“Times are bad, I grant, but every time has been one of decay, and has, however, prepared the way for a new epoch. The fallen leaves of autumn form a forcing-bed for the coming spring; Nature, life, and history ever renew themselves through death. Therefore death is to me only a renewal, a change, and whenever I meet a funeral, I always say to myself, ‘O how pleasant it is to live!’” “My dear Flaccus, you live with your dreams in the Golden Age, while we others only drag ourselves through this life of the Iron Age. Do you remember how Hesiod complains already of his own time?” “No, I have forgotten that, but in order to oblige you I will listen.” “‘The people of to-day are an iron race, and never rest from the burden of work, neither by day nor by night. They are a sinful folk, and the gods send them heavy troubles. But even when they send joy, this turns to their misfortune. Some day Zeus will destroy them, these many-tongued people, when they are born with grey locks on their temples. Yes, our children are born old men already, toothless, wrinkled and with bald heads. The father is not gracious to the child, nor the child to the father, nor the guest to his host, nor servant to fellow-servant, nor brother to brother. Children dishonour their old parents, revile them and speak unfriendly words--these young scoundrels who know nothing of divine vengeance, and never thank their ageing parents for their fostering care of them as children. Might is right, and one city destroys another. Honesty and faithfulness in keeping vows are never rewarded, as little as kindness or justice. Oh no, they who practise sin and break the law, demand honour. Scoundrels betray noble men, and commit perjury without scruple. Envy follows men, these unhappy ones with their harsh voices and dreadful faces, who rejoice over the evil and the mischief which they do.’” “Yes, so Hesiod spoke a thousand years ago, and I must confess his words are well deserved, but what can one do?” “Yes, they are. Cicero was murdered, and I feel inclined to follow the example of Cato, who died in order to escape sin. I sink, Flaccus, in lies and hypocrisy. But I will not sink ... I will mount. I have praised Augustus and his son Marcellus in my verses, but I believe no more in them, for they are not the future. Therefore the _Aeneid_ shall be burnt!” “You disquiet me, Maro. But what do you believe in?” “I believe in the Sibyl, who has prophesied that the Iron Age will end, and the Golden Age return.” “You have sung of that in the Fourth Eclogue, I remember.... Have you fever?” “I believe I have. Do you remember--no! our fathers remember when the Capitol was burnt, and the Sibylline books destroyed. But now new books have come from Alexandria, and in them they have read that a new era will begin; that Rome will be destroyed but built up again, and that a Golden Age....”