WHICH TREATS OF EARTHQUAKES
I
We have just had news, my esteemed Lucilius, that Pompeii, the 1
celebrated city in Campania, has been overwhelmed in an earthquake,
which shook all the surrounding districts as well. The city, you know,
lies on a beautiful bay, running far back from the open sea, and is
surrounded by two converging shores, on the one side that of Surrentum
and Stabiae, on the other that of Herculaneum. The disaster happened in
winter, a period for which our forefathers used to claim immunity from
such dangers. On the 5th of February, in the consulship of Regulus 2
and Virginius, this shock occurred, involving widespread destruction
over the whole province of Campania; the district had never been
without risk of such a calamity, but had been hitherto exempt from it,
having escaped time after time from groundless alarm.
The extent of the disaster may be gathered from a few details. Part
of the town of Herculaneum fell; the buildings left standing are very
insecure. The colony of Nuceria had painful experience of the shock,
but sustained no damage. Naples was just touched by what might have
proved a great disaster to it; many private houses suffered, but
no public building was destroyed. The villas built on the cliffs 3
everywhere shook, but without damage being done. In addition, they
say, a flock of six hundred sheep was destroyed, and statues were split
open; some people were driven out of their minds, and wandered about in
helpless idiotcy. The plan of my present work demands a discussion of
the causes of this, and the disaster itself fits in with our present
inquiries (_i.e._ our discussion is opportune in view of the recent
disaster). We must seek solace for the anxious and dispel overmastering
fear. For what can any one believe quite safe if the world itself is
shaken, and its most solid parts totter to their fall? Where, indeed,
can our fears have limit if the one thing immovably fixed, which 4
upholds all other things in dependence on it, begins to rock, and the
earth lose its chief characteristic, stability? What refuge can our
weak bodies find? whither shall anxious ones flee when fear springs
from the ground and is drawn up from earth’s foundations? If roofs at
any time begin to crack and premonitions of fall are given, there is
general panic: all hurry pell-mell out of doors, they abandon their
household treasures, and trust for safety to the public street.
But if the earth itself stir up destruction, what refuge or help can 5
we look for? If this solid globe, which upholds and defends us, upon
which our cities are built, which has been called by some the world’s
foundation, stagger and remove, whither are we to turn? What comfort,
not to say help, can you gain when fear has destroyed all way of
escape? Where, I say, is there any protection you can trust? what is
there that will stand as sure defence either of oneself or of others?
An enemy I can drive off from my city wall. The mere difficulties of
approach to turrets set on the dizzy heights will stop the march even
of great armies. From storm the harbour shelters us; our roofs are 6
able to withstand the whole force of clouds let loose, and the endless
deluges of rain. Fire cannot pursue us if we run away from it. Against
heaven’s threats in thunder refuges underground and caverns dug out
in the depths of the earth are of avail--the fire of heaven does not
pierce the ground, but is beaten back by the tiniest portion of the
soil. In time of plague we may change our place of abode. No species of
disaster is without some means of escape. Lightning has never consumed
whole nations. A plague-laden sky has drained cities, but has never
blotted them out.
But this calamity of earthquake extends beyond all bounds, 7
inevitable, insatiable, the destruction of a whole State. Nor is it
only families or households or single cities that it swallows; it
overthrows whole nations and regions. At one time it hides them in
their ruins, at another consigns them to the deep abyss; it leaves not
a wrack behind to witness that what no longer is, once was. The bare
soil stretches over the site of the most famous cities, and no trace
is left of their former existence. Nor are there wanting those who
dread most of all this kind of death, in which they go down alive into
the pit, houses and all, and are carried off from the number of the
living: as if every form of death did not lead to the one goal. Among 8
nature’s righteous decrees this is the chief, that when we reach the
end of life we are all on a level. It makes no difference, therefore,
to me whether one stone wound me to death or I am crushed beneath a
whole mountain; whether the weight of one house come down on me, and
I expire beneath the dust of its humble mound, or whether the whole
world descend upon my head; whether I yield up this breath in the open
light of day or in the vast abyss of the yawning earth; whether I am
borne down to those depths all alone or along with a great throng of
perishing nations. To me it can make no difference how great is the 9
turmoil that accompanies my death; the thing is everywhere just the
same.
Wherefore, let us raise high our courage against that disaster, which
can neither be shunned nor yet foreseen. Let us cease to listen to the
people that have bid adieu to Campania since the time of this disaster,
and have removed to other districts, vowing they will never set foot
in that quarter again! Who can guarantee them more solid foundations
in whatever soil they choose? All the world is subject to the same 10
fate. If it has not yet suffered from earthquake, it may; perchance
this spot on which you stand in full security will be rent this night,
or even this day before night. How can one tell whether is better the
state of the places on which fortune has already spent her force or of
those which are upheld meantime, but only for some disaster to come?
We do greatly err if we suppose any quarter of the world wholly exempt
from this danger. All quarters are subject to the same law. Nature
framed nothing to be immovable. Different things will fall at different
times. Just as in large cities, now this house and now that leans 11
over and has to be shored up, so in the world as a whole, now this
part contains a flaw, now that. Tyre was once notorious for a disaster
of the kind. The province of Asia lost at a single stroke twelve of
its cities. Last year calamity overtook Achaia and Macedonia, now the
injury has fallen upon Campania, whatever be the nature of that force
which thus assails us. Fate makes a circuit, paying a second visit to
places she has long passed over. On some places her attacks are more
rare, more frequent on some. Nothing is suffered to be quite exempt 12
from injury. Not merely we men, whose life is frail and fleeting,
but cities too, and the earth’s coasts and shores, yea, the very sea
falls under bondage to fate. And in face of this we promise ourselves
permanence in the boons fortune bestows! we suppose there will be
stability and endurance in happiness, whose fickleness is greatest
of all things on earth! While men promise themselves all things 13
in perpetuity, it never enters their thoughts that the very earth on
which we stand is not permanent. The flaws of the ground are to be
found everywhere; they are not peculiar to Campania or Tyre or Achaia.
The earth coheres imperfectly, it suffers breach from many causes;
permanent as a whole, it is subject to collapse in its parts.
II
What am I doing? I had promised to offer comfort in face of danger, 1
and lo! I threaten its terrors on all sides. I tell you that there can
be no assured peace in what can suffer or cause destruction. But that
very fact I regard as a solace, and, indeed, the most powerful of all.
Fear is but folly when there is no escape from it. Philosophy delivers
the wise from fear; even the unlearned may derive great confidence
from despair. You must, therefore, regard the words addressed to those
amazed by sudden captivity amid fire and foe as addressed to the whole
human race:
The one safety of the conquered is to hope for none.
If you wish to fear nothing, think that everything is to be feared; 2
consider by how slight causes our life is dissipated. Neither food nor
drink, nor waking nor sleeping, is healthful, except in due measure.
One may soon realise that we are but puny, insignificant bodies, weak
and unstable, that small effort is needed to compass our destruction.
The only sufficiency of danger, doubtless, would be the earth’s
trembling, its sudden dissipation, the rending of its surface into
chasms!
Surely he sets a high value on his life who dreads only lightning, 3
and earthquakes with their yawning abysses; won’t he allow himself to
open his eyes to his frailty and be afraid of choking on his phlegm?
Such, forsooth, is our constitution by birth, such the powerful frames
we have obtained, such the size we have grown to, that we cannot perish
unless the four quarters of the world are moved, the heavens thunder,
and the earth subside! Why, a pain in a tiny nail, not even the whole 4
nail, but a little ragnail at the side, may finish us! And I must fear
only the trembling of the world, when too thick a spittle will choke
me! I am to await with dread the removal of the sea from its place,
or the overflowing of an abnormal tide with its excess of water; why,
some ere now have been strangled by a drink that took a wrong course
down the throat! What folly to be afraid of the sea when you know that
a single drop may kill you! There is no solace of death greater than 5
the very liability to death, no solace of all the terrors from without
equal to the thought that there are countless dangers within our own
bosom. What greater madness than to collapse at the sound of thunder,
and through fear of lightning to creep under the ground? What greater
folly than to stand in fear of the earth’s tottering and the sudden 6
fall of mountains, or inroads of the sea cast up beyond the shore,
when death is everywhere present and meets us on every side? Nothing
is so small as not to be strong enough to compass the destruction of
the human race. Great or unusual dangers ought not to unnerve us, as if
they implied more mischief than a common death; nay, rather when one
must quit the world and at last resign life, it should be a positive
joy to perish by some grand cause. Die we must somewhere, sometime. 7
The ground you tread may stand firm, it may confine itself within its
own bounds and not be tossed about by any violence; yet some day I
shall be beneath it. Does it really matter, then, whether I place it
on myself or itself do? It is rent by the irresistible force of some
disaster; it bursts and draws me into its immense depths. What then? Is
death easier on the earth’s level surface? What reason for complaint
have I if nature will not have me lie in a place unknown to fame? or
if she lays on me a portion of herself? My friend, Vagellius,[77] in 8
that famous poem of his, says finely:
If fall I must, I should desire to fall from the height of heaven.[78]
[77] The name is doubtful, as is, indeed, the quotation also.
[78] The sense may be: I would have the heavens fall along with me;
this meaning would suit the context better.
We may adopt the language. If fall I must, let the earth be shaken at
my fall; not that one ought to pray for a public disaster, but it is
a great solace of death to see that the earth is likewise subject to
death.
III
It will be useful also to be assured that none of these things is the 1
doing of the gods, and that the moving of heaven or earth is no work of
angry deities. Those phenomena have causes of their own. It is not by
special command that they put forth their rage, but, just as in our own
bodies, the disturbance arises from certain inherent imperfections; at
the moment when they seem to inflict injury, they sustain it. Through
our ignorance of the truth all these things are terrible, the more as
their infrequency increases our alarm. Familiar occurrences seem less 2
serious; the unusual causes greater terror. But why is anything unusual
in our estimation? The reason is that we grasp the meaning of nature
only superficially, and not rationally; we dwell too exclusively on
what she has done, and do not consider what she can do. Accordingly,
we pay the penalty of this neglect in our terror of things that we
suppose unprecedented, when they are not really unprecedented, but
merely unusual. For instance, are not superstitious fears inspired
both privately and even for the safety of the State, if either the sun
has been seen in eclipse or if the moon, whose obscuration is more
frequent, has partially or wholly been concealed? And is not this far 3
more so in the case of such sights as we have spoken of: torches driven
athwart the heavens, the sky on fire over the greater part of its
extent, comets, mock suns, stars appearing in the daytime, the sudden
passage of stars that mark their trail with a bright light? Our wonder
at these is in no case free from fear. As the cause of the fear is
ignorance, is it not worth while to gain the knowledge that will dispel
it? How much better it would be to inquire into the causes of the
alarming sights, to bend, in fact, our whole mind to the task? Nothing,
surely, could be found more deserving than that, of having the mind’s
energies not only lent to it, but devoted to it.
IV
Let us ask ourselves, therefore, what it is that stirs the earth to 1
its foundation, what moves a mass of such weight, what it is that is
stronger than the earth, and that in its violence can shake such a
load. Let us inquire why at one time the earth trembles, at another
is loosened and sinks, and again is divided into parts and opens a
chasm; or why on some occasions the intervals of destruction are
prolonged, on others are suddenly cut short. What is the cause why it
now consigns to its depths rivers of renowned greatness, and now causes
fresh rivers to issue? why does it sometimes open up springs of hot
water, sometimes freeze them with cold? and why at times are fires 2
caused to shoot out through some hitherto unknown opening in mountain
or crag, while sometimes well-known fires, that have been famous for
centuries, are suppressed? The earthquake produces a thousand strange
sights, changing the aspect of the ground, levelling mountains,
elevating plains, exalting valleys, raising new islands in the deep.
What are the causes that bring these things to pass? That is a subject
well worthy our discussion. What, you say, will be the reward of our
labour? That reward, I say, which surpasses all others, the knowledge
of nature. Among the many serviceable lessons to be derived from 3
such researches, no feature is more commendable than this, that man is
thereby made to dwell upon the sight of his own grandeur[79]; the study
is pursued, not in hope of gain, but from the wonder it excites. Let us
inquire, therefore, what it is that brings about all this. The inquiry
is so fascinating to me that although long ago in my youth I published
a volume on earthquakes, I am anxious to make another trial of my
powers, and to see whether age has added anything to my knowledge, or,
at any rate, to my industry.
[79] The meaning may rather be--the grandeur of the subject.
V
The cause of earthquakes has been assigned variously by different 1
authorities to water, fire, air, and to the earth itself; some assign
it to a combination of several of the causes, others, to a union of
them all. Certain writers have stated that it was plain to them that
some one of these causes produced the earthquake, but it was not plain
which. Let us look at the various opinions in detail. First of all, I
feel bound to say in general terms that the old views are crude and
inexact. As yet men were groping their way round truth. Everything was
new to those who made the first attempt to grasp it; only later were
the subjects accurately investigated. But all subsequent discoveries
must nonetheless be set down to the credit of those early thinkers.
It was a task demanding great courage to remove the veil that hid 2
nature, and, not satisfied with a superficial view, to look beneath the
surface and dive into the secrets of the gods. A great contribution
to discovery was made by the man who first conceived the hope of its
possibility. We must, therefore, listen indulgently to the ancients.
No subject is perfected while it is but beginning. The truth holds
not merely of the subject we are dealing with, the greatest and most
complicated of all, in which, however much may be accomplished, every
succeeding age will still find something fresh to accomplish. It holds
alike in every other concern; the first principles have always been a
long way off from the completed science.
VI
Water is the first cause alleged: more authors than one adopt this 1
view, but it is not stated by all in the same terms. Thales of Miletus
is convinced that the whole earth floats, and is upborne by moisture
lying beneath it, which you may call either Ocean or the great sea, or
still mere elemental water of a different character from the sea, the
simple ingredient, moisture. In these waves, in his opinion, the globe
is supported like some huge lumbering vessel in the water which bears
it. It is unnecessary for me to reproduce his reasons for supposing 2
that the heaviest part of the world cannot be sustained in such a rare
and nimble element as air: for the earth’s position is not the question
here but its movement. By way of argument, to prove that water is the
cause, he adduces the fact that in every considerable earthquake, as a
rule, new springs burst out. So if a boat leans over to one side away
from the straight, the result is that it ships water. And, generally
speaking, in the case of all objects which water supports, if they are
unduly sunk, the water either pours over them or at any rate rises to
right and left above its ordinary height.
Now, no lengthened consideration is needed to prove the falsity of 3
this view. Why, if the earth were supported by water, and from time to
time shaken by it, it would be in perpetual shock; the wonder would be
not that it was tossed about sometimes, but that it was ever at rest.
Then, again, it would be shaken all over and not at a single point:
we never find only half the ship tossed by the waves. But, according
to present experience, a shock never occurs over the whole earth
simultaneously, but is always felt at some particular spot. How, then,
can it be that what is carried as a whole is not shaken as a whole, if
the shock comes from the body by which it is carried?
But, it may be urged, why do waters burst out at the time of earth- 4
quakes? Well, in the first place, there has often been earthquake
without any fresh supply of water appearing. Secondly, if the supposed
cause of the water rushing forth were the true one, it would pour
all round the sides of the earth, as we see happening under similar
circumstances in sea and rivers: when boats sink, the increase of water
shows itself chiefly over the sides. Finally, the outburst of waters
which Thales describes would not be so small as he says, nor would it
ooze in like bilge-water through a chink, but from the exhaustless
reservoir that upbears all creation, a mighty deluge would ensue.
VII
Some, who, like Thales, attribute earthquake to the effects of water, 1
give a different explanation of its operation. There are, they say,
many kinds of waters running over the whole earth. In one place there
are constant rivers whose size renders them fit for navigation, even
without the aid of rains. There is the Nile, rolling down its huge
volume all summer long: here are the Danube and the Rhine separating
with their streams the peaceful from the hostile, the former checking
attacks from the Sarmatians and forming the boundary between Europe
and Asia, the latter keeping back the Germans, a nation ever keen for
war. Then there are lakes of very wide extent, great pools surrounded 2
by tribes mutually ignorant of each other, marshes that no boat can
struggle through, that cannot be passed even by the people that dwell
on their borders. Add, then, the multitude of fountains, and of river
sources that belch out of their recesses full-grown streams. Besides,
there are many rushing torrents that gather only for a time, whose
force is as shortlived as it is sudden. Now there are waters, in all
this variety of form and character, within as well as above the 3
earth. Away there below some are borne along in vast bulk, and tumble
their whole volume down the steep: others more sluggish are dammed back
in shallows, and flow with gentle, quiet stream. And can any one deny
that within those vast underground hollows waters are formed, and lie
sluggish and inactive in many places? It needs no long proof to show
that there must be many waters in the place where all waters are. The
earth would not be able to produce so many rivers unless it poured them
from a copious reserve.
This being so, sometimes below the earth a river must become swollen, 4
and leaving its banks assail with violence all obstacles that meet
it. So there will be a movement of some point on which the river has
made an onset, and which it will keep lashing until its waters fall.
Or it may happen that the constant wear of a stream may eat away some
quarter, dragging down thereby some mass above, by whose fall, in turn,
the surface which rested on it is shaken. Now surely a man trusts too 5
much to the sight of the eyes and cannot launch out his imagination
beyond, if he does not believe that the depths of earth contain a
vast sea with winding shores. I see nothing to prevent or oppose the
existence of a beach down there in the obscurity, or a sea finding its
way through the hidden entrances to its appointed place. There, too,
it occupies as much space as here, perhaps more, since the regions up
on earth have had to be shared with so many living creatures; but the
hidden regions being desert without inhabitant give freer scope to the
waves of the nether ocean. And who is there to hinder the sea from 6
swelling there and being tossed by all the winds that every interstice
of the earth, and every species of atmosphere can create? So, then,
when a storm greater than ordinary has arisen, it may beat upon some
one side of the earth with too great vehemence and move it. For on the
surface likewise, many places which had been far from the sea have
felt the violence of its sudden approach: villas almost out of sight
of it have been invaded by the waves which used only to be heard in
the distance. The nether sea, too, can approach and retire; neither of
which movements can take place without shock to the earth that stands
above it.
VIII
I do not, indeed, suppose that you will long hesitate to believe that 1
there are underground rivers and a hidden sea. From what other cause
could the rivers burst out and come to the surface unless the source
of the moisture were shut up within the earth? For instance, when one
sees the Tigris interrupted and dried up in the middle of its course,
not diverted as a whole, but gradually with imperceptible losses first
lessen and then waste away, where do you suppose it goes to if not to
the depths of the earth, especially as you see it emerge again not less
in volume than its former stream? And what are you to say when you 2
see the Alpheus, so celebrated by the poets, sink in Achaia and, having
crossed beneath the sea, pour forth in Sicily the pleasant fountain
Arethuse? And don’t you know that among the explanations given of the
occurrence of the inundation of the Nile in summer, one is that it
bursts forth from the ground, and is swollen not by rain from above but
by water given out from within the earth?
I have myself heard from their own lips the story told by the two 3
non-commissioned officers sent to investigate the sources of the Nile
by our good Emperor Nero, a monarch devoted to virtue in every form,
but especially solicitous for the interests of truth. The King of
Ethiopia had supplied them with assistance and furnished letters of
introduction to the neighbouring kings, and so they had penetrated
into the heart of Africa and accomplished a long journey. “We came 4
indeed,” I give their own words, “to huge marshes, the limit of which
even the natives did not know, and no one else could hope to know;
so completely was the river entangled with vegetable growth,[80]
so impassable the waters by foot, or even by boat, since the muddy
overgrown marsh would bear only a small boat containing one person.
There,” my informants went on, “we saw with our eyes two rocks from
which an immense quantity of water issued.” Now whether that is the
real source or only an addition to the river; whether it rises there 5
or merely returns to the surface after its previous course underground;
don’t you think that, whatever it is, that water comes up from a
great lake in the earth? The earth must contain moisture scattered in
numerous places and collected at depth in order to be able to belch it
out with such violence.
[80] The so-called “sudd.”
IX
Fire is the cause assigned by some for earthquakes, but they are not 1
agreed as to its method of action. First among them is Anaxagoras,
who is of opinion that pretty much the same cause produces concussion
in the earth as in the atmosphere. In the nether parts of earth, air
(gas) causes explosions of thick atmosphere massed in clouds with the
same violence as on earth clouds are wont to be burst. Fire is struck
out by this collision of clouds and by the rush of the atmosphere that
is forced out. This fire in seeking an exit meets obstructions and 2
bursts through all obstacles, until it has either found a way of escape
to the light through the narrow passages, or has made one for itself
by violence and destruction. Other writers who still believe the cause
to lie in fire do not suppose that this is its method of action: they
think the fire presents itself in more than one place and burns away
everything in the vicinity. Then if the parts eaten away fall in at
any time, a shock follows in the portions which are deprived of their
supports; they first totter and then collapse; nothing encounters them
to support their weight. Then chasms and vast gulfs are opened up, or 3
it may be, after hanging a long time in the balance, the ground settles
down over what is still left standing. We see the same thing happen
ordinarily as often as a part of the city suffers from a fire. The
joists are burnt through, or what gave support to the upper part of the
buildings is undermined. Then the roofs after tossing about for a long
time fall in; their swaying and oscillating continue until they find a
resting-place on solid ground.
X
Anaximenes affirms that the earth is itself the cause of the earth- 1
quake, and that nothing encounters it from without to give it a
shock. Within it, he thinks, certain parts of its substance fall of
themselves, either loosened by moisture, or eaten away by fire, or
shaken off by the violence of air. But even in absence of such active
cause there is not wanting sufficient to account for the loss or
removal of some portion of the earth. In the first place, all things
fall through age, for nothing is safe from the ravages of time, which
waste even the solidest and strongest edifice. In old buildings parts
fall without being knocked off, merely because they have more weight
than strength. So in the earth’s body as a whole it comes to pass 2
that portions are loosened by age, and being loosened, fall, causing
shock to the things above them. This they do primarily while they are
leaving their place; for nothing, especially if it is large, can be
wrenched off without movement of that to which it adhered. But further,
when the objects have fallen, they meet the solid earth and rebound
like a ball. When a ball falls, it jumps up and bounces repeatedly,
just as often, in fact, as it recoils from the ground for a new flight.
If the loosened objects within the earth are carried down into stagnant
waters, this accident of itself causes a shock to the vicinity through
the wave cast up by the weight of the objects shot suddenly down from a
great height.
XI
Some attribute these earthquakes to fire, but give different
explanations of its action. When fire causes intense heat at various
points beneath the earth, it must roll up a great cloud of vapour,
which can find no exit, and which dilates the air by its high
temperature. If the pressure of the vapour is excessive, it scatters
all obstructions; but if it is comparatively moderate, it merely causes
movement of the earth. We observe water smoke when fire is applied.
What the fire does to this water in a narrow pot, one may suppose is
done on a much greater scale when a violent and wide-spreading fire
causes immense extents of water to boil. It then by evaporation from
the overflowing waters shakes violently whatever it strikes.
XII
Many of the greatest authorities are persuaded that earthquakes are 1
to be attributed to air. Archelaus, who is well versed in the records
of antiquity, speaks thus: Winds are carried down into the earth’s
hollows and recesses. When they are all full, and the atmosphere is
condensed to the utmost extent, the air, which continues to come in,
forces and thrusts the former air, and with frequent blows first
compresses and then dislodges it. The air in its endeavour to find 2
room forces all the narrow passages and tries to burst its barriers.
Through the struggle of the air as it seeks for an escape it comes
to pass that the earth is moved. This explains why the approach of
an earthquake is preceded by still and quiet of the atmosphere; the
force of the air which is wont to rouse the winds is held in check in
its nether abode. Even on the present occasion of the earthquake in 3
Campania, although the season was winter, the atmosphere was perfectly
still and calm for several days before it.[81] Well, then, did an
earthquake never take place when there was a wind blowing? On very rare
occasions have there been two winds blowing simultaneously. Still, such
a thing is possible, and is wont to occur. But if we admit it as an
established fact that two winds can be in activity at one and the same
time, why shouldn’t it happen that [at times] one of them agitates the
upper air, the other the nether?[82]
[81] The text is uncertain, and the argument down to the end of the
chapter rather obscure.
[82] The argument seems to be: Two winds can blow simultaneously. One
may be beneath the earth (causing or during earthquake), one above.
Therefore, stillness of the upper atmosphere is not a necessary
concomitant of earthquake. The fact has at times been otherwise.
XIII
In this category you may rank Aristotle and his disciple Theo- 1
phrastus, a man of pleasant though not of superhuman eloquence, as
the Greeks considered him, and of easy, polished style. Let me unfold
in more detail what they hold in common: There is always evaporation
of some kind going on from the earth, which is at one time dry, at
another has an admixture of moisture. When this, rising from the lowest
parts of earth, has been raised to the utmost extent, and has no place
beyond into which to issue, it is borne back and returns upon itself.
The struggle of the air in its ebb and flow tosses to and fro all
obstructions it meets, and, whether its egress is stopped or whether
it escapes through the narrow openings, it causes movement of the
earth and uproar. To the same school of opinion belongs Strato, who 2
made a special study of this department of science, and was a diligent
student of natural philosophy. His verdict on the matter is this: Cold
and heat always move away from one another in opposite directions, and
cannot remain in the same place. Cold flows into the spot whence the
influence of heat has departed; and, conversely, there is heat in the
place whence cold has been banished. The statement is beyond doubt, but
the contrariety of the two may become plain to you from the following:
In the winter season, when there is cold on the earth’s surface, the 3
wells are warm, and caves and all underground retreats equally so. The
heat, yielding possession of the upper regions to the cold, retreats
down there. When it reaches the lower regions, and is accumulated there
to the utmost, the denser it is, the more powerful is it. To this a
further supply is added, to which what has already gathered, and is
compressed into a narrow space, of necessity gives way. The same thing
happens from the opposite cause when a greater quantity of cold is
borne down to these recesses. All the heat that lurks there gives way 4
to the cold, and retires to the narrow passages, and is driven onward
with great impetuosity. The nature of the two, as I have said, does not
allow agreement, or abode in the same place. In its flight, then, and
eager haste to escape at all hazards the air pushes back and tosses
about all that lies near it. This is why, previous to an earthquake,
a roaring is usually heard, through the tumult of the winds in the
earth’s bowels. For not otherwise, as our poet Virgil says, could 5
The earth bellow beneath our feet and the lofty peaks be moved,
were not this the work of the winds. In this contest again there are
ups and downs. There are cessations in the massing of the heat and, in
turn, in its emission. Then the cold, too, is restrained and gives way,
but some day soon it will be more powerful again. While, therefore,
the alternating forces rush to and fro, and the air moves hither and
thither, the earth is shaken.
XIV
There are some who think that, while air and no other cause produces 1
earthquake, it operates in a different way from that which Aristotle
supposed. Listen to what they say: Our body is irrigated with blood,
and with air which courses everywhere along its own routes. We have
some comparatively narrow vessels through which they cannot do more
than pass; some wider, in which they accumulate, and from which they
are distributed to the members. So this whole body of the earth at 2
large has passages alike for water, which performs the function of
blood, and for wind, which might be called simply the breath of its
life. These two encounter each other at some points, at some points
they are stationary. While in our bodies good health is enjoyed,
the movement of the veins preserves its rate undisturbed; but when
there is malady the pulse beats more rapidly, the deep breathing and
panting betoken laboured, wearied effort. In like manner the earth
remains unshaken while it maintains its natural position. But if any 3
flaw occur in it, there is a shaking, just as of a body suffering
from disease; for the air which flowed through it with regularity is
violently smitten, and causes its veins to quiver; but not, let me add,
in the way, described a little above,[83] imagined by those who will
have it that the earth is a living creature. In that case the earth,
just as an animal does, would feel the agitation equally all over. When
a fever seizes any of us, it does not delay for a time its attack upon
some parts, but with uniform regularity spreads over them all.
[83] There seems a slight lapse of memory here. Cf. pp. 126, 196.
Perhaps you had better assume, therefore, that air from the surround- 4
ing atmosphere enters the earth. As long as it has free egress, it
glides through it without doing harm; but if it meet some obstacle to
block its way, then it is, to begin with, weighted with the atmosphere
that pours in on the rear; by and by it escapes with difficulty
through some chink, and makes its way with the greater violence the
narrower the opening is. That cannot take place without a struggle,
and a struggle involves shaking of the earth. But if the confined
air cannot find even a chink by which to issue, it is massed and 5
becomes furious, and is driven round in this direction and in that,
overthrowing or bursting one thing after another. It is excessively
subtle, and at the same time exceedingly powerful; it can worm its way
into obstructions however great, splitting and scattering whatever it
enters. When this occurs, then there is a regular tossing of the earth.
For the earth either opens to give room to the wind, or, after giving
room, is deprived of its foundation and subsides into the very cavern
from which it allowed the wind to issue.
XV
Some entertain the following opinion: The earth is porous at many
points, possessing not merely those first shafts which it received
as ventilators at its creation, but many subsequently opened up by
various changes. In some places water has washed away the soil that
was on the surface; part has been eaten away by torrents, while parts
have been exposed by the disruptive action of great tides. Through the
interstices thus produced air enters. If it so happen now that the sea
has shut it in and driven it deeper, and the waves prevent its escape
by the same road, egress and regress being alike closed, the air rolls
about within the earth. Its natural tendency is to hurry straight
forward, but as that path is closed, it presses upward and lashes the
earth, whose weight lies heavy upon it.
XVI
I must further mention a view held by the majority of writers, which 1
probably I shall myself support. The earth does not lack air within;
that everybody knows. I do not mean merely the air which holds it
together and unites its parts, which exists even in stones and dead
bodies; but I mean that fresh vital air which supports all life. Unless
the earth possessed this store of air, how could she infuse it into so
many trees and crops, which derive their life from this and no other
source? How could she nourish all the different roots that sink into 2
the soil in one place and another, some merely attached to the surface,
others sunk deeper, had she not an abundant supply of the breath of
life, which produces so many varied growths and rears them with its
nourishing draught? These are the slighter arguments that I hitherto
urge. Why, all the heaven we see, which is shut in by fiery ether, the
highest portion of the universe, all these stars, whose number cannot
be conceived, all this concourse of heavenly bodies, and, to mention
only one more, this sun, that urges his course so close to us, many
times larger than the whole circuit of the earth--all these draw their
nourishment from materials of earth which they share among them, and
are sustained, of course, by nothing else than the breath of the 3
earth. This is their nourishment, this their pasturage. Now the earth
would be unable to nourish so many bodies of such size, larger even
than itself, unless it were full of breath, which it exhales from every
part of it day and night. For there must be a large reserve of that
from which so much is sought and taken; in fact, the supply to be drawn
from it is created for the occasion. The earth would not possess a 4
perennial supply of air sufficient for the wants of so many heavenly
bodies, unless the elements issued and returned alternately and were
transmutable into one another. But apart from this, it is necessary
that the earth be abundantly filled with it, and be able to draw it
forth from her hidden store. There is no doubt then that a great
quantity of air lurks in the interstices of the earth, and a widely
diffused atmosphere occupies the hidden spaces underground. If that is
true, of necessity the earth must often be moved, since it is full of
a most movable substance. No one, I suppose, can doubt that there is
nothing so restless, so capricious, so fond of disturbance as air.
XVII
It follows, therefore, that air should obey the law of its being; 1
what is wont to be moved will sometimes move other things. And when?
Whenever its free course is checked. As long as it is not hindered
it flows quietly along. When it is opposed and held back it becomes
furious, bursting all obstacles just like that
Araxes that ever spurned a bridge.
As long as the river has a free easy channel it rolls down its waters 2
in due and regular succession. But if through chance or by human agency
rocks are placed in its way to check its course, then it gathers fresh
strength from the barrier, and the more numerous the obstacles opposed
to it, the greater the force that it musters to overcome them. For all
the water that accumulates behind, constantly increases, and being at
last unable to bear its own weight manifests its violence through the
havoc it works in its descent, and escapes headlong down its channel,
bearing the very obstacles that blocked its path. The same thing
occurs with air, only that, in proportion to its greater strength 3
and mobility, it is the more rapidly carried onward, and bursts the
more violently all that encloses it. From this, of course, there is
a disturbance in the part of the ground under which the struggle
has occurred. The truth of this assertion may be proved from the
consideration that often when an earthquake has taken place, involving
a breach of only some part of the earth, wind has issued from it for
several days. This is recorded to have taken place in the earthquake 4
in which Chalcis suffered, as you will find in Asclepiodotus,
Posidonius’ pupil, in his discussion of my own topic of Physical
Inquiries. In other authors, too, you will find it stated that after a
chasm had opened up at one spot, in no long time wind issued from it,
having no doubt made for itself the way along which it travelled.
XVIII
The chief cause of earthquake, therefore, is air, an element 1
naturally swift and shifting from place to place. As long as it is not
stirred, but lurks in a vacant space, it reposes innocently, giving
no trouble to objects round it. But when any cause coming upon it
from without rouses it, or compresses it, and drives it into a narrow
space, in the first instance, to be sure, it merely retires and roams
about its enclosure. But when opportunity of escape is cut off, and
resistance meets it on all hands, then
... With deep murmur of the mountain
It roars around the barriers;...
which, after long battering, it dislodges and tosses on high, growing
the more fierce, the stronger the obstacle with which it has 2
contended. By and by, when it has traversed the whole space in which
it was enclosed, and has failed to find a way of escape, it recoils
from the side on which its impact was greatest. It is then either
distributed through the secret openings which the earthquake of itself
causes here and there, or escapes through a new rent. So uncontrollable
is this mighty power. No bolt can imprison wind; it loosens every bond,
bears with it every weight, and insinuating itself into the smallest
crannies wins its release; for by the invincible power of nature it is
free, especially when roused, and asserts its right for itself. Air is 3
a thing no man can tame; nothing will be found which,
When the winds struggle and the tempests roar,
Can restrain them by its sway and rein them by bonds and prison.
Doubtless the poets wished the place in which the winds lay pent up
underground to be considered a prison. But they did not perceive either
that what was shut up is no longer wind, or that what is wind can no
longer be shut up. What is shut up is at rest, and the atmosphere is at
a standstill; whereas all wind is in flight. Besides these arguments,
there is a consideration by which it becomes manifest that motion 4
is brought about by air, namely, that our bodies never tremble except
when some cause produces disturbance of the internal air,[84] which
is contracted by fear, grows sluggish in old age, languishes when the
veins are numbed, is checked with cold, or after some attack of fever
is quite driven from its wonted course. As long as it flows unimpeded,
and moves in its wonted fashion, there is no quivering of the body.
When anything intervenes to prevent its functioning, then being no
longer able to maintain what it upheld by its vigour, it fails, causing
a collapse of everything that it had sustained when unimpaired.
[84] Or spirit: there is almost a play upon the ambiguous meaning of
the term.
XIX
We must now hear what Metrodorus of Chios desires to urge by way of 1
opinion. I do not allow myself the liberty of passing over unnoticed
even opinions that I disapprove; it is better to have the largest
possible variety of views, and to condemn rather than omit what we do
not approve. Well, then, what has Metrodorus to say? He compares the 2
subterranean disturbances to the voice of a person who puts his head
into a barrel and begins to sing out. In that case there is a kind of
quavering as the voice extends and resounds through the whole hollow
space; slight as the movement is, it passes all round the vessel in
which it is enclosed, grazing its sides and causing disturbance all
through. In the same way the vast empty caverns that stretch down
beneath the earth have atmosphere of their own, on which other air
coming from above falls with violence. The agitation produced differs
in no wise from that of the empty vessels which I have just mentioned,
when they resound through shouting into them.
XX
Let us now go on to consider the authors who have alleged as causes 1
all the different factors mentioned, or, at any rate, several of them.
Democritus is one of those who think that several are concerned. He
asserts that the earthquake is produced sometimes by air, sometimes
by water, sometimes by both. He pursues the argument in the following
way: Some portion of the earth is hollow, in which a large quantity of
water has gathered. Part of this water is thinner and less dense than
the rest. When it is driven back by a heavy mass descending upon it
from above, it comes violently against the earth, causing a commotion
of it. The fluctuating movement of the water cannot take place without
corresponding movement of the body on which it impinges. Besides, what
we said a little above regarding air must be repeated in regard 2
water. When it is accumulated at one place, which becomes too small
to contain it, it inclines in some particular direction, and opens up
a passage for itself, at first by its mere weight, afterwards by the
gathering force of its current. Being long shut up it cannot escape
except down an incline, and it cannot drop straight down with any
gentleness, or without violent shaking of the parts through which
and on which it falls. Now, if after it has begun its rapid downward 3
movement it is checked at any point, and the force of the current
is thrown back upon itself, it is driven back on the earth which
encounters it, and attacks the earth at the point where it is most
insecure. Moreover, the ground is sometimes so saturated with the
moisture it has received into its heart that it subsides to a lower
level and its very foundation is destroyed. The pressure is then
exerted on the part toward which the weight of the descending waters
most inclines. Air, too, sometimes urges the water. If it presses with
some degree of violence, it naturally moves the part of the earth
toward which it has urged the gathering of the waters. Sometimes,
again, the air is driven into passages through the earth, and in its 4
search for a way of escape causes a general movement. The earth, as
we know, is pervious to wind; air is too subtle to be excluded, too
violent to be resisted when excited to rapid movement.
Turning from Democritus to Epicurus, we find the latter to assert
that all the foregoing may be causes of earthquake, but he tries
to introduce some additional ones. He criticises other authors for
affirming too positively that some particular one of the causes is
responsible, as it is difficult to pronounce anything as certain in
matters in which conjecture must be resorted to. As he says, then, 5
water is capable of producing earthquake by washing and rubbing off
certain portions, the weakening of which removes the support of what
was upborne by them when unimpaired. The force of air is also capable
of moving the earth. Perhaps the air within the earth is set in violent
agitation by other air entering from without. Or, perchance, it may
be that the earth receives an internal blow from the sudden fall of
some portion of it, and derives thence the shock. Or, perchance,
some portion of the earth is upheld, as it were, by certain pillars
and stakes, the injury or withdrawal of which causes a tremor to run
through the mass they support. Or, perchance, a quantity of hot air 6
turning to fire and assuming the character of lightning courses along
to the widespread destruction of all obstacles it encounters. Or,
perchance, some wind stirs the sluggish marshy waters, whose stroke in
consequence shakes the earth; or the tossing of the air, increasing to
violence through the mere movement, is carried from the lowest depths
right up to the surface of the earth. Still, Epicurus is satisfied that
there is no more potent cause of earthquake than air.
XXI
We Stoics also are convinced that it is only air that can attempt 1
such a feat as the production of an earthquake, for than it nothing in
the whole realm of nature is more powerful, more energetic; in absence
of it even the elements that are most violent lose their force. It is
by air that fire is kindled; if you withdraw wind, water is sluggish.
Water becomes impetuous only when the blast tosses it with violence.
This force it is that has power to scatter vast spaces of earth, to
raise from the depths new mountains, and to set in mid-ocean islands
hitherto unseen. Can any one doubt that There and Therasia and this 2
island which in our days under our very eyes rose out of the Aegean
Sea, were carried up to the light by the force of air?
Posidonius will have it that there are two different varieties in the
movements of the earth, each with its distinctive name. The one is a
quaking when the earth is shaken and moves up and down; the other is
a tilting when, like a ship, it leans over to one or other side. I
am of opinion that there is still a third variety, which we have a 3
special term to denote. Our forefathers had good reason for speaking of
a trembling of the earth, for it is unlike either of the other kinds
of movement. On such an occasion things are neither all shaken nor
all tilted, but they quiver. In a case of this kind no great damage
is usually done; while, on the other hand, a tilting is far more
destructive than a shock; for unless a contrary movement set in very
quickly from the other side to restore the level, downfall follows of
necessity.
XXII
These movements being dissimilar, their causes are likewise 1
different. Let us deal first with the shaking movement. If great loads
are being conveyed by a row of many waggons, and the wheels, under
the unusual strain, fall into the ruts of the road, one feels the
earth shaken. Asclepiodotus has put it on record that on one occasion
the fall of a rock that was torn off from the mountain-side caused by
the tremor the collapse of some houses in its vicinity. Just the same
thing may occur beneath the earth; parts of the overhanging crags may
be loosened and fall with great weight and noise upon the floor of the
cavern beneath, and with a violence proportionate to the weight of the
mass and the height of the fall. The whole roof of the subterranean
valley is disturbed by an occurrence of this kind. It is conceivable,
too, that rocks are not always wrenched off by their own weight; 2
when rivers roll over them, the constant moisture weakens the joints
of the stone, and day by day bears away part of its fastening, causing
abrasion, so to speak, of the skin in which the stone is enclosed.
The long waste of ages, through constant daily rubbing, by and by so
weakens the fastenings that they cease to be able to sustain their
burden. Then blocks of vast size fall down, then the crag hurled 3
headlong will not suffer anything to stand that it strikes in the
rebound from its fall, but
Comes away with a roar; and all things seem suddenly to rush headlong,
as our countryman Virgil says. Such must be the cause of the earthquake
that shakes the ground beneath. Now I must pass on to the second kind.
XXIII
The earth is naturally full of cavities, containing much empty 1
space. Through these cavities air roams. When an excessive quantity
has entered and cannot escape it shakes the earth. This explanation
is approved by others, too, as mentioned a little above. Perhaps the
crowd of witnesses will impress you. The view has the adhesion of
Callisthenes, and he is a man not lightly to be set aside. He was
endowed with a lofty intellect, and he dared to brave the wrath of a
king. His death is an eternal blot on the memory of Alexander, which
no valour and no success in war can ever remove. As often as it is
said, Alexander slew many thousands of the Persians, the retort will 2
be, And Callisthenes too. As often as it is said, He slew Darius,
in whose hands there was then a mighty kingdom, the retort will be,
Yes, and Callisthenes too. As often as it is said, He conquered all
lands right up to the Ocean, the Ocean likewise he essayed with fleets
strange to its waters, from a corner of Thrace he extended his empire
to the bounds of the East; it will also be said, Yes, but he slew
Callisthenes. Granted that he surpassed all former precedents of 3
generals and kings, yet of all that he did, nothing will match his
guilt in slaying Callisthenes.
Well, this Callisthenes, in the treatise in which he gives details
of the sinking of Helice and Buris, and discusses the disaster which
sent them into the sea, or the sea into them, says what I have said at
a previous point. Air, he says, enters the earth by hidden openings
under the sea, just as everywhere else. By and by, when the path is 4
blocked by which it had descended, and the resistance of the water in
the rear has cut off its retreat, it is borne hither and thither, and
encountering itself in its course it undermines the earth. That is the
reason why land over against the sea is most frequently harassed by
earthquakes; and hence it is that Neptune has been assigned this power
of moving the earth.[85] Any one who has learned the elements of Greek
knows that he is called among the Greeks Earthshaker (Ἐνοσίχθων).
[85] The usual reading, _maris_ = sea, contradicts the argument; it
cannot surely be right.
XXIV
I shall be ready to allow that air is the cause of this form of 1
destructive earthquake. But I shall have some criticism to offer as
to the method by which it enters the ground. Does it enter by fine
openings that the eye cannot detect, or by larger and more evident
ones? Does it come from the depths of the earth, or does it pass
through the surface too? The last-mentioned view seems inconceivable.
In our bodies the skin keeps out air, which finds no entrance except
that through which it is inhaled. And even when taken in by us, it
cannot settle except in the looser portion of the body. It does not
remain among the sinews or muscle, but in the bowels and the open 2
vessels of our internal organs. The same arrangement may be suspected
in regard to the earth’s interior from the very fact that the movement
in an earthquake is not on the surface of the earth or about the
surface, but beneath in the lowest parts. A proof of this is that seas
of immense depth are tossed up, no doubt from the movement of the
ground over which they spread. It is therefore probable that the earth 3
is moved in its depths, and that the air is formed there in the
immense caverns. Nay, says some critic, but just as when we shiver from
cold a trembling follows, so, too, the earth is shaken by air affecting
it from without. This I deny can by any possibility occur. Why, the
earth must get a chill in order to have the same happen to it as to
us, whom an external affection drives into a shuddering fit. I should
quite allow that the earth shows symptoms of much the same kind as 4
we do, but the cause is wholly different. An injury of a deeper kind,
more toward its centre, must affect it, the very strongest proof of
which may be found in the fact that when through violent earthquake the
soil is laid open in wide destruction, the chasm sometimes takes in and
buries whole cities. Thucydides tells us that, about the time of the 5
Peloponnesian War, the island of Atalanta, either wholly, or, at any
rate, for the most part, was swallowed up. You may take Posidonius for
witness that the same thing happened to Sidon. But we do not require
evidence of this. Within our own memory the earth has been torn by
internal movement, adjoining places have been rent asunder, whole
plains have disappeared. I will now explain how I suppose this sort of
thing to occur.
XXV
When air has completely filled a large vacant space within the earth, 1
and has begun to struggle and meditate escape, it lashes again and
again the sides of the enclosure within which it lurks, and right over
which, as it happens, cities are sometimes situated. The shaking is at
times so violent that buildings standing above the area of disturbance
are thrown down. Sometimes it goes to such lengths that the walls
by which the whole roof of the cavern is supported fall right down
into that vacant underground space, and cities sink entire into the
unfathomed depths. Long ago, if one may believe the story, Ossa and 2
Olympus were united; subsequently they were separated by an earthquake,
and the one great mountain was split into two. Then the Peneus made its
escape, draining the marshes with which Thessaly was overspread, and
drawing off the waters, which from want of exit had hitherto formed a
lake. It was an earthquake that let loose Ladon, the river which flows
between Elis and Magalenopolis. What, it is asked, do these facts go
to prove? Simply that air gathers in the spacious caves--for what 3
other name can I apply to the empty places under the earth? Were this
not so,[86] great spaces of the earth would be convulsed, and many of
them would totter to ruin at one and the same time. As it is, only
small portions suffer, nor does a shock ever extend as much as two
hundred miles. Look at the recent one, the marvellous tales of which
have filled the whole world; it did not pass beyond Campania. Need I
say that when Chalcis felt the earthquake shock Thebes did not fall? 4
when Aegium suffered, Patras, which is quite close by, only learned by
report about the earthquake? That mighty shock, which swallowed up the
two cities Helice and Buris, stopped short of Aegium. Plainly, then,
the movement extends only such distance as the empty space underground
stretches.
[86] _I.e._ were the air distributed all through the earth.
XXVI
To prove my point I might have used, somewhat unfairly perhaps, the 1
authority of the great writers who relate that Egypt never experienced
an earthquake shock, the reason they allege for it being that it is
all composed of mud. If one may believe Homer, Pharos used to be as
far from the mainland as a ship under full sail could reach in a day’s
voyage; but it has now become attached to the mainland. The Nile’s
swollen stream brings down great quantities of mud, and by adding it
from time to time to the existing land it has by an annual increase
constantly carried forward the coast of Egypt. The country thus is 2
composed of rich loamy soil without interstices, as it has become
solid just by the drying up of the mud. The composition of the mud was
close and firm, the particles of it being stuck together; no vacant
space could intervene, since the solid was always being added to by the
liquid and soft slime. But Egypt is, as a matter of fact, subject to
earthquake; and Delos, too, though Virgil bade it stand fast,
And granted that it should be a settled land of tillage, and should
laugh the winds to scorn.
The philosophers, too, a credulous set of people, relying on Pindar’s
authority, said that it did not experience movement. Thucydides asserts
that in former times it was unshaken, but sustained a shock about the
time of the Peloponnesian War. Callisthenes asserts that the same thing
happened on another occasion also. Among the numerous portents--these 3
are his words--by which warning was given of the overthrow of the two
cities Helice and Buris, the most remarkable were the appearance of
a huge pillar of fire and the earthquake shock in Delos. Yet he will
have it that the island is comparatively firm for the reason that it is
placed on the sea and has hollow crags and porous rocks, which afford a
way of escape to air imprisoned in them. For this reason, too, islands
have, he thinks, a firmer soil, and cities are safer in proportion 4
to their proximity to the sea. The falsity of such an opinion surely
Pompeii and Herculaneum learned to their cost. Add now the fact that
every sea-coast is particularly subject to earthquakes. Paphos, for
instance, was more than once ruined, and the famous Nicopolis is
already intimately acquainted with this mischief. Cyprus is surrounded
by a deep sea, but is subject to shocks. Tyre is as regularly shaken by
earthquake as it is washed by the waves. Such, then, are for the most
part the explanations that have been suggested for the trembling of the
earth.
XXVII
We must now essay an explanation of certain peculiar features which 1
are said to have occurred in the recent Campanian earthquake. A flock
of six hundred sheep is asserted to have been killed in the district
near Pompeii, and there is no reason to suppose that this happened to
the sheep through fright. We have said that after great earthquakes it
is usual for a pestilence to occur. And no wonder, since in the depths
of earth many deadly poisons lurk. In fact, the very atmosphere there, 2
being stagnant through some fault in the earth or the sluggish
movement and the everlasting darkness that prevails, is dangerous to
breathe. Or being poisoned by the fumes of the internal fires, when
it is released from its long inactivity, it taints and pollutes this
pure clear air above, and brings new forms of disease to those who
inhale the unwonted draught. You remember, too, that we found the water
lurking in the secret depths to be useless and even pestilential, since
activity never stirs it, and the free breath of heaven never ruffles
it. Being therefore thick and covered beneath gross eternal darkness 3
it contains only elements that are pestilential and injurious to our
bodies. So, too, the atmosphere, which mingles with it and lies amid
these marshes, scatters far and wide its poison when it issues out,
and kills those who breathe it. The flocks, which the pestilence is
wont to attack, feel the poisonous effects more readily, because they
are more greedy in feeding. They live for the most part in the open,
and they drink a great deal of water, which is chiefly responsible for
the pestilence. Sheep are of rather delicate constitution, and, as 4
they keep their heads close to the earth, I am not surprised at their
being attacked by the infection; they receive the blasts of tainted air
just as it issues from the ground. If it had issued in greater volume,
it would have injured man too. But the abundant supply of pure air
counteracted it before it could rise high enough to be breathed by any
human being.
XXVIII
Now you may infer that the earth contains many deadly elements from 1
the mere fact that so many poisons grow of themselves without being
sown; the soil no doubt contains seeds of evil as well as of good. Is
it not the case that, earthquakes apart, in several places in Italy a
pestilential steam is emitted through certain openings, which it is
not safe for either man or beast to breathe? Even birds, if they meet
it before it is neutralised by the purer breath of heaven, fall in
mid-flight; their bodies become livid, and their jaws swell just as
if they had been strangled. As long as this air is contained in the 2
earth and escapes by a narrow opening, it has no greater power than to
kill creatures that look down into, or voluntarily approach too near,
it. But when for centuries darkness has brooded over it, and the gloom
of the place has increased the infection, it becomes more dangerous
through mere lapse of time; the more sluggish it is, all the more
deadly does it become. Then when it has gained an exit it lets loose
all that mischief conceived in the cold shades through endless ages
of nether darkness, tainting with it the atmosphere of our realms of
earth. The better is ever conquered by the worse. Even that purer 3
air of heaven then changes to pestilential. Thence come sudden and
continuous deaths, and portentous forms of disease that spring from
unexampled causes. The disaster is long or short lived, according
to the strength of the sources of infection. Nor does the plague
cease until the freedom of heaven and the tossing of the winds have
banished[87] that fatal air.
[87] Or purified.
XXIX
Through fear some people have run about as if distracted or mad. For 1
fear, even when in moderation and confined to individuals, shatters
the mind’s powers. But when there is public alarm through fall of
cities, burying of whole nations, and shaking of earth’s foundations,
what wonder that minds in the distraction of suffering and terror
should have wandered forth bereft of sense? It is no easy matter in
the midst of overmastering evils not to lose one’s reason. So it is,
as a rule, the feeblest souls that reach such a pitch of dread as to
become unhinged. No one, indeed, has suffered extreme terror without 2
some loss of sanity; one who is afraid is much like a madman. But some
quickly recovering from the alarm regain self-possession. Others it
more violently disturbs and reduces to sheer madness. Hence during
times of war lunatics are to be met wandering about. On no occasion
will one find more instances of raving prophets than when mingled
terror and superstition have struck men’s hearts.
I am not surprised that a statue is split by an earthquake, after I
have recounted that mountains have been separated from mountains and
the ground itself burst asunder down to its depths.
These places, once convulsed by the force of vast ruin-- 3
Such the power of change in the lapse of lengthened ages!
Leaped asunder, they tell us, whereas hitherto both lands
Were one; into their midst rushed the deep with its mighty billows,
Cutting off the Italian from the Sicilian side; fields and cities
Were parted in sea-line and washed by the narrow tide that flowed
between.
One sees whole regions torn from their place, and what was once
contiguous, now lying beyond the sea. One sees a separation of cities
and nations when a part of nature is roused by internal motion, or
the sea or fire or air has assailed some point; for their force is
marvellous, since it has a boundless reserve from which to draw. Though
its rage is vented at but one point, yet it has the world’s whole 4
strength to reinforce its wrath. Thus it was that the sea tore away
Spain from the mainland of Africa. Thus it was by the flood, which the
greatest of poets have celebrated, that Sicily was cut away from Italy.
The movements that proceed from depth have much more force. They are
more energetic, as their effort is concentrated upon a narrow area.
Enough has now been said to show what mighty deeds these earthquakes
have wrought and what wondrous sights they have displayed.
XXX
Why, then, should one be amazed that the bronze of a single statue 1
is burst, and that, not even solid, but hollow and thin? as likely as
not air in seeking an escape has got enclosed in it. And does not every
one know that buildings are sometimes observed in time of earthquake to
split at the corners and be united again? Other things badly set upon
their base, and loosely and carelessly put together by the workmen,
have been known to be welded firmly together by the repeated shaking of
the earthquake. If it splits whole walls and whole houses, and rends 2
the sides of great towers, which are constructed of solid masonry, and
scatters the piles that support the foundations of great works, why
should one think it worthy of remark that a statue had been cut equally
into two from base to summit? But why, it may be asked, did the shock
last for several days? For Campania went on trembling continuously, 3
more gently it is true, but still causing great damage, because what it
shook was already shaken and crushed. Things stood so insecurely as to
require only a slight shake, but not a push, to bring them down. The
explanation of the prolonged shaking is no doubt that all the air had
not yet escaped, but though the greater part was discharged, a remnant
was still roaming about here and there.
XXXI
There is yet a further proof that you may unhesitatingly add to the 1
others that go to show that all these phenomena are the outcome of air.
After the most violent shock that cities and provinces can experience
has spent itself, another of like violence cannot immediately follow;
after the crisis there are only slight shocks, just because the most
violent one has opened a way of escape for the struggling winds. The
remains of the air that is left have not the same power, nor do they
require to struggle; they have now found a way of escape, and follow
the path by which the first and greatest shock issued.
I am of opinion, too, that the observations of a certain learned and 2
grave philosopher of my acquaintance deserve to be put on record; he
happened to be taking a bath when the earthquake occurred. He asserted
that he saw the tiles with which the floor of the bathroom was paved,
separate one from another and unite again. At one moment, when the
pavement opened, the water was taken in through the joints, the next,
when the pavement closed, it was forced out all bubbling. I have heard
the same learned man relate that he had seen soft materials undergo
more frequent but more gentle shocks than materials naturally hard.
XXXII
So much, my esteemed Lucilius, with respect to the mere causes of 1
earthquakes. Now we must adduce some considerations that will tend
to reassure us in face of the perils of earthquakes. After all, it
concerns us more closely to acquire resolution of mind than erudition,
and yet the former cannot be had without the latter. Assurance comes to
the mind from no source but elevating studies and the contemplation of
nature. Is there any one, I say, that reflects upon causes, who will
not be reassured and emboldened by this late catastrophe in Campania to
face disasters of all kinds? Why should I fear man or beast, bow or 2
lance? Far greater perils are ever lurking for me. Lightning and earth
shock, and all the great forces of nature, aim their blows at us. Death
must therefore be resolutely[88] challenged whether its attack be with
vast[88] overpowering onset or by ordinary means of daily occurrence.
It is of no moment how threatening its approach, or how great the
engine it brings up against us. The life it asks of us is a very little
thing. It will be taken from us by old age, or by a little pain in 3
the ear, or by a superabundance of tainted moisture within, by food
that the stomach cannot assimilate, or by a slight injury to one’s
toe. Man’s life is a paltry affair, but a mighty affair is the contempt
of life. He who can despise life may look unmoved upon the tossing of
the sea, even though all the winds have roused it, even though by some
upheaval of the world the tide has turned the whole Ocean bodily upon
the land. Unmoved he will behold the fierce forbidding aspect of the 4
thundering heavens, yes, though heaven itself be crushed and unite
its fires for the destruction of mankind and of itself first of all.
Unmoved he will behold earth’s framework rent and earth’s foundations
yawning beneath. Though the realms of the nether world be uncovered, he
will stand over the abyss still dauntless, and into the pit into which
he is doomed to fall he will perhaps leap. What is it to me how great
the powers by which I perish? To perish is itself no great matter.
[88] It would seem that _ingenti_ and _aequo_ have by some means got
transposed in the ordinary texts. Gercke reads _saevo_ for _aequo_.
Wherefore, if we desire to be happy, to be harassed by no fear 5
either of men, or gods, or circumstance, to despise fortune with her
superfluous promises and her contemptible threats, if we desire to live
the peaceful life, and to vie with the very gods in happiness, then
we must carry our life in our right hand. Whether snares or diseases
attack it, the swords of foes or the crash of falling tenements, or the
downfall of earth itself, or the violence of widespread fire enveloping
city and field in common disaster, let who will take it. What more do
I owe life than to encourage it on its journey, and to despatch it 6
with good wishes? _Go resolutely, go prosperously!_ There must be no
hesitation in rendering back life. It is merely a question of time, not
of fact. What you are doing must be done some day. Beseech not nor
fear, nor draw back as if starting to face some peril. Nature, who bore
you, waits your coming to a place better and safer than earth. There
is no earthquake there, friend, no winds clashing with loud noise of 7
cloudy sky, no fires to waste province and city, no fear of shipwreck
swallowing up whole fleets, no armies arrayed with opposing banners,
or common fury of hosts prepared for mutual destruction, no plague,
no pyres lit up around the promiscuous resting-place of slaughtered
nations. If death is a light affair, why fear it? If it is heavy, then
rather let it fall once for all than be always hanging over us. Should
_I_ fear to perish when earth must perish before me, when the powers 8
that shake are shaken, when they hasten to our destruction only through
their own? The sea received Helice and Buris entire; shall I fear for
one poor body? Ships sail over the site of two towns, aye, towns that
we know well, that the record preserved by letters has brought to our
intimate knowledge. How many others have been sunk in other places? how
many nations has either earth or sea engulfed? Shall I rebel against my
end when I know that I am not endless? nay, when I am fully assured 9
that all things come to an end, shall I fear my latest sigh?
Wherefore steel yourself, Lucilius, with all your might against fear of
death. This fear it is that drags us down; this it is that torments and
destroys the life it tries to preserve. It magnifies all those dangers,
earthquakes and lightnings, and the rest. You will be able to bear them
all resolutely if you but reflect that short and long in life make
no difference. It is but hours we lose. But suppose it is days, 10
or months, or years, what we lose is, surely, bound to perish. What
difference, pray, is it whether I manage to reach them or not? Time
flows on; it leaves behind those most eager to seize it. Neither what
is to be is mine, nor what was. I am poised upon a point of fleeting
time; it is a great thing to have been moderate in one’s ambitions.
Laelius the Wise made a neat retort once to a person who said, I
am sixty years old: you mean, said he, the sixty you no longer 11
_are_.[89] We show our failure to grasp the terms of this elusive life
of ours, and the conditions of time that is never our own, in reckoning
up as ours years that are now lost. Let us fix this in our minds, and
constantly remind ourselves, I must die. When? What matter is that to
you? Death is a law of nature; death is a tribute and a duty imposed
on mortals; it is the remedy of all ills. Whoever now fears it will
one day long for it. Giving up all else, Lucilius, make this your one
meditation, not to dread the name death. By long reflection make death
an intimate friend, that, if so required, you may be able even to go
forth to welcome it.
[89] It is almost impossible to express in English the play on
_habeo_ = have; French is more amenable. “J’ai soixante ans!
Parlez-vous des soixante ans que vous n’avez plus?”--NISARD.