An easterly breeze got up, and, as we proceeded, a brisk east wind, which broke out in the end into a fearful gale. Up went the ship at the prow, and down at the stern. She
nearly foundered. She was awash everywhere. Then she headed out to sea. Sweating and shouting from the sailors, screams from all on board-some of my friends were with
me-but all I said was 'O Asclepius!' After many hazards, driven out to sea time and again when we were on the point of making port, and causing the people watching great
anxiety, we finally reached land-safe and happy, but only just! When night came, the god commanded me to purge myself, and told me how. The purging was as complete
as if I had taken hellebore, as those who had had experience of that drug told me. Everything was moved by the waves! The god now told me the whole truth, namely that I
was destined to be shipwrecked and this was why these things had happened, and now, both for safety and to fulfil my destiny, I must get into a boat in the harbour and
contrive that it should capsize and sink; someone would then rescue me and bring me ashore. I was of course happy to do this. Everyone was amazed at the ingenious fake
shipwreck, coming on top of the real danger. We knew that it was Asclepius who had saved us from the sea. The purging was an additional blessing.
Conclusion
We began this survey by emphasizing that the prose literature of the period was one of highly professional art. Both in Latin and in Greek, the reading public expected
accuracy, elegance, and virtuosity in a very elaborate verbal game. We conclude by making the complementary observation, to which the intimate detail of our last extract
from Aristides particularly lends colour, that it -was also a literature of personal statement. The letter, the essay, the speech that confesses a personality are, for the first time,
leading literary forms. What unites these two features-which may at first sight seem ill matched-is the nature of the society on which the literature is based. This was a
governing class of diverse origins but homogeneous education, for whom distinction in their studies both lent respectability to worldly success and often led to it. The
members of this elite, whether in Syria or in Spain, were of personal interest to themselves and to one another. Their feelings, their moral problems, even their illnesses were
fit matter for writing. They shared a common range of cultural reference, and a common interest in the classical past.
It is hard to point to a prose genius, though common consent would except Tacitus. The Christian writers to come have a better claim. But the high level of skill, the charm
and interest of the persons concerned, and the massive information they communicate about so many aspects of ancient life, in their own and earlier days, deserve
appreciative readers and careful students. Seneca and Pliny, Plutarch and Lucian, and many others, are articulate witnesses to a state of civilization which has many
affinities with our own. They look inwards upon themselves and backwards to the past, and in their two literary languages they have a superb instrument to express these
two great concerns.
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