ttiness only; for sorrow does merely restore
to us that which our soul had lent in happier days.

41. But this was the misfortune that befell Paulus Aemilius. Rome,
still aglow with his triumph, waited, dismayed, wondering what was to
happen. Were the gods defying the sage, and how would the sage reply?
Would the hero be crushed by his sorrow, or would sorrow acknowledge
its master? Mankind, at moments like these, seems aware that destiny is
yet once again making trial of the strength of her arm, and that change
of some kind must befall if her blow crush not where it alights. And
see with what eagerness men at such moments will question the eyes of
their chiefs for the password against the invisible.

But Paulus Aemilius has gathered together an assembly of the people of
Rome; he advances gravely towards them, and thus does he speak: "I, who
never yet feared anything that was human, have, amongst such as were
divine, always had, a dread of fortune as faithless and inconstant;
and, for the very reason that in this war she had been as a favourable
gale in all my affairs, I still expected some change and reflux of
things. In one day I passed the Ionian Sea, and reached Corcyra from
Brundisium; thence in five more I sacrificed at Delphi, and in other
five days came to my forces in Macedonia, where, after I had finished
the usual sacrifices for the purifying of the army, I entered on my
duties, and in the space of fifteen days put an honourable period to
the war. Still retaining a jealousy of fortune, even from the smooth
current of my affairs, and seeing myself secure and free from the
danger of any enemy, I chiefly dreaded the change of the goddess at
sea, whilst conveying home my victorious army, vast spoils, and a
captive king. Nay, indeed, after I was returned to you safe, and saw
the city full of joy, congratulating, and sacrifices, yet still I
distrusted, well knowing that fortune never conferred any great
benefits that were unmixed and unattended with probabilities of
reverse. Nor could my mind, that was still as it were in labour, and
always foreseeing something to befall this city, free itself from this
fear, until this great misfortune befell me in my own family, and till,
in the midst of those days set apart for triumph, I carried two of the
best of sons, my only destined successors, one after another to their
funerals. Now therefore, I am myself safe from danger, at least as to
what was my greatest care; and I