1. HORACE THE PERSON

Horace was of slight stature among even a slight-statured race. At the
period when we like him best, when he was growing mellower and better
with advancing years, his black hair was more than evenly mingled with
grey. The naturally dark and probably not too finely-textured skin of
face and expansive forehead was deepened by the friendly breezes of both
city and country to the vigorous golden brown of the Italian. Feature
and eye held the mirror up to a spirit quick to anger but plenteous in
good-nature. Altogether, Horace was a short, rotund man, smiling but
serious, of nothing very remarkable either in appearance or in manner,
and with a look of the plain citizen. Of all the ancients who have left
no material likeness, he is the least difficult to know in person.

We see him in a carriage or at the shows with Maecenas, the Emperor's
fastidious counsellor. We have charming glimpses of him enjoying in
company the hospitable shade of huge pine and white poplar on the grassy
terrace of some rose-perfumed Italian garden with noisy fountain and
hurrying stream. He loiters, with eyes bent on the pavement, along the
winding Sacred Way that leads to the Forum, or on his way home struggles
against the crowd as it pushes its way down town amid the dust and din
of the busy city. He shrugs his shoulders in good-humored despair as the
sirocco brings lassitude and irritation from beyond the Mediterranean,
or he sits huddled up in some village by the sea, shivering with the
winds from the Alps, reading, and waiting for the first swallow to
herald the spring.

We see him at a mild game of tennis in the broad grounds of the Campus
Martius. We see him of an evening vagabonding among the nameless common
folk of Rome, engaging in small talk with dealers in small merchandise.