Chapter VIII: Introduction: Name and Purpose of the Work (4)

_Son._ I should indeed consider it highly informing, if I could remember all the things that you have now told me. I gather from your remarks, however, that you seem to think that I have asked about too many things in these our talks. But if you are not wearied with my questions, there still remains a little matter which, with your permission, I should like to ask about, one that also seems to belong to the knowledge of seafarers.

In a talk some time ago you said that whoever wishes to be a merchant ought to be prepared early in spring, and be careful not to remain out at sea too late in the autumn; but you did not indicate the earliest time in the spring when you think one may risk a journey over-seas to other countries, nor how late you consider it safe to sail the seas in autumn. You told how the ocean manages to quiet its storms, but you did not show under what circumstances it begins to grow restless. Therefore I would fain ask you again to answer this question, even if it does annoy you, for I think that a time may come when it will seem both needful to know this and instructive to understand it.

_Father._ The matters to which you are now referring can scarcely be grouped under one head; for the seas are not all alike, nor are they all of equal extent. Small seas have no great perils, and one may risk crossing them at almost any time; for one has to make sure of fair winds to last a day or two only, which is not difficult for men who understand the weather. And there are many lands where harbors are plentiful as soon as the shore is reached. If the circumstances are such that a man can wait for winds in a good haven or may confidently expect to find good harbors as soon as he has crossed, or if the sea is so narrow that he needs to provide for a journey of only a day or two, then he may venture to sail over such waters almost whenever he wishes. But where travel is beset with greater perils, whether because the sea is wide and full of dangerous currents, or because the prow points toward shores where the harbors are rendered insecure by rocks, breakers, shallows, or sand bars,—wherever the situation is such, one needs to use great caution; and no one should venture to travel over such waters when the season is late.

Now as to the time that you asked about, it seems to me most correct to say that one should hardly venture over-seas later than the beginning of October. For at that time the sea begins to grow very restless, and the tempests always increase in violence as autumn passes and winter approaches. And about the time when we date the sixteenth of October, the east wind begins to look sorrowful and thinks himself disgraced, now that his headgear, the golden crown, is taken away. He puts a cloud-covered hat on his head and breathes heavily and violently, as if mourning a recent loss. But when the southeast wind sees how vexed his neighbor is, he is stricken with a double grief: the one sorrow is that he fears the same deprivation as the east wind has suffered; the other is grief over the misfortunes of his good and estimable neighbor. Stirred by the distress of a resentful mind, he knits his brows under the hiding clouds and blows the froth violently about him. When the south wind sees the wrath of his near neighbors, he wraps himself in a cloud-lined mantle in which he conceals his treasures and his wealth of warm rays and blows vigorously as if in terrifying defence. And when the southwest wind observes how friendship has cooled, now that the truce is broken, he sobs forth his soul’s grief in heavy showers, rolls his eyes above his tear-moistened beard, puffs his cheeks under the cloudy helmet, blows the chilling scud violently forward, leads forth huge billows, wide-breasted waves, and breakers that yearn for ships, and orders all the tempests to dash forward in angry contest.

But when the west wind observes that a wrathful blast and a sorrowful sighing are coming across to him from the east, whence formerly he was accustomed to receive shining beams with festive gifts, he understands clearly that the covenant is broken and that all treaties are renounced. Deeply grieved and pained because of the unpeace, he puts on a black robe of mourning over which he pulls a cloud-gray cloak, and, sitting with wrinkled nose and pouting lips, he breathes heavily with regretful care. And when the ill-tempered northwest wind observes how sorrowful his neighbors look, and sees how he himself has suffered the loss of the evening beauty which he was formerly accustomed to display, he shows at once his temper in stern wrath: he knits his brows fiercely, throws rattling hail violently about, and sends forth the rolling thunder with terrifying gleams of lightning, thus displaying on his part a fearful and merciless anger. But when the north wind misses the friendliness and the kind gifts which he was wont to get from the south wind, he seeks out his hidden treasures and displays the wealth that he has most of: he brings out a dim sheen which glitters with frost, places an ice-cold helmet on his head above his frozen beard, and blows hard against the hail-bearing cloud-heaps. But the chill northeast wind sits wrathful with snowy beard and breathes coldly through his wind-swollen nostrils. Glaring fiercely under his rimy brows, he wrinkles his cheeks beneath his cold and cloudy temples, puffs his jowl with his icy tongue, and blows the piercing drift-snow vigorously forth.

But since peace has been broken among these eight chiefs and the winds are stirred to stormy violence, it is no longer advisable for men to travel over-seas from shore to shore because of great perils: the days shorten; the nights grow darker; the sea becomes restless; the waves grow stronger and the surf is colder; showers increase and storms arise; the breakers swell and the shores refuse good harbors; the sailors become exhausted, the lading is lost, and there is great and constant destruction of life due to a too great venturesomeness; souls are placed in perils of judgment because of recklessness and sudden death. Therefore all sensible men should beware and not venture upon the sea too late in the season; for there are many dangers to look out for and not one alone, if a man dares too much at such times. Consequently, the better plan is to sail while summer is at its best; for one is not likely to meet misfortune if there has been careful and wise forethought. But it would surely pass all expectations if that were to succeed which was foolishly advised and planned at the beginning, though sometimes the outcome may be favorable. I consider it a more sensible plan for a man to remain quiet as long as much danger may be looked for, and to enjoy during the winter in proper style and in restful leisure what he labored to win during the summer, than to risk in a little while through his own obstinate contriving the loss of all the profit which he strove to gain in the summer. But first of all a man must have care for his own person; for he can have no further profit, if it fares so ill that he himself goes under.

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XXIII

THE PROPER SEASON FOR NAVIGATION.
END OF THE FIRST PART

_Son._ I did wisely to continue my inquiries when we had our last talk; for you have given replies which will be useful as well as instructive for all who have the sense to understand and profit by such matters as we have discussed. But I wish to ask you again to tell me briefly how early in the spring and at what stated time you think one may venture to travel over-seas to other shores, just as I asked in my earlier inquiries.

_Father._ Men may venture out upon almost any sea except the largest as early as the beginning of April. For at the time when we date the sixteenth of March, the days lengthen, the sun rises higher, and the nights grow shorter. The north wind gently clears up the face of heaven with a light and cool breeze, brushes away the restless and storm-laden clouds, and with blithe persuasiveness asks for a new covenant. Then peace is renewed among the winds, for they all yearn for rest after the season of violent wrath and wearisome blasts; so they make a covenant once more in the way that we told earlier when we described the peace making. The showers cease, the waves sink to rest, the breakers flag, the swell of the noisy ocean dies away, all the storms weaken, and quiet follows upon restless turmoil.

Now I have done as you requested: I have pointed out the seasons with definite dates both in spring and fall, when it seems most advisable to brave the perils of the sea. I have also informed you as to the times that seem more suitable for rest than for travel. I have likewise described briefly the sources of light in the sky and the belts that are drawn across the heaven, those under which travel is difficult and those which allow travel. And if you keep carefully in mind all these things that I have discussed with you, you will never be counted among the ignorant navigators, if you shall decide to try the trader’s calling. My advice, therefore, is first to fix in your mind all the facts which you have now heard; and later you shall have a chance to ask further questions, if you should wish to do so.

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