low as to present the appearance of a distant fire. In the reign of Tiberius Caesar the fire brigade hurried off 6 to the relief of the colony at Ostia, supposing it to be in flames; during the greater part of the night there had been a dull glow in the sky, which appeared to proceed from a thick smoky fire. No one has any doubt that these burnings in the heavens contain flame as really as they display it: they have a certain substance in them. As to those formerly discussed, I mean rainbows and halos, it is a 7 question whether they deceive the sight and consist of an illusion; or really contain what appears in them. I and those who think with me cannot convince ourselves that the rainbow and halo have a basis of any definite material in them. For we judge that in a mirror there is nothing but a deception: the mirror only pretends to show a foreign body. What is revealed does not exist _in_ the mirror. Otherwise 8 it would not come out of it, nor would it be forthwith obscured by another image: nor would innumerable forms now fade from it, now be received by it. What follows, then? That these are mere phantoms and the insubstantial imitation of real bodies. Indeed, in certain instances, people have so arranged mirrors that the objects have been distorted and degraded in the reflection. For, as I have already said, there are some mirrors that twist the faces of those who look into them, some that enormously increase them until they exceed all size and proportions of these bodies of ours.

XVI

At this point I wish to tell you a little story to show you how 1 unscrupulous lust is in seizing every instrument that will rouse passion: so resourceful is it in goading to madness its own morbid fury. There was one Hostius Quadra whose obscenity formed a model for everything that was lewd on the stage. He was rich and avaricious, a very slave to his millions. He was eventually murdered by his own slaves, but the late Emperor Augustus considered his murder undeserving of punishment, and as good as declared that he had been justly slain. This man’s lust knew no distinction of sex. Among other things, he 2 had mirrors constructed of the kind just mentioned, that reflected images of abnormal size, causing, for example, a finger to exceed the size of an arm in length and thickness. He so arranged his mirrors that he could see all his accomplices’ movements, and could gloat over the imagined proportions of his own body. He raised a levy of scamps 3 like himself in all the public baths, where he chose men of the regulation height; this but whetted his appetite to have his scenes of riot reproduced in false unnatural proportions. Go to, you that say the mirror was invented for purposes of adornment! I could not soil my pen by recording the foul words and deeds of that monster: he deserved to be torn by his own jaws. To aggravate his guilt, mirrors faced him on every side that he might be a witness of his own infamy. Deeds of darkness, which lie heavy on the conscience, the 4 imputation of which ordinary men will indignantly spurn, weighed so lightly with him that he thrust them before his face, and into his very eyes. Crimes, in faith, usually dread the sight of themselves. Even in those lost to shame, and exposed to every insult, the eye is still delicately susceptible. But that beast thought his unparalleled wickedness but a trifle; he summoned his eyes to witness it. Aye, not content with seeing his sin, he surrounded himself with mirrors to multiply and group his scenes of vice. Even when he could not see 5 directly, he employed the reflecting power of the mirrors to reveal scenes of revolting and abominable iniquity. The filthy blackguard left nothing that could be called a deed of _darkness_. He had no 6 dread of the daylight, but complacently applauded himself in all his bestial vice. Now, don’t you think he would have liked to have his portrait painted in that attitude? The ministers of public vice draw the veil of modesty over them in part: in fact, a house of ill-fame is in some degree shame-faced But that brute had made an exhibition of 7 his obscenity, and presented to his own sight what the darkest night is not deep enough to hide. I will be out and out bad, was the monster’s resolve; my eyes must share my lust, they must witness and superintend! By my art I will defeat nature’s shyness: nobody must imagine that I 8 do not know what I am about! Nature is niggardly to man, she is more generous to the cattle. I will find means to thwart her, and to indulge my little weakness. My lust shall go one better than nature. I will construct a mirrored chamber that will reflect shapes of enormous size. I only wish I could make the size real; but I must be content with 9 the belief of it. My vice must see more than it can compass, and must rest content with wonder at its own restraint.

Away with such a fellow! Perchance he met a speedy death even before he could gloat over the sight. He richly deserved to be offered up as a victim before his own mirror-idol.

XVII

Go now and laugh at the philosophers for discussing the nature of 1 the mirror and inquiring why our face is reflected in it, and is turned toward us too. What did nature mean by giving us real bodies and then ordaining that phantoms of them also should be visible? What was her purpose in providing material of the sort capable of receiving and returning images? Not, I trow, that we men might use a 2 looking-glass to pluck out the straggling hairs of our beard and polish up our face. Nature has never at any point merely provided resources for luxury. First of all, her motive was to show us the sun with his glare dulled, since our eyes are too weak to gaze at him direct, and without something to reflect him we should be wholly ignorant of his shape. No doubt one may study him as he rises and as he sets. But we 3 should know nothing of his true figure as he shines in fierce noonday brightness, without his softening ruddy glow, unless an image of him could be mirrored in some liquid where he shines less directly and is more easy to observe. In the second place, we should be unable to see or investigate the conjunction of two heavenly bodies, by which the daylight is wont to be interrupted, unless we could examine the reflections of sun and moon in basins on the ground with comparative freedom. In the third place, mirrors were discovered in order that 4 man might come to know himself.

Many benefits have ensued; first, the knowledge of self, after that, devices to secure specific results. The comely man was taught to shun conduct that would degrade him. The uncomely learned that bodily defects must be compensated by virtue of character. The young man was reminded by his vigour that youth was the time for learning and for performing daring deeds of chivalry. The grey-beard was warned to have respect for his hoary hair and turn his thoughts sometimes to death. It was for this that even objects in nature have afforded us the 5 opportunity of seeing ourselves.[33] A clear fountain or a smooth stone gives each back his image. In the poet’s words:

Lately I saw myself on the shore,
When the sea stood calm without a breath of wind.

[33] The meaning may be, In addition, _i.e._ to artificial mirrors,
objects in nature, etc.

What, think you, was the style of life of the people who dressed at a mirror of this kind? The age was unsophisticated, satisfied with what supplies chance presented. It did not as yet degrade a boon into a vice, or turn nature’s invention to purposes of lust and luxury. At first, chance revealed to each his form. In due time the inherent 6 self-love of mankind endeared the sight of their own figure, and they came to look more frequently into the mirror held up by nature in which they had first beheld their image. Later on, when a worse race of men ransacked the very bowels of the earth for treasure better hid more deeply, iron first came into use; its production might have caused no damage had the world produced only that one metal. But then in good 7 earnest were brought to light the other precious banes of earth. Their smooth surface presented the image of their possessors, who had in view some quite different purpose. One saw his reflection in a cup, another in a brass vessel procured for some ordinary use. Presently a round mirror was constructed specially to render this service: it was not as yet of polished silver, but of a common brittle ware. [33] The men of ancient days lived a homely life; they thought themselves smart enough if they washed off in the stream of the river the dirt contracted in their work. But even then they bestowed pains on dressing their hair and combing out their flowing beards. In this part of the toilet each attended to himself and at the same time helped his neighbour. The 8 thick streaming hair of the men, which it was of old the fashion to wear, was, of course, combed out by the wives. But sometimes they thought themselves handsome enough without any such artistic hand, and they just shook it out for themselves as spirited animals do their mane. Afterwards, when luxury had now gained sway, embossed mirrors of gold and silver of full-length size were made, and at last they were actually adorned with precious stones. One of these has ere now cost a woman more than the amount of a dowry given in the old days at the public expense to the penniless daughters of famous generals. Do you suppose Scipio’s daughters bought mirrors chased with gold 9 from the iron money that their dowry was paid in? Happy the poverty that gave occasion to earn such a title to glory! The Senate would not have dowered them if they had been able to afford mirrors. Whoever the man was to whom the Senate acted the part of father-in-law, he knew that he had got a wife that was above suspicion. Nowadays the whole of the dowry that the Roman people gave Scipio would not be enough to buy a single looking-glass for some of the loose, silly daughters of our freedmen! Luxury has been gradually developed merely by the 10 possession of wealth, and has now gone to oppressive lengths; therewith vices have received an immense accession of strength. In short, everything has got so mixed up through our perverted refinements that all that used to be regarded as the decoration of women has become part and parcel of the outfit of man; I am understating, it is now an essential portion of a soldier’s kit. The mirror was introduced for the sake of the toilet; nowadays there is no vice to which it is not an indispensable adjunct.