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A Classic Instance
by
“Give us an example,” said Dick; “something classic to fit this war.”
“I have one at hand,” responded the professor promptly. He went to the book-shelves and pulled out a small brown volume with a slip of paper in it. He opened the book at the marked place. “It is from the Eighth Satire of Juvenal, beginning at line 79. I will read the Latin first, and afterward a little version which I made the other day.”
The old man rolled the lines out in his sonorous voice, almost chanting:
“‘Esto bonus miles, tutor bonus, arbiter idem
Integer; ambiguae si quando citabere testis
Incertaeque rei, Phalaris licet imperet ut sis
Falsus et admoto dictet periuria tauro,
Summum crede nefas, animam praeferre pudori
Et propter vitam vivendi perdere causas.'”
“Please to translate, sir,” said Dick, copying exactly the professor’s classroom phrase and manner.
“To gratify my nephew,” said the professor, nodding and winking at Hardman. “But, understand, this is not a real translation. It is only a paraphrase. Here it is:
“Be a good soldier, and a guardian just;
Likewise an upright judge. Let no one thrust
You in a dubious cause to testify,
Through fear of tyrant’s vengeance, to a lie.
Count it a baseness if your soul prefer
Safety above what Honor asks of her:
And hold it manly life itself to give,
Rather than lose the things for which we live.
It is not half as good as the Latin. But it gives the meaning. How do you like it, Richard?”
“Fine!” answered the young man quickly; “especially the last lines. They are great.” He hesitated slightly, and then went on. “Perhaps I ought to tell you now, sir, that I have signed up and got my papers for the training-school at Madison Barracks. I hope you will not be angry with me.”
The old man put both hands on the lad’s shoulders and looked at him with a suspicious moisture in his eyes. He swallowed hard a couple of times. You could see the big Adam’s apple moving up and down in his wrinkled throat.
“Angry!” he cried. “Why, boy, I love you for it.”
Hardman, who was a thoroughly good fellow at heart, held out his hand.
“Good for you, Dick! But I must be going now. I am putting up at the Ivy. Will you walk up with me? I’d like to have a word with you.”
The two men walked in silence along the shady, moon-flecked streets of the tranquil old university town. Then the elder one spoke.
“You have done the right thing, I am sure. That officers’ training-school is a good place to get a practical education. When you are through, how would you like to have a post in the Ordnance Department at Washington? I have some influence there and believe I could get you in without difficulty.”
“Thanks, a lot,” answered the lad modestly. “You’re awfully kind. But, if you don’t mind my saying so, I think I’d rather have service at the front–that is, if I can qualify for it.”
There was another long silence before Hardman spoke again, with an apparent change of subject:
“I wish you would tell me what you really think of your uncle’s views on the classics, you and the other fellows of your age in the university.”
Dick hesitated a moment before he replied:
“Well, personally, you know, I believe what Uncle says is usually about right. He has the habit of it. But I allow when he gets on his hobby he rides rather hard. Most of the other fellows have given up the classics–they like the modern-language course with sciences better–perhaps it’s softer. They say not; but I know the classics are hard enough. I flunked out on my Greek exam junior year. So, you see, I’m not a very good judge. But, anyhow, wasn’t the bit he read us from Juvenal simply fine? And didn’t he read it well? I’ve felt that a hundred times, but never knew how to say it.”
It was in the early fall of 1918, more than a year later, that Hardman came once more into the familiar library at Calvinton. He had read the casualty list of the last week of August and came to condole with his friend De Vries.