appointed guardian to the daughter of Helvidius by the consuls, upon the
petition of her mother and her father-in-law, he felt himself compelled
to fulfil the duty of his trust. In the execution of which, however, he
would endeavour to set some bounds to his indignation by following that
great example of moderation which those excellent women[145] had set,
who contented themselves with barely informing the senate of the
cruelties which Certus committed in order to carry on his infamous
adulation; and therefore," he said, "he would move only that, if a
punishment due to a crime so notoriously known should be remitted,
Certus might at least be branded with some mark of the displeasure of
that august assembly." Satrius Rufus spoke next, and, meaning to steer a
middle course, expressed himself with considerable ambiguity. "I am of
opinion," said he, "that great injustice will be done to Certus if he is
not acquitted (for I do not scruple to mention his name, since the
friends of Arria and Fannia, as well as his own, have done so too), nor
indeed have we any occasion for anxiety upon this account. We who think
well of the man shall judge him with the same impartiality as the rest;
but if he is innocent, as I hope he is, and shall be glad to find, I
think this house may very justly deny the present motion till some
charge has been proved against him." Thus, according to the respective
order in which they were called upon, they delivered their several
opinions. When it came to my turn, I rose up, and, using the same
introduction to my speech as I have published in the defence, I replied
to them severally. It is surprising with what attention, what clamorous
applause I was heard, even by those who just before were loudest against
me: such a wonderful change was wrought either by the importance of the
affair, the successful progress of the speech, or the resolution of the
advocate. After I had finished, Vejento attempted to reply; but the
general clamour raised against him not permitting him to go on, "I
entreat you, conscript fathers,"[146] said he, "not to oblige me to
implore the assistance of the tribunes."[147] Immediately the tribune
Murena cried out, "You have my permission, most illustrious Vejento, to
go on." But still the clamour was renewed. In the interval, the consul
ordered the house to divide, and having counted the voices, dismissed
the senate, leaving Vejento in the midst, still attempting to speak. He
made great complaints of this affront (as he called it), applying the
following lines of Homer to himself:
"Great perils, father, wait the unequal fight; Those younger champions
will thy strength o'ercome."<a href="#linknote-148" name="linknoteref-
148" id="linknoteref-148">[148]</a>
There was hardly a man in the senate that did not embrace and kiss me,
and all strove who should applaud me most, for having, at the cost of
private enmities, revived a custom so long disused, of freely consulting
the senate upon affairs that concern the honour of the public; in a
word, for having wiped off that reproach which was thrown upon it by
other orders in the state, "that the senators mutually favoured the
members of their own body, while they were very severe in animadverting
upon the rest of their fellow-citizens." All this was transacted in the
absence of Certus; who kept out of the way either because he suspected
something of this nature was intended to be moved, or (as was alleged in
his excuse) that he was really unwell. Cæsar, however, did not refer the
examination of this matter to the senate. But I succeeded, nevertheless,
in my aim, another person being appointed to succeed Certus in the
consulship, while the election of his colleague to that office was
confirmed. And thus, the wish with which I concluded my speech, was
actually accomplished: "May he be obliged," said I, "to renounce, under
a virtuous prince,[149] that reward he received from an infamous
one!"[150] Some time after I recollected, as well as I could, the speech
I had made upon this occasion; to which I made several additions. It
happened (though indeed it had the appearance of being something more
than casual) that a few days after I had published this piece, Certus
was taken ill and died. I was told that his imagination was continually
haunted with this affair, and kept picturing me ever before his eyes, as
a man pursuing him with a drawn sword. Whether there was any truth in
this rumour, I will not venture to assert; but, for the sake of example,
however, I could wish it might gain credit. And now I have sent you a
letter which (considering it is a letter) is as long as the defence you
say you have read: but you must thank yourself for not being content
with such information as that piece could afford you. Farewell.
CII -- To GENITOR
I HAVE received your letter, in which you complain of having been highly
disgusted lately at a very splendid entertainment, by a set of buffoons,
mummers, and wanton prostitutes, who were dancing about round the
tables.[151] But let me advise you to smooth your knitted brow somewhat.
I confess, indeed, I admit nothing of this kind at my own house;
however, I bear with it in others. "And why, then," you will be ready to
ask, "not have them yourself?"
The truth is, because the gestures of the wanton, the pleasantries of
the buffoon, or the extravagancies of the mummer, give me no pleasure,
as they give me no surprise. It is my particular taste, you see, not my
judgment, that I plead against them. And indeed, what numbers are there
who think the entertainments with which you and I are most delighted no
better than impertinent follies! How many are there who, as soon as a
reader, a lyrist, or a comedian is introduced, either take their leave
of the company or, if they remain, show as much dislike to this sort of
thing as you did to those monsters, as you call them! Let us bear
therefore, my friend, with others in their amusements, that they, in
return, may show indulgence to ours. Farewell.
CIII -- To SABINIANUS
YOUR freedman, whom you lately mentioned to me with displeasure, has
been with me, and threw himself at my feet with as much submission as he
could have fallen at yours. He earnestly requested me with many tears,
and even with all the eloquence of silent sorrow, to intercede for him;
in short, he convinced me by his whole behaviour that he sincerely
repents of his fault. I am persuaded he is thoroughly reformed, because
he seems deeply sensible of his guilt. I know you are angry with him,
and I know, too, it is not without reason; but clemency can never exert
itself more laudably than when there is the most cause for resentment.
You once had an affection for this man, and, I hope, will have again;
meanwhile, let me only prevail with you to pardon him. If he should
incur your displeasure hereafter, you will have so much the stronger
plea in excuse for your anger as you show yourself more merciful to him
now. Concede something to his youth, to his tears, and to your own
natural mildness of temper: do not make him uneasy any longer, and I
will add too, do not make yourself so; for a man of your kindness of
heart cannot be angry without feeling great uneasiness. I am afraid,
were I to join my entreaties with his, I should seem rather to compel
than request you to forgive him. Yet I will not scruple even to write
mine with his; and in so much the stronger terms as I have very sharply
and severely reproved him, positively threatening never to interpose
again in his behalf. But though it was proper to say this to him, in
order to make him more fearful of offending, I do not say so to you. I
may perhaps, again have occasion to entreat you upon this account, and
again obtain your forgiveness; supposing, I mean, his fault should be
such as may become me to intercede for, and you to pardon. Farewell.
CIV -- To MAXIMUS
IT has frequently happened, as I have been pleading before the Court of
the Hundred, that these venerable judges, after having preserved for a
long period the gravity and solemnity suitable to their character, have
suddenly, as though urged by irresistible impulse, risen up to a man and
applauded me. I have often likewise gained as much glory in the senate
as my utmost wishes could desire: but I never felt a more sensible
pleasure than by an account which I lately received from Cornelius
Tacitus. He informed me that, at the last Circensian games, he sat next
to a Roman knight, who, after conversation had passed between them upon
various points of learning, asked him, "Are you an Italian, or a
provincial?" Tacitus replied, "Your acquaintance with literature must
surely have informed you who I am." "Pray, then, is it Tacitus or Pliny
I am talking with?" I cannot express how highly I am pleased to find
that our names are not so much the proper appellatives of men as a kind
of distinction for learning herself; and that eloquence renders us known
to those who would otherwise be ignorant of us. An accident of the same
kind happened to me a few days ago. Fabius Rufinus, a person of
distinguished merit, was placed next to me at table; and below him a
countryman of his, who had just then come to Rome for the first time.
Rufinus, calling his friend's attention to me, said to him, "You see
this man?" and entered into a conversation upon the subject of my
pursuits: to whom the other immediately replied, "This must undoubtedly
be Pliny." To confess the truth, I look upon these instances as a very
considerable recompense of my labours. If Demosthenes had reason to be
pleased with the old woman of Athens crying out, "This is Demosthenes!"
may not I, then, be allowed to congratulate myself upon the celebrity my
name has acquired? Yes, my friend, I will rejoice in it, and without
scruple admit that I do. As I only mention the judgment of others, not
my own, I am not afraid of incurring the censure of vanity; especially
from you, who, whilst envying no man's reputation, are particularly
zealous for mine. Farewell.
CV -- To SABINIANUS
I GREATLY approve of your having, in compliance with my letter,[152]
received again into your favour and family a discarded freedman, who you
once admitted into a share of your affection. This will afford you, I
doubt not, great satisfaction. It certainly has me, both as a proof that
your passion can be controlled, and as an instance of your paying so
much regard to me, as either to yield to my authority or to comply with
my request. Let me, therefore, at once both praise and thank you. At the
same time I must advise you to be disposed for the future to pardon the
faults of your people, though there should be none to intercede in their
behalf. Farewell.
CVI -- To LUPERCUS
I SAID once (and, I think, not inaptly) of a certain orator of the
present age, whose compositions are extremely regular and correct, but
deficient in grandeur and embellishment, "His only fault is that he has
none." Whereas he, who is possessed of the true spirit of oratory,
should be bold and elevated, and sometimes even flame out, be hurried
away, and frequently tread upon the brink of a precipice: for danger is
generally near whatever is towering and exalted. The plain, it is true,
affords a safer, but for that reason a more humble and inglorious, path:
they who run are more likely to stumble than they who creep; but the
latter gain no honour by not slipping, while the former even fall with
glory. It is with eloquence as with some other arts; she is never more
pleasing than when she risks most. Have you not observed what
acclamations our rope-dancers excite at the instant of imminent danger?
Whatever is most entirely unexpected, or as the Greeks more strongly
express it, whatever is most perilous, most excites our admiration. The
pilot's skill is by no means equally proved in a calm as in a storm: in
the former case he tamely enters the port, unnoticed and unapplauded;
but when the cordage cracks, the mast bends, and the rudder groans, then
it is that he shines out in all his glory, and is hailed as little
inferior to a sea-god.
The reason of my making this observation is, because, if I mistake not,
you have marked some passages in my writings for being tumid, exuberant,
and over-wrought, which, in my estimation, are but adequate to the
thought, or boldly sublime. But it is material to consider whether your
criticism turns upon such points as are real faults, or only striking
and remarkable expressions. Whatever is elevated is sure to be observed;
but it requires a very nice judgment to distinguish the bounds between
true and false grandeur; between loftiness and exaggeration. To give an
instance out of Homer, the author who can, with the greatest propriety,
fly from one extreme of style to another.
"Heav'n in loud thunder bids the trumpet sound; And wide beneath them
groans the rending ground."<a href="#linknote-153" name="linknoteref-
153" id="linknoteref-153">[153]</a>
Again,
"Reclin'd on clouds his steed and armour lay."<a href="#linknote-154"
name="linknoteref-154" id="linknoteref-154">[154]</a>
So in this passage:
"As torrents roll, increas'd by numerous rills, With rage impetuous down
their echoing hills, Rush to the vales, and pour'd along the plain, Roar
through a thousand channels to the main."
It requires, I say, the nicest balance to poise these metaphors, and
determine whether they are incredible and meaningless, or majestic and
sublime. Not that I think anything which I have written, or can write,
admits of comparison with these. I am not quite so foolish; but what I
would be understood to contend for is, that we should give eloquence
free rein, and not restrain the force and impetuosity of genius within
too narrow a compass. But it will be said, perhaps, that one law applies
to orators, another to poets. As if, in truth, Marc Tully were not as
bold in his metaphors as any of the poets! But not to mention particular
instances from him, in a point where, I imagine, there can be no
dispute; does Demosthenes[155] himself, that model and standard of true
oratory, does Demosthenes check and repress the fire of his indignation,
in that well-known passage which begins thus: "These wicked men, these
flatterers, and these destroyers of mankind," &c. And again: "It is
neither with stones nor bricks that I have fortified this city," &c. --
And afterwards: "I have thrown up these out-works before Attica, and
pointed out to you all the resources which human prudence can suggest,"
&c.--And in another place: "O Athenians, I swear by the immortal gods
that he is intoxicated with the grandeur of his own actions," &c.[156] -
- But what can be more daring and beautiful than that long digression,
which begins in this manner: "A terrible disease?" -- The following
passage likewise, though somewhat shorter, is equally boldly conceived:
-- "Then it was I rose up in opposition to the daring Pytho, who poured
forth a torrent of menaces against you," &c.[157] -- The subsequent
stricture is of the same stamp: "When a man has strengthened himself, as
Philip has, in avarice and wickedness, the first pretence, the first
false step, be it ever so inconsiderable, has overthrown and destroyed
all," &c.[158]--So in the same style with the foregoing is this: --
"Railed off, as it were, from the privileges of society, by the
concurrent and just judgments of the three tribunals in the city." --
And in the same place: "O Aristogiton! you have betrayed that mercy
which used to be shown to offences of this nature, or rather, indeed,
you have wholly destroyed it. In vain then would you fly for refuge to a
port, which you have shut up, and encompassed with rocks."--He has said
before: "I am afraid, therefore, you should appear in the judgment of
some, to have erected a public seminary of faction: for there is a
weakness in all wickedness which renders it apt to betray itself!" --
And a little lower: "I see none of these resources open to him; but all
is precipice gulf, and profound abyss."--And again: "Nor do I imagine
that our ancestors erected those courts of judicature that men of his
character should be planted there, but on the contrary', eradicated,
that none may emulate their evil actions."--And afterwards: "If he is
then the artificer of every wickedness, if he only makes it his trade
and traffic," &c.--And a thousand other passages which I might cite to
the same purpose; not to mention those expressions which Aeschines calls
not words, but wonders.--You will tell me, perhaps, I have unwarily
mentioned Aeschines, since Demosthenes is condemned even by him, for
running into these figurative expressions. But observe, I entreat you,
how far superior the former orator is to his critic, and superior too in
the very passage to which he objects; for in others, the force of his
genius, in those above quoted, its loftiness, makes itself manifest. But
does Aeschines himself avoid those errors which he reproves in
Demosthenes? "The orator," says he, "Athenians, and the law, ought to
speak the same language; but when the voice of the law declares one
thing, and that of the orator another we should give our vote to the
justice of the law, not to the impudence of the orator."[159]--And in
another place: "He afterwards manifestly discovered the design he had,
of concealing his fraud under cover of the decree, having expressly
declared therein that the ambassadors sent to the Oretae gave the five
talents, not to you, but to Callias. And that you may be convinced of
the truth of what I say (after having stripped the decree of its
gallies, its trim, and its arrogant ostentation) the clause itself." --
And in another part: "Suffer him not to break cover and escape out of
the limits of the question." A metaphor he is so fond of that he repeats
it again. "But remaining firm and confident in the assembly, drive him
into the merits of the question, and observe well how he doubles."--Is
his style more reserved and simple when he says: "But you are ever
wounding our ears, and are more concerned in the success of your daily
harangues than for the salvation of the city?"--What follows is
conceived in a yet higher strain of metaphor: "Will you not expel this
man as the common calamity of Greece? Will you not seize and punish this
pirate of the state, who sails about in quest of favourable
conjunctures," &c.--With many other passages of a similar nature. And
now I expect you will make the same attacks upon certain expressions in
this letter as you did upon those I have been endeavouring to defend.
The rudder that groans, and the pilot compared to a sea-god, will not, I
imagine, escape your criticism: for I perceive, while I am suing for
indulgence to my former style, I have fallen into the same kind of
figurative diction which you condemn. But attack them if you please
provided you will immediately appoint a day when we may meet to discuss
these matters in person: you will then either teach me to be less daring
or I shall teach you to be more bold. Farewell.
CVII -- To CANINIUS
I HAVE met with a story, which, although authenticated by undoubted
evidence, looks very like fable, and would afford a worthy field for the
exercise of so exuberant, lofty, and truly poetical a genius as your
own. It was related to me the other day over the dinner table, where the
conversation happened to run upon various kinds of marvels. The person
who told the story was a man of unsuspected veracity:--but what has a
poet to do with truth? However, you might venture to rely upon his
testimony, even though you had the character of a faithful historian to
support. There is in Africa a town called Hippo, situated not far from
the sea-coast: it stands upon a navigable lake, communicating with an
estuary in the form of a river, which alternately flows into the lake,
or into the ocean, according to the ebb and flow of the tide. People of
all ages amuse themselves here with fishing, sailing, or swimming;
especially boys, whom love of play brings to the spot. With these it is
a fine and manly achievement to be able to swim the farthest; and he
that leaves the shore and his companions at the greatest distance gains
the victory. It happened, in one of these trials of skill, that a
certain boy, bolder than the rest, launched out towards the opposite
shore. He was met by a dolphin, who sometimes swam before him, and
sometimes behind him, then played round him, and at last took him upon
his back, and set him down, and afterwards took him up again; and thus
he carried the poor frightened fellow out into the deepest part; when
immediately he turns back again to the shore, and lands him among his
companions. The fame of this remarkable accident spread through the
town, and crowds of people flocked round the boy (whom they viewed as a
kind of prodigy) to ask him questions and hear him relate the story. The
next day the shore was thronged with spectators, all attentively
watching the ocean, and (what indeed is almost itself an ocean) the
lake. Meanwhile the boys swam as usual, and among the rest, the boy I am
speaking of went into the lake, but with more caution than before. The
dolphin appeared again and came to the boy, who, together with his
companions, swam away with the utmost precipitation. The dolphin, as
though to invite and call them back, leaped and dived up and down, in a
series of circular movements. This he practised the next day, the day
after, and for several days together, till the people (accustomed from
their infancy to the sea) began to be ashamed of their timidity. They
ventured, therefore, to advance nearer, playing with him and calling him
to them, while he, in return, suffered himself to be touched and
stroked. Use rendered them courageous. The boy, in particular, who first
made the experiment, swam by the side of him, and, leaping upon his
back, was carried backwards and forwards in that manner, and thought the
dolphin knew him and was fond of him, while he too had grown fond of the
dolphin. There seemed, now, indeed, to be no fear on either side, the
confidence of the one and tameness of the other mutually increasing; the
rest of the boys, in the meanwhile, surrounding and encouraging their
companion. It is very remarkable that this dolphin was followed by a
second, which seemed only as a spectator and attendant on the former;
for he did not at all submit to the same familiarities as the first, but
only escorted him backwards and forwards, as the boys did their comrade.
But what is further surprising, and no less true than what I have
already related, is that this dolphin, who thus played with the boys and
carried them upon his back, would come upon the shore, dry himself in
the sand, and, as soon as he grew warm, roll back into the sea. It is a
fact that Octavius Avitus, deputy governor of the province, actuated by
an absurd piece of superstition, poured some ointment[160] over him as
he lay on the shore: the novelty and smell of which made him retire into
the ocean, and it was not till several days after that he was seen
again, when he appeared dull and languid; however, he recovered his
strength and continued his usual playful tricks. All the magistrates
round flocked hither to view this sight, whose arrival, and prolonged
stay, was an additional expense, which the slender finances of this
little community would ill afford; besides, the quiet and retirement of
the place was utterly destroyed. It was thought proper, therefore, to
remove the occasion of this concourse, by privately killing the poor
dolphin. And now, with what a flow of tenderness will you describe this
affecting catastrophe![161] and how will your genius adorn and heighten
this moving story! Though, indeed, the subject does not require any
fictitious embellishments; it will be sufficient to describe the actual
facts of the case without suppression or diminution. Farewell.
CVIII -- TO FUSCUS