Showing posts with label Parents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parents. Show all posts

Tuesday, 3 September 2019


​LIVY [Titus Livius] (59 B.C.–A.D. 17), Roman historian, was born at Patavium (Padua). The ancient connexion between his native city and Rome helped to turn his attention to the study which became the work of his life. For Padua claimed, like Rome, a Trojan origin, and Livy is careful to place its founder Antenor side by side with Aeneas. A more real bond of union was found in the dangers to which both had been exposed from the assaults of the Celts (Livy x. 2), and Padua must have been drawn to Rome as the conqueror of her hereditary foes. Moreover, at the time of Livy’s birth, Padua had long been in possession of the full Roman franchise, and the historian’s family name may have been taken by one of his ancestors out of compliment to the great Livian gens at Rome, whose connexion with Cisalpine Gaul is well-established (Suet. Tib. 3), and by one of whom his family may have been enfranchized.

Livy’s easy independent life at Rome, and his aristocratic leanings in politics seem to show that he was the son of well-born and opulent parents; he was certainly well educated, being widely read in Greek literature, and a student both of rhetoric and philosophy. We have also evidence in his writings that he had prepared himself for his great work by researches into the history of his native town. His youth and early manhood, spent perhaps chiefly at Padua, were cast in stormy times, and the impression which they left upon his mind was ineffaceable. In the Civil War his personal sympathies were with Pompey and the republican party (Tac. Ann. iv. 34); but far more lasting in its effects was his experience of the licence, anarchy and confusion of these dark days. The rule of Augustus he seems to have accepted as a necessity, but he could not, like Horace and Virgil, welcome it as inaugurating a new and glorious era. He writes of it with despondency as a degenerate and declining age; and, instead of triumphant prophecies of world-wide rule, such as we find in Horace, Livy contents himself with pointing out the dangers which already threatened Rome, and exhorting his ​contemporaries to learn, in good time, the lessons which the past history of the state had to teach.

It was probably about the time of the battle of Actium that Livy established himself in Rome, and there he seems chiefly to have resided until his retirement to Padua shortly before his death. We have no evidence that he travelled much, though he must have paid at least one visit to Campania (xxxviii. 56), and he never, so far as we know, took any part in political life. Nor, though he enjoyed the personal friendship and patronage of Augustus (Tac. Ann. iv. 34) and stimulated the historical zeal of the future emperor Claudius (Suet. Claud. xli.), can we detect in him anything of the courtier. There is not in his history a trace of that rather gross adulation in which even Virgil does not disdain to indulge. His republican sympathies were freely expressed, and as freely pardoned by Augustus. We must imagine him devoted to the great task which he had set himself to perform, with a mind free from all disturbing cares, and in the enjoyment of all the facilities for study afforded by the Rome of Augustus, with its liberal encouragement of letters, its newlyf ounded libraries and its brilliant literary circles. As his work went on, the fame which he had never coveted came to him in ample measure. He is said to have declared in one volume of his history that he had already won glory enough, and the younger Pliny (Epist. ii. 3) relates that a Spaniard came all the way from Gades merely to see him, and, this accomplished, at once returned home satisfied. The accession of Tiberius (A.D. 14) materially altered for the worse the prospects of literature in Rome, and Livy retired to Padua, where he died. He had at least one son (Quintil. x. I. 39), who also was possibly an author (Pliny, Nat. Hist. i. 5.6), and a daughter married to a certain L. Magius, a rhetorician of no great merit (Seneca, Controv. X. 29.2). Nothing further is known of his personal history.

Analysis of the History−For us the interest of Livy's life centres in the work to which the greater part of it was devoted, the history of Rome from its foundation down to the death of Drusus (9 B.C.). Its proper title was Ab urbe condita libri (also called historiae and annales). Various indications point to the period from 27 to 20 B.C., as that during which the first decade was written. In the first book (19.3) the emperor is called Augustus, a title which he assumed early in 27 B.C., and in ix. 18 the omission of all reference to the restoration, in 20 B.C., of the standards taken at Carrhae seems to justify the inference that the passage was written before that date. In the epitome of book lix. there is a reference to a law of Augustus which was passed in 18 B.C. The books dealing with the civil wars must have been written during Augustus's lifetime, as they were read by him (Tac. Ann. iv. 34), while there is some evidence that the last part, from book cxxi. onwards, was published after his death A.D. 14.

The work begins with the landing of Aeneas in Italy, and closes with the death of Drusus, 9 B.C., though it is possible that the author intended to continue it as far as the death of Augustus. The division into decades is certainly not due to the author himself, and is first heard of at the end of the 5th century; on the other hand, the division into libri or volumina seems to be original. That the books were grouped and possibly published in sets is rendered probable both by the prefaces which introduce new divisions of the work (vi. 1, xxi. 1, xxxi. 1) and by the description in one MS. of books cix.-cxvi. as "bellorum civilium libri octo." Such arrangement and publication in parts were, moreover, common with ancient authors, and in the case of a lengthy work almost a necessity.

Of the 142 libri composing the history, the first 15 carry us down to the eve of the great struggle with Carthage, a period, as Livy reckons it, of 488 years (xxxi. 1); 15 more (xvi - xxx.) cover the 63 years of the two great Punic wars. With the close of book xlv. we reach the conquest of Macedonia in 167 B.C. Book lviii. described the tribunate of Tiberius Gracchus, 133 B.C. In book lxxxix. we have the dictatorship of Sulla (81 B.C.), in ciii. Caesar's first consulship (59 B.C.), in cix.-cxvi. the civil wars to the death of Caesar (44 B.C.), in cxxiv. the defeat of Brutus and Cassius at Philippi, in cxxxiii. and cxxxiv. the battle of Actium and the accession of Augustus. The remaining eight books give the history of the first twenty years of Augustus's reign. Of this vast work only a small portion has come down to modern times; only thirty-five books are now extant (i.-x., xxi.-xlv.), and of these xli. and xliii. are incomplete. The lost books seem to have disappeared between the 7th century and the revival of letters in the 15th - a fact sufficiently accounted for by the difficulty of transmitting so voluminous a work in times when printing was unknown, for the story that Pope Gregory I. burnt all the copies of Livy he could lay his hands on rests on no good evidence. Only one important fragment has since been recovered - the portion of book xci. discovered in the Vatican in 1772, and edited by Niebuhr in 1820. Very much no doubt of the substance of the lost books has been preserved both by such writers as Plutarch and Dio Cassius, and by epitomizers like Florus and Eutropius. But our knowledge of their contents is chiefly derived from the so-called periochae or epitomes, of which we have fortunately a nearly complete series, the epitomes of books cxxxvi. and cxxxvii. being the only ones missing.[1] These epitomes have been ascribed without sufficient reason to Florus (2nd century); but, though they are probably of even later date, and are disappointingly meagre, they may be taken as giving, so far as they go, a fairly authentic description of the original. They have been expanded with great ingenuity and learning by Freinsheim in Drakenborch's edition of Livy.[2] The Prodigia of Julius Obsequens and the list of consuls in the Chronica of Cassiodorus are taken directly from Livy, and to that extent reproduce the contents of the lost books. It is probable that Obsequens, Cassiodorus and the compiler of the epitomes did not use the original work but an abridgment.

Historical Standpoint−If we are to form a correct judgment on the merits of Livy's history, we must, above all things, bear in mind what his aim was in writing it, and this he has told us himself in the celebrated preface. He set himself the task of recording the history of the Roman people, "the first in the world," from the beginning. The task was a great one, and the fame to be won by it uncertain, yet it would be something to have made the attempt, and the labour itself would bring a welcome relief from the contemplation of present evils; for his readers, too, this record will, he says, be full of instruction; they are invited to note especially the moral lessons taught by the story of Rome, to observe how Rome rose to greatness by the simple virtues and unselfish devotion of her citizens, and how on the decay of these qualities followed degeneracy and decline.

He does not, therefore, write, as Polybius wrote, for students of history. With Polybius the greatness of Rome is a phenomenon to be critically studied and scientifically explained; the rise of Rome forms an important chapter in universal history, and must be dealt with, not as an isolated fact, but in connexion with the general march of events in the civilized world. Still less has Livy anything in common with the naïve anxiety of Dionysius of Halicarnassus to make it clear to his fellow Greeks that the irresistible people who had mastered them was in origin, in race and in language Hellenic like themselves.

Livy writes as a Roman, to raise a monument worthy of the greatness of Rome, and to keep alive, for the guidance and the warning of Romans, the recollection alike of the virtues which had made Rome great and of the vices which had threatened her with destruction. In so writing he was in close agreement with the traditions of Roman literature, as well as with the conception of the nature and objects of history current in his time. To a large extent Roman literature grew out of ​pride in Rome, for, though her earliest authors took the form and often the language of their writings from Greece, it was the greatness of Rome that inspired the best of them, and it was from the annals of Rome that their themes were taken. And this is naturally true in an especial sense of the Roman historians; the long list of annalists begins at the moment when the great struggle with Carthage had for the first time brought Rome into direct connexion with the historic peoples of the ancient world, and when Romans themselves awoke to the importance of the part reserved for Rome to play in universal history. To write the annals of Rome became at once a task worthy of the best of her citizens. Though other forms of literature might be thought unbecoming to the dignity of a free-born citizen, this was never so with history. On the contrary, men of high rank and tried statesmanship were on that very account thought all the fitter to write the chronicles of the state they had served. And history in Rome never lost either its social prestige or its intimate and exclusive connexion with the fortunes of the Roman people. It was well enough for Greeks to busy themselves with the manners, institutions and deeds of the "peoples outside." The Roman historians, from Fabius Pictor to Tacitus, cared for none of these things. This exclusive interest in Rome was doubtless encouraged by the peculiar characteristics of the history of the state. The Roman annalist had not, like the Greek, to deal with the varying fortunes and separate doings of a number of petty communities, but with the continuous life of a single city. Nor was his attention drawn from the main lines of political history by the claims of art, literature and philosophy, for just as the tie which bound Romans together was that of citizenship, not of race or culture, so the history of Rome is that of the state, of its political constitution, its wars and conquests, its military and administrative system.

Livy's own circumstances were all such as to render these views natural to him. He began to write at a time when, after a century of disturbance, the mass of men had been contented to purchase peace at the price of liberty. The present was at least inglorious, the future doubtful, and many turned gladly to the past for consolation. This retrospective tendency was favourably regarded by the government. It was the policy of Augustus to obliterate all traces of recent revolution, and to connect the new imperial regime as closely as possible with the ancient traditions and institutions of Rome and Italy. The Aeneid of Virgil, the Fasti of Ovid, suited well with his own restoration of the ancient temples, his revival of such ancient ceremonies as the Ludi Saeculares, his efforts to check the unRoman luxury of the day, and his jealous regard for the purity of the Roman stock. And, though we are nowhere told that Livy undertook his history at the emperor's suggestion, it is certain that Augustus read parts of it with pleasure, and even honoured the writer with his assistance and friendship.

Livy was deeply penetrated with a sense of the greatness of Rome. From first to last its majesty and high destiny are present to his mind. Aeneas is led to Italy by the Fates that he may be the founder of Rome. Romulus after his ascension declares it to be the will of heaven that Rome should be mistress of the world; and Hannibal marches into Italy, that he may "set free the world" from Roman rule. But, if this ever-present consciousness often gives dignity and elevation to his narrative, it is also responsible for some of its defects. It leads him occasionally into exaggerated language (e.g. xxii. 33, "nullius usquam terrarum rei cura Romanos effugiebat"), or into such misstatements as his explanation of the course taken by the Romans in renewing war with Carthage, that "it seemed more suitable to the dignity of the Roman people." Often his jealousy for the honour of Rome makes him unfair and one-sided. In all her wars not only success but justice is with Rome. To the same general attitude is also due the omission by Livy of all that has no direct bearing on the fortunes of the Roman people. "I have resolved," he says (xxxix. 48), "only to touch on foreign affairs so far as they are bound up with those of Rome." As the result, we get from Livy very defective accounts even of the Italic peoples most closely connected with Rome. Of the past history and the internal condition of the more distant nations she encountered he tells us little or nothing, even when he found such details carefully given by Polybius.

Scarcely less strong than his interest in Rome is his interest in the moral lessons which her history seemed to him so well qualified to teach. This didactic view of history was a prevalent one in antiquity, and it was confirmed no doubt by those rhetorical studies which in Rome as in Greece formed the chief part of education, and which taught men to look on history as little more than a storehouse of illustrations and themes for declamation. But it suited also the practical bent of the Roman mind, with its comparative indifference to abstract speculation or purely scientific research. It is in the highest degree natural that Livy should have sought for the secret of the rise of Rome, not in any large historical causes, but in the moral qualities of the people themselves, and that he should have looked upon the contemplation of these as the best remedy for the vices of his own degenerate days. He dwells with delight on the unselfish patriotism of the old heroes of the republic. In those times children obeyed their parents, the gods were still sincerely worshipped, poverty was no disgrace, sceptical philosophies and foreign fashions in religion and in daily life were unknown. But this ethical interest is closely bound up with his Roman sympathies. His moral ideal is no abstract one, and the virtues he praises are those which in his view made up the truly Roman type of character. The prominence thus given to the moral aspects of the history tends to obscure in some degree the true relations and real importance of the events narrated, but it does so in Livy to a far less extent than in some other writers. He is much too skilful an artist either to resolve his history into a mere bundle of examples, or to overload it, as Tacitus is sometimes inclined to do, with reflections and axioms. The moral he wishes to enforce is usually either conveyed by the story itself, with the aid perhaps of a single sentence of comment, or put as a speech into the mouth of one of his characters (e.g. xxiii. 49; the devotion of Decius, viii. io, cf. vii. 40; and the speech of Camillus, v. 54); and what little his narrative thus loses in accuracy it gains in dignity and warmth of feeling. In his portraits of the typical Romans of the old style, such as Q. Fabius Maximus, in his descriptions of the unshaken firmness and calm courage shown by the fathers of the state in the hour of trial, Livy is at his best; and he is so largely in virtue of his genuine appreciation of character as a powerful force in the affairs of men.

This enthusiasm for Rome and for Roman virtues is, moreover, saved from degenerating into gross partiality by the genuine candour of Livy's mind and by his wide sympathies with every thing great and good. Seneca (Suasoriae vi. 22) and Quintilian (x. r. ioi) bear witness to his impartiality. Thus, Hasdrubal's devotion and valour at the battle on the Metaurus are described in terms of eloquent praise; and even in Hannibal, the lifelong enemy of Rome, he frankly recognizes the great qualities that balanced his faults. Nor, though his sympathies are unmistakably with the aristocratic party, does he scruple to censure the pride, cruelty and selfishness which too often marked their conduct (ii. 54; the speech of Canuleius, iv. 3; of Sextius and Licinius, vi. 36); and, though he feels acutely that the times are out of joint, and has apparently little hope of the future, he still believes in justice and goodness. He is often righteously indignant, but never satirical, and such a pessimism as that of Tacitus and Juvenal is wholly foreign to his nature.

Though he studied and even wrote on philosophy (Seneca, Ep. Ioo. 9), Livy is by no means a philosophic historian. We learn indeed from incidental notices that he inclined to Stoicism and disliked the Epicurean system. With the scepticism that despised the gods (x. 40) and denied that they meddled with the affairs of men (xliii. 13) he has no sympathy. The immortal gods are everywhere the same; they govern the world (xxxvii. 45) and reveal the future to men by signs and wonders (xliii. 13), but only a debased superstition will look for their hand in every petty incident, or abandon itself to an indiscriminate belief in the portents and miracles in which popular credulity ​delights. The ancient state religion of Rome, with its temples, priests and auguries, he not only reverences as an integral part of the Roman constitution, with a sympathy which grows as he studies it, but, like Varro, and in true Stoic fashion, he regards it as a valuable instrument of government (i. 19.21), indispensable in a well-ordered community. As distinctly Stoical is the doctrine of a fate to which even the gods must yield (ix. 4), which disposes the plans of men (i. 42) and blinds their minds (v. 37), yet leaves their wills free (xxxvii. 45).

But we find no trace in Livy of any systematic application of philosophy to the facts of history. He is as innocent of the leading ideas which shaped the work of Polybius as he is of the cheap theorizing which wearies us in the pages of Dionysius. The events are graphically, if not always accurately, described; but of the larger causes at work in producing them, of their subtle action and reaction upon each other, and of the general conditions amid which the history worked itself out, he takes no thought at all. Nor has Lily much acquaintance with either the theory or the practice of politics. He exhibits, it is true, political sympathies and antipathies. He is on the whole for the nobles and against the commons; and, though the unfavourable colours in which he paints the leaders of the latter are possibly reflected from the authorities he followed, it is evident that he despised and disliked the multitude. Of monarchy he speaks with a genuine Ronan hatred, and we know that in the last days of the republic his sympathies were wholly with those who strove in vain to save it. He betrays, too, an insight into the evils which were destined finally to undermine the imposing fabric of Roman Empire. The decline of the free population, the spread of slavery (vi. 12, vii. 25), the universal craving for wealth (iii. 26), the employment of foreign mercenaries (xxv. 33), the corruption of Roman race and Roman manners by mixture with aliens (xxxix. 3), are all noticed in tones of solemn warning. But his retired life had given him no wide experience of men and things. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that he fails altogether to present a clear and coherent picture of the history and working of the Roman constitution, or that his handling of intricate questions of policy is weak and inadequate.

Sources.—If from the general aim and spirit of Livy's history we pass to consider his method of workmanship, we are struck at once by the very different measure of success attained by him in the two great departments of an historian's labour. He is a consummate artist, but an unskilled and often careless investigator and critic. The materials which lay ready to his hand may be roughly classed under two heads: (1) the original evidence of monuments, inscriptions, &c., (2) the written tradition as found in the works of previous authors. It is on the second of these two kinds of evidence that Livy almost exclusively relies. Yet that even for the very early times a certain amount of original evidence still existed is proved by the use which was made of it by Dionysius, who mentions at least three important inscriptions, two dating from the regal period and one from the first years of the republic (iv. 26, iv. 58, x. 32). We know from Livy himself (iv. 20) that the breastplate dedicated by Aulus Cornelius Cossus (428 B.C.) was to be seen in his own day in the temple of Jupiter Feretrius, nor is there any reason to suppose that the libri lintei, quoted by Licinius Macer, were not extant when Livy wrote. For more recent times the materials were plentiful, and a rich field of research lay open to the student in the long series of laws, decrees of the senate, and official registers, reaching back, as it probably did, at least to the beginning of the 3rd century B.C. Nevertheless it seems certain that Livy never realized the duty of consulting these relics of the past, even in order to verify the statements of his authorities. Many of them he never mentions; the others (e.g. the libri lintei) he evidently describes at second hand. Antiquarian studies were popular in his day, but the instances are very few in which he has turned their results to account. There is no sign that he had ever read Varro; and he never alludes to Verrius Flaccus. The haziness and inaccuracy of his topography make it clear that he did not attempt to familiarize himself with the actual scenes of events even that took place in Italy. Not only does he confuse Thermon, the capital of Aetolia, with Thermopylae (xxxiii. 35), but his accounts of the Roman campaigns against Volsci, Aequi and Samnites swarm with confusions and difficulties; nor are even his descriptions of Hannibal's movements free from an occasional vagueness which betrays the absence of an exact knowledge of localities.

The consequence of this indifference to original research and patient verification might have been less serious had the written tradition on which Livy preferred to rely been more trustworthy. But neither the materials out of which it was composed, nor the manner in which it had been put together, were such as to make it a safe guide. It was indeed represented by a long line of respectable names. The majority of the Roman annalists were men of high birth and education, with a long experience of affairs, and their defects did not arise from seclusion of life or ignorance of letters. It is rather in the conditions under which they wrote and in the rules and traditions of their craft that the causes of their shortcomings must be sought.

It was not until the 6th century from the foundation of the city that historical writing began in Rome. The father of Roman history, Q. Fabius Pictor, a patrician and a senator, can scarcely have published his annals before the close of the Second Punic War, but these annals covered the whole period from the arrival of Evander in Italy down at least to the battle by Lake Trasimene (217 B.C.). Out of what materials, then, did he put together his account of the earlier history? Recent criticism has succeeded in answering this question with some degree of certainty. A careful examination of the fragments of Fabius (see H. Peter, Historicorum Romanorum Relliquiae, Leipzig, 1870; and C. W. Nitzsch, Rom. Annalistik, Berlin, 1873) reveals in the first place a marked difference between the kingly period and that which followed the establishment of the republic. The history of the former stretches back into the regions of pure mythology. It is little more than a collection of fables told with scarcely any attempt at criticism, and with no more regard to chronological sequence than was necessary to make the tale run smoothly or to fill up such gaps as that between the flight of Aeneas from Troy and the supposed year of the foundation of Rome. But from its very commencement the history of the republic wears a different aspect. The mass of floating tradition, which had come down from early days, with its tales of border raids and forays, of valiant chiefs and deeds of patriotism, is now rudely fitted into a framework of a wholly different kind. This framework consists of short notices of important events, wars, prodigies, consecration of temples, &c., all recorded with extreme brevity, precisely dated, and couched in a somewhat archaic style. They were taken probably from one or more of the state registers, such as the annals of the pontiffs, or those kept by the aediles in the temple of Ceres. This bare official outline of the past history of his city was by Fabius filled in from the rich store of tradition that lay ready to his hand. The manner and spirit in which he effected this combination were no doubt wholly uncritical. Usually he seems to have transferred both annalistic notices and popular traditions to his pages much in the shape in which he found them. But he unquestionably gave undue prominence to the tales of the prowess and glory of the Fabii, and probably also allowed his own strong aristocratic sympathies to colour his version of the early political controversies. This fault of partiality was, according to Polybius, a conspicuous blot in Fabius's account of his own times, which was, we are told, full and in the main accurate, and, like the earlier portions, consisted of official annalistic notices, supplemented, however, not from tradition, but from his own experience and from contemporary sources. But even here Polybius charges him with favouring Rome at the expense of Carthage, and with the undue exaltation of the great head of his house, Q. Fabius Cunctator.

Nevertheless the comparative fidelity with which Fabius seems to have reproduced his materials might have made his annals the starting point of a critical history. But unfortunately intelligent criticism was exactly what they never received. It is true that in some respects a decided advance upon Fabius was made by subsequent annalists. M. Porcius Cato (234-149 B.C.) widened the scope of Roman history so as to include that of the chief Italian cities, and made the first serious attempt to settle the chronology. In his history of the Punic wars Caelius Antipater (c. 130 B.C.) added fresh material, drawn probably from the works of the Sicilian Greek Silenus, while Licinius Macer (70 B.C.) distinguished himself by the use he made of the ancient "linen books." No doubt, too, the later annalists, at any rate from Caelius Antipater onwards, improved upon Fabius in treatment and style. But in more essential points we can discern no progress. One annalist after another quietly adopted the established tradition, as it had been left by his predecessors, without any serious alterations of its main outlines. Of independent research and critical analysis we find no trace, and the general agreement upon main facts is to be attributed simply to the regularity with which each writer copied the one before him. But, had the later annalists contented themselves with simply reproducing the earlier ones, we should at least have had the old tradition before us in a simple and tolerably genuine form. As it was, while

they slavishly clung to its substance, they succeeded, as a rule, in destroying all traces of its original form and colouring. L. Calpurnius Piso, tribune in 149 B.C. and consul in 133 B.C., prided himself on reducing the old legends to the level of common sense, and importing into them valuable moral lessons for his own generation. By Caelius Antipater the methods of rhetoric were first applied to history, a disastrous precedent enough. He inserted speeches, enlivened his pages with chance tales, and aimed, as Cicero tells us, at not merely narrating facts but also at beautifying them. His successors carried still farther the practice of dressing up the rather bald chronicles of earlier writers with all the ornaments of rhetoric. The old traditions were altered, almost beyond the possibility of recognition, by exaggerations, interpolations and additions. Fresh incidents were inserted, new motives suggested and speeches composed in order to infuse the required life and freshness into these dry bones of history. At the same time the political bias of the writers, and the political ideas of their day were allowed, in some cases perhaps half unconsciously, to affect their representations of past events. Annalists of the Gracchan age imported into the early struggles of patricians and plebeians the economic controversies of their own day, and painted the first tribunes in the colours of the two Gracchi or of Saturninus. In the next generation they dexterously forced the venerable records of the early republic to pronounce in favour of the ascendancy of the senate, as established by Sulla. To political bias was added family pride, for the gratification of which the archives of the great houses, the funeral panegyrics, or the imagination of the writer himself supplied an ample store of doubtful material. Pedigrees were invented, imaginary consulships and fictitious triumphs inserted, and family traditions and family honours were formally incorporated with the history of the state.

Things were not much better even where the annalists were dealing with recent or contemporary events. Here, indeed, their materials were naturally fuller and more trustworthy, and less room was left for fanciful decoration and capricious alteration of the facts. But their methods are in the main unchanged. What they found written they copied; the gaps they supplied, where personal experience failed, by imagination. No better proof of this can be given than a comparison of the annalist's version of history with that of Polybius. In the fourth and fifth decades of Livy the two appear side by side, and the contrast between them is striking. Polybius, for instance, gives the number of the slain at Cynoscephalae as 8000; the annalists raise it as high as 40,000 (Livy xxxiii. 10). In another case (xxxii. 6) Valerius Antias, the chief of sinners in this respect, inserts a decisive Roman victory over the Macedonians, in which 12,000 of the latter were slain and 2200 taken prisoner, an achievement recorded by no other authority.

Such was the written tradition on which Livy mainly relied. We have next to examine the manner in which he used it, and here we are met at the outset by the difficulty of determining with exactness what authorities he is following at any one time; for of the importance of full and accurate references he has no idea, and often for chapters together he gives us no clue at all. More often still he contents himself with such vague phrases as "they say," "the story goes," "some think," or speaks in general terms of "ancient writers" or "my authorities." Even where he mentions a writer by name, it is frequently clear that the writer named is not the one whose lead he is following at the moment, but that he is noticed incidentally as differing from Livy's guide for the time being on some point of detail (compare the references to Piso in the first decade, i. 55, ii. 32, &c.). It is very rarely that Livy explicitly tells us whom he has selected as his chief source (e.g. Fabius xxii. 7; Polybius xxxiii. 10). By a careful analysis, however, of those portions of his work which admit of a comparison with the text of his acknowledged authorities (e.g fourth and fifth decades, see H. Nissen, Untersuchungen, Berlin, 1863), and elsewhere by comparing his version with the known fragments of the various annalists, and with what we are told of their style and method of treatment, we are able to form a general idea of his plan of procedure. As to the first decade, it is generally agreed that in the first and second books, at any rate, he follows such older and simpler writers as Fabius Pictor and Calpurnius Piso (the only ones whom he there refers to by name), to whom, so far as the first book is concerned, Niebuhr (Lectures, p 33) would add the poet Ennius. With the close of the second book or the opening of the third we come upon the first traces of the use of later authors. Valerius Antias[3] is first quoted in iii. 5, and signs of his handiwork are visible here and there throughout the rest of the decade (vii. 36, ix. 27, x. 3-5). In the fourth book the principal authority is apparently Licinius Macer, and for the period following the sack of Rome by the Gauls Q. Claudius Quadrigarius, whose annals began at this point in the history. We have besides a single reference (vii. 3) to the antiquarian Cincius, and two (iv. 23, x 9) to Q. Aelius Tubero, one of the last in the list of annalists. Passing to the third decade, we find ourselves at once confronted by a question which has been long and fully discussed - the relation between Livy and Polybius. Did Livy use Polybius at all, and, if so, to what extent ?

It is conceded on all hands that Livy in this decade makes considerable use of other authorities than Polybius (e.g. Fabius xxii. 7; Caelius Antipater xxi. 38, 46, 47, xxii. 31, &c.), that he only once mentions Polybius (xxx. 45), and that, if he used him, he p did so to a much less extent than in the fourth and fifth y decades, and in a very different manner. It is also agreed that we can detect in Livy's account of the Hannibalic war two distinct elements, derived originally, the one from a Roman, the other from a non-Roman source. But from these generally accepted premises two opposite conclusions have been drawn. On the one hand, it is maintained (e.g. by Lachmann, C. Peter, H. Peter, Hist. Rom. Relliq.) that those parts of Livy's narrative which point to a non-Roman authority (e.g. Hannibal's movements prior to his invasion of Italy) are taken by Livy directly from Polybius, with occasional reference of course to other writers, and with the omission (as in the later decades) of all matters uninteresting to Livy or his Roman readers, and the addition of rhetorical touches and occasional comments. It is urged that Livy, who in the fourth and fifth decades shows himself so sensible of the great merits of Polybius, is not likely to have ignored him in the third, and that his more limited use of him in the latter case is fully accounted for by the closer connexion of the history with Rome and Roman affairs, and the comparative excellence of the available Roman authorities, and, lastly, that the points of agreement with Polybius, not only in matter but in expression, can only be explained on the theory that Livy is directly following the great Greek historian. On the other hand, it is maintained (especially by Schwegler, Nitzsch, and K. Bottcher) that the extent and nature of Livy's agreement with Polybius in this part of his work point rather to the use by both of a common original authority. It is argued that Livy's mode of using his authorities is tolerably uniform, and that his mode of using Polybius in particular is known with certainty from the later decades. Consequently the theory that he used Polybius in the third decade requires us to assume that in this one instance he departed widely, and without sufficient reason, from his usual course of procedure. Moreover, even in the passages where the agreement with Polybius is most apparent, there are so many discrepancies and divergencies in detail, and so many unaccountable omissions and additions, as to render it inconceivable that he had the text of Polybius before him. But all these are made intelligible if we suppose Livy to have been here following directly or indirectly the same original sources that were used by Polybius. The earliest of these original sources was probably Silenus, with whom may possibly be placed, for books xxi. xxii., Fabius Pictor. The latter Livy certainly used directly for some parts of the decade. The former he almost as certainly knew only at second hand, the intermediate authority being probably Caelius Antipater. This writer, who confined himself to a history of the Second PunicWar, in seven books, is expressly referred to by Livy eleven times in the third decade; and in other passages where his name is not mentioned Livy can be shown to have followed him (e.g. xxii. 5, 49, 50, 51, xxiv. 9). In the latter books of the decade his chief authority is possibly Valerius Antias.

In the fourth and fifth decades the question of Livy's authorities presents no great difficulties, and the conclusions arrived at by Nissen in his masterly Untersuchungen have met with general acceptance. These may be shortly stated as follows. In the portions of the history which deal with Greece and the East, Livy follows Polybius, and these portions are easily distinguishable from the rest by their superior clearness, accuracy and fulness. On the other hand, for the history of Italy and western Europe he falls back on Roman annalists, especially, it seems, on Claudius Quadrigarius and Valerius Antias - a most unfortunate choice - and from them too he takes the annalistic mould into which his matter is cast.

Livy's general method of using these authorities was certainly not such as would be deemed satisfactory in a modern historian.Critical method He is indeed free from the grosser faults of deliberate Critical injustice and falsification, and he resists that temptation to invent, to which "the minds of authors are only too method. much inclined" (xxii. 7). Nor is he unconscious of the necessity for some kind of criticism. He distinguishes between rumour and the precise statements of recognized authorities (cf. xxi. 46, v. 21, vii. 6). The latter he reproduced in the main faithfully, but with a certain exercise of discretion. Where they disagreed, he calls attention to the fact, occasionally pronouncing in favour of one version rather than another (ii. 41, xxi. 46) though often on no adequate grounds, or attempting to reconcile and explain discrepancies (vi. 12, 38). Where he detects or suspects the insertion of fabulous matter he has no scruple in saying so. Gross exaggerations, such as those in which Valerius Antias indulged, he roundly denounces, and with equal plainness of speech he condemns the family vanity which had so constantly corrupted and distorted the truth. "I suppose," he says (viii. 40), "that the record and memorial of these matters bath been depraved and corrupted by these funeral orations of praises,. while every house and family draweth to it the honour and renown of noble exploits, martial feats and dignities by any untruth and lie, so it be colourable." The legendary character of the earliest traditions he frankly admits. "Such things as are reported either before or at the foundation of the city, more beautiful and set out with poets' fables than grounded upon pure and faithful records, I mean neither to aver nor disprove" (Praef); and of the whole history previous

to the sack of Rome by the Gauls (390 B.C.) he writes that it was obscure "both in regard of exceeding antiquity, and also for that in those days there were very few writings and monuments, the only faithful safeguard and true remembrancers of deeds past; and, besides, whatsoever was registered in the commentaries of the priests and in other public or private records, the same for the most part, when the city was burned, perished withal." Further than this, however, Livy's criticism does not go. Where his written authorities are not palpably inconsistent with each other or with probability he accepts and transcribes their record without any further inquiry, nor does he ever attempt to get behind this record in order to discover the original evidence on which it rested. His acceptance in any particular case of the version given by an annalist by no means implies that he has by careful inquiry satisfied himself of its truth. At the most it only presupposes a comparison with other versions, equally second-hand, but either less generally accepted or less in harmony with his own views of the situation; and in many cases the reasons he gives for his preference of one account over another are eminently unscientific. Livy's history, then, rests on no foundation of original research or even of careful verification. It is a compilation, and even as such it leaves much to be desired. For we cannot credit Livy with having made such a preliminary survey of his authorities as would enable him to determine their relations to each other, and fuse their various narratives into a consistent whole. It is clear, on the contrary, that his circle of authorities for any one decade was a comparatively small one, that of these he selected one, and transcribed him with the necessary embellishments and other slight modifications until impelled by various reasons to drop him. He then, without warning, takes up another, whom he follows in the same way. The result is a curious mosaic, in which pieces of all colours and dates are found side by side, and in which even the great artistic skill displayed throughout fails to conceal the lack of internal unity. Thus many of Livy's inconsistencies are due to his having pieced together two versions, each of which gave a differently coloured account of the same event. Mommsen (Rom. Forschungen, ii.) has clearly shown that this is what has happened in his relation of the legal proceedings against the elder Africanus in book xxxviii.; and in the story of the first secession, as he tells it, the older version which represented it as due to political and the later which explained it by economical grievances are found side by side. Similarly a change from one authority to another leads him not unfrequently to copy from the latter statements inconsistent with those he took from the former, to forget what he has previously said, or to treat as known a fact which has not been mentioned before (cf. ii. I, xxxiv. 6, and Weissenborn's Introduction, p. 37). In other cases where the same event has been placed by different annalists in different years, or where their versions of it varied, it reappears in Livy as two events. Thus the four campaigns against the Volsci (ii. 17 seq.) are, as Schwegler (R.G. i. 13) rightly says, simply variations of one single expedition. Other instances of such "doublettes" are the two single combats described in xxiii. 46 and xxv. 18, and the two battles at Baecula in Spain (xxvii. 18 and xxviii. 13). Without doubt, too, much of the chronological confusion observable throughout Livy is due to the fact that he follows now one now another authority, heedless of their differences on this head. Thus he vacillates between the Catonian and Varronian reckoning of the years of the city, and between the chronologies of Polybius and the Roman annalists.

To these defects in his method must be added the fact that he does not always succeed even in accurately reproducing the authority he is for the time following. In the case of Polybius, for instance, he allows himself great freedom in omitting what strikes him as irrelevant, or tedious, or uninteresting to his Roman readers, a process in which much valuable matter disappears. In other cases his desire to give a vividness and point to what he doubtless considered the rather bald and dry style of Polybius leads him into absurdities and inaccuracies. Thus by the treaty with Antiochus (188 B.C.) it was provided that the Greek communities of Asia Minor "shall settle their mutual differences by arbitration," and so far Livy correctly transcribes Polybius, but he adds with a rhetorical flourish, "or, if both parties prefer it, by war" (xxxviii. 38). Elsewhere his blunders are apparently due to haste, or ignorance or sheer carelessness; thus, for instance, when Polybius speaks of the Aetolians assembling at their capital Thermon, Livy (xxxiii. 35) not only substitutes Thermopylae but gratuitously informs his readers that here the Pylaean assemblies were held. Thanks partly to carelessness, partly to mistranslation, he makes sad havoc (xxxv. 5 seq.) of Polybius's account of the battle of Cynoscephalae. Finally, Livy cannot be altogether acquitted on the charge of having here and there modified Polybius in the interests of Rome.

Style−Serious as these defects in Livy's method appear if viewed in the light of modern criticism, it is probable that they were easily pardoned, if indeed they were ever discovered, by his contemporaries. For it was on the artistic rather than on the critical side of history that stress was almost universally laid in antiquity, and the thing that above all others was expected from the historian was not so much a scientific investigation and accurate exposition of the truth, as its skilful presentation in such a form as would charm and interest the reader. Tried by this standard, Livy deservedly won and held a place in the very first rank. Asinius Pollio sneered at his Patavinity, and the emperor Caligula denounced him as verbose, but with these exceptions the opinion of antiquity was unanimous in pronouncing him a consummate literary workman. The classical purity of his style, the eloquence of his speeches, the skill with which he depicted the play of emotion, and his masterly portraiture of great men, are all in turn warmly commended, and in our own day we question if any ancient historian is either more readable or more widely read. It is true that for us his artistic treatment of history is not without its drawbacks. The more trained historical sense of modern times is continually shocked by the obvious untruth of his colouring, especially in the earlier parts of his history, by the palpable unreality of many of the speeches, and by the naïveté with which he omits everything, however important, which he thinks will weary his readers. But in spite of all this we are forced to acknowledge that, as a master of what we may perhaps call "narrative history," he has no superior in antiquity; for, inferior as he is to Thucydides, to Polybius, and even to Tacitus in philosophic power and breadth of view, he is at least their equal in the skill with which he tells his story. He is indeed the prince of chroniclers, and in this respect not unworthy to be classed even with Herodotus (Quintilian, x. I. IOI). Nor is anything more remarkable than the way in which Livy's fine taste and sense of proportion, his true poetic feeling and genuine enthusiasm, saved him from the besetting faults of the mode of treatment which he adopted. The most superficial comparison of his account of the earliest days of Rome with that given by Dionysius shows from what depths of tediousness he was preserved by these qualities. Instead of the wearisome prolixity and the misplaced pedantry which make the latter almost unreadable, we find the old tales briefly and simply told. Their primitive beauty is not marred by any attempt to force them into an historical mould, or disguised beneath an accumulation of the insipid inventions of later times. At the same time they are not treated as mere tales for children, for Livy never forgets the dignity that belongs to them as the prelude to the great epic of Rome, and as consecrated by the faith of generations. Perhaps an even stronger proof of the skill which enabled Livy to avoid dangers which were fatal to weaker men is to be found in his speeches. We cannot indeed regard them,with the ancients, as the best part of his history, for the majority of them are obviously unhistorical, and nearly all savour somewhat too much of the rhetorical schools to be perfectly agreeable to modern taste. To appreciate them we must take them for what they are, pieces of declamation, intended either to enliven the course of the narrative, to place vividly before the reader the feelings and aims of the chief actors, or more frequently still to enforce some lesson which the author himself has at heart. The substance, no doubt, of many of them Livy took from his authorities, but their form is his own, and, in throwing into them all his own eloquence and enthusiasm, he not only acted in conformity with the established traditions of his art, but found a welcome outlet for feelings and ideas which the fall of the republic had deprived of all other means of expression.Speeches To us, therefore, they are valuable not only for their eloquence, but still more as giving us our clearest insight into Livy's own sentiments, his lofty sense of the greatness of Rome, his appreciation of Roman courage and firmness, and his reverence for the simple virtues of older times. But, freely as Livy uses this privilege of speechmaking, his correct taste keeps his rhetoric within reasonable limits. With a very few exceptions the speeches are dignified in tone, full of life and have at least a dramatic propriety, while of such incongruous and laboured absurdities as the speech which Dionysius puts into the mouth of Romulus, after the rape of the Sabine women, there are no instances in Livy.

But, if our estimate of the merits of his speeches is moderated by doubts as to his right to introduce them at all, no such scruples interfere with our admiration for the skill with which he has drawn the portraits of the great men who figure in his pages. We may indeed doubt whether in all cases they are drawn with perfect accuracy and impartiality, but of their life-like vigour and clearness there can be no question. With Livy this portrait-painting was a labour of love. "To all great men," says Seneca, "he gave their due ungrudgingly," but he is at his best in dealing with those who, like Q. Fabius Maximus, "the Delayer," were in his eyes the most perfect types of the true Roman.

The general effect of Livy's narrative is no doubt a little spoilt by the awkward arrangement, adopted from his authorities, which obliges him to group the events by years, and thus to disturb their natural relations and continuity. As the result his history has the appearance of being rather a series of brilliant pictures loosely strung together than a coherent narrative. But it is impossible not to admire the copious variety of thought and language, and the evenly flowing style which carried him safely through the dreariest periods of his history; and still more remarkable is the dramatic power he displays when some great crisis or thrilling episode stirs his blood, such as the sack of Rome by the Gauls, the battle by the Metaurus and the death of Hasdrubal.

In style and language Livy represents the best period of Latin prose writing. He has passed far beyond the bald and meagre diction of the early chroniclers. In his hands Latin acquired a flexibility and a richness of vocabulary unknown to it before. If he writes with less finish and a less perfect rhythm than his favourite model Cicero, he excels him in the varied structure of his periods, and their adaptation

to the subject-matter. It is true that here and there the "creamy richness" of his style becomes verbosity, and that he occasionally draws too freely on his inexhaustible store of epithets, metaphors and turns of speech; but these faults, which did not escape the censure even of friendly critics like Quintilian, are comparatively rare in the extant parts of his work. From the tendency to use a poetic diction in prose, which was so conspicuous a fault in the writers of the silver age, Livy is not wholly free. In his earlier books especially there are numerous phrases and sentences which have an unmistakably poetic ring, recalling sometimes Ennius and more often his contemporary Virgil. But in Livy this poetic element is kept within bounds, and serves only to give warmth and vividness to the narrative. Similarly, though the influence of rhetoric upon his language, as well as upon his general treatment, is clearly perceptible, he has not the perverted love of antithesis, paradox and laboured word-painting which offends us in Tacitus; and, in spite of the Venetian richness of his colouring, and the copious flow of his words, he is on the whole wonderfully natural and simple.

These merits, not less than the high tone and easy grace of his narrative and the eloquence of his speeches, gave Livy a hold on Roman readers such as only Cicero and Virgil besides him ever obtained. His history formed the groundwork of nearly all that was afterwards written on the subject. Plutarch, writers on rhetoric like the elder Seneca, moralists like Valerius Maximus, went to Livy for their stock examples. Florus and Eutropius abridged him; Orosius extracted from him his proofs of the sinful blindness of the pagan world; and in every school Livy was firmly established as a textbook for the Roman youth.

Text−The received text of the extant thirty-five books of Livy is taken from different sources, and no one of our MSS. contains them all. The MSS. of the first decade, some thirty in number, are with one exception derived, more or less directly, from a single archetype, viz., the recension made in the 4th century by the two Nicomachi, Flavianus and Dexter, and by Victorianus. This is proved in the case of the older MSS. by written subscriptions to that effect, and in the case of the rest by internal evidence. Of all these descendants of the Nicomachean recension, the oldest is the Codex Parisinus of the 10th century, and the best the Codex Mediceus or Florentinus of the 11th. An independent value attaches to the ancient palimpsest of Verona, of which the first complete account was given by Mommsen in Abhandl. der preussischen Akad. der Wissenschaften (1868). It contains the third, fourth, fifth and fragments of the sixth book, and, according to Mommsen, whose conclusions are accepted by Madvig (Emend. Livianae, 2nd ed., 18 77, p. 37), it is derived, not from the Nicomachean recension, but from an older archetype common to both.

For the third decade our chief authority is the Codex Puteanus, an uncial MS. of the 5th century, now at Paris. For the fourth we have two leading MSS. - Codex Bambergensis, 11th century, and the slightly older Codex Moguntinus, now lost and only known through the Mainz edition of 1518-1519. What remains of the fifth decade depends on the 5th century Laurishamensis or Vindobonensis from the monastery of Lorsch, edited at Basel in 1531.

A bibliography of the various editions of Livy, or of all that has been written upon him, cannot be attempted here. The following nay be consulted for purposes of reference; W. Engelmann, Scriptores Latini (8th ed., by E. Preuss, 1882); J. E. B. Mayor, Bibliographical Clue to Latin Literature (1875); Teuffel-Schwabe History of Roman Literature (Eng. trans.), 256, 257; M. Schanz, Geschichte der riimischen Litteratur, ii. 1 (2nd ed., 1899). The best editions of the complete text are those of W. Weissenborn (1858-1862, containing an introductory essay on Livy's life and writings; new edition by M. Muller, 1902), and J. N. Madvig and J. L. Ussing (1863-1873). The only English translation of any merit is by Philemon Holland (1600).

(H. F. P.; X.)

↑ For the fragments of an epitome discovered at Oxyrhynchus see J. S. Reid in Classical Review (July, 1904); E. Kornemann, Die neue Livius-Epitome aus Oxyrhynchus, with text and commentary (Leipzig, 1904); C. H. Moore, "The Oxyrhynchus Epitome of Livy in relation to Obsequens and Cassiodorus," in American Journal of Philology (1904), 241.
↑ The various rumours once current of complete copies of Livy in Constantinople, Chios and elsewhere, are noticed by B. G. Niebuhr, Lectures on the History of Rome from the first Punic War (ed. L. Schmitz, 1844), i. 65.
↑ For Livy's debt to Valerius Antias, see A. A. Howard in Harvard Studies Classical Philology, xvii (1906), pp 161 sqq.

Wednesday, 14 August 2019

You Killed Your Mother, You Killed Your Father

"And, My Son — 
That Idiot Boy!
 —You Don't Kill Both of Your Parents.... That's Just Overkill."

— Carrie Fisher/Crown-Princess Leia Organa 
of The Royal House of Skywalker

T-Mobile :
[Rap music] 
DJ Bluntz is in the building, here to announce that Tom Haverford is in the building.
Oh! 1-2, 1-2! Donatella.

Princess Donatella :

T-Mobile :
Three words for you: Treat. Yo. Self.
Treat Yo’Self 2011!

Once a Year, Donna and I spend a day treating ourselves.
What do we treat ourselves to...?

Treat Yo’Self.

Treat Yo’Self.

Treat Yo’Self.

Treat Yo’Self.

Fine Leather Goods.
Treat Yo’Self! — It's The Best Day of The Year.

Both, Singing : 
The Best Day of The Year!

Princess Donatella :
I got a Question.

T-Mobile :

Princess Donatella :
What do you think about inviting Ben to come along with us today? 

T-Mobile :
What? Noo! This is Our Thing.

Princess Donatella :
But he really seems like he could use a day off.

T-Mobile :
He's like a skinny little rubber band that's about to snap in half.

Princess Donatella :
He doesn't know how to relax.

T-Mobile :
Donna, You and I are Relaxation Professionals.
There's no way Ben can slow down enough to keep up with us.
My Nubian Princess, this is Our Holy Day.

Princess Donatella :
It's the one day a year I allow myself to be selfish.

Jerry :
Ooh, cupcakes.

Princess Donatella :
Those are all for me, Jerry.

Don't you fuckin' do it!
Don't you raise your hands to me again!
I'm Your Father.
You're Not Supposed to Hate Your Father.

When are you My Father?
When are you My Father?

You know, I, uh, I waited around for a year at my window when you left.
I bought California maps.

Any time I heard anything about it, I would think of you.

Dumb Little Girl.

Listen, I'm not heartbroken about it, alright?
I'm over that shit.
I was just a Dumb Girl.
We were fuckin' kids.

But you need to take Your Father to the hospital.
I mean, Your Mother-- I'm serious.

I got a little boy.
He's a good kid.
And he's gonna look after me when we're older.

So you look after Your Mother.
You take care of Your Father.
You take care of Your Mother.
It's real simple. 'Cause she's a Good Woman.
It's not a fuckin' stretch.

I know what you're saying.
Alright? Thanks for coming.
I should go.

Wow. [ POINTING] Monty's Son.

You know what?
You're Flori's Son as well.
And that's why you're all fucked up.

Yeah, I'm all fucked up.

You think you're going? You're gonna fuckin' leave?
Go ahead, fuckin' go. You're not gonna go.
You didn't fuckin' come all the way over so you could leave again.

You don't know.
You don't know what it was like in The House, okay?

Listen. You want it straight?
'Cause I'm The Only One Who's Gonna Tell You, 
for some fuckin' reason.

You Killed Him.
You Killed Your Father When You Left.

Are you hearing me?
You fuckin' killed him.

You left a Trail of Blood when you left.

So forget me.
Forget all this shit.
Forget it, alright?

You Killed Your Mother
and You Killed Your Father.

And for the past fuckin' 20 years he's been dying, 
just waiting for you to come Home.

Say ‘Daddy, you're fucked up. I hate your guts.’

Whatever you need to get out of your angsty little fuckin' head.

Touch my head one more fuckin' time and I'm gonna go nuts.

Go ahead.
Go fuckin' nuts.
Go fuckin' nuts.
Let it out!

Stop fuckin' running away.
You think you're a Man?
That's just a fuckin' tail between your legs.

Go Home, and take care of Your Mother.
Go Home, and take care of Your Father.
That's gonna make you a fuckin' Man.

That's All You've Got Left.
'Cause if you don't do that shit, it's too fuckin' late.

'Do you know,' he said, 'that until this moment I believed I had murdered my mother?' 

'Why did you murder her?' said Julia, almost asleep. 

'I didn't murder her. Not physically.' 

In the dream he had remembered his last glimpse of his mother, and within a few moments of waking the cluster of small events surrounding it had all come back. It was a memory that he must have deliberately pushed out of his consciousness over many years. He was not certain of the date, but he could not have been less than ten years old, possibly twelve, when it had happened. 

His father had disappeared some time earlier, how much earlier he could not remember. He remembered better the rackety, uneasy circumstances of the time: the periodical panics about air-raids and the sheltering in Tube stations, the piles of rubble everywhere, the unintelligible proclamations posted at street corners, the gangs of youths in shirts all the same colour, the enormous queues outside the bakeries, the intermittent machine-gun fire in the distance -- above all, the fact that there was never enough to eat. He remembered long afternoons spent with other boys in scrounging round dustbins and rubbish heaps, picking out the ribs of cabbage leaves, potato peelings, sometimes even scraps of stale breadcrust from which they carefully scraped away the cinders; and also in waiting for the passing of trucks which travelled over a certain route and were known to carry cattle feed, and which, when they jolted over the bad patches in the road, sometimes spilt a few fragments of oil-cake. 

When his father disappeared, his mother did not show any surprise or any violent grief, but a sudden change came over her. She seemed to have become completely spiritless. It was evident even to Winston that she was waiting for something that she knew must happen. She did everything that was needed -- cooked, washed, mended, made the bed, swept the floor, dusted the mantelpiece -- always very slowly and with a curious lack of superfluous motion, like an artist's lay-figure moving of its own accord. Her large shapely body seemed to relapse naturally into stillness. For hours at a time she would sit almost immobile on the bed, nursing his young sister, a tiny, ailing, very silent child of two or three, with a face made simian by thinness. Very occasionally she would take Winston in her arms and press him against her for a long time without saying anything. He was aware, in spite of his youthfulness and selfishness, that this was somehow connected with the never-mentioned thing that was about to happen. 

He remembered the room where they lived, a dark, close-smelling room that seemed half filled by a bed with a white counterpane. There was a gas ring in the fender, and a shelf where food was kept, and on the landing outside there was a brown earthenware sink, common to several rooms. He remembered his mother's statuesque body bending over the gas ring to stir at something in a saucepan. Above all he remembered his continuous hunger, and the fierce sordid battles at meal-times. He would ask his mother naggingly, over and over again, why there was not more food, he would shout and storm at her (he even remembered the tones of his voice, which was beginning to break prematurely and sometimes boomed in a peculiar way), or he would attempt a snivelling note of pathos in his efforts to get more than his share. His mother was quite ready to give him more than his share. She took it for granted that he, 'the boy', should have the biggest portion; but however much she gave him he invariably demanded more. At every meal she would beseech him not to be selfish and to remember that his little sister was sick and also needed food, but it was no use. He would cry out with rage when she stopped ladling, he would try to wrench the saucepan and spoon out of her hands, he would grab bits from his sister's plate. He knew that he was starving the other two, but he could not help it; he even felt that he had a right to do it. The clamorous hunger in his belly seemed to justify him. Between meals, if his mother did not stand guard, he was constantly pilfering at the wretched store of food on the shelf. 

One day a chocolate-ration was issued. There had been no such issue for weeks or months past. He remembered quite clearly that precious little morsel of chocolate. It was a two-ounce slab (they still talked about ounces in those days) between the three of them. It was obvious that it ought to be divided into three equal parts. Suddenly, as though he were listening to somebody else, Winston heard himself demanding in a loud booming voice that he should be given the whole piece. His mother told him not to be greedy. There was a long, nagging argument that went round and round, with shouts, whines, tears, remonstrances, bargainings. His tiny sister, clinging to her mother with both hands, exactly like a baby monkey, sat looking over her shoulder at him with large, mournful eyes. In the end his mother broke off three-quarters of the chocolate and gave it to Winston, giving the other quarter to his sister. The little girl took hold of it and looked at it dully, perhaps not knowing what it was. Winston stood watching her for a moment. Then with a sudden swift spring he had snatched the piece of chocolate out of his sister's hand and was fleeing for the door. 

'Winston, Winston!' his mother called after him. 'Come back! Give your sister back her chocolate!' 

He stopped, but did not come back. His mother's anxious eyes were fixed on his face. Even now he was thinking about the thing, he did not know what it was that was on the point of happening. His sister, conscious of having been robbed of something, had set up a feeble wail. His mother drew her arm round the child and pressed its face against her breast. Something in the gesture told him that his sister was dying. He turned and fled down the stairs' with the chocolate growing sticky in his hand. 

He never saw his mother again. After he had devoured the chocolate he felt somewhat ashamed of himself and hung about in the streets for several hours, until hunger drove him home. When he came back his mother had disappeared. This was already becoming normal at that time. Nothing was gone from the room except his mother and his sister. They had not taken any clothes, not even his mother's overcoat. To this day he did not know with any certainty that his mother was dead. It was perfectly possible that she had merely been sent to a forced-labour camp. As for his sister, she might have been removed, like Winston himself, to one of the colonies for homeless children (Reclamation Centres, they were called) which had grown up as a result of the civil war, or she might have been sent to the labour camp along with his mother, or simply left somewhere or other to die. 

The dream was still vivid in his mind, especially the enveloping protecting gesture of the arm in which its whole meaning seemed to be contained. His mind went back to another dream of two months ago. Exactly as his mother had sat on the dingy white-quilted bed, with the child clinging to her, so she had sat in the sunken ship, far underneath him, and drowning deeper every minute, but still looking up at him through the darkening water. 

He told Julia the story of his mother's disappearance. Without opening her eyes she rolled over and settled herself into a more comfortable position. 

'I expect you were a beastly little swine in those days,' she said indistinctly. 'All children are swine.' 

'Yes. But the real point of the story -' 

From her breathing it was evident that she was going off to sleep again. He would have liked to continue talking about his mother. He did not suppose, from what he could remember of her, that she had been an unusual woman, still less an intelligent one; and yet she had possessed a kind of nobility, a kind of purity, simply because the standards that she obeyed were private ones. Her feelings were her own, and could not be altered from outside. It would not have occurred to her that an action which is ineffectual thereby becomes meaningless. If you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love. When the last of the chocolate was gone, his mother had clasped the child in her arms. It was no use, it changed nothing, it did not produce more chocolate, it did not avert the child's death or her own; but it seemed natural to her to do it. The refugee woman in the boat had also covered the little boy with her arm, which was no more use against the bullets than a sheet of paper. The terrible thing that the Party had done was to persuade you that mere impulses, mere feelings, were of no account, while at the same time robbing you of all power over the material world. When once you were in the grip of the Party, what you felt or did not feel, what you did or refrained from doing, made literally no difference. Whatever happened you vanished, and neither you nor your actions were ever heard of again. You were lifted clean out of the stream of history. And yet to the people of only two generations ago this would not have seemed all-important, because they were not attempting to alter history. They were governed by private loyalties which they did not question. What mattered were individual relationships, and a completely helpless gesture, an embrace, a tear, a word spoken to a dying man, could have value in itself. The proles, it suddenly occurred to him, had remained in this condition. They were not loyal to a party or a country or an idea, they were loyal to one another. For the first time in his life he did not despise the proles or think of them merely as an inert force which would one day spring to life and regenerate the world. The proles had stayed human. They had not become hardened inside. They had held on to the primitive emotions which he himself had to re-learn by conscious effort. And in thinking this he remembered, without apparent relevance, how a few weeks ago he had seen a severed hand lying on the pavement and had kicked it into the gutter as though it had been a cabbage-stalk. 

'The proles are human beings,' he said aloud. 'We are not human.' 

Friday, 2 August 2019


fosterage (n.)
1610s, "the rearing of another's child as one's own," from foster (v.) + -age.

When characters are talking to Starling (Jodie Foster), they often talk directly to the camera. 

When she is talking to them, she is always looking slightly off-camera. 

Director Jonathan Demme has explained that this was done so as the audience would directly experience her point-of-view, but not theirs, hence encouraging the audience to more readily identify with her.

"Not a lot of people know what it feels like to be angry, in your bones. I mean, they understand, foster parents, everybody understands, for awhile. 
Then they want the angry little kid to do something he knows he can't do, move on. 
So after awhile they stop understanding. They send the angry kid to a boys home. 
I figured it out too late. You gotta learn to hide the anger, practice smiling in the mirror. It's like putting on a mask."

foster (v.)
Old English *fostrian "to supply with food, nourish, support," from fostor "food, nourishment, bringing up," from Proto-Germanic *fostra-, from extended form of PIE root *pa- "to feed."

Meaning "to bring up a child with parental care" is from c. 1200; that of "to encourage or help grow" is early 13c. of things; 1560s of feelings, ideas, etc. Old English also had the word as an adjective meaning "in the same family but not related," in fostorfæder, fostorcild, fostormodoretc. 
Related: Fostered; fostering.

Saturday, 13 July 2019

Sculley's The Skeptic

Kendrick : 
This girl supposedly has some kinda supernatural powers.

Kate Lockley : 

Kendrick : 
Come on, Kate. 
Everybody knows you've gone all Scully. 
Any time one of these weird cases crosses anyone's desk, you're always there. 
What's goin' on with you?

Kate Lockley : 
Scully’s The skeptic.

Kendrick : 

Kate Lockley : 
Mulder's The Believer. 
Scully's The Skeptic.

Kendrick : 
Scully's The Chick, right?

Kate Lockley : 
Yes. But she's not The One That Wants to Believe.

Kendrick : 
And you wanna believe?

Kate Lockley : 
Oh, I already believe. 
That's The Problem.

Thank merciful God.
The Cavalry's shown up.

I hear you've been worse than usual this morning. 
I didn't think that was possible.
So I've been dispatched as the "Steve Whisperer."
This is a '55 Margaux.

It's 9:00 in the morning.

This is a '55 Margaux.
Is it my imagination or have you started to dress like me?

It was a bad idea to have Markkula open with quarterly reports.
Instead we should have just dropped water on the audience.
You know, just big 10,000-gallon tanks of cold water, dropped from the ceiling.
Save Mike some money on index cards.

Oh, just relax.


I don't know. No one's ever asked me that question.

There you go.
You're the only one who sees The World the same way I do.

No one sees the world the same way you do.

I'm like Julius Caesar, John.
I'm surrounded by enemies.

No, you're not.

The board...

Oh, the board. The board's behind you.

Only because you see to it they are.
I think it's a good board, but if you want me to push them out
one by one, we can talk about that.

I want you to push them out all at once... through a window, if it's the nearest exit.
The look on their faces when we showed them the spot.

I couldn't see their faces, 'cause they were banging their heads on the table.
Yeah, yeah. Yesterday, the day after it airs once, the publisher of Adweek calls it the best commercial of all time.
Of all time! And it is.
And if anyone does one better, it's gonna be Chiat/Day, who the board wanted to replace, and it's gonna be Lee Clow, who the
board thought was out of his mind.

Ladies and gentlemen, "1984."

The first glorious anniversary of the information
purification directives.
We have created for the first time in all history a garden of pure ideology where each worker may bloom, secure from the pests purveying contradictory thoughts.
Our unification of thoughts is more powerful a weapon than any fleet or army on Earth.
We are one people...

Did we use skinheads as extras?
A couple of people have told me that.


We paid skinheads? I've got skinheads on my payroll?

They had a look you wanted.

The skinheads?


Okay, let's keep that to ourselves.

We shall prevail.
On January 24th, Apple
Computer will introduce Macintosh.

Who else knows?

Who else knows what?

That we paid terrorists to be in our TV commercial.

They were wrong about the ad, but they're a good board. Good people.
Their only problem... 

Their problem is that they're people.
People. The very nature of people is something to be overcome.

When I was running Pepsi, we had a lot of success focusing on 18-to-55-year-olds who weren't members of violent hate groups.

I get it.

You're not surrounded by enemies.

We're almost there.
I'm back and forth on The Dylan.
I might quote a different verse.

What are the choices?

"For the loser now will be later to win,"
which is what we have.

Mm-hmm. Or?

"Come mothers and fathers throughout the land and don't criticize what you can't understand.
Your sons and your daughters"...

"Are beyond your command."
I just lost a hundred bucks to Andy Hertzfeld.
He said you'd change it to that verse.
We got 45 seconds. I want to use it to ask you a question.
Why do people who are adopted feel like they were rejected instead of selected?

That came out of nowhere.

"Your sons and your daughters
are beyond your command.
Your old road is rapidly aging."
So go fuck yourself, because my name is Steve Jobs,
and the times, they are a-changin'.

I don't feel rejected.

You're sure?

Very sure.

'Cause it's not like the baby is born and the parents look and say,
"Nah, we're not interested in this one."
On the other hand, someone did choose you.

It's having no control.
You find out you were out of the loop when the most crucial events in your life were set in motion.
As long as you have control.
I don't understand people who give it up.
What inspired Hertzfeld to make that bet?

He was warning me that being your father figure could be dangerous.

Keep your 100 bucks. 
I'm sticking with the first verse.


What the hell does he mean?


I'm proud of you.

Thank you, boss.

It's my pleasure to introduce my friend and the CEO of Apple,
John Sculley.



Lisa made a painting on the Mac.


Six minutes.
You want to see Sculley?


You know all those times I told you you needed security?
Here's why.

I don't know how it is I've gotten older and you haven't.
Some deal with the devil I was never offered.

So you know what I've been thinking for the last four years?

As it turns out, John, I've never known what you were thinking.

No newborn baby has control.
Do you know what I'm talking about?
In '84, before the Mac launch. You said...


You said that being adopted meant you didn't have control.

We're starting in a minute, so...

Why do people think I fired you?

It's fine, John. It's all behind us.

Is it? Hmm?
Don't play stupid. You can't pull it off.

You came here to ask me why people think you fired me?

Why do people think I fired you?

Just confirm something for me, okay?
You liked the ad, right?
The commercial... "1984." You liked it.

When are you gonna get furniture?

It's not an easy process.

It is. You buy a couch, take it from there.

I'd be really surprised if you came here to talk about interior decorating.

I liked the ad very much.

You did?

You know I did.

You're a lying son of a bitch. You tried to kill it.

It's time to take a hard look at the Mac.

It's past time.
It's overpriced. We need to drop it to 1,995.
We need to double the marketing budget, put more bodies on an internal hard drive and invest in FileServer.

Where the hell did you get the idea I tried to kill...

Lee Clow.

Lee's wrong.

He's lying?

He's... mistaken.

Where would the money come from?

It would come from finally getting rid of the Apple II.
The Apple II is the only thing making money.

You agreed with the board.
- I understood the board's concerns, but I...
The board's concerns that
we didn't show the product?
- Among other things, but my question was...
- What other things?
I'm asking because I'm curious.
You said "among other things."
Among other things, it was
set in a dystopian galaxy.
It took place on a planet
where we don't live.
It was dark and the opposite of our brand.
And we didn't show the product.
People talked about the ad but most of
them didn't know what we were selling.
The Mac needs to sell for 1,995.
There is no market research telling us
the Mac is failing because it's overpriced.
It's telling us that people don't like it
because they think it doesn't do anything.
It's closed,
We didn't know it wasn't what
people wanted, but it isn't.
They want slots, they want
choices, they want options.
The way we buy stereos...
mix and match components.
John, listen to me. Whoever
said the customer is always right
was, I promise you, a customer.
- It had skinheads in it.
- She was liberating them.
- Liberating the skinheads.
- The ad didn't have anything to do with fucking skinheads.
We used them as fucking extras.
Nobody even knows they were skinheads.
I'm just saying the board had concerns...
You invented lifestyle advertising.
And our brand was my brand.
My job is to make a
recommendation to the board.
We showed a lot of happy
people drinking Pepsi.
We didn't say the world was going
to end if you bought a Dr. Pepper.
Recommend that we drop the price
and double the marketing budget.
- I can't.
- And we showed the product.
We showed it being opened, we showed
it being poured, being consumed.
What are you gonna do,
recommend that we kill the Mac?
I already have, Steve.
What? When?
You think the secret to your success
was not assuming people knew
what to do with a can of soda?
I didn't kill the ad, Steve! I'm the
only reason it made it on the air.
Just now. An hour ago.
I'm coming from Markkula's house.
What did he say?
- What did he say?
- Invent something new.
I'll give you a team. You can sit in Maui.
The resorts come with couches.
Wait a minute. Are you saying you
recommended terminating the Mac
or you recommended taking
me off the Mac team?
We bought three spots in the
Super Bowl. Two 30's and a 60.
After we screened it, the
board wanted that money back
and they asked me to sell off the spots.
Chiat/Day sold off the
two 30's but not the 60,
and I let it be known to Lee Clow
that if he didn't try very
hard to sell the last spot,
I wouldn't be unhappy.
If we drop the price
and double the budget...
Drop the price or double
the budget.
The only way to do that is to
take money out of the Apple II.
The Apple II should embarrass
you. It embarrasses me.
It doesn't embarrass the shareholders.
I don't give a shit about the shareholders.
That's why I hired you, so I don't
have to hear about shareholders.
The shareholders are my problem, and
the board represents the shareholders.
That's how it works.
You sure it wasn't Lee Clow who
dragged his feet selling the 60?
At my direction, Steve.
You think he would have done that
on his own, taken it on himself?
Yeah. I think he would've done
what it took to save it from you.
- I was the only thing protecting it.
- You didn't want the ad
because you were trying to kill the
Mac two months before it launched.
You are fucking delusional.
- Can I mention something to you?
- Sure.
I have no earthly idea why you're here.
The story of why and how you left Apple,
which is quickly becoming
mythologized, isn't true.
- I'm gonna take this to the board myself.
- Don't do that.
- I am doing that.
- You can't.
They believe you're no longer
necessary to this company.
I get hate mail, death threats.
I get death threats.
My kids are getting taunted.
Why do people think I fired you?
Joanna's gonna call my name in a second.
- Steve?
- That was unrehearsed.
Yeah, I'll be there in just a second.
I gave you your day in court.
- You gave me?
- I gave the board a clear choice.
I said, "Do you want to invest in the Apple
II or the Mac?" They chose the Apple II.
The same people who wanted
to dump the Super Bowl spot.
And then I got on a plane to China.
Mr. Sculley. There's a
call for you on Line One.
Or I almost got on a plane,
because I got a call in the lounge.
- Who made that call?
- Doesn't matter.
It matters to
me. Who made the call?
John Sculley.
John? If
you get on that plane,
you'll have lost your
job by the time it lands.
Steve's been calling the
board. He wants you out.
I left my bags on the plane.
My shit's still somewhere in Beijing.
I took a car back to Cupertino in
the middle of the fucking night.
I know what time it is. I need a quorum
here in one hour and I want Steve here too.
You took me off the
Mac, and it was bad business.
- The quorum call was a homicide.
- Right there! Right there.
That's the part that's bullshit, my friend.
It was a suicide.
Because you knew your
cards and I showed you mine.
I showed you mine, and you did it anyway.
What did you think I was gonna do?
I'm okay losing, but I'm not gonna forfeit.
I'm not okay losing.
We're losing market share,
and the Mac is losing money.
Our only hope is the Apple II, which is stagnating
because of its soon-to-be-obsolete DOS.
Users are already rigging their machines
to run with a CP/M operating system
that's been built to run on Intel.
I can't put it more simply than this.
We need to put our resources
into updating the Apple II.
By taking
resources from the Mac.
It's failing. That's a fact.
- It's overpriced.
- There's no evidence that it's...
I'm the evidence!
I'm the world's leading expert on
the Mac, John. What's your rsum?
You're issuing contradictory instructions,
you're insubordinate,
you make people miserable.
Our top engineers are
fleeing to Sun, Dell, HP.
Wall Street doesn't know
who's driving the bus.
We've lost hundreds of millions in value.
And I'm the CEO of Apple,
Steve. That's my rsum.
But before that, you sold
carbonated sugar water, right?
I sat in a fucking garage with
Wozniak and invented the future.
Because artists lead and
hacks ask for a show of hands.
All right.
Well, this guy's out of control.
I'm perfectly willing to hand
in my resignation tonight,
but if you want me to
stay, you can't have Steve.
Settle him out.
He can keep a share of stock
so he gets our newsletter.
He'll have to sever his
connection to Apple.
I'm dead serious. I want the
secretary to call for a vote.
I fucking dare you.
You have done an outstanding job over
the years of cultivating the press.
And by that, I mean manipulating them.
Because none of them, none of their
editors, none of their editors' publishers
to this day know that you forced it,
that you forced the board.
Even after I told you
exactly what they'd do,
which is exactly what they did.
I don't have any trouble
remembering that, John,
because of it being the
worst night of my life.
And I forced the vote because
I believed I was right.
I still believe I'm right. And I'm right.
Now I bled that night.
And I don't bleed.
But time's done its thing,
and I really haven't
thought about it in a while.
Now, I absolutely
understand why you're upset.
And I want people to
know the truth too.
It's time.
Got it.
You're gonna end me, aren't you?
You're being ridiculous.
I'm gonna sit center court
and watch you do it yourself.
Then I'm gonna order a nice meal with
a '55 Margaux and sign some autographs.
- Jesus Christ.
- You want some advice, Pepsi Generation?
Don't send Woz out to slap
me around in the press.
Anybody else... you, Markkula, Arthur Rock.
Anyone but Rain Man.
Don't manipulate him like that.
Whatever you may think, I'm
always gonna protect him.
Come on, Steve.
That's what men do.
We can't start late.

Come on in, honey.
- It's not "honey."
- John.
Get in. Get in. Get out of the hall.
I was taken in a side entrance.
I'll go out the same
way. No one will see me.
- How are you, Joanna?
- I'm good, John.
I'm just surprised to see you.
Everyone here really appreciates
the quote you gave to Forbes.
- You didn't have to do that.
- My pleasure.
If you want, I can slip you in
the back once the house lights go out.
- I'm just here to say "good luck."
- Okay.
You just have a couple of minutes.
- Would you try to find...
- Yeah.
You're a good man, John.
So I brought you a present.
A Newton.
Don't take it out of the box, you'll be able
to sell it, which is more than I can say.
Everything all right there?
Uh, no...
Just something Joanna pointed out to me.
I missed something so obvious about...
Doesn't matter.
Look, Wall Street's gonna sit back
and wait to see how you do as CEO,
so don't let any fluctuation
bother you for the first 12 months.
Day traders are gonna respond.
I don't need to school you.
This your way of telling me I
shouldn't have killed the Newton?
The most efficient animal
on the planet is the condor.
The most inefficient animals
on the planet are humans.
Well, you shouldn't
have killed it for spite.
That's bad business. Don't do that.
But a human with a bicycle
becomes the most efficient animal.
And the right computer...
a friendly, easy computer
that isn't an eyesore
but rather sits on your desk with
the beauty of a Tensor lamp...
The right computer will
be a bicycle for the mind.
Do you like it?
I was giving back.
And what if instead of it
being in the right hands,
it was in everyone's hands?
Everyone in the world.
We'd be talking about the most
tectonic shift in the status quo since...
I don't know why you've always been
interested in my adoption history,
but you said it's not like someone
looked at me and gave me back.
But that is what happened.
And you're telling me you
have the right computer.
It's called Macintosh.
A lawyer couple adopted me first,
then gave me back after a month.
They changed their mind.
Then my parents adopted me.
My biological mother had
stipulated that whoever took me
had to be college-educated,
wealthy and Catholic.
Paul and Clara Jobs were
none of those things,
so my biological mother wouldn't
sign the adoption papers.
What happened?
There was a legal battle
that went on for a while.
My mother said she refused
to love me for the first year.
You know, in case they had to give me back.
You can't refuse to love someone, Steve.
Yeah, it turns out you can.
What the hell can a one-month-old do
that's so bad his parents give him back?
Nothing. There's nothing
a one-month-old can do...
Have you ever thought about trying
to find your biological father?
I've met my biological father.
For that matter, so have you.
It's called Macintosh.
- Mr. Steve Jobs.
- Jandali.
Say hello to John Sculley.
Jandali owns the place,
and John's the CEO of Pepsi,
but I'm trying to get him to move to
Cupertino, put a dent in the universe.
You eat vegan as well?
You're kidding me.
No, I'll eat anything.
Why don't you start off with the Mediterranean
lettuce salad with purslane, mint...
My sister found him.
- Does he know?
- No. In fact, he bragged to Mona
that Steve Jobs comes in
the restaurant all the time.
- You don't want to...
- No.
Don't you think
you should talk to him?
He'd probably find a reason to sue me.
Oh, Steve...
John, if you're here about your legacy,
you need to form a line behind Wozniak.
Wozniak's gonna be fine.
I'm the guy who fired Steve Jobs.
Rich, college-educated and Catholic.
Steve? It's time.
I've gotta go.
Did I do this? Screw it up?
Let's let it go now.
Has to be time.
Come be our CEO.
Yeah. Okay.
It was the stylus, John.
- What?
- I killed the Newton because of the stylus.
If you're holding a stylus, you can't use the
other five that are attached to your wrist.
Things we could have done together.
God, the things we could've done.