“Really, Baucis, you are very clumsy again today!” cried Lucilia, half-vexed and half-saucily. “Do you want to pull that fine, luxuriant hair, that the greatest poet might rave about, all out by the roots. I have shown you a hundred times how the arrow is to be put through, and you always towzle my hair as old Orbilius does the schoolboys!”
“Ingratitude for thanks, all the world over!” muttered the old slave, casting a last glance at Lucilia’s curls, her successful handiwork. “I suppose you would like to stick a pin into me. Really, the young people of the present day are like babies or dolls. And if the gold pin slips and the plaits come down, then it is the old woman who is to blame and there is no end of the fuss. Ah! you naughty girl, how do you expect to get on when you are married, you impatient little thing! Many a time will you have to sigh, when your husband is out of temper! Many a time will you say to yourself: ‘Ah! if only I had learned a little patience when I was younger!’”
“You are greatly mistaken,” said Lucilia in a declamatory tone. “The days are over, when the husband was master over everything in the house. What woman now-a-days will submit to a wedding with offerings of corn? We have grown wiser, and know what such offerings are meant to symbolize--we are to surrender our liberty to the very last grain! So I should think! If ever I marry.... But what are you about? Will you ever have done fidgetting with that tiresome necklace? Do look, Claudia, how she is tormenting me!”
Claudia was sitting in holiday attire in front of a handsome citrus-wood table, holding in her hands the ivory roller of an elegantly-written book. When Lucilia spoke to her she absently raised her soft, fawn-like eyes, laid the roll aside and stood up.
“You look like Melpomene,” cried Lucilia enthusiastically, while Baucis draped her stola. “If I were Aurelius, I should have my head turned by the sight of you. How well the folds of your dress fall, and how admirably the border lies on the ground, oh! and your hair! Do you know I am quite in love myself with that hair; it goes so beautifully with the soft brown of your eyes. That dark fair hair, with a kind of dim lustre, is too lovely; my stupid, every-day brown looks no better by the side of it than a cabbage next a rose. Of course, too, Baucis takes three times as much pains with you as with me. Tell me yourself, is not this arrow all askew again?”
So speaking she took a polished metal mirror from the table, and studied her coiffure first from the right and then from the left, while one of the young slave-girls, who stood round Baucis, came to her assistance with a second mirror.
“It is quite horrid!” she said crossly. “In short every single thing is wanting in me to-day, that could please the fancy of any human being. Never was my fatal snub-nose so short and broad, never was my mouth so wide and vulgar. And listen, Claudia, in spite of all its beauty, I can do without going to Baiae for the future. I gained twenty pounds in weight there, and brought home three dozen freckles. It is a lucky thing, that I have a philosophic soul! If I were in love now with some son of the gods, by Socrates’ cup of hemlock I should be desperate with rage!”
“You are only fishing for praise,” said Claudia, stroking her sister’s cheek. “But you know I am but ill-skilled in the art of paying compliments.”
“Silly girl!” said Lucilia. “As if praise could mend an evil. Do you suppose I want to do as the young law students do, who hire flatterers to praise them? Nay, no bribery is possible, when we stand before the Centumvirate who judge of beauty.--And, my good Baucis, what are you staring at now, like a country cousin at a circus. Make haste and get dressed, you old sinner, or Cinna’s cook will have burnt the pasty.”
“I shall be ready in an instant,” replied Baucis. “At my time of life dressing need not take long. Who looks at the hawthorn, I wonder, when roses are in bloom?” and she hurried away.
Lucilia and Claudia went out into the colonnade where, arm in arm, they slowly paced the gleaming marble pavement. As they turned the farther corner of the quadrangle, they saw their mother coming towards them at a leisurely pace.
“Quintus is ready and waiting,” she said pleasantly.
“And you, dear mother?” asked Lucilia. “Do you really mean to stay at home?”
“It is such a pity,” added Claudia. “We are accustomed, alas! to my father’s never accompanying us to see Cornelia, but you--what need you care about the debates in the senate? Besides, Cornelius Cinna is related to your family. Your views as to what contributes to the prosperity of the Roman people differ no doubt....”
“In Jupiter’s name, child!” cried Octavia horrified. “Claudia, what are you saying? If your father were to hear you....”
“But, my dear mother,” answered the girl, “I am only speaking the truth. There are many very estimable men....”
“Be silent--when and where did you pick up such notions? Attend to your music and your poets, give your mind to the flowers you twist into your hair, but never meddle with the mysteries of state-craft.”
The young girl looked down in some confusion.
“Do not pay any heed to it, mother dear!” said Lucilia. “She chatters without thinking. But, once more--do come with us. Cornelius Cinna will very likely not be visible; you know how strangely the old man behaves. Come, mother--and remember, dear little mother, it is Cornelia’s birthday. She will certainly feel hurt, if the mother of her future husband lets the day pass without going to embrace her.”
“It is of no use; your father’s wishes have always been my law. Believe me, my sweet child, the utmost I can do is to allow you to visit at that house....”
“Come, that would be too bad, mother! I really believe, that if he had not formally released Quintus from his filial bondage, he would have been capable of forbidding the marriage.”
“It is quite possible,” replied Octavia. “That noble soul places the commonwealth above every other consideration. You can hardly imagine, how unswervingly he goes on the road he believes to be the right one.”
“Oh yes! I know his resolute nature,” said Claudia, “and I honor and admire it. Say no more, Lucilia; mother is right. A man must never yield even a hand-breadth, and silent obedience is a wife’s first duty.”
“You are my dear good child,” said Octavia much touched. “And believe me when I say, that the fulfilment of this duty, hard as it seems, is a heartfelt joy when such a man as your father is the husband. He is strict and firm, but not a tyrant; he is always ready to listen to reason, and to take council with the chosen companion of his life. Nay, he is not above learning from the humblest. On one point only he stands like a rock against which the surf beats in vain, and that point is Duty.”
“Here comes Baucis!” cried Lucilia with a laugh of saucy amusement. “Hail, oh fairest of brides, clad in the garb of rejoicing! Baucis in sky-blue! If this does not procure her a Philemon, I must despair of the fate of humanity.”
“You hear, mistress, how shamefully she mocks your waiting-woman,” said Baucis in lamentable tones. “I can never do anything right. If I wear grey, she hints at an ass; if I put on a handsome dress, she laughs at me to my face. However, what I had to say is, that the litters are at the door and the young master has asked three times if his sisters were coming.”
“We are quite ready,” said Claudia.
A dense crowd had gathered outside the vestibule. Quintus, with only three of his slaves, was waiting impatiently in the entrance. The twelve litter-bearers in their red livery stood by the poles, and eight negroes--the van and rear-guard of the procession--were staring vacantly into the air. A number of idlers had collected round these--the inquisitive gapers who always swarmed wherever there was anything to be seen, however trivial. These were the class who, not choosing to work, lived on the corn given away by the state; the uproarious mob who filled the upper rows of seats in the theatres and circus; the populace whose suffrages no Caesar was too proud to court, since it was among these that arbitrary despotism had its most staunch adherents, in the struggle against the last remnants of a free and freedom-loving aristocracy.
“Oh! how handsome she is!” ran from mouth to mouth among the loiterers, as Claudia stepped into the foremost litter; Lucilia took her place by her adopted sister’s side. The second litter was to carry Baucis and a young slave girl.
“Make way!” cried the principal runner, stepping among the crowd, who fell back, and the procession set out. Quintus followed on foot at a short distance.
Their way led them through the Forum and past the venerable temple of Saturn, where the Roman state-treasure was kept. To the right on the Palatine, spread the enormous palaces of the Caesars, and among them the capitol and the splendid but scarcely-finished residence of Domitian. Proceeding but slowly, they reached the Arch of Titus and then, leaving the fountain of the Meta Sudans and the vast Flavian amphitheatre to the right, they turned into the street leading to the Caelimontana Gate. The throng of humanity, which in the neighborhood of the Forum defied all description, here became somewhat thinner; and the litter-bearers mended their pace. In about ten minutes they stopped at a house, which in point of magnificence was hardly inferior to that of the Flamen Titus Claudius Mucianus. In the vestibule, beside the door-keeper, there stood a stout little woman, who hailed the visitors from afar with a broad grin, and was most eager to be of use to the young ladies as they alighted. This little woman was Chloe, Cornelia’s maid; her mistress now appeared on the scene, a tall and finely-made young girl, with hair as black as night, dressed entirely in white and wearing no ornament but a string of large, softly-gleaming pearls. The girls embraced each other warmly.
Quintus had by this time joined them; with a tender light in his eyes he went straight up to his betrothed and kissed her gravely on the forehead. “All health, happiness and blessing on you, on your birthday, my sweet Cornelia!” he said affectionately; then taking her hand he led her into the atrium. This was festally decorated with flowers; in the middle stood a hearth after the old fashion, but there were no images of the Lares and Penates. Cornelius Cinna held the opinions and views of the world at large, which had been taught by Lucretius and Pliny the Elder; he thought it folly to enquire curiously as to the form and aspect of the Divinity, or even of any particular god or goddess; since, if there be indeed a Power beyond and behind Nature, that Power must be Force and Wisdom pure and simple. Hence he contemned all the ordinary household gods.
Eight or ten guests were already assembled in the atrium, among them Caius Aurelius and his faithful follower Herodianus.
The young Batavian did not at first seem to observe the new arrivals. He was standing in grave conversation with the master of the house, whose gloomy and almost sinister countenance by no means harmonized with the gay decorations of the hearth and the Corinthian columns.
“I thank you,” said Cinna offering the young man his hand. “Your words have done me good. But now, ask no farther....”
“As you desire....”
“One thing more, my dear Caius--Quintus Claudius too must know how strongly I feel on this point. After dinner bring him, as if by chance, into my study....”
“Trust to me.”
“Very good; and now for a few hours I will try to banish these memories from my soul. As you see me, Caius, you may think it a miracle that I am not choked by the insult! And not a soul that could sympathize with me! Nerva, my old friend, was absent. Even Trajan was so far off as Antium....”
“And Caius Aurelius was too young and too much a stranger?” said the Batavian laughing.
“Yes, I must confess that it was so. From the first, it is true, I saw you to be an admirable youth, and I thank my friend at Gades, who sent you with letters of introduction to me; but I could not guess how early ripe and truly noble your whole nature was, how fervent your patriotism and how unconquerable your pride.--But in all truth, Aurelius, from this day forth--here comes Quintus and his sisters; we part for the present, but do not forget!”
His face, which had brightened somewhat as he spoke, fell again to the expression of grave, almost sinister determination, which characterized his strongly-marked features. He crossed the atrium to the entrance where the young people, surrounded by their guests, were chatting gaily. Cinna pressed the hand of his niece’s lover--kindly, but yet with a certain reserve--and addressed a few half-jesting words to the girls; but when Claudia attempted to offer such apology as best she might for her mother’s absence, he turned away as if he did not hear.
At this moment the noble figure of an old man appeared in the doorway; with a gleaming white toga over his shoulders and flowing snowy locks, his towering height gave him a majestic presence.
“Cocceius Nerva,” whispered the Batavian to Herodianus, who came up to him to ask.
“By Castor!” said the freedman, “but if I had met this man on arriving here, I should have said that he and no other must be the ruler of the world.”
“Remember, we are in Rome, and you will do well to keep such ideas to yourself.”
Cornelius Cinna led the illustrious senator to a handsome marble seat covered with carpets, and a circle of reverent friends formed round him at once.
“By all the gods,” muttered Herodianus, “may I perish if that marble seat does not look for all the world like a throne; and they stand round him like the guard round Caesar.--And now, as he raises his right hand! If he were but thirty years younger, he would be like that image of Zeus we bought a while since in Gades; he only lacks the thunderbolt.”
“Silence!” repeated Aurelius angrily. “You have had no wine yet to-day--what will you not say when you have played your part at dinner, if you are as thirsty as usual?”
“I will not say another word,” replied the freedman.
Claudia, who till this instant had been talking eagerly with Ulpius Trajanus, a Hispanian friend of Cinna’s, of Cocceius Nerva’s--too eagerly, Aurelius thought--now went off with Cornelia under the colonnade to see the birthday gifts which, in accordance with an old Roman custom, had been sent to Cornelia early in the day. They were tastefully laid out in the arcade on brazen tables; gold brooches and necklaces among exquisite flowers; tissues mixed with silk; handsome books with purple edges, rolled on cylinders of amber and ebony; little slippers worked with pearls; beaten silver vessels from the hand of Mentor, the esteemed silversmith; Arabian and Indian perfumes from the stores of Niceros, the famous druggist; ribbons and trimmings of amethyst-purple; stuffed birds, fruits from Asia Minor, and a hundred other costly trifles from every quarter of the world made up the tribute sent to this spoilt daughter of a senatorial house.
Aurelius took advantage of the opportunity, and went to join the young girls. Claudia affected great surprise at seeing him, but immediately after gave the young man her hand with frank warmth, as though ashamed in truth of any disingenuous coquetry towards such a man as Aurelius. Still, the conversation they began was not particularly lively; they stood in front of the tables and made the usual remarks--this present was charming, that offering was splendid. Cornelia declared, that prettiest of all were the exquisite roses that Quintus had given her--and Claudia sighed, very softly, still she sighed.
At this moment a grinning head appeared in the frame of a door close by. This was Chloe, Cornelia’s maid.
“I beg your pardon,” she said with comical importance. “But if I disturb you, it is from sheer necessity. The steward of the tables cannot arrange the places for the company.”
“Indeed, how is that?” asked Cornelia severely. “Did I not give him full and exact instructions? He seems to have a short memory.”
“Excuse us, dear mistress--but he had not counted on Cocceius Nerva. Come and help us, pray.”
Cornelia frowned, but did as she was requested; her pallid face colored scarlet; such a question seemed to her vulgar and trivial, and she felt that shock to her taste which jars on a superior nature, when the details of daily life intrude on a moment of exalted feeling. Those roses from Paestum, that thought of Quintus! what a delicious flood of happy feeling they symbolized! And Chloe’s appearance, in the very midst of this beauty and happiness, wounded her like the empty farcicality of an Atellanian buffoon.
Aurelius and Claudia were left to gaze at the display of birthday gifts with redoubled attention; you might have fancied they had never before seen such things as flowers or bracelets.
“How delicious!” said Claudia breathing the perfume of a splendid rose-bush.
“Delicious!” echoed Aurelius, putting his face close to the flowers. “And look at this strange bird! How naturally it sits with its wings spread out--exactly as if it were alive.”
“It is a parrot from the banks of the Indus.”
“Or a phoenix....”
“A phoenix? I thought that story of Tacitus’ was a mere fable.”
“Nay, not altogether. The marvellous bird, which burns its father or itself and then rises from its ashes in renewed youth, is no doubt a myth. But does not Pliny tell us of a real phoenix, which builds its nest at the sources of the Nile and shines like pure gold?”
“What, seriously?” and she gently stroked the neck of the stuffed bird with her finger.
“How soft it feels!” she said.
“Like crape from Cos,” said Aurelius, doing the same. His hand touched hers, and Claudia colored. She hastily stooped over a book lying close by--the “Thebais” of Statius--and read the title, written in gold on the outside of the roll.
“A capital work,” said the Batavian, “I read it some time since in Trajectum.”
“And to me, a Roman, it remains unknown.”
“If you only desire it, I will go to-morrow morning to the bookseller in the Argiletum and bring you the best copy I can find.”
“Oh! you are too kind!” replied Claudia.
Then there was a pause, while Aurelius examined with the greatest interest the quality of some flaxen cloth from Cordova. At last he began hesitatingly:
“If you will not think it too bold, allow me to propose....”
“Speak on,” said Claudia, again bending over the “Thebais.”
“I should be only too happy, if I might be allowed to read this masterpiece of Statius aloud to you. Without wishing to boast, I have had a good deal of practice in reading and declamation, and,--as you know, epic poetry was originally intended for recitation.”
“Of course; it is for that very reason called epic. I may own too, that there is nothing I like better than to hear good reading. Quintus reads very well, but he rarely has time or is in the humor.”
“You will allow me then?”
“I beg you to be so good.”
“And when?”
“That we will settle presently; just now, I see, they are going to table.”
“Where have you hidden yourselves?” cried Lucilia flying into the hall as lightly as a deer. “I have been seeking you everywhere. Come, make haste; I am desperately hungry.”
“She is hungry!” thought Claudia with a glance up to heaven. “I hardly know whether to envy her or to pity her!”
FOOTNOTES:
ORBILIUS. The well-known schoolmaster, nicknamed by his pupils plagosus, (delighting in blows) to whom Horace went. (Suet. Gramm. 9.)
I SUPPOSE YOU WOULD LIKE TO STICK A PIN INTO ME. Roman ladies often avenged mistakes committed by their slaves, during the process of making their toilettes, by such abuse. Nay, it sometimes happened that a slave thus stabbed was killed. See Mart. Ep. II, 66, where Lalage knocks down the female slave Plecusa on account of a single curl escaping from her hair.
AH! YOU NAUGHTY GIRL. With the sovereign contempt with which so many Romans treated their slaves, this tone, addressed to the daughter of the house, might seem strange, but even under the emperors the relation between masters and slaves was in many respects a patriarchial one. The older slaves, especially, were permitted many familiarities in their intercourse with the children of the family, who often called them “little father,” “little mother,” allowed them to reprove them, and according to their personality, frequently permitted them to exercise no little authority. A beautiful example of cordial relations existing between the master, and his slaves and freedmen, is shown us in a letter from the younger Pliny to Paullinus (Ep. V. 19) where he says: “I see how mildly you treat your people, and therefore acknowledge the more frankly how indulgent I am to mine; I always remember the words of Homer:
“‘And was kind as a father....’
and our own ‘father of a family’ (pater familias). But even were I harsher and sterner by nature, I should be moved by the illness of my freedman Zosimus, to whom I must show the greater kindness, now that he needs it more.... My long-standing affection for him, which is only increased by anxiety, affords a guarantee for that. Surely it is natural, that nothing so fans and increases love as the fear of loss, which I have already endured more than once on his account. Some years ago, after reciting a long time with much effort, he raised blood; so I sent him to Egypt, from whence he returned a short time since greatly strengthened by the long journey. But on straining his voice too much for several days, a slight cough served to remind us of the old difficulty, and he again raised blood. Therefore I intend to send him to your estate at Forojulium, having often heard you say that the air there was healthful, and the milk very beneficial in such diseases.”
WEDDING WITH OFFERING OF CORN. The oldest form of the marriage ceremony was the Confarreatio, so-called from the offerings of grain (far). By this form the wife entirely lost her independence. Her property passed into her husband’s possession, and she could neither acquire anything for herself, nor transact any legal business. The desire for emancipation, here jestingly uttered by Lucilia, was in reality very widely diffused throughout Rome at the time of our story, and the form of the Confarreatio was therefore constantly becoming rarer.
CITRUS-WOOD. The citrus (tuja cupressoides) a beautiful tree growing on the sides of the Atlas, furnished costly tops for tables, for which the most extravagant prices were paid, as the trunks rarely attained the requisite degree of thickness. Pliny (Hist. Nat. XIII, 15) mentions slabs almost four feet in diameter, and six inches thick. Cicero gave a million sesterces for a citrus-wood table. Seneca is said to have owned five hundred of them. The slab rested on a single base of skilfully-carved ivory, from which they received the name of monopodia (a single foot).
STOLA. The over-garment worn by women (stola) was trimmed around the bottom with a border (instita) that often lengthened into a train.
METAL MIRROR. At the time of our story mirrors made of a mixture of gold, silver and copper were preferred.
WHO HIRE FLATTERERS TO PRAISE THEM. See Quintillian, XI, 3, 131; Juv. Sat. XIII, 29-31, Plin. Ep. II, 14, 4.
THE CENTUMVIRATE. A body of judges whose function it was to decide in civil cases, more particularly in suits concerning inheritance. The Decemvirate presided over them.
LIVED ON THE CORN GIVEN AWAY BY THE STATE. The number of Roman paupers, who lived almost exclusively by this means, far surpassed those who need support in civilized countries at the present time.
THE ARCH OF TITUS. The triumphal arch of Titus, at the southeastern corner of the Forum Romanum, designed for the commemoration of the victory over the Jews, A.D. 81, is still standing at the present day. It bears the inscription: “Senatus populusque Romanus divo Tito divi Vespasiani filio Vespasiano Augusto.” Some of its bas-reliefs are admirably preserved.
META SUDANS. One of the Metae (the obelisks at the upper and lower ends of the circus) resembling a fountain, not far from the Flavian amphitheatre. Part of the sub-structure still remains.
THE FLAVIAN AMPHITHEATRE, now the Coliseum. This edifice, commenced by the emperor Vespasian at the close of the Jewish war, finished under Titus, and dedicated A.D. 80, contained seats for 87,000 spectators, and room for 20,000 more in the open gallery. Even at the present time, no similar structure in the world has equalled, far less surpassed it in extent and magnificence.
CAELIMONTANA GATE.. (Porta Caelimontana) near the Lateran. The street here entered by Claudia and Lucilia still exists; it now bears the name of Via di San Giovanni in Laterano.
THE BIRTHDAY (dies natalis, sacra natalicia) was celebrated in ancient times.
IN THE MIDDLE STOOD A HEARTH. The real hearth, originally in the atrium, had long since vanished from the atria of the wealthy and aristocratic. Here a festal hearth erected for the occasion is meant.
LUCRETIUS. Titus Lucretius Carus, who was born in the year 98, and died in 55 B.C., composed a philosophical didactic poem “on the nature of things.” (De Rerum Natura.) The view of the world taken in it is a thoroughly material one. The poet constructs the universe out of an infinite multitude of atoms, which exist singly and imperishably in infinite space.
PLINY THE ELDER. Caius Plinius Secundus, called to distinguish him from his nephew, so often quoted here, the elder (major) a warrior, statesman, and famous naturalist, was born at Novum Comum, A.D. 23. He met his death, a victim to his thirst for scientific knowledge, at the great eruption of Vesuvius, A.D. 79. (See the famous description in his nephew’s letter to Tacitus, Plin. Ep. VI, 16.) Of his numerous works, nothing has come down to us except the Historia Naturalis, a vast encyclopedia, the material for which was obtained from more than 2,000 volumes. He was an absolute denier of the gods, nay, of transcendentalism altogether. The opinions attributed to Cinna are in part literally copied from the Historia Naturalis.
ANTIUM. The modern Porto d’Anzio, an ancient city south of
Rome. Many Roman aristocrats owned country-seats there.
TISSUES MIXED WITH SILK. Fabrics made entirely of silk were rare in Rome.
MENTOR was a famous sculptor, especially celebrated for his cups and goblets in metal (repoussé). Pliny. Hist. Nat. VII, 38, and XIII, 11, 12, also Martial, Ep. III, 41:
The lizard wrought by Mentor’s hand so rare,
Was fear’d i’ the cup, as though it living were.
WRIGHT.
that is, the silver lizard, wrought on the cup, is so true to life, that people might fear it. See Mart. Ep. IV, 39, IX, 59 (cups that Mentor’s hand ennobled), etc.
NICEROS. See Mart. Ep. VI, 55 (“because you smelt Niceros’s leaden vials ...”) Mart. Ep. X, 38, (“the lamps that exhaled Niceros’s sweet perfumes ...”) and Mart. Ep. XII, 65, (“a pound of ointment from Cosmus or Niceros.”)
RIBBONS AND TRIMMINGS OF AMETHYST-PURPLE. Garments of amethystine-purple, woollen material (amethystina or vestes amethystinae) were among the most magnificent and costly clothes. See Mart. Ep. I, 97, 7, and Juv. Sat. VII, 136. The color was so-called because it glittered in the amethyst, a violet-blue gem.
EXQUISITE ROSES. Roses and violets were the favorite flowers of the ancients. The use of these blossoms was enormous. For the rose-culture in Rome, see Varro, R. Rust, I, 16, 3.
THE STEWARD OF THE TABLES. The chief slave in the dining-room, the butler, was called Tricliniarcha. (Petr. XXII, 6, Inscr. Orell. No. 794.)
PAESTUM (Παὶστον) in the most ancient times Posidonia, a city on the western coast of Lucania, south of the mouth of the Silarus, (now Sele) was famous for its magnificent roses.
ATELLANIAN BUFFOON. Atellanae (Atellanae fabulae, ludi Atellani) was the name given to a species of dramatic performance, somewhat coarsely comical in character. The material for these plays was taken from the lives of the humble citizens and country people. The language used was that of every-day life, and they were often written in the Oscan dialect. The name comes from the Campanian city Atella, where this style of play first originated. Certain fundamental characteristics of the Atellanae representations are still visible in Italian popular farces.
PHOENIX. See Tac. Ann. VI, 28, Plin. Hist. Nat. X. 2, _Ov.
Met._ XV, 392.
LIKE CRAPE FROM COS. Corduba, now Cordova, on the Baetis, now the Guadalquivir, was one of the most important commercial cities in Spain, the principal place in Hispania Baetica, the seat of the imperial governor. See Strabo III, 141. Materials woven from Spanish flax (carbasus) were considered specially delicate for clothing.
EPIC from Epos (ἒπος)--word, speech, tale. Afterwards the Greeks distinguished epic poetry from lyric by the ἒπη.
