Produced by David Reed and David Widger
LETTERS OF PLINY
By Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus
Translated by William Melmoth
Revised by F. C. T. Bosanquet
GAIUS PLINIUS CAECILIUS SECUNDUS, usually known as Pliny the Younger,
was born at Como in 62 A. D. He was only eight years old when his father
Caecilius died, and he was adopted by his uncle, the elder Pliny, author
of the Natural History. He was carefully educated, studying rhetoric
under Quintilian and other famous teachers, and he became the most
eloquent pleader of his time. In this and in much else he imitated
Cicero, who had by this time come to be the recognized master of Latin
style. While still young he served as military tribune in Syria, but he
does not seem to have taken zealously to a soldier's life. On his return
he entered politics under the Emperor Domitian; and in the year 100 A.
D. was appointed consul by Trajan and admitted to confidential
intercourse with that emperor. Later while he was governor of Bithynia,
he was in the habit of submitting every point of policy to his master,
and the correspondence between Trajan and him, which forms the last part
of the present selection, is of a high degree of interest, both on
account of the subjects discussed and for the light thrown on the
characters of the two men. He is supposed to have died about 113 A. D.
Pliny's speeches are now lost, with the exception of one, a panegyric on
Trajan delivered in thanksgiving for the consulate. This, though diffuse
and somewhat too complimentary for modern taste, became a model for this
kind of composition. The others were mostly of two classes, forensic and
political, many of the latter being, like Cicero's speech against
Verres, impeachments of provincial governors for cruelty and extortion
toward their subjects. In these, as in his public activities in general,
he appears as a man of public spirit and integrity; and in his relations
with his native town he was a thoughtful and munificent benefactor.
The letters, on which to-day his fame mainly rests, were largely written
with a view to publication, and were arranged by Pliny himself. They
thus lack the spontaneity of Cicero's impulsive utterances, but to most
modern readers who are not special students of Roman history they are
even more interesting. They deal with a great variety of subjects: the
description of a Roman villa; the charms of country life; the reluctance
of people to attend author's readings and to listen when they were
present; a dinner party; legacy-hunting in ancient Rome; the acquisition
of a piece of statuary; his love for his young wife; ghost stories;
floating islands, a tame dolphin, and other marvels. But by far the best
known are those describing the great eruption of Vesuvius in which his
uncle perished, a martyr to scientific curiosity, and the letter to
Trajan on his attempts to suppress Christianity in Bithynia, with
Trajan's reply approving his policy. Taken altogether, these letters
give an absorbingly vivid picture of the days of the early empire, and
of the interests of a cultivated Roman gentleman of wealth.
Occasionally, as in the last letters referred to, they deal with
important historical events; but their chief value is in bringing before
us, in somewhat the same manner as "The Spectator" pictures the England
of the age of Anne, the life of a time which is not so unlike our own as
its distance in years might indicate. And in this time by no means the
least interesting figure is that of the letter-writer himself, with his
vanity and self-importance, his sensibility and generous affection, his
pedantry and his loyalty.
CONTENTS
LETTERS GAIUS PLINIUS CAECILIUS SECUNDUS
I -- To SEPTITTUS
II -- To ARRIANUS
III -- To VOCONIUS ROMANUS
IV -- To CORNELIUS TACITUS
V -- To POMPEIUS SATURNINUS
VI -- To ATRIUS CLEMENS
VII -- To FABIUS JUSTUS
VIII -- To CALESTRIUS TIRO
IX -- To SOCIUS SENECIO
X -- To JUNSUS MAURICUS
XI -- To SEPTITIUS CLARUS
XII -- To SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS
XIII -- To ROMANUS FIRMUS
XIV -- TO CORNELIUS TACITUS
XV -- To PATERNUS
XVI -- To CATILIUS SEVERUS [27]
XVII -- To VOCONIUS ROMANUS
XVIII -- To NEPOS
XIX -- To AVITUS
XX -- To MACRINUS
XXI -- To PAISCUS
XXII -- To MAIMUS
XXIII -- To GALLUS
XXIV -- To CEREALIS
XXV -- To CALVISIUS
XXVI -- To CALVISIUS
XXVII -- To BAEBIUS MACER
XXVIII -- To ANNIUS SEVERUS
XXIX -- To CANINIUS RUFUS
XXX -- To SPURINNA AND COTTIA[53]
XXXI -- To JULIUS GENITOR
XXXII -- To CATILIUS SEVERUS
XXXIII -- To ACILIUS
XXXIV -- To NEPOS
XXXV -- To SEVERUS
XXXVI -- To CALVISIUS RUFUS
XXXVII -- To CORNELIUS PRISCUS
XXXVIII -- To FABATUS (HIS WIFE'S GRANDFATHER)
XXXIX -- To ATTIUS CLEMENS
XL -- To CATIUS LEPIDUS
XLI -- To MATURUS ARRIANUS
XLII -- To STATIUS SABINUS
XLIII -- To CORNELIUS MINICIANUS
XLV -- To ASINIUS
XLVI -- To HISPULLA
XLVII -- To ROMATIUS FIASIUS
XLVIII -- To LICINIUS SURA
XLIX -- To ANNIUS SEVERUS
L -- To TITIUS ARISTO
LI -- To NONIUS MAXIMUS
LII -- To DOMITIUS APOLLINARIS
LIII -- To CALVISIUS
LIV -- To MARCELLINUS
LV -- To SPURINNA
LVI -- To PAULINUS
LVII -- To RUFUS
LVIII -- To ARRIANUS
LIX -- To CALPURNIA[88]
LX -- To CALPURNIA
LXI -- To PRISCUS
LXII -- To ALBINUS
LXIII -- To MAXIMUS
LXIV -- To ROMANUS
LXV -- To TACITUS
LXVI -- To CORNELIUS TACITUS
LX VII -- To MACER
LXVIII -- To SERVIANUS
LXIX -- To SEVERUS
LXX -- To FABATUS
LXXI -- To CORNELIANUS
LXXII -- To MAXIMUS
LXXIII -- To RESTITUTUS
LXXIV -- To CALPURNIA[111]
LXXV -- To MACRINUS
LXXVI -- To TUSCUS
LXX VII -- To FABATUS (HIS WIFE'S GRANDFATHER)
LXXVIII -- To CORELLIA
LXXIX -- To CELER
LXXX -- To PRISCUS
LXXXI -- To GEMINIUS
LXXXII -- To MAXIMUS
LXXXIII -- To SURA
LXXXIV -- To SEPTITIUS
LXXXV -- To TACITUS
LXXX VI -- To SEPTITIUS
LXXXVII -- To CALVISIUS
LXXX VIII -- To ROMANUS
LXXXIX -- To ARISTO
XC -- To PATERNUS
XCI -- To MACRINUS
XCII -- To RUFINUS
XCIII -- To GALLUS
XCIV -- To ARRIANUS
XCV -- To MAXIMUS
XCVI -- To PAULINUS
XCVII -- To CALVISIUS
XCVIII -- To ROMANUS
XCIX -- To GEMINUS
C -- To JUNIOR
CI -- To QUADRATUS
CII -- To GENITOR
CIII -- To SABINIANUS
CIV -- To MAXIMUS
CV -- To SABINIANUS
CVI -- To LUPERCUS
CVII -- To CANINIUS
CVIII -- To Fuscus
CIX -- To PAULINUS
CX -- To FUSCUS
FOOTNOTES TO THE LETTERS OF PLINY]
CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
I -- TO THE EMPEROR TRAJAN[1001]
II -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
III -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
IV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
V -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
VI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
VII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
VIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
X -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XIV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XVI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XVII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XVIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXIV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXVI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXVII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXVIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXXI -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XXXII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXXIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XXXIV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXXV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XXXVI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXX VII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XXXVIII To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XXXIX -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XL -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XLI -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XLII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XLIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XLIV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XLV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XLVI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XLVII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XLVIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XLIX -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
L -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LI -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LIV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LVI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LVII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LVIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LIX -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXI -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXIV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXVI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXVII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LX VIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXX -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXXII TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXX IV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXXVI -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXVII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXXVIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXXX -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXXI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXXXII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXXIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXXXIV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXXV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXXXVI -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXXVII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LXXXVIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
LXXXIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XC -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XCI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XCII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XCIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XCIV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XCV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XCVI -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XCVII To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XCVIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XCIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
C -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CI To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CIV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CV -- To TIlE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CVI -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CVII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CVIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CX -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CXI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CXII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CXIII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CXIV -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CXV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CXVI -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CXVII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CXVIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CXIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CXX -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
CXXI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
CXXII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
FOOTNOTES TO THE CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
LETTERS GAIUS PLINIUS CAECILIUS SECUNDUS
I -- To SEPTITTUS
YOU have frequently pressed me to make a select collection of my Letters
(if there really be any deserving of a special preference) and give them
to the public. I have selected them accordingly; not, indeed, in their
proper order of time, for I was not compiling a history; but just as
each came to hand. And now I have only to wish that you may have no
reason to repent of your advice, nor I of my compliance: in that case, I
may probably enquire after the rest, which at present be neglected, and
preserve those I shall hereafter write. Farewell.
II -- To ARRIANUS
I FORESEE your journey in my direction is likely to be delayed, and
therefore send you the speech which I promised in my former; requesting
you, as usual, to revise and correct it. I desire this the more
earnestly as I never, I think, wrote with the same empressment in any of
my former speeches; for I have endeavoured to imitate your old favourite
Demosthenes and Calvus, who is lately become mine, at least in the
rhetorical forms of the speech; for to catch their sublime spirit, is
given, alone, to the "inspired few." My subject, indeed, seemed
naturally to lend itself to this (may I venture to call it?) emulation;
consisting, as it did, almost entirely in a vehement style of address,
even to a degree sufficient to have awakened me (if only I am capable of
being awakened) out of that indolence in which I have long reposed. I
have not however altogether neglected the flowers of rhetoric of my
favourite Marc-Tully, wherever I could with propriety step out of my
direct road, to enjoy a more flowery path: for it was energy, not
austerity, at which I aimed. I would not have you imagine by this that I
am bespeaking your indulgence: on the contrary, to make your correcting
pen more vigorous, I will confess that neither my friends nor myself are
averse from the publication of this piece, if only you should join in
the approval of what is perhaps my folly. The truth is, as I must
publish something, I wish it might be this performance rather than any
other, because it is already finished: (you hear the wish of laziness.)
At all events, however, something I must publish, and for many reasons;
chiefly because of the tracts which I have already sent in to the world,
though they have long since lost all their recommendation from novelty,
are still, I am told, in request; if, after all, the booksellers are not
tickling my ears. And let them; since, by that innocent deceit, I am
encouraged to pursue my studies. Farewell.
III -- To VOCONIUS ROMANUS
DID YOU ever meet with a more abject and mean-spirited creature than
Marcus Regulus since the death of Domitian, during whose reign his
conduct was no less infamous, though more concealed, than under Nero's?
He began to be afraid I was angry with him, and his apprehensions were
perfectly correct; I was angry. He had not only done his best to
increase the peril of the position in which Rusticus Arulenus[1] stood,
but had exulted in his death; insomuch that he actually recited and
published a libel upon his memory, in which he styles him "The Stoics'
Ape": adding, "stigmated[2] with the Vitellian scar."[3] You recognize
Regulus' eloquent strain! He fell with such fury upon the
character of Herennius Senecio that Metius Carus said to him, one day,
"What business have you with my dead? Did I ever interfere in the affair
of Crassus[4] or Camerinus?"[5] Victims, you know, to Regulus, in Nero's
time. For these reasons he imagined I was highly exasperated, and so at
the recitation of his last piece, I got no invitation. Besides, he had
not forgotten, it seems, with what deadly purpose he had once attacked
me in the Court of the Hundred.[6] Rusticus had desired me to act as
counsel for Arionilla, Titnon's wife: Regulus was engaged against me. In
one part of the case I was strongly insisting upon a particular judgment
given by Metius Modestus, an excellent man, at that time in banishment
by Domitian's order. Now then for Regulus. "Pray," says he, "what is
your opinion of Modestus?" You see what a risk I should have run had I
answered that I had a high opinion of him, how I should have disgraced
myself on the other hand if I had replied that I had a bad opinion of
him. But some guardian power, I am persuaded, must have stood by me to
assist me in this emergency. "I will tell you my opinion," I said, "if
that is a matter to be brought before the court." "I ask you," he
repeated, "what is your opinion of Modestus?" I replied that it was
customary to examine witnesses to the character of an accused man, not
to the character of one on whom sentence had already been passed. He
pressed me a third time. "I do not now enquire," said he, "your opinion
of Modestus in general, I only ask your opinion of his loyalty." "Since
you will have my opinion then," I rejoined, "I think it illegal even to
ask a question concerning a person who stands convicted." He sat down at
this, completely silenced; and I received applause and congratulation on
all sides, that without injuring my reputation by an advantageous,
perhaps, though ungenerous answer, I had not entangled myself in the
toils of so insidious a catch-question. Thoroughly frightened upon this
then, he first seizes upon Caecilius Celer, next he goes and begs of
Fabius Justus, that they would use their joint interest to bring about a
reconciliation between us. And lest this should not be sufficient, he
sets off to Spurinna as well; to whom he came in the humblest way (for
he is the most abject creature alive, where he has anything to be afraid
of) and says to him, "Do, I entreat of you, call on Pliny to-morrow
morning, certainly in the morning, no later (for I cannot endure this
anxiety of mind longer), and endeavour by any means in your power to
soften his resentment." I was already up, the next day, when a message
arrived from Spurinna, "I am coming to call on you." I sent word back,
"Nay, I will wait upon you;" however, both of us setting out to pay this
visit, we met under Livia's portico. He acquainted me with the
commission he had received from Regulus, and interceded for him as
became so worthy a man in behalf of one so totally dissimilar, without
greatly pressing the thing. "I will leave it to you," was my reply, "to
consider what answer to return Regulus; you ought not to be deceived by
me. I am waiting for Mauricus'[7] return" (for he had not yet come back
out of exile), "so that I cannot give you any definite answer either
way, as I mean to be guided entirely by his decision, for he ought to be
my leader here, and I simply to do as he says." Well, a few days after
this, Regulus met me as I was at the praetor's; he kept close to me
there and begged a word in private, when he said he was afraid I deeply
resented an expression he had once made use of in his reply to Satrius
and myself, before the Court of the Hundred, to this effect, "Satrius
Rufus, who does not endeavour to rival Cicero, and who is content with
the eloquence of our own day." I answered, now I perceived indeed, upon
his own confession, that he had meant it ill-naturedly; otherwise it
might have passed for a compliment. "For I am free to own," I said,
"that I do endeavour to rival Cicero, and am not content with the
eloquence of our own day. For I consider it the very height of folly not
to copy the best models of every kind. But, how happens it that you, who
have so good a recollection of what passed upon this occasion, should
have forgotten that other, when you asked me my opinion of the loyalty
of Modestus?" Pale as he always is, he turned simply pallid at this, and
stammered out, "I did not intend to hurt you when I asked this question,
but Modestus." Observe the vindictive cruelty of the fellow, who made no
concealment of his willingness to injure a banished man. But the reason
he alleged in justification of his conduct is pleasant. Modestus, he
explained, in a letter of his, which was read to Domitian, had used the
following expression, "Regulus, the biggest rascal that walks upon two
feet:" and what Modestus had written was the simple truth, beyond all
manner of controversy. Here, about, our conversation came to an end, for
I did not wish to proceed further, being desirous to keep matters open
until Mauricus returns. It is no easy matter, I am well aware of that,
to destroy Regulus; he is rich, and at the head of a party; courted[8]
by many, feared by more: a passion that will sometimes prevail even
beyond friendship itself. But, after all, ties of this sort are not so
strong but they may be loosened; for a bad man's credit is as shifty as
himself. However (to repeat), I am waiting until Mauricus comes back. He
is a man of sound judgment and great sagacity formed upon long
experience, and who, from his observations of the past, well knows how
to judge of the future. I shall talk the matter over with him, and
consider myself justified either in pursuing or dropping this affair, as
he shall advise. Meanwhile I thought I owed this account to our mutual
friendship, which gives you an undoubted right to know about not only
all my actions but all my plans as well. Farewell.
IV -- To CORNELIUS TACITUS
You will laugh (and you are quite welcome) when I tell you that your old
acquaintance is turned sportsman, and has taken three noble boars.
"What!" you exclaim, "Pliny!"--Even he. However, I indulged at the same
time my beloved inactivity; and, whilst I sat at my nets, you would have
found me, not with boar spear or javelin, but pencil and tablet, by my
side. I mused and wrote, being determined to return, if with all my
hands empty, at least with my memorandums full. Believe me, this way of
studying is not to be despised: it is wonderful how the mind is stirred
and quickened into activity by brisk bodily exercise. There is
something, too, in the solemnity of the venerable woods with which one
is surrounded, together with that profound silence which is observed on
these occasions, that forcibly disposes the mind to meditation. So for
the future, let me advise you, whenever you hunt, to take your tablets
along with you, as well as your basket and bottle, for be assured you
will find Minerva no less fond of traversing the hills than Diana.
Farewell.
V -- To POMPEIUS SATURNINUS
NOTHING could be more seasonable than the letter which I received from
you, in which you so earnestly beg me to send you some of my literary
efforts: the very thing I was intending to do. So you have only put
spurs into a willing horse and at once saved yourself the excuse of
refusing the trouble, and me the awkwardness of asking the favour.
Without hesitation then I avail myself of your offer; as you must now
take the consequence of it without reluctance. But you are not to expect
anything new from a lazy fellow, for I am going to ask you to revise
again the speech I made to my fellow-townsmen when I dedicated the
public library to their use. You have already, I remember, obliged me
with some annotations upon this piece, but only in a general way; and so
I now beg of you not only to take a general view of the whole speech,
but, as you usually do, to go over it in detail. When you have corrected
it, I shall still be at liberty to publish or suppress it: and the delay
in the meantime will be attended with one of these alternatives; for,
while we are deliberating whether it is fit for publishing, a frequent
revision will either make it so, or convince me that it is not. Though
indeed my principal difficulty respecting the publication of this
harangue arises not so much from the composition as out of the subject
itself, which has something in it, I am afraid, that will look too like
ostentation and self-conceit. For, be the style ever so plain and
unassuming, yet, as the occasion necessarily led me to speak not only of
the munificence of my ancestors, but of my own as well, my modesty will
be seriously embarrassed. A dangerous and slippery situation this, even
when one is led into it by plea of necessity! For, if mankind are not
very favourable to panegyric, even when bestowed upon others, how much
more difficult is it to reconcile them to it when it is a tribute which
we pay to ourselves or to our ancestors? Virtue, by herself, is
generally the object of envy, but particularly so when glory and
distinction attend her; and the world is never so little disposed to
detract from the rectitude of your conduct as when it passes unobserved
and unapplauded. For these reasons, I frequently ask myself whether I
composed this harangue, such as it is, merely from a personal
consideration, or with a view to the public as well; and I am sensible
that what may be exceedingly useful and proper in the prosecution of any
affair may lose all its grace and fitness the moment the business is
completed: for instance, in the case before us, what could be more to my
purpose than to explain at large the motives of my intended bounty? For,
first, it engaged my mind in good and ennobling thoughts; next, it
enabled me, by frequent dwelling upon them, to receive a perfect
impression of their loveliness, while it guarded at the same time
against that repentance which is sure to follow on an impulsive act of
generosity. There arose also a further advantage from this method, as it
fixed in me a certain habitual contempt of money. For, while mankind
seem to be universally governed by an innate passion to accumulate
wealth, the cultivation of a more generous affection in my own breast
taught me to emancipate myself from the slavery of so predominant a
principle: and I thought that my honest intentions would be the more
meritorious as they should appear to proceed, not from sudden impulse,
but from the dictates of cool and deliberate reflection. I considered,
besides, that I was not engaging myself to exhibit public games or
gladiatorial combats, but to establish an annual fund for the support
and education of young men of good families but scanty means. The
pleasures of the senses are so far from wanting the oratorical arts to
recommend them that we stand in need of all the powers of eloquence to
moderate and restrain rather than stir up their influence. But the work
of getting anybody to cheerfully undertake the monotony and drudgery of
education must be effected not by pay merely, but by a skilfully worked-
up appeal to the emotions as well. If physicians find it expedient to
use the most insinuating address in recommending to their patients a
wholesome though, perhaps, unpleasant regimen, how much more occasion
had he to exert all the powers of persuasion who, out of regard to the
public welfare, was endeavouring to reconcile it to a most useful though
not equally popular benefaction? Particularly, as my aim was to
recommend an institution, calculated solely for the benefit of those who
were parents to men who, at present, had no children; and to persuade
the greater number to wait patiently until they should be entitled to an
honour of which a few only could immediately partake. But as at that
time, when I attempted to explain and enforce the general design and
benefit of my institution, I considered more the general good of my
countrymen, than any reputation which might result to myself; so I am
apprehensive lest, if I publish that piece, it may perhaps look as if I
had a view rather to my own personal credit than the benefit of others.
Besides, I am very sensible how much nobler it is to place the reward of
virtue in the silent approbation of one's own breast than in the
applause of the world. Glory ought to be the consequence, not the
motive, of our actions; and although it happen not to attend the worthy
deed, yet it is by no means the less fair for having missed the applause
it deserved. But the world is apt to suspect that those who celebrate
their own beneficent acts performed them for no other motive than to
have the pleasure of extolling them. Thus, the splendour of an action
which would have been deemed illustrious if related by another is
totally extinguished when it becomes the subject of one's own applause.
Such is the disposition of mankind, if they cannot blast the action,
they will censure its display; and whether you do what does not deserve
particular notice, or set forth yourself what does, either way you incur
reproach. In my own case there is a peculiar circumstance that weighs
much with me: this speech was delivered not before the people, but the
Decurii;[9] not in the forum, but the senate; I am afraid therefore it
will look inconsistent that I, who, when I delivered it, seemed to avoid
popular applause, should now, by publishing this performance, appear to
court it: that I, who was so scrupulous as not to admit even these
persons to be present when I delivered this speech, who were interested
in my benefaction, lest it might be suspected I was actuated in this
affair by any ambitious views, should now seem to solicit admiration, by
forwardly displaying it to such as have no other concern in my
munificence than the benefit of example. These are the scruples which
have occasioned my delay in giving this piece to the public; but I
submit them entirely to your judgment, which I shall ever esteem as a
sufficient sanction of my conduct. Farewell.
VI -- To ATRIUS CLEMENS
IF ever polite literature flourished at Rome, it certainly flourishes
now; and I could give you many eminent instances: I will content myself,
however, with naming only Euphrates[10] the philosopher. I first became
acquainted with this excellent person in my youth, when I served in the
army in Syria. I had an opportunity of conversing with him familiarly,
and took some pains to gain his affection: though that, indeed, was not
very difficult, for he is easy of access, unreserved, and actuated by
those social principles he professes to teach. I should think myself
extremely happy if I had as fully answered the expectations he, at that
time, conceived of me, as he exceeds everything I had imagined of him.
But, perhaps, I admire his excellencies more now than I did then,
because I know better how to appreciate them; not that I sufficiently
appreciate them even now. For as none but those who are skilled in
painting, statuary, or the plastic art, can form a right judgment of any
performance in those respective modes of representation, so a man must,
himself, have made great advances in philosophy before he is capable of
forming a just opinion of a philosopher. However, as far as I am
qualified to determine, Euphrates is possessed of so many shining
talents that he cannot fail to attract and impress the most ordinarily
educated observer. He reasons with much force, acuteness, and elegance;
and frequently rises into all the sublime and luxuriant eloquence of
Plato. His style is varied and flowing, and at the same time so
wonderfully captivating that he forces the reluctant attention of the
most unwilling hearer. For the rest, a fine stature, a comely aspect,
long hair, and a large silver beard; circumstances which, though they
may probably be thought trifling and accidental, contribute, however, to
gain him much reverence. There is no affected negligence in his dress
and appearance; his countenance is grave but not austere; and his
approach commands respect without creating awe. Distinguished as he is
by the perfect blamelessness of his life, he is no less so by the
courtesy and engaging sweetness of his manner. He attacks vices, not
persons, and, without severity, reclaims the wanderer from the paths of
virtue. You follow his exhortations with rapt attention, hanging, as it
were, upon his lips; and even after the heart is convinced, the ear
still wishes to listen to the harmonious reasoner. His family consists
of three children (two of which are sons), whom he educates with the
utmost care. His father-in-law, Pompeius Julianus, as he greatly
distinguished himself in every other part of his life, so particularly
in this, that though he was himself of the highest rank in his province,
yet, among many considerable matches, he preferred Euphrates for his
son-in-law, as first in merit, though not in dignity. But why do I dwell
any longer upon the virtues of a man whose conversation I am so
unfortunate as not to have time sufficiently to enjoy? Is it to increase
my regret and vexation that I cannot enjoy it? My time is wholly taken
up in the execution of a very honourable, indeed, but equally
troublesome, employment; in hearing cases, signing petitions, making up
accounts, and writing a vast amount of the most illiterate literature. I
sometimes complain to Euphrates (for I have leisure at least to
complain) of these unpleasing occupations. He endeavours to console me,
by affirming that, to be engaged in the public service, to hear and
determine cases, to explain the laws, and administer justice, is a part,
and the noblest part, too, of philosophy; as it is reducing to practice
what her professors teach in speculation. But even his rhetoric will
never be able to convince me that it is better to be at this sort of
work than to spend whole days in attending his lectures and learning his
precepts. I cannot therefore but strongly recommend it to you, who have
the time for it, when next you come to town (and you will come, I
daresay, so much the sooner for this), to take the benefit of his
elegant and refined instructions. For I do not (as many do) envy others
the happiness I cannot share with them myself: on the contrary, it is a
very sensible pleasure to me when I find my friends in possession of an
enjoyment from which I have the misfortune to be excluded. Farewell.
VII -- To FABIUS JUSTUS
IT is a long time since I have had a letter from you, "There is nothing
to write about," you say: well then write and let me know just this,
that "there is nothing to write about," or tell me in the good old
style, _If you are well that's right, I am quite well_. This will do for
me, for it implies everything. You think I am joking? Let me assure you
I am in sober earnest. Do let me know how you are; for I cannot remain
ignorant any longer without growing exceedingly anxious about you.
Farewell.
VIII -- To CALESTRIUS TIRO
I HAVE suffered the heaviest loss; if that word be sufficiently strong
to express the misfortune which has deprived me of so excellent a man.
Corellius Rufus is dead; and dead, too, by his own act! A circumstance
of great aggravation to my affliction: as that sort of death which we
cannot impute either to the course of nature, or the hand of Providence,
is, of all others, the most to be lamented. It affords some consolation
in the loss of those friends whom disease snatches from us that they
fall by the general destiny of mankind; but those who destroy themselves
leave us under the inconsolable reflection, that they had it in their
power to have lived longer. It is true, Corellius had many inducements
to be fond of life; a blameless conscience, high reputation, and great
dignity of character, besides a daughter, a wife, a grandson, and
sisters; and, amidst these numerous pledges of happiness, faithful
friends. Still, it must be owned he had the highest motive (which to a
wise man will always have the force of destiny), urging him to this
resolution. He had long been tortured by so tedious and painful a
complaint that even these inducements to living on, considerable as they
are, were over-balanced by the reasons on the other side. In his thirty-
third year (as I have frequently heard him say) he was seized with the
gout in his feet. This was hereditary; for diseases, as well as
possessions, are sometimes handed down by a sort of inheritance. A life
of sobriety and continence had enabled him to conquer and keep down the
disease while he was still young, latterly as it grew upon him with
advancing years, he had to manfully bear it, suffering meanwhile the
most incredible and undeserved agonies; for the gout was now not only in
his feet, but had spread itself over his whole body. I remember, in
Domitian's reign, paying him a visit at his villa, near Rome. As soon as
I entered his chamber, his servants went out: for it was his rule, never
to allow them to be in the room when any intimate friend was with him;
nay, even his own wife, though she could have kept any secret, used to
go too. Casting his eyes round the room, "Why," he exclaimed, "do you
suppose I endure life so long under these cruel agonies? It is with the
hope that I may outlive, at least for one day, that villain." Had his
bodily strength been equal to his resolution, he would have carried his
desire into practical effect. God heard and answered his prayer; and
when he felt that he should now die a free, un-enslaved, Roman, he broke
through those other great, but now less forcible, attachments to the
world. His malady increased; and, as it now grew too violent to admit of
any relief from temperance, he resolutely determined to put an end to
its uninterrupted attacks, by an effort of heroism. He had refused all
sustenance during four days when his wife Hispulla sent our common
friend Geminius to me, with the melancholy news, that Corellius was
resolved to die; and that neither her own entreaties nor her daughter's
could move him from his purpose; I was the only person left who could
reconcile him to life. I ran to his house with the utmost precipitation.
As I approached it, I met a second messenger from Hispulla, Julius
Atticus, who informed me there was nothing to be hoped for now, even
from me, as he seemed more hardened than ever in his purpose. He had
said, indeed to his physician, who pressed him to take some nourishment,
"'Tis resolved": an expression which, as it raised my admiration of the
greatness of his soul, so it does my grief for the loss of him. I keep
thinking what a friend, what a man, I am deprived of. That he had
reached his sixty-seventh year, an age which even the strongest seldom
exceed, I well know; that he is released from a life of continual pain;
that he has left his dearest friends behind him, and (what was dearer to
him than all these) the state in a prosperous condition: all this I
know. Still I cannot forbear to lament him, as if he had been in the
prime and vigour of his days; and I lament him (shall I own my
weakness?) on my account. And--to confess to you as I did to Calvisius,
in the first transport of my grief--I sadly fear, now that I am no
longer under his eye, I shall not keep so strict a guard over my
conduct. Speak comfort to me then, not that he was old, he was infirm;
all this I know: but by supplying me with some reflections that are new
and resistless, which I have never heard, never read, anywhere else. For
all that I have heard, and all that I have read, occur to me of
themselves; but all these are by far too weak to support me under so
severe an affliction. Farewell.
IX -- To SOCIUS SENECIO
This year has produced a plentiful crop of poets: during the whole month
of April scarcely a day has passed on which we have not been entertained
with the recital of some poem. It is a pleasure to me to find that a
taste for polite literature still exists, and that men of genius do come
forward and make themselves known, notwithstanding the lazy attendance
they got for their pains. The greater part of the audience sit in the
lounging-places, gossip away their time there, and are perpetually
sending to enquire whether the author has made his entrance yet, whether
he has got through the preface, or whether he has almost finished the
piece. Then at length they saunter in with an air of the greatest
indifference, nor do they condescend to stay through the recital, but go
out before it is over, some slyly and stealthily, others again with
perfect freedom and unconcern. And yet our fathers can remember how
Claudius Cæsar walking one day in the palace, and hearing a great
shouting, enquired the cause: and being informed that Nonianus[11] was
reciting a composition of his, went immediately to the place, and
agreeably surprised the author with his presence. But now, were one to
bespeak the attendance of the idlest man living, and remind him of the
appointment ever so often, or ever so long beforehand; either he would
not come at all, or if he did would grumble about having "lost a day!"
for no other reason but because he had not lost it. So much the more do
those authors deserve our encouragement and applause who have resolution
to persevere in their studies, and to read out their compositions in
spite of this apathy or arrogance on the part of their audience. Myself
indeed, I scarcely ever miss being present upon any occasion; though, to
tell the truth, the authors have generally been friends of mine, as
indeed there are few men of literary tastes who are not. It is this
which has kept me in town longer than I had intended. I am now, however,
at liberty to go back into the country, and write something myself;
which I do not intend reciting, lest I should seem rather to have lent
than given my attendance to these recitations of my friends, for in
these, as in all other good offices, the obligation ceases the moment
you seem to expect a return. Farewell.
X -- To JUNSUS MAURICUS
You desire me to look out a proper husband for your niece: it is with
justice you enjoin me that office. You know the high esteem and
affection I bore that great man her father, and with what noble
instructions he nurtured my youth, and taught me to deserve those
praises he was pleased to bestow upon me. You could not give me, then, a
more important, or more agreeable, commission; nor could I be employed
in an office of higher honour, than that of choosing a young man worthy
of being father of the grandchildren of Rusticus Arulenus; a choice I
should be long in determining, were I not acquainted with Minutius
Aemilianus, who seems formed for our purpose. He loves me with all that
warmth of affection which is usual between young men of equal years (as
indeed I have the advance of him but by a very few), and reveres me at
the same time, with all the deference due to age; and, in a word, he is
no less desirous to model himself by my instructions than I was by those
of yourself and your brother.
He is a native of Brixia, one of those provinces in Italy which still
retain much of the old modesty, frugal simplicity, and even rusticity,
of manner. He is the son of Minutius Macrinus, whose humble desires were
satisfied with standing at the head of the equestrian order: for though
he was nominated by Vespasian in the number of those whom that prince
dignified with the praetorian office, yet, with an inflexible greatness
of mind, he resolutely preferred an honourable repose, to the ambitious,
shall I call them, or exalted, pursuits, in which we public men are
engaged. His grandmother, on the mother's side, is Serrana Procula, of
Patavium:[12] you are no stranger to the character of its citizens; yet
Serrana is looked upon, even among these correct people, as an exemplary
instance of strict virtue. Acilius, his uncle, is a man of almost
exceptional gravity, wisdom, and integrity. In short, you will find
nothing throughout his family unworthy of yours. Minutius himself has
plenty of vivacity, as well as application, together with a most amiable
and becoming modesty. He has already, with considerable credit, passed
through the offices of quaestor, tribune, and praetor; so that you will
be spared the trouble of soliciting for him those honourable
employments. He has a fine, well-bred, countenance, with a ruddy,
healthy complexion, while his whole person is elegant and comely and his
mien graceful and senatorian: advantages, I think, by no means to be
slighted, and which I consider as the proper tribute to virgin
innocence. I think I may add that his father is very rich. When I
contemplate the character of those who require a husband of my choosing,
I know it is unnecessary to mention wealth; but when I reflect upon the
prevailing manners of the age, and even the laws of Rome, which rank a
man according to his possessions, it certainly claims some regard; and,
indeed, in establishments of this nature, where children and many other
circumstances are to be duly weighed, it is an article that well
deserves to be taken into the account. You will be inclined, perhaps, to
suspect that affection has had too great a share in the character I have
been drawing, and that I have heightened it beyond the truth: but I will
stake all my credit, you will find everything far beyond what I have
represented. I love the young fellow indeed (as he justly deserves) with
all the warmth of a most ardent affection; but for that very reason I
would not ascribe more to his merit than I know it will bear. Farewell.
XI -- To SEPTITIUS CLARUS
Ah! you are a pretty fellow! You make an engagement to come to supper
and then never appear. Justice shall be exacted;--you shall reimburse me
to the very last penny the expense I went to on your account; no small
sum, let me tell you. I had prepared, you must know, a lettuce a-piece,
three snails, two eggs, and a barley cake, with some sweet wine and
snow, (the snow most certainly I shall charge to your account, as a
rarity that will not keep.) Olives, beet-root, gourds, onions, and a
thousand other dainties equally sumptuous. You should likewise have been
entertained either with an interlude, the rehearsal of a poem, or a
piece of music, whichever you preferred; or (such was my liberality)
with all three. But the oysters, sows'-bellies, sea-urchins, and dancers
from Cadiz of a certain--I know not who, were, it seems, more to your
taste. You shall give satisfaction, how, shall at present be a secret.
Oh! you have behaved cruelly, grudging your friend,--had almost said
yourself;--and upon second thoughts I do say so;--in this way: for how
agreeably should we have spent the evening, in laughing, trifling, and
literary amusements! You may sup, I confess, at many places more
splendidly; but nowhere with more unconstrained mirth, simplicity, and
freedom: only make the experiment, and if you do not ever after excuse
yourself to your other friends, to come to me, always put me off to go
to them. Farewell.
XII -- To SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS
You tell me in your letter that you are extremely alarmed by a dream;
apprehending that it forebodes some ill success to you in the case you
have undertaken to defend; and, therefore, desire that I would get it
adjourned for a few days, or, at least, to the next. This will be no
easy matter, but I will try:
"For dreams descend from Jove."
Meanwhile, it is very material for you to recollect whether your dreams
generally represent things as they afterwards fall out, or quite the
reverse. But if I may judge of yours by one that happened to myself,
this dream that alarms you seems to portend that you will acquit
yourself with great success. I had promised to stand counsel for Junius
Pastor; when I fancied in my sleep that my mother-in-law came to me,
and, throwing herself at my feet, earnestly entreated me not to plead. I
was at that time a very young man; the case was to be argued in the four
centumviral courts; my adversaries were some of the most important
personages in Rome, and particular favourites of Cæsar;[13] any of which
circumstances were sufficient, after such an inauspicious dream, to have
discouraged me. Notwithstanding this, I engaged in the cause, reflecting
that,
"Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, And asks no omen but his
country's cause."<a href="#linknote-14" name="linknoteref-14"
id="linknoteref-14">[14]</a>
for I looked upon the promise I had given to be as sacred to me as my
country, or, if that were possible, more so. The event happened as I
wished; and it was that very case which first procured me the favourable
attention of the public, and threw open to me the gates of Fame.
Consider then whether your dream, like this one I have related, may not
pre-signify success. But, after all, perhaps you will think it safer to
pursue this cautious maxim: "Never do a thing concerning the rectitude
of which you are in doubt;" if so, write me word. In the interval, I
will consider of some excuse, and will so plead your cause that you may
be able to plead it your self any day you like best. In this respect,
you are in a better situation than I was: the court of the centumviri,
where I was to plead, admits of no adjournment: whereas, in that where
your case is to be heard, though no easy matter to procure one, still,
however, it is possible. Farewell.
XIII -- To ROMANUS FIRMUS
As you are my towns-man, my school-fellow, and the earliest companion of
my youth; as there was the strictest friendship between my mother and
uncle and your father (a happiness which I also enjoyed as far as the
great inequality of our ages would admit); can I fail (thus biassed as I
am by so many and weighty considerations) to contribute all in my power
to the advancement of your honours? The rank you bear in our province,
as decurio, is a proof that you are possessed, at least, of an hundred
thousand sesterces;[15] but that we may also have the satisfaction of
seeing you a Roman Knight,[16] I present you with three hundred
thousand, in order to make up the sum requisite to entitle you to that
dignity. The long acquaintance we have had leaves me no room to
apprehend you will ever be forgetful of this instance of my friendship.
And I know your disposition too well to think it necessary to advise you
to enjoy this honour with the modesty that becomes a person who receives
it from me; for the advanced rank we possess through a friend's kindness
is a sort of sacred trust, in which we have his judgment, as well as our
own character, to maintain, and therefore to be guarded with the greater
caution. Farewell.
XIV -- TO CORNELIUS TACITUS