Chapter X: Book XVIII: The Natural History of Grain (4)

The year is divided into four periods or seasons, the recurrence of which is indicated by the increase or diminution of the daylight. Immediately after the winter solstice the days begin to increase, and by the time of the vernal equinox, or in other words, in ninety days and three hours, the day is equal in length to the night. After this, for ninety-four days and twelve hours, the days continue to increase, and the nights to diminish in proportion, up to the summer solstice; and from that point the days, though gradually decreasing, are still in excess of the nights for ninety-two days, twelve hours, until the autumnal equinox. At this period the days are of equal length with the nights, and after it they continue to decrease inversely to the nights until the winter solstice, a period of eighty-eight days and three hours. In all these calculations, it must be remembered, equinoctial[427] hours are spoken of, and not those measured arbitrarily in reference to the length of any one day in particular. All these seasons, too, commence at the eighth degree of the signs of the Zodiac. The winter solstice begins at the eighth degree of Capricorn, the eighth[428] day before the calends of January, in general;[429] the vernal equinox at the eighth degree of Aries; the summer solstice, at the eighth degree of Cancer; and the autumnal equinox at the eighth degree of Libra: and it is rarely that these days do not respectively give some indication of a change in the weather.

These four seasons again, are subdivided, each of them, into two equal parts. Thus, for instance, between the summer solstice and the autumnal equinox, the setting of the Lyre,[430] on the forty-sixth day, indicates the beginning of autumn; between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice, the morning setting of the Vergiliæ, on the forty-fourth day, denotes the beginning of winter; between the winter solstice and the vernal equinox, the prevalence of the west winds on the forty-fifth day, denotes the commencement of spring; and between the vernal equinox and the summer solstice, the morning rising of the Vergiliæ, on the forty-eighth day, announces the commencement of summer. We shall here make seed-time, or in other words, the morning setting of the Vergiliæ, our starting-point;[431] and shall not interrupt the thread of our explanation by making any mention of the minor constellations, as such a course would only augment the difficulties that already exist. It is much about this period that the stormy constellation of Orion departs, after traversing a large portion of the heavens.[432]

CHAP. 60.—THE PROPER TIME FOR WINTER SOWING.

Most persons anticipate the proper time for sowing, and begin to put in the corn immediately after the eleventh day of the autumnal equinox, at the rising of the Crown, when we may reckon, almost to a certainty, upon several days of rainy weather in succession. Xenophon[433] is of opinion, that sowing should not be commenced until the Deity has given us the signal for it, a term by which Cicero understands the rains that prevail in November. The true method to be adopted, however, is not to sow until the leaves begin to fall. Some persons are of opinion that this takes place at the setting of the Vergiliæ, or the third day before the ides of November, as already stated,[434] and they carefully observe it, for it is a constellation very easily remarked in the heavens, and warns us to resume our winter clothes.[435] Hence it is, that immediately on its setting, the approach of winter is expected, and care is taken by those who are on their guard against the exorbitant charges of the shop-keepers, to provide themselves with an appropriate dress. If the Vergiliæ set with cloudy weather, it forebodes a rainy winter, and the prices of cloaks[436] immediately rise; but if, on the other hand, the weather is clear at that period, a sharp winter is to be expected, and then the price of garments of other descriptions is sure to go up. But as to the husbandman, unacquainted as he is with the phænomena of the heavens, his brambles are to him in place of constellations, and if he looks at the ground he sees it covered with their leaves. This fall of the leaves, earlier in one place and later in another, is a sure criterion of the temperature of the weather; for there is a great affinity between the effects produced by the weather in this respect, and the nature of the soil and climate. There is this peculiar advantage, too, in the careful observation of these effects, that they are sure to be perceptible throughout the whole earth, while at the same time they have certain features which are peculiar to each individual locality.—A person may perhaps be surprised at this, who does not bear in mind that the herb pennyroyal,[437] which is hung up in our larders, always blossoms on the day of the winter solstice; so firmly resolved is Nature that nothing shall remain concealed from us, and in that spirit has given us the fall of the leaf as the signal for sowing.

Such is the true method of interpreting all these phænomena, granted to us by Nature as a manifestation of her will. It is in this way that she warns us to prepare the ground, makes us a promise of a manure, as it were, in the fall of the leaves, announces to us that the earth and the productions thereof are thus protected by her against the cold, and warns us to hasten the operations of agriculture.

CHAP. 61.—WHEN TO SOW THE LEGUMINOUS PLANTS AND THE POPPY.

Varro[438] has given no other sign but this[439] for our guidance in sowing the bean. Some persons are of opinion that it should be sown at full moon, the lentil between the twenty-fifth and thirtieth day of the moon, and the vetch on the same days of the moon; and they assure us that if this is done they will be exempt from the attacks of slugs. Some say, however, that if wanted for fodder, they may be sown at these periods, but if for seed, in the spring. There is another sign, more evident still, supplied us by the marvellous foresight of Nature, with reference to which we will give the words employed by Cicero[440] himself:

“The lentisk, ever green and ever bent
Beneath its fruits, affords a threefold crop:
Thrice teeming, thrice it warns us when to plough.”

One of the periods here alluded to, is the same that is now under consideration, being the appropriate time also for sowing flax and the poppy.[441] With reference to this last, Cato gives the following advice: “Burn, upon land where corn has been grown, the twigs and branches which are of no use to you, and when that is done, sow the poppy there.” The wild poppy, which is of an utility that is quite marvellous, is boiled in honey as a remedy for diseases in the throat,[442] while the cultivated kind is a powerful narcotic. Thus much in reference to winter sowing.

CHAP. 62.—WORK TO BE DONE IN THE COUNTRY IN EACH MONTH RESPECTIVELY.

And now, in order to complete what we may call in some measure an abridgment of the operations of agriculture, it is as well to add that it will be a good plan at the same period to manure the roots of trees, and to mould up the vines—a single hand being sufficient for one jugerum. Where, too, the nature of the locality will allow it, the vines, and the trees upon which they are trained, should be lopped, and the soil turned up with the mattock for seed plots; trenches, too, should be opened out, and the water drained from off the fields, and the presses[443] should be well washed and put away. Never put eggs beneath the hen between the calends of November[444] and the winter solstice:[445] during all the summer and up to the calends of November, you may put thirteen under the hen; but the number must be smaller in winter, not less than nine, however. Democritus is of opinion, that the winter will turn out of the same character[446] as the weather on the day of the winter solstice and the three succeeding days; the same too with the summer and the weather at the summer solstice. About the winter solstice, for about twice seven days mostly, while the halcyon[447] is sitting, the winds are lulled, and the weather serene;[448] but in this case, as in all others, the influence of the stars must only be judged of by the result, and we must not expect the changes of the weather, as if out upon their recognizances,[449] to make their appearance exactly on certain predetermined days.

CHAP. 63.—WORK TO BE DONE AT THE WINTER SOLSTICE.

Be careful never to touch the vine at the winter solstice. Hyginus recommends us to strain and even rack-off wine at the seventh day after the winter solstice, provided the moon is seven days old. About this period, also, the cherry-tree, he says, should be planted. Acorns, too, should now be put in soak for the oxen, a modius for each pair. If given in larger quantities, this food will prove injurious to their health; and whenever it is given, if they are fed with it for less than thirty days in succession, an attack of scab in the spring, it is said, will be sure to make you repent.

This, too, is the period that we have already assigned[450] for cutting timber—other kinds of work, again, may be found for the hours of the night, which are then so greatly prolonged. There are baskets, hurdles, and panniers to be woven, and wood to be cut for torches: squared stays[451] for the vine may be prepared, too, thirty in the day time, and if rounded,[452] as many as sixty. In the long hours of the evening, too, some five squared stays, or ten rounded ones may be got ready, and the same number while the day is breaking.

CHAP. 64.—WORK TO BE DONE BETWEEN THE WINTER SOLSTICE AND THE PREVALENCE OF THE WEST WINDS.

Between the winter solstice and the period when the west winds begin to prevail, the following, according to Cæsar, are the more important signs afforded by the constellations: the Dog sets in the morning, upon the third[453] day before the calends of January; a day on the evening of which the Eagle sets to the people of Attica and the adjoining countries. On the day before[454] the nones of January, according to Cæsar’s computation, the Dolphin rises in the morning, and on the next day, the Lyre, upon the evening of which the Arrow sets to the people of Egypt. Upon the sixth[455] day before the ides of January, the Dolphin sets in the evening, and Italy has many days of continuous cold; the same is the case also when the sun enters Aquarius, about the sixteenth[456] day before the calends of February. On the eighth[457] before the calends of February, the star which Tubero calls the Royal Star[458] sets in the morning in the breast of Leo, and in the evening of the day before[459] the nones of February, the Lyre sets.

During the latter days of this period, whenever the nature of the weather will allow of it, the ground should be turned up with a double mattock, for planting the rose and the vine—sixty men to a jugerum. Ditches, too, should be cleaned out, or new ones made; and the time of day-break may be usefully employed in sharpening iron tools, fitting on handles, repairing such dolia[460] as may have been broken, and rubbing up and cleaning their staves.

CHAP. 65.—WORK TO BE DONE BETWEEN THE PREVALENCE OF THE WEST WINDS AND THE VERNAL EQUINOX.

Between the prevalence of the west winds and the vernal equinox, the fourteenth day before[461] the calends of March, according to Cæsar, announces three days of changeable weather; the same is the case, too, with the eighth[462] before the calends of March, at the first appearance of the swallow, Arcturus rising on the evening of the next day. Cæsar has observed, that the same takes place on the third[463] before the nones of March, at the rising of Cancer; and most authorities say the same with reference to the emersion of the Vintager.[464] On the eighth[465] before the ides of March, the northern limb of Pisces[466] rises, and on the next day Orion, at which period also, in Attica, the Kite is first seen. Cæsar has noted, too, the setting of Scorpio on the ides of March,[467] a day that was so fatal to him; and on the fifteenth[468] before the calends of April, the Kite appears in Italy. On the twelfth[469] before the calends of April, the Horse sets in the morning.

This interval of time is a period of extreme activity for the agriculturist, and affords him a great number of occupations, in reference to which, however, he is extremely liable to be deceived. He is summoned to the commencement of these labours, not upon the day on which the west winds ought to begin, but upon the day on which they really do begin, to blow. This moment then must be looked for with the most careful attention, as it is a signal which the Deity has vouchsafed us in this month, attended with no doubts or equivocations, if only looked for with scrupulous care. We have already stated in the Second Book,[470] the quarter in which this wind blows, and the exact point from which it comes, and before long we shall have occasion to speak of it again still more in detail.

In the mean time, however, setting out from the day, whatever it may happen to be, on which the west winds begin to prevail (for it is not always on the seventh before the ides of February[471] that they do begin), whether, in fact, they begin to blow before the usual time, as is the case with an early spring, or whether after, which generally happens when the winter is prolonged—there are subjects innumerable to engage the attention of the agriculturist, and those, of course, should be the first attended to, which will admit of no delay. Three month wheat must now be sown, the vine pruned in the way we have already[472] described, the olive carefully attended to, fruit-trees put in and grafted, vineyards cleaned and hoed, seedlings laid out, and replaced in the nursery by others, the reed, the willow, and the broom planted and lopped, and the elm, the poplar, and the plane planted in manner already mentioned. At this period, also, the crops of corn ought to be weeded,[473] and the winter kinds, spelt more particularly, well hoed. In doing this, there is a certain rule to be observed, the proper moment being when four blades have made their appearance, and with the bean this should never be done until three leaves have appeared above ground; even then, however, it is a better plan to clean them only with a slight hoeing, in preference to digging up the ground—but in no case should they ever be touched the first fifteen days of their blossom. Barley must never be hoed except when it is quite dry: take care, too, to have all the pruning done by the vernal equinox. Four men will be sufficient for pruning a jugerum of vineyard, and each hand will be able to train fifteen vines to their trees.[474]

At this period, too, attention should be paid to the gardens and rose-beds, subjects which will be separately treated of in succeeding Books; due care should be given to ornamental gardening as well. It is now, too, the very best time for making ditches. The ground should now be opened for future purposes, as we find recommended by Virgil[475] in particular, in order that the sun may thoroughly warm the clods. It is a piece of even more sound advice, which recommends us to plough no lands in the middle of spring but those of middling quality; for if this is done with a rich soil, weeds will be sure to spring up in the furrows immediately; and if, on the other hand, it is a thin, meagre land, as soon as the heat comes on, it will be dried up, and so lose all the moisture which should be reserved to nourish the seed when sown. It is a much better plan, beyond a doubt, to plough such soils as these in autumn.

Cato[476] lays down the following rules for the operations of spring. “Ditches,” he says, “should be dug in the seed-plots, vines should be grafted, and the elm, the fig, the olive, and other fruit-trees planted in dense and humid soils. Such meadows[477] as are not irrigated, must be manured in a dry moon, protected from the western blasts, and carefully cleaned: noxious weeds must be rooted up, fig-trees cleared, new seed-plots made, and the old ones dressed: all this should be done before you begin to hoe the vineyard. When the pear is in blossom, too, you should begin to plough, where it is a meagre gravelly soil. When you have done all this, you may plough the more heavy, watery soils, doing this the last of all.”

The proper time for ploughing, then,[478] is denoted by these two signs, the earliest fruit of the lentisk[479] making its appearance, and the blossoming of the pear. There is a third sign however, as well, the flowering of the squill among the bulbous,[480] and of the narcissus among the garland, plants. For both the squill and the narcissus, as well as the lentisk, flower three times, denoting by their first flowering the first period for ploughing, by the second flowering the second, and by the third flowering the last; in this way it is that one thing affords hints for another. There is one precaution, too, that is by no means the least important among them all, not to let ivy touch the bean while in blossom; for at this period the ivy is noxious[481] to it, and most baneful in its effects. Some plants, again afford certain signs which bear reference more particularly to themselves, the fig for instance; when a few leaves only are found shooting from the summit, like a cup in shape, then it is more particularly that the fig-tree should be planted.

CHAP. 66.—WORK TO BE DONE AFTER THE VERNAL EQUINOX.

The vernal equinox appears to end on the eighth[482] day before the calends of April. Between the equinox and the morning rising of the Vergiliæ, the calends[483] of April announce, according to Cæsar, [stormy weather].[484] Upon the third[485] before the nones of April, the Vergiliæ set in the evening in Attica, and the day after in Bœotia, but according to Cæsar and the Chaldæans, upon the nones.[486] In Egypt, at this time, Orion and his Sword begin to set. According to Cæsar, the setting of Libra on the sixth before[487] the ides of April announces rain. On the fourteenth before[488] the calends of May, the Suculæ set to the people of Egypt in the evening, a stormy constellation, and significant of tempests both by land and sea. This constellation sets on the sixteenth[489] in Attica, and on the fifteenth, according to Cæsar, announcing four days of bad weather in succession: in Assyria it sets upon the twelfth[490] before the calends of May. This constellation has ordinarily the name of Parilicium, from the circumstance that the eleventh[491] before the calends of May is observed as the natal day of the City of Rome; upon this day, too, fine weather generally returns, and gives us a clear sky for our observations. The Greeks call the Suculæ by the name of “Hyades,”[492] in consequence of the rain and clouds which they bring with them; while our people, misled by the resemblance of the Greek name to another word[493] of theirs, meaning a “pig,” have imagined that the constellation receives its name from that word, and have consequently given it, in their ignorance, the name of “Suculæ,” or the “Little Pigs.”

In the calculations made by Cæsar, the eighth[494] before the calends of May is a day remarked, and on the seventh[495] before the calends, the constellation of the Kids rises in Egypt. On the sixth before[496] the calends, the Dog sets in the evening in Bœotia and Attica, and the Lyre rises in the morning. On the fifth[497] before the calends of May, Orion has wholly set to the people of Assyria, and on the fourth[498] before the calends the Dog. On the sixth before[499] the nones of May, the Suculæ rise in the morning, according to the calculation of Cæsar, and on the eighth before[500] the ides, the She-goat, which announces rain. In Egypt the Dog sets in the evening of the same day. Such are pretty nearly the movements of the constellations up to the sixth before[501] the ides of May, the period of the rising of the Vergiliæ.

In this interval of time, during the first fifteen days, the agriculturist must make haste and do all the work for which he has not been able to find time before the vernal equinox; and he should bear in mind that those who are late in pruning their vines are exposed to jibes and taunts, in imitation of the note of the bird of passage known to us as the cuckoo.[502] For it is looked upon as a disgrace, and one that subjects him to well-merited censure, for that bird, upon its arrival, to find him only then pruning his vines. Hence it is, too, that we find those cutting jokes,[503] of which our peasantry are the object, at the beginning of spring. Still, however, all such jokes are to be looked upon as most abominable, from the ill omens[504] they convey.

In this way, then, we see that, in agricultural operations, the most trifling things are construed as so many hints supplied us by Nature. The latter part of this period is the proper time for sowing panic and millet; the precise moment, however, is just after the barley has ripened. In the case of the very same land, too, there is one sign that points in common both to the ripening of the barley and the sowing of panic and millet—the appearance of the glow-worm, shining in the fields at night. “Cicindelæ”[505] is the name given by the country people to these flying stars, while the Greeks call them “lampyrides,”—another manifestation of the incredible bounteousness of Nature.

CHAP. 67. (27.)—WORK TO BE DONE AFTER THE RISING OF THE VERGILIÆ: HAY-MAKING.

Nature had already formed the Vergiliæ, a noble group of stars, in the heavens; but not content with these, she has made others as well for the face of the earth, crying aloud, as it were:[506] “Why contemplate the heavens, husbandman? Why, rustic, look up at the stars? Do not the nights already afford you a sleep too brief for your fatigues? Behold now! I scatter stars amid the grass for your service, and I reveal them to you in the evening, as you return from your work; and that you may not disregard them, I call your attention to this marvel. Do you not see how the wings of this insect cover a body bright and shining like fire, and how that body gives out light in the hours of the night even? I have given you plants to point out to you the hours, and, that you may not have to turn your eyes from the earth, even to view the sun, the heliotropium and the lupine have been made by me to move with his movements. Why then still look upwards, and scan the face of heaven? Behold, here before your very feet are your Vergiliæ; upon a certain day do they make their appearance, and for a certain time do they stay. Equally certain, too, it is that of that constellation they are the offspring. Whoever, then, shall put in his summer seeds before they have made their appearance, will infallibly find himself in the wrong.”

It is in this interval, too, that the little bee comes forth, and announces that the bean is about to blossom; for it is the bean in flower that summons it forth. We will here give another sign, which tells us when the cold is gone; as soon as ever you see the mulberry[507] in bud, you have no occasion to fear any injury from the rigour of the weather.

It is the time, now, to put in cuttings of the olive, to clear away between the olive-trees, and, in the earlier days of the equinox, to irrigate the meadows. As soon, however, as the grass puts forth a stem, you must shut off the water from the fields.[508] You must now lop the leafy branches of the vine, it being the rule that this should be done as soon as the branches have attained four fingers in length; one labourer will be sufficient for a jugerum. The crops of corn, too, should be hoed over again, an operation which lasts twenty days. It is generally thought, however, that it is injurious to both vine and corn to begin hoeing directly after the equinox. This is the proper time, too, for washing sheep.

After the rising of the Vergiliæ the more remarkable signs are, according to Cæsar, the morning rising of Arcturus, which takes place on the following day;[509] and the rising of the Lyre on the third[510] before the ides of May. The She-goat sets in the evening of the twelfth before[511] the calends of June, and in Attica the Dog. On the eleventh[512] before the calends of June, according to Cæsar, Orion’s Sword begins to appear; and, according to the same writer, on the fourth[513] before the nones of June the Eagle rises in the evening, and in Assyria as well. On the seventh[514] before the ides of June Arcturus sets in the morning to the people of Italy, and on the fourth[515] before the ides the Dolphin rises in the evening. On the seventeenth[516] before the calends of July Orion’s Sword rises in Italy, and, four days later, in Egypt. On the eleventh[517] before the calends of July, according to Cæsar’s reckoning, Orion’s Sword begins to set; and the eighth[518] before the calends of July, the longest day in the year, with the shortest night, brings us to the summer solstice.

In this interval of time the vine should be cleared of its superfluous branches, and care taken to give an old vine one turning up at the roots, a young tree two. Sheep, too, are sheared at this period, lupines turned up for manuring the land, the ground dug, vetches cut for fodder, and beans gathered in and threshed.

(28.) About the calends of June[519] the meadows are mown; the cultivation of which, the one which is the easiest of all, and requires the smallest outlay, leads me to enter into some further details relative to it. Meadow lands should be selected in a rich, or else a moist or well-watered, soil, and care should be taken to drain the rain-water upon them from the high-road. The best method of ensuring a good crop of grass, is first to plough the land, and then to harrow it: but, before passing the harrow over it, the ground should be sprinkled with such seed as may have fallen from the hay in the hay-lofts and mangers. The land should not be watered, however, the first year,[520] nor should cattle be put to graze upon it before the second hay-harvest, for fear lest the blade should be torn up by the roots, or be trodden down and stunted in its growth. Meadow land will grow old in time, and it requires to be renovated every now and then, by sowing upon it a crop of beans, or else rape or millet, after which it should be sown the next year with corn, and then left for hay the third. Care, too, should be taken, every time the grass is cut, to pass the sickle over the ground, and so cut the aftermath which the mowers have left behind; for it is a very bad plan to leave any of the grass and let it shed its seed there. The best crop for meadow land is trefoil,[521] and the next best is grass;[522] nummulus[523] is the very worst of all, as it bears a pod which is particularly injurious; equisætis,[524] too, which derives its name from its resemblance to horse-hair, is of a noxious character. The proper time for mowing grass is when the ear begins to shed its blossom and to grow strong: care must be taken to cut it before it becomes dry and parched. “Don’t mow your hay too late,” says Cato;[525] “but cut it before the seed is ripe.” Some persons turn the water upon it the day before mowing, where it is practicable to do so. It is the best plan to cut hay in the night while the dews are falling.[526] In some parts of Italy the mowing is not done till after harvest.

This operation, too, was a very expensive one in ancient times. In those days the only whetstones[527] known were those of Crete and other places beyond sea, and they only used oil to sharpen the scythe with. For this purpose the mower moved along, with a horn, to hold the oil, fastened to his thigh. Italy has since furnished us with whetstones which are used with water, and give an edge to the iron quite equal to that imparted by the file; these water-whetstones, however, turn green very quickly. Of the scythe[528] there are two varieties; the Italian,[529] which is considerably shorter than the other, and can be handled among underwood even; and the Gallic, which makes quicker work[530] of it, when employed on extensive domains, for there they cut the grass in the middle only, and pass over the shorter blades. The Italian mowers cut with one hand only. It is a fair day’s work for one man to cut a jugerum of grass, and for another to bind twelve hundred sheaves of four pounds each. When the grass is cut it should be turned towards the sun, and must never be stacked until it is quite dry. If this last precaution is not carefully taken, a kind of vapour will be seen arising from the rick in the morning, and as soon as the sun is up it will ignite to a certainty, and so be consumed. When the grass has been cut, the meadow must be irrigated again, for the purpose of ensuring a crop in the autumn, known to us as the “cordum,” or aftermath. At Interamna in Umbria the grass is cut four times[531] a-year, and this although the meadows there are not irrigated,—in most places, three. After all this has been done, too, the pasturage of the land is found no less lucrative than the hay it has produced. This, however, is a matter of consideration for those more particularly who rear large herds of cattle, and every one whose occupation it is to breed beasts of burden, will have his own opinions upon the subject: it is found, however, the most lucrative of all by those whose business it is to train chariot-horses.

CHAP. 68.—THE SUMMER SOLSTICE.

We have already stated[532] that the summer solstice arrives at the eighth degree of Cancer, and upon the eighth day before[533] the calends of July: this is an important crisis in the year, and of great interest to the whole earth. Up to this period from the time of the winter solstice the days have gone on increasing, and the sun has continued for six months making his ascension towards the north; having now surmounted the heights of the heavens, at this point he reaches the goal, and after doing so, commences his return towards the south; the consequence of which is, that for the next six months he increases the nights and subtracts from the length of the days. From this period, then, it is the proper time to gather in and store away the various crops in succession, and so make all due preparations for the rigour and severity of the winter.

It was only to be expected that Nature should point out to us the moment of this change by certain signs of an indubitable character; and she has accordingly placed them beneath the very hands of the agriculturist, bidding the leaves turn round[534] upon that day, and so denote that the luminary has now run its course. And it is not the leaves of trees only that are wild and far remote that do this, nor have those persons who are on the look-out for these signs to go into devious forests and mountain tracts to seek them. Nor yet, on the other hand, are they to be seen in the leaves of trees only that are grown in the vicinity of cities or reared by the hand of the ornamental gardener, although in them they are to be seen as well. Nature upon this occasion turns the leaf of the olive which meets us at every step; she turns the leaf of the linden, sought by us, as it is, for a thousand purposes; she turns the leaf of the white poplar, too, wedded to the vine that grows upon its trunk. And still, for her, all this is not enough. “You have the elm,” she says, “reared for the support of the vine, and the leaf of that I will make to turn as well. The leaves of this tree you have to gather for fodder, the leaves of the vine you prune away. Only look upon them, and there you behold the solstice;[535] they are now pointing towards a quarter of the heavens the reverse of that towards which they looked the day before. The twigs of the withy, that most lowly of trees, you employ for tying things without number. You are a head taller than it—I will make its leaves to turn round as well. Why complain, then, that you are but a rustic peasant? It shall be no fault of mine if you do not understand the heavens and become acquainted with the movements of the celestial bodies. I will give another sign, too, that shall address itself to your ear—only listen for the cooing of the ring-doves; and beware of supposing that the summer solstice is past, until you see the wood-pigeon sitting on her eggs.”

Between the summer solstice and the setting of the Lyre, on the sixth day before the calends of July,[536] according to Cæsar’s reckoning, Orion rises, and upon the fourth[537] before the nones of July, his Belt rises to the people of Assyria. Upon the morning of the same day, also, the scorching constellation of Procyon rises. This last constellation has no name with the Romans, unless, indeed, we would consider it as identical with Canicula,[538] or Lesser Dog, which we find depicted among the stars; this last is productive of excessive heat, as we shall shortly have further occasion to state. On the fourth[539] before the nones of July, the Crown sets in the morning to the people of Chaldæa, and in Attica, the whole of Orion has risen by that day. On the day before[540] the ides of July, the rising of Orion ends to the Egyptians also; on the sixteenth[541] before the calends of August, Procyon rises to the people of Assyria, and, the day but one after, of nearly all other countries as well, indicating a crisis that is universally known among all nations, and which by us is called the rising of the Dog-star; the sun at this period entering the first degree of Leo. The Dog-star rises on the twenty-third day after the summer solstice; the influence of it is felt by both ocean, and earth, and even by many of the animals as well, as stated by us elsewhere on the appropriate occasions.[542] No less veneration, in fact, is paid to this star, than to those that are consecrated to certain gods; it kindles the flames of the sun, and is one great source of the heats of summer.

On the thirteenth[543] day before the calends of August, the Eagle sets in the morning to the people of Egypt, and the breezes that are the precursors of the Etesian winds, begin to blow; these, according to Cæsar, are first perceived in Italy, on the tenth before[544] the calends of August. The Eagle sets in the morning of that day to the people of Attica, and on the third before[545] the calends of August, the Royal Star in the breast of Leo rises in the morning, according to Cæsar. On the eighth before[546] the ides of August, one half of Arcturus has ceased to be visible, and on the third before[547] the ides the Lyre, by its setting, opens the autumn,—according to Cæsar at least; though a more exact calculation has since shown, that this takes place on the sixth day before[548] the ides of that month.

The time that intervenes between these periods is one that is of primary importance in the cultivation of the vine; as the constellation of which we have spoken, under the name of Canicula, has now to decide upon the fate of the grape. It is at this period that the grapes are said to be charred,[549] a blight falling upon them which burns them away, as though red-hot coals had been applied to them. There is no hail that can be compared with this destructive malady, nor yet any of those tempests, which have been productive of such scarcity and dearth. For the evil effects of these, at the very utmost, are only felt in isolated districts, while the coal blight,[550] on the other hand, extends over whole countries, far and wide. Still, however, the remedy would not be very difficult, were it not that men would much rather calumniate Nature, than help themselves. It is said that Democritus,[551] who was the first to comprehend and demonstrate that close affinity which exists between the heavens and the earth, finding his laborious researches upon that subject slighted by the more opulent of his fellow-citizens, and presaging the high price of oil, which was about to result upon the rising of the Vergiliæ, (as we have already mentioned,[552] and shall have to explain more fully hereafter), bought up all the oil in the country, which was then at a very low figure, from the universal expectation of a fine crop of olives; a proceeding which greatly surprised all who knew that a life of poverty and learned repose was so entirely the object of his aspirations. When, however, his motives had been fully justified by the result, and vast riches had flowed in upon him apace, he returned all his profits to the disappointed proprietors, whose avarice had now taught them to repent, thinking it quite sufficient to have thus proved how easy it was for him to acquire riches whenever he pleased. At a more recent period, again, Sextius,[553] a Roman philosopher residing at Athens, made a similar application of his knowledge. Such, then, is the utility of science, the instruction provided by which it shall be my aim, as clearly and as perspicuously as possible, to apply to the various occupations of a country life.

Most writers have said that it is the dew, scorched by a burning sun, that is the cause of mildew[554] in corn, and of coal blight in the vine; this, however, seems to me in a great measure incorrect, and it is my opinion that all blights result entirely from cold, and that the sun is productive of no injurious effects whatever. This, in fact, will be quite evident, if only a little attention is paid to the subject; for we find that the blight makes its appearance at first in the night time only, and before the sun has shone with any vigour. The natural inference is, that it depends entirely upon the moon, and more particularly as such a calamity as this is never known to happen except at the moon’s conjunction, or else at the full moon, periods at which the influence of that heavenly body is at its greatest height. For at both of these periods, as already[555] stated by us more than once, the moon is in reality at the full; though during her conjunction she throws back to the heavens all the light which she has received from the sun. The difference in the effects produced by the moon at these two periods is very great, though at the same time equally apparent; for at the conjunction, that body is extremely hot in summer, but cold in winter; while, on the other hand, at the full moon, the nights are cold in summer, but warm in winter. The reason of this, although Fabianus and the Greek writers adopt another method of explaining it, is quite evident. During the moon’s conjunction in summer, she must of necessity move along with the sun in an orbit nearer to the earth, and so become warmed by the heat which she receives by reason of her closer vicinity to the sun. In winter, again, at the time of the conjunction, she is farther off from us, the sun being also removed to a greater distance. On the other hand, again, when the moon is at the full in summer, she is more remote from the earth, and in opposition with the sun; while, in winter, she approaches nearer to us at that period, by adopting the same orbit as at her conjunction in summer. Naturally humid herself, as often as from her position she is cold, she congeals to an unlimited extent the dews which fall at that period of the year.

CHAP. 69.—CAUSES OF STERILITY.

But we ought always to bear in mind, more particularly, that there are two varieties of evils that are inflicted upon the earth by the heavens. The first of these, known by us under the name of “tempests,” comprehends hail-storms, hurricanes and other calamities of a similar nature; when these take place at the full moon, they come upon us with additional intensity. These tempests take their rise in certain noxious constellations, as already stated by us on several occasions, Arcturus, for instance, Orion, and the Kids.

The other evils that are thus inflicted upon us, supervene with a bright, clear sky, and amid the silence of the night, no one being sensible of them until we have perceived their effects. These dispensations are universal and of a totally different character from those previously mentioned, and have various names given to them, sometimes mildew, sometimes blast, and sometimes coal blight; but in all cases sterility is the infallible result. It is of these last that we have now to speak, entering into details which have not hitherto been treated of by any writer; and first of all we will explain the causes of them.

(29.) Independently of the moon, there are two principal causes of these calamities, which emanate more particularly from two quarters of the heavens of but limited extent. On the one hand, the Vergiliæ exercise an especial influence on our harvests, as it is with their rising that the summer begins, and with their setting, the winter; thus embracing, in the space of six months, the harvest, the vintage, and the ripening of all the vegetable productions. In addition to this, there is a circular tract in the heavens, quite visible to the human eye even, known as the Milky Way. It is the emanations from this, flowing as it were from the breast, that supply their milky[556] nutriment to all branches of the vegetable world. Two constellations more particularly mark this circular tract, the Eagle in the north, and Canicula in the south; of this last, we have already made mention[557] in its appropriate place. This circle traverses also Sagittarius and Gemini, and passing through the centre of the sun, cuts the equinoctial line below, the constellation of the Eagle making its appearance at the point of intersection on the one side, and Canicula on the other. Hence it is that the influences of both these constellations develope themselves upon all cultivated lands; it being at these points only that the centre of the sun is brought to correspond with that of the earth. If, then, at the moments of the rising and the setting of these constellations, the air, soft and pure, transmits these genial and milky emanations to the earth, the crops will thrive and ripen apace; but if, on the other hand, the moon, as already[558] mentioned, sheds her chilling dews, the bitterness thereof infuses itself into these milky secretions, and so kills the vegetation in its birth. The measure of the injury so inflicted on the earth depends, in each climate, upon the combination of the one or other of these causes; and hence it is that it is not felt in equal intensity throughout the whole earth, nor even precisely at the same moment of time. We have already[559] said that the Eagle rises in Italy on the thirteenth day[560] before the calends of January, and the ordinary course of Nature does not permit us before that period to reckon with any degree of certainty upon the fruits of the earth; for if the moon should happen to be in conjunction at that time, it will be a necessary consequence, that all the winter fruits, as well as the early ones, will receive injury more or less.

The life led by the ancients was rude and illiterate; still, as will be readily seen, the observations they made were not less remarkable for ingenuity than are the theories of the present day. With them there were three set periods for gathering in the produce of the earth, and it was in honour of these periods that they instituted the festive days, known as the Robigalia,[561] the Floralia, and the Vinalia. The Robigalia were established by Numa in the fortieth year of his reign, and are still celebrated on the seventh day before the calends of May, as it is at this period that mildew[562] mostly makes its first attacks upon the growing corn. Varro fixes this crisis at the moment at which the sun enters the tenth degree of Taurus, in accordance with the notions that prevailed in his day: but the real cause is the fact, that thirty-one[563] days after the vernal equinox, according to the observations of various nations, the Dog-star sets between the seventh and fourth before the calends of May, a constellation baneful in itself, and to appease which a young dog should first be sacrificed.[564] The same people also, in the year of the City 513, instituted the Floralia, a festival held upon the fourth before[565] the calends of May, in accordance with the oracular injunctions of the Sibyl, to secure a favourable season for the blossoms and flowers. Varro fixes this day as the time at which the sun enters the fourteenth degree of Taurus. If there should happen to be a full moon during the four days at this period, injury to the corn and all the plants that are in blossom, will be the necessary result. The First Vinalia, which in ancient times were established on the ninth before[566] the calends of May, for the purpose of tasting[567] the wines, have no signification whatever in reference to the fruits of the earth, any more than the festivals already mentioned have in reference to the vine and the olive; the germination of these last not commencing, in fact, till the rising of the Vergiliæ, on the Sixth day before[568] the ides of May, as already mentioned on previous occasions.[569] This, again, is another period of four days, which should never be blemished by dews, as the chilling constellation of Arcturus, which sets on the following day, will be sure to nip the vegetation; still less ought there to be a full moon at this period.

On the fourth before[570] the nones of June, the Eagle rises again in the evening, a critical day for the olives and vines in blossom, if there should happen to be a full moon. For my part, I am of opinion that the eighth[571] before the calends of July, the day of the summer solstice, must be a critical day, for a similar reason; and that the rising of the Dog-star, twenty-three days after the summer solstice, must be so too, in case the moon is then in conjunction; for the excessive heat is productive of injurious effects, and the grape becomes prematurely ripened, shrivelled, and tough. Again, if there is a full moon on the fourth before[572] the nones of July, when Canicula rises to the people of Egypt, or at least on the sixteenth before[573] the calends of August, when it rises in Italy, it is productive of injurious results. The same is the case, too, from the thirteenth day before[574] the calends of August, when the Eagle sets, to the tenth before[575] the calends of that month. The Second Vinalia, which are celebrated on the fourteenth[576] before the calends of September, bear no reference to these influences. Varro fixes them at the period at which the Lyre begins its morning setting, and says that this indicates the beginning of autumn, the day having been set apart for the purpose of propitiating the weather: at the present day, however, it is observed that the Lyre sets on the sixth before[577] the ides of August.

Within these periods there are exerted the sterilizing influences of the heavens, though I am far from denying that they may be considerably modified by the nature of the locality, according as it is cold or hot. Still, however, it is sufficient for me to have demonstrated the theory; the modifications of its results depending, in a great degree, upon attentive observation. It is beyond all question too, that either one of these two causes will be always productive of its own peculiar effects, the full moon, I mean, or else the moon’s conjunction. And here it suggests itself how greatly we ought to admire the bounteous provisions made for us by Nature; for, in the first place, these calamitous results cannot by any possibility befall us every year, in consequence of the fixed revolutions of the stars; nor indeed, when they do happen, beyond a few nights in the year, and it may be easily known beforehand which nights those are likely to be. In order, too, that we might not have to apprehend these injuries to vegetation in all the months, Nature has so ordained that the times of the moon’s conjunction in summer, and of the full moon in winter, with the exception of two days only at those respective periods, are well ascertained, and that there is no danger to be apprehended on any but the nights of summer, and those nights the shortest of all; in the day-time, on the other hand, there is nothing to fear. And then, besides, these phænomena may be so easily understood, that the ant even, that most diminutive of insects, takes its rest during the moon’s conjunction, but toils on, and that during the night as well, when the moon is at the full; the bird, too, called the “parra”[578] disappears upon the day on which Sirius rises, and never reappears until that star has set; while the witwall,[579] on the other hand, makes its appearance on the day of the summer solstice. The moon, however, is productive of no noxious effects at either of these periods, except when the nights are clear, and every movement of the air is lulled; for so long as clouds prevail, or the wind is blowing, the night dews never fall. And then, besides, there are certain remedies to counteract these noxious influences.

CHAP. 70.—REMEDIES AGAINST THESE NOXIOUS INFLUENCES.

When you have reason to fear these influences, make bonfires in the fields and vineyards of cuttings or heaps of chaff, or else of the weeds that have been rooted up; the smoke[580] will act as a good preservative. The smoke, too, of burning chaff will be an effectual protection against the effects of fogs, when likely to be injurious. Some persons recommend that three crabs should be burnt[581] alive among the trees on which the vines are trained, to prevent these from being attacked by coal blight; while others say that the flesh of the silurus[582] should be burnt in a slow fire, in such a way that the smoke may be dispersed by the wind throughout the vineyard.

Varro informs us, that if at the setting of the Lyre, which is the beginning of autumn, a painted grape[583] is consecrated in the midst of the vineyard, the bad weather will not be productive of such disastrous results as it otherwise would. Archibius[584] has stated, in a letter to Antiochus, king of Syria, that if a bramble-frog[585] is buried in a new earthen vessel, in the middle of a corn-field, there will be no storms to cause injury.

CHAP. 71.—WORK TO BE DONE AFTER THE SUMMER SOLSTICE.