78 Explōrātiō Duodēvīcēsima (XVIII) Adventure Eighteen
Seneca Minor and the mimes of Publilius Syrus The Relative Pronoun quī, quae, quod
The Verb possum, posse, potuī
Mōns Capitolīnus, Rōma Mēnsis September
M. Aemiliō Lepidō T. Statiliō Taurō cōnsulibus
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Capitoline Hill, Rome September, 11 CE
he moment I arrived in Rome it immediately felt like something had gone wrong. I was standing in a packed farmer’s market, surrounded by people shouting and bargaining, and although I scanned the crowd in front of me, I did not see Latinitas anywhere. After
turning all the way around, I finally saw a thin old man with a smile on his face advancing toward me. Tūne mē quaeris, he said, then added, in English, “Are you looking for me?” which put my panic to rest. “It’s me,” he, or she, said; “I had to disguise myself today for the purposes of our visit. I thought you might use your Latin to get your bearings here, but I guess you’re not ready for that yet. Oh well; malum est cōnsilium quod mūtārī nōn potest, a plan which can’t be changed is a bad one. Anyway, hoc quod tibi comparāvī, cape, here’s something that I bought for you; take it.”
She placed in my hands a slightly charred triangular flatbread covered with what looked like an herb-and-cheese spread. She frowned at me when I folded it in half – my pizza-eating habit – but I did not care, partly because of the scare she had just given me, and partly because it was delicious – like a panini made with fresh pesto, extra rich in cheese, bright salt, and sharp pepper, with strange hints of bitter and sour.
Thif if fo tafty, I said with my mouth full. Where did you get it?
“Morētum vocātur. Illī vendidēre. It’s called a morētum; they sold it.” She pointed to the morētum vendors: an elderly woman at a table, and, behind her, an old man who was making another batch of spread with a mortar and pestle. I silently saluted their culinary talent, and moved on.
I soon realized there was something else strange going on: Latinitas had a child with her. A young boy of about ten, he had a very serious look on his face and a head full of wild, curly hair. He wore a large colored stone on his necklace; called a bulla, it is supposed to protect against the evil eye. He was carrying a set of wax tablets and a stylus to write with, while Latinitas held a
scroll that she would give him later on. The boy seemed to know where we were going and took the lead. As we followed, Latinitas dropped back to explain.
“This headstrong boy whom you’re looking at, whose name you are wondering about, is Seneca, Lucius Annaeus Seneca. I have morphed into his tutor Sotion and given him the day off so I can take him up to the Capitoline hill myself. Seneca recently arrived in Rome from Cordoba, Spain, where he lived since he was born. I told him you were a foreigner studying Latin, so don’t worry about staying out of sight.”
We left behind the Forum Holitorium – The Vegetable Sellers’ Market – and climbed up another of Rome’s seven hills, the Capitoline. Like the Palatine, this lay near the Roman Forum, but unlike the Palatine, it was dominated by a single enormous building, the temple of Iupiter Capitolinus. If you can picture in your mind the famous Parthenon at Athens in its original condition, that might give you a sense of its general size and appearance. On its roof there was a metal statue of Jupiter riding in his chariot. Inside the temple there were statues of Jupiter, and Juno – Jupiter’s wife, and the queen of the gods – as well as Minerva, their daughter, the Roman equivalent of Athena.
Latinitas told me that the temple was very old and had decorations made of terracotta, which is baked clay. Octavian – who I should probably call by his new name and title, the emperor Augustus – had recently refurbished the building, and it was in beautiful condition. Despite what you see in pictures, many of the temples in ancient Rome were in rather bad shape; not this one, though. Today, however, little trace of it remains except for a few pieces of statuary and foundation stone that you can see in a museum.
We joined a crowd that was seated on the temple steps listening to a man deliver a speech in a clear, almost musical voice. He was one of the contestants in a public-speaking competition. The way the competition worked was that the organizer would name a person, living or dead, real or imaginary, who was facing a difficult decision – like, should Alexander the Great keep marching his army further into India, or turn back? – and the contestants had to take a position on it and make a speech pretending to offer the person advice.
When we arrived, the organizer came running over to us and tousled young Seneca’s hair; it was his father, Latinitas said, who was also called Seneca; we call him Seneca the Elder. His son did not seem very interested in what was going on; instead, he opened the scroll Latinitas gave him so he could take notes on his writing tablets. Respecting his youthful self-discipline, I gave him room. When Latinitas turned her attention to me, I was not sure whether to feel honored that I was studying Latin next to a boy who would grow up to be a famous Stoic philosopher, or embarrassed that this little kid was so far ahead of me.