S 18402 PI inius Ccecil ius Secundus, Caius. The Letters of PI i ny the Consul .•.. Vol I [ -II ] . Boston, Greenough & Stebbi ns for Lari< i n, 1809. 332; 280 pp. M'NA copy.

THE

LETTERS

(1

PLINY' THE CONSUL.

'VITH OCCASION.~L RE)IARKS.

-BY 1VILLLIJ.M MELMOTH, ESQ .

•

VOL. I.

-+-BOSTON:

PUBLISH£D BY E. LAR.KIN. No. 47, COR.NHILI .•

••••••••••••

Greenough & Stebbins, Printe1's.

1809.

THE PREFACE.

-_.a

PLINY may be considered in these Letters as writing his own memoirs; every epistle is a kind of historical sketch, \vhere­in ,ve have a vie,v of him in some striking attitude, either of active or contemplative life. And if that were his real design in their publication, he coull not, it should

seem, have taken a more agreeable, or, perhaps, a more modest method of trans­mitting himself to posterity. To enter, therefore, into a detail concerning him, \vol.dd be only anticipating the author himself, and amusing the reader ,vith a copy, ,vhile the original stands before him. Nothing seems requ isite to be £1rther added to the piece, than just to mark the date. PLINY ,vas born in the reign of NERO,

4 THE PREF .. 4.CE.

about the eight hundred and fifteenth year

of Rome, and th~ sixty -second of the Chris­tian era. As to the time of his death, an­tiquity has given us no information; but it is conjectured, he died either a little before, or soon after, the decease of that excellent prince, the admirable TRAJ AN ;

that is, about the year of Christ one hun­

dred and sixteen. -

The elegance of this author's manner

adds force to the most interesting" at the same time that it enlivens; the most common

subjects. But the polite and spirited tum of these letters is by no means their princi­pal recommendation; they receive a much higher value, as they exhibit on.e of the most

amiable and exemplary characters in all antiquity. PLINY'S whole life seems to have been employed in the exercise of

every generous and social virtue. ''fo for­ward modest merit, to e.ncoura:;e ingenious

\' · ,. d ~aJents, to Vlllalcatc oppresse Innocence, ate some of the glorious purposes to lvhich

he devoted his power, his fortune, and his

THE PREF ACE.

abilities. But how does he rise in our es­

teem and admiration, when we see him ex­

erting (with a grace that discovers his

humanity as well as his politene~s) the

noblest a~ts both of public and private

nll",nifif.!ence, not so mllch from the abun­

dance of his wealth, as the lvisdom of his

economy? \Vhat a celebrated ancient has obsenred

concemirlg the style of the famous Grecian painter TIMANTHES, is applicaJ?le to that of }11. IN Y: "Intelligitur plus semper quam pingitur;" his meaning is generally much fuller than his expression. This, as it heightens the difficulty of his interpreter's

task, so it necessarily g:ves great scope

to an objector. But in drawing after these

t~xcellent masters of antIquity, the most

successful are only, perhaps, the most cx­

(~tlsable; as those ,\tllO have the truest taste of their works, will least ~xpect tu see the strength and spirit of them fully preserved

in a copy. This, however, is not nlCD­

tioned as claiming indulgence to any errors A 2

6 THE PREF .~CE.

in the present attempt; on the contrary,

they are willingly resigned to just correc­tion. A true critic is a kind of censor in the republic of letters; and q,one who wish well

to its interests, would desire to suppress or restrain his office. The translator, at least, has received too much advantage in the ~ourse pf this performance, from the ani­madversions of some of the best judges in both languages, not to value that enlighten­ing art, wherever it may be el:ercised ,vith the same accurate and candid spirit.

.. ~

I " ,

-~ ~-------------------------------------

THE LETTERS ()F PLINY.

BOOK FIRS'f.

LETTER I.

TO SEPTITIUS.

YOU have frequently pressed me to nlake a select collection of my Lette14s, (if, in truth, there be any which deserve a preference) and gi,"e them to the public. I have selected them accordingly; not, indeed, in their proper order of time, for I \vas not compiling a history; lJut just as they presented themselves to my hands. And no,v I 11ave only to wish that you may have no reason to repent of your advice, nor I of my t:·om .. pliance: in that case, I may probably inq'uire after the rest, '\vhich at present lie neglected, and pre­serve tllose I shall hereafter write. Farewel!.

LETTER II.

TO ARIANUSII

I FORESEE your journ'~y hither is likely lO be delayed, and, therefore, send you the sl'eecll

8 THE LETTERS BOOK I~

which I promised in my former; requesting you, as usual, to revise and correct it. I desire this, the lnore earnestly, as I never, I think, in any. of. my former speeches-, attempted the same style of composition; for I have endeavoured to imitate your old favourite Demosthellcs, and Calvus, ,vho is lately become mine. When I say this, I mean only with.respect to their manner; for, to catch tlleir'sublime sjli1it, is given, alone, to the inspired few. My _ subject, indeed, seemed naturally to lead me to this (may I venture" to call it ?) emu­lation; as it ,vas, in ger1eral, of such a nature as demanded all the thunder (Jf eloquence, even to a degree sufficient to have awakened (if it be pos­sible) that int:lolence, in which I havelong reposed. I have not, however, neglected the softer graces of my admired Tully, wherever I could, with pro-

, priety, step out of my direct road, to enjoy a more flowery path: for, it ,vas warmth, not austerity, at which I aimed. I would not have you imagine, by this, tha~ I am bespeaking your indulgence : un the contrary, to illduce you to eXf;:rcise the utmost severity of your criticisln~ I will confess, thf')~t neither my friends nor myself are averse from the publication of this piece, if you should join \vith us in giving the same partial vote. rrhc truth is, as I nlU~~ publish something, I wish (and it is the wish, I confess, of indolence) it might be this performance rather than any other, merely because it is already finished. At all cvel1ts, however, something I must publish, and for tnany reasons; chiefly, because the tracts whicll I have

OF PLI~rY. 9

already sent into the worI(I, thongl. they llave long since lost all tlleir recommendation from novelty, are still, I am told, in request; if, irldeed, the booksellers (10 not flatter me~ l\rld let them; since, by that innocent deceit, I aln encouraged to pursue 1"'.1y st\ldiesc Farewell:;

LETTER III.

TO C,A\NINUS RUFUS.

HO\V stp.nds Comum,· that favourite scene of yours and mine? What becomes of the pleasaIlt villa, the vernal portico, the shady plane­tree-waik, thf ,rystal canal, so agreeably winding alonr, its flowery banks, together ,vith the charm­ing la,ket below, ",hien serves, at once, the purposes of use and beauty ? What have you to tell 111e of tIle firm yet soft gestatio,f th~ sunny bath, the public saloon, the private dining-room, and all the elega!'t apal'tments for repose".both at noon § and night ? Do these possess my fCiend, and divide his time with pleasillg vicissitude ? Or

• The city wl1ere Pliny was born: it still subsists, and is now called C01:;O, situated upon the lake Larius~ or IIf!g~ di Como, in the duchy of Milan.

t The lake Larius, upon the banks of which this villa was situated. _ * A piece of ground set apart for the purpose of exercising, either on horseback, or in their vehicles; it was g'~neral1y con­tiguous to their gardens, and laid out in the form of a cirellS.

§ It 'vas customary among the Romans to slcep in the middle of the day; and they had apartments for that purpose distinct €tom their bedcham bel's.

10 THE LETTERS l~OOK 1.

do the affairs of the \vorld, as usual, call him frequently from this ag~eeable retreat? If the scene of your enjoy·ments lies \vholly th~re, you are happy: if not, }·ou are la;}der the common error of mankind. But leave, my friend, (for . certainly it is time) the sordid pursuits of life to others, and devote }·ourself, in this calm and undisturbed recess, entirely to pleasures of tile studious kind. Let these employ your idle as lvell as serious ho·urs; let them be, at once, your busint;~s and your amusement; the subjects of }Tour waking and even sleepirlg thoughts: pro­duce something that shall be rea!1~7 and for ever your own.. All YOllr other pos5cssions will pass from one master to another: thi8 alone, \vhen once yours, \vilI remain yours for ever. As I well know the temper and genius of him to whom I arn addressing myself, I must exhort you to think of your ~_bilities as they desel've; do ju.stice to those excelle'nt talents you possess, and the ,vorld-, believe me, will certainly do so too. Fare .. 'veIl.

LETTER IV.

TO POMPEIA CELERINA.

YOU might perceive, by my last short let· ter, I had no occasion for y()~rs, to inform me of the various conveniencits you enjoy at your sev­eral villas. The elegant accommodations \vhich are to be found at rJarnia,* Ocriclllum,t Carso-

• Now called Narni, a city in Ombr;&, in the ducby of Spo-Icto. t OtricoJi, in the same duchy.

BOOK I. OF PLI~ f. 1 I

Ia,t Pernsia,§ particularly the pretty bath at N arnia, I am extremely well acquainted lvith. The fact is, I have a property in every thing which belongs to you; and I know of no other difference between your house and my own, than that I am more care­fully attend~d in the forn,er than the latter. You may, perhaps, have occasion to make the same observation in your turn, ,vhenever you shall give me your company here; and I wish for it, not only that you may partake of 11line \vith the same ease and freedom that I do of yours, but to awaken the industry of my domestics, ,vho are grown some­what careless in their attendance upon me. A long course of mild treatment is apt to wear out the impressions of a,ve in servants; whereas, ne,v faces quicken tlleir diligence, and they are gene­rally more inclined to plea::;e tlleir 111aster by atten­tions to his guest, than to t~inlsc!f. Fare\vell.

LETTER V.

TO VOCONIUS R()?tIANlTS.

DID you ever sec a m~re al~jf~c4". and r}lcan..r spirited creature than Regulus has 31)p{'~lred sir..~e the death of Domitian ; during whose reign his conduct ,vas no less infamous, thollgll more con­cealed, than under Nero's? He has l.ately express­ed some apprehensions of my resentmellt: and, jl1deed, he has reason; for I look upon him with the utmost indignatioll. He not only promoted tile prosecution against R~sticus Artllenus, but

t. Carsola, in tile same duchy. § Perugia, ill Tuscany.

12 TIlE LETTERS BOOK ~.

exulted in his death; insomuch, that he actually recited and published a libel upon his mt!mory, wherein he styles him, t"~ stoic'lI IJft~: adding, that " he was atigmllted- by the wllllnd he receiv­" ed in the cause of Vitellius :" such is the strain of lus eloquence! He fell so furiously upon the

• The impropriety of this expressioD, in the original, seems to lie in the word 8tigmolum, which Regulus, probably, either cIJined through affectation, or used through ignoranee. It is a word, at least, which does not ceeur in any author of .11thor­ity: The translator has endeavoured, therefore, to pn5ert'e the same sort of impropriety, lJy using an e:cpreAicm cf the Ilk--;, ~tnwarranted stamp.

It ~:. observable how careful the Romans V'ere of presej~g the purity of t.heir language. It seem£ even to have lx-en a point which they thought wOrtby the attention of the state it­self; for, we find the CumeaDI not daring to make use of ~e Latin Iaogtblce in their public acts, without having first obtain­ed leave in form:- And Tiberiu&, himself, would Dot ha2ard the word monopolium, in the senate, without makin, an aen...c:e for employing a foreign term.t Seneca gives it as a eert~iQ maxim, that whereycr a general &Ise taste in style and expr::s­sion ill'cvaiis, it is an infallible sign of a corruption of mann( rs in that people: a liberty of introducing oblOlet~ words, lr

forming new ones, is a mark, be tllinks~ of an equal lice!' tiou 5-

ness of the moral kind.* Accordingly, it is o"senel,!J thelC is scarce more than eight or ten iostanecs of new worJa ea 1

be producer. from the most approved Roman writers, in tlle!

course of tw~ or three centuries. It is possible, however, L

delicacy of this sort may be carri~d too far; and, in fact, ""C

find 8om~ I)f their belt writers complaining of the pO\~erty of their language ;§ notwithstanding, Tully bas ,"el£turcd to assert it was more copious than the Greek.··

.. Liv. 1. 40. c.42. t Suet. in Tib. c. 71. * Ep. 114. II Sanael. BUJ' Ho~. § Luc,'. t. 33~. Quintil. 8. S. Plin. Ep. 13, 1. 4. ~ * D . P' I 1 I .. ' Of' e In.. • 8Uv In.Z ...

BOOK 1. OF PLIKY.

character of Herennius Senecio, who was capi~uly convicted upon the information of ~Ietius Carus1

that the latter said to him, one day, Pray, what

hU8ine88 have you'Dlith my dead meT!? Did I ever

i.'lterf~re in th~ affair of Cra3&U8, or Camerillu8 ? These, you know, were ,-ictims to Regulus, in ~ero's time. For these reasons, he imagines I am highly exasperated; and, therefore, when he recited his last piece, did not give me an invita­tion. Besides, he has not forgotten, it seems, the dangerous snare he once laid for me, when he and I were pleading before the centumTiri.· Rusticus had desired me to be counsel for ArioniIla, Ti­mon's wife: Regulus was engaged against her. III the course of my defence, I strongly insisted lll)on a decree which had b~en formerly made by :ile ,,-orthy Modestus, at that time banished by Domitian. No\v behold Regulus in his true col .. ours: " Pra}-," says he, ~ what are YOllr sentiments ., of l\lodestus ?" You will e~;-;ily judge howex­tremely hazardous it would have It?-en to ha,-e an­s,,'cred ir.;. his favour, and how infamou: if the re­,~ersc. But some guardian power, I am pcrsuad-

tt A scieet body of men who fOl-med a eourt of judicature, called the centum~iral court. Their jurisdiction extended chieny, if Dot entirely, to 'luestions concerniog ,,-iUs and intes­tatc estates; for, though Tully, in Lis first book de O,tore, enumerates otder pointl whieh came in question before them, ) et 1);1 iscus· is of opinion (and \l'ith gr(::.~ probability) that, in latter times, their business was singly confined to the cases first mentioned. Their numbel", as appeaN by our author, amounted to 180.

• Le .. t ... in 'If;·!;. ~

14 THE LETTER~ BOOK I.

eel, assisted l11e iTi this emergenc? "I would tell ~, }rOl! my sentiments," I stIid, " if that were a mat­., ter for the consideration of tlle centumviri.,J ~,(iii ile repeated his question. I replied, "It ;, was not customary to examine witnesses to the " character of a man, after sentence had passed ~, upon him." He pressed me a tllird time: " I " do not inlJuir~,';' said he, " 'What you think of Mo­" delltufs in general; I only aBk your opinion of hia

" loyalty."--" Since you will have my sentiments, ,~ then," I returned, " I thi11k it illegal e-/}en to a8k

" a qi.{e8tion concerning a jlerson wlzo stand8 con­" 'Victed." This silenced him; and I ,vas univer .. sally applauded and congratulated, tt!at, without wounding my character by an advantageous, per­haps, though ungenerous anSlver, I llad not entan­gled myself in so insidious a snare. Regulus, conscious of this llDworthy treatment, llas solicited Crecilius Celer, and Fabius Justus, to use their interest to bring about a reconciliation between us. And, lest this should nQt be sufficient, he has applied also to Spurinna for the same purpose; to 'V:I0(n he came in the humblest Inanner, (for he is the :!lust abject creature living, ,vhere he has any thing to fear) and entreated Ilim to c~11 UpOll me very early the next morning, and endeavow·, by any means, to soften my resentment; "for," says he, " I can no longer support myself under tllis " anxiety of mind." Accordingly, I ,vas awak-ened, the follo,ving day, with a message from Spu­rinna, il1forming me that he \vould wait upon me. I ~ent ,vord back, I \vould call upon Ilim j 110\\·"

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 15

e~ri both of us mutually setting out to pay this visit, we met under Livia's portico. He acquaint­ed me with the commission he had received froln Regulus, and interceded for him, as became so worthy a man in behalf of one of a very different character, without greatly pressing the thing. I ought not, I said, to conceal from him the true state of the case, and after I should have informed him, I would leave it to himself to consider what answer was proper for me to return. "But, I cannot positivel;-," I added, " determine any thing till Mauricus* (il1ho 'lDaB then in exile). shall re .. turn, by whose sentiments I think myself obliged ·to be entitely guided in this affair." ~~ few da}~s after, Re<;ulus met me as I was attending \~pon the prretor, and calling me aside, said, he was afraid I deeply resented an expression he had once. made use of, in his reply to me and Satrius Rufus, before the centumviri, to this purpose: Rufu8 and

. that other, 'Who alfecta to rival Tully, and to despi8e tile eloquence of our agt. I answered, that no\v, indeed, I perceived he spoke it with a sneer, since he owned he meant it so; otherwise it might have passed for a compliment. I was free to own, I said, that I endeavoured to imitate Cicero, and ,vas, by no means, contented with taking my ex­ample from modern eloquence; for I looked I1pon it as a very absurd thing not to copy the best models of every kind. But," how happens it," continued I, " that. you, who remp.mber so ,veIl

':$ Brothel' to RustiCl1S Arulenus, who had been put to death ~~rJun the information of this Regulus.

16 TilE LETTP'RS BOOK I.

\vhat p~~ed upon tJlis \)~casion, should have for­gotten that other, when you pusbed me so strongly concerning the !oyalty of Modestus ?" Confounde(} by this unexpected question, pallid as he always is, he turned still paler. After a good deal of hesitation, he said, it was not at me he aimed; it \vas only at Modestus. 01)serve no,v, I besec£ll Y(;U, the imp!a~blc spirit of this fellow, who was !~{)t ashamed thus to confess himself capable of ir}sulting the unfortunate. But the reason he gave, in justification of this infamous proceeding, is pleasant. "He W'rot~," said he, " in a certain letter, which \vas read to Domitian, that I was the most execrable of all scoundrels :" and the char­"lcter l\fodestus gave of him was the truth, beyond all manner of controversy. Here, I ~link, I broke ofT tIle conversation, being desirous to reserve to lnyself the liberty of acting as I should see proper, \Vilen Mauricu~ returns. It is no easy matter, I well know, to d.estroy Regulus; he is rich, and at the head of a party; there are many with whom l\e bas credit,· and more that are afraid of him: a passion that will sometimes prevail even beyond

• There seems to b3,",c been a cast of uneommon blackness jn the character of this Jtegulus; otl1crwise the benevolen.t l'liny would scarce have singled him out, as he bas in this and sonlC following letters, for the object of his warmest contempt :&ud io(lignation. Yet, infamous as hc appears to have been, IIC ,,-as not, it seeDlS, ,,·itltout his flatterers and admirers; an,l :t contemporary poet frequentJ, reln·csents him as One of the lilost fiDishcd char-deter..; of the :age, both in eloquence and vir­J. ne; particularly ill the fono,,- iug epigram, occasioned by hie; '''~'-';'l'~ fron) an imnlinellt danger.

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 17

friendship itself. But, after all, ties of this sort are not so strong, but they may be loosened; and the popularity of a bad man is nolaore to be de-

Itur ad HercuJej gelidas qlla Tiburia arees, Canaque Bulphureis .I1lhula /umat aquis ;

Rura nemluque sacrum, dilectaqtle jugera .lJl'U8i.~, Signa' 'Vicina quart1.l8 ab urbe lapis:

Bie rums £Iti'Va8 prlZ8taba..,~ PorticUB umbra8 : net/, quam petie 1uroum Porhem aut:a lle/aa !

,,'\am subieQ eoUaps" ruit, cum mole 8tlb ilia Ge8tatua bijflgi8 RegulU8 easet equi8.

tiVi,mrum ti11lmt MItra. FfJrtuna querelae, Que par tam magn« I'm erat in:vidi4e.

&'·unc et damna ju'Vant; 81mt ipsa pericula tanti: Stantia non poterant tecta probare Deos.

MAR T. Lib. 1. Ep. 13.

'Vhere leads the way to Tybur's shady towers, And snow-white Albula sulphureous pours, ... -\. villa stands, from Rome a little space ; .... ~nd every muse delights to haunt the plact:. Here once a Artie lent her cooling shade; Alas! how near to impious guilt betrayed ! Sudden it fell; what time the steeds convey Safe from her nodding walls great Regulus 3,va.r. To erosh that head, not even Fortune dared, And the world's general indignation fe:u·~d. Blest be the ruin, be the danger blest! The .tanding pile had ne'er the go(ls confcst.

But poets, especially needy ones, sueb as "TC lrnow l\Iartiul was, arc not generally the most fa:thful painters in this ,,-ay ; and of the t,,·o copies of Regulus now before \l!\, there t.an be no doubt ",hieh mnst resembled the original. If antiquity had delivered down to us more of these dra,,'ings of the same per .. sons by different bands, the troth of characters might be easier ascertained, and many of those, which we now view witll hiS,1t admiration, would greatly sink, perhaps, in our esteerr,; :IS "'(~

must ha'·e conceived a very favourable idea of ReS'\11u~, if \\'C

n 2

IS THE LETTERS nOOK I.-

pended UpOll tllan he is himself. Ho,vever (to repeat it again) I shall do nothing in this a~3jr till Mauricu9turns. He is a man of sound judgment and great sagacity, formed upon long experience, and who, from his observations on the past, well knows how to judge of the future. I shall consult with him, and think myself justi­fied either in pursuing or dropping this affair, as h~ shall advise. In the meanwhile, I thought ' lowed this account to that friendship which sub­sists between us, and gives you don undoubted right to be informed, not only of all my actions, hllt all my designs. F~.re,yell.

LETTER. VIr

'fO CORXELIUS l ... ACITUS.

CERT.l\INLY you ,viiI laugh (and laugh YOll ll1ay) wilen I tell you, that YOllr old acqllaint­~lllCC is tllrned sportsman, and has captured three lloble boars. \Vhat! (you ,vill say with astonish~ lllcnt) p,liny!-ElJen he. However, I indulged, ~lt the same time, my beloved inactiyity; and, ~rhilst I sat at m}9 nets, you \vould have found me, 110t ,vith my spear, but my pencil and tablet by lny side. I mused and ,vrote, being resolved, if I returned ,vith my hands empty, at least to come

had never seen his pictul'e but from ~Iartial's pencil. E\"cn liol'ace bimself, we find giving a very different air to his Lol .. llu~;· from that in vibich he is represented by Patcrculus. t

.. [Jib . .i .. Oel. 9, t I.ib. ~, 1 (\2.

BOOK I. l£.

home \l"ith my memorandums full. Bclie,"e mc .. this manner of studying is not to be despised : you cannot conceive how greatly exercise con­tributes to enliven the imagination. There is, besides, something in the solemnity of the venera­ble woods ,,,ith ,vhich one is surrounded, together \vith that profound silence· which is opserved on these occasioDR, that strongly inclines the mind to meditation. For the future, therefore, let me ad­vise you, wllenever you hunt, to take alollg with you your pencil and tablets, as ,veIl as your basket and bottle: for be assured you will find Minerva as fond of traversing the hills as Diana. Fare­,veIl.

it By thE: circumstance of Biience, here mentioned, as well as by the whole air of tbis ~~!# "'r, it is plain the hunting here recommended was of a Tery different kind from what is prac­tised amongst us. It is probable the wild boars were allured into their nets by some kind of prey, with which they wer~ baited, ,vbilc the sportsman watched at a di8ta~~e; in silence and concealment. Something, at least, of this manner is here plainly implied, and is necessary to be hinted to the English 1'eader, in order to his conceiving the propriety of Pliny's sen­tinlent, ,\\,hich otherwise must seem absurd. This, perhaps, Vlas their usual method of hunting in summer; as driving L"esc animals into toils, by the assistance of hounds, is mentioned by I-Iorace as a winter exercise:

-Czun toOO1lti, anntt8 hibernu8 JO't'i8 1mbres 7I,ivesqtte comparat,

Trudit acre8 },inc et hi1,r fnulta cane .Apro8 ill, obstante. plaga8. Epop. H.

-When rain and snows appear, And ,vintl·Y Jove loud thunders o'er the YC8l'J '

"Tith hounds he drives into the toils, ·fbe foaming boar. :\Ir. FRA~ClS.

20 THE LETTERS BOOK I.

LETTER VII.

TO OCTATIt:S RCFCS.

SEE to what an exalted station YOlI have raised me ! You have even invested me with a so,·ereignty equal to that which Homer attributes to his mighty Jove:

From Haven's imperial, Jove beanl bis prayer, Part he admiu, and scatters part in air.-

'Tis thus, with a nod or a fro."" I may grant or reject your petition as I sec proper. To be seri­ous, as I am at liberty, I th:~k, to excuse myself to the Bztici,t especially at rc.qr request, from being their advocate against a single individual i so, on the other hand, to oppose a whole proTince, which I have long since attached to me by many good officess and spared no pai-ts to oblige, e~en at the hazard of my own interest, would be acting inconsistently with my bonour, and that uniformity of conduct whic}, I knClw yon admire. I shall steer, therefore, in thi& affair, a middle course,and, of the alternatives which you propose to me, choose that \\·hich ,viII satisfy your judgment, as well as your inclination. F or I do not look 11pon myself obliged to consider so much wh"t you at present desire, as what a man of your worthy character wil! al'l:Jaya approve. 1 hope to be at

• 11-,1 - '-'-0 la'i. DL "er. _) . t The people of B:ttiea, a part of SpaiD fompreheni!ing .\0-

dalusia and Grana('a.

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 21

Rome about the 15th of Oct~ber, when we will join our united credit with Gallus, in convincing him of the reasonableness of my offer. In the mem while, you may assure him ~f my good dis­position towards him :

_--"'L The sire of men and gods, ,,9ith gracious aspect mild, e()mplian~c nods.t

For why should I not continue to qu~f:e Homer's l!'erses, since you will not put it in my l':.'wer to quote any of yours ? which yet I so passionately wish for, that I question whether I could withstand

~ such a bribe, even to plead against myoId clients, the good people of Bztica. I had almost forgot­ten to mention (wh.at, however, is of too much im­portance to be omitted) that I have received the ext:ellent dates you sent me. They are likely to pro,·e very powerful rivals to my favourite figs and morells. Farewell.

LETTER VIII.

TO POMPEIUS SA TURNINUS.

NOTIIING could be more seasonable than the letter I received frotri you, wherein you de­sire me to communicate to you some of my com­positions: I was at that very time designing to send you one. Your request, therefore, has for­warded my intentions, and freed Dle from every thing that I had to appre!lcIld either fronl ,'our

t IHad. t. , .. ~lS

ot') _M THE LETTEllS BOOK I.

refusal of this trouble, or my scruples to giye it you. Without hesitation, then, I make use of Jocr offer, as you must now take the consequence of it without reluctance. But you mnst not ex­pect from a man of my indolence any thing new. On the contrary·, I am going to e~treat you to revise again the speech I made to my countrymen, \v hen I dedicated the public library which I founded fJr the~ use. You have a) ready, I re­member, obliged me with some remarks upon this piece; I now beg of YOll, Lot only to take a general yiew of the whole, but distinctly to criti­£ise it, with your usw accuracy, in all its parts. When IOU have corrected it, I shall., still be at liberty either to publish (\r suppress it: and the delay, in the mean time, will be attended with ona 6f these alternatiYes; for, while we are deliberat­ing whether it is fit for the public view; a fre­quent revisal will either make it so, or convince me that it is not. Though, indeed, the principal difficulty with me cODcerning the publicatiol1 of this haranglle, does not arise so much from the composition itself, as from the subject, which has something in it, I fear, that will look like ostenta­tion. For, be the style evt!~ GO Vbin and unorna"' mented, yet, as the occasion necessarily led me to speak riot only of the rauniticence of my ancest\lrl, but of my own; my modesty will be greatly em· barrassed.. ..~ dangerous and slippery situation this, even when one is led into it, by a plea of ne­cessity! For, if mankind are not very fa,'S)urabl~

to pallcgyric, cycn ,vhcn g-iven us by ot]lers; ho,v

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much more difficult is it tr, reconcile them to it, ~hen it is a tribute which we pay to ourselves or to our ancestors? Honourable actions, though st7ipr;ed of all external advantages, are generally the object of envy, but particularly so, when glory is her attendant; and the wOFld is neT"cr so little disposed to detract from the rectitude of your con­duct, as when it passes unobsen"ed and unapplaud­ed. For these reasons, I freq·lently ask myself, whether I composed this harangue, such as it is, merely from a personal consideration, or with a \iew also to the pilblic ; and I am sensible, that what may be exceedingly expedient and proper in the prosecution oi any affair, may lose an its grace and fitness the moment the business is completed: for instance, in the case before us, n9thing could be more to my purpose than to ex­plain at large the motives of my in!ended OOUDty; for, by this means, I accustomed my mind (0 gen­erous sentiments; grew more enamoured (.\f the lovely forms by frequent attention to them; and guarded, at the same time, against that repent­ance, which usually attends a hasty execution of liberalities not well considered. There arose, also, a farther advantage from this method, as it fixect.in me a certain habitual contempt of money. For, while mankind seem to be universaUy gov· emed by an innate passion to accumulate wealth; the cultivation oi a more generous affection in my o\vn breast, taught me to emancipate myself fronl the slavery of so predominant a principle : And I thought my llonest intentiolls would be the

~'HE LETTERS BOOK 1.

more meritorious, as tIley should appear to pro­ceed, not from a sudden start of munificence, but from the dictates of cool and deliberate reflection. I considered, besides, the natllre of my designs ; I was not engaging myself to exhibit public games or gladiatorial combats, but to estabJish an annual fund for the support and education of ingenious youths. The pleasures of the ::.enses are so far from wanting the oratorial arts to recommend them, that we stand in need of all the powers of el&quence, to moderate an,l restrain their influ­ence. But to prevail \vith tl~ose who are capable of the office, to undertake witll cllcerfulncss the disagreeable business- of education; it is necessa­r)Y to apply, in tIle most artf1.111nanner, not only to their interest, but their passions. If pllysicians find it expedient to lIse the IDfJst insilluating ad­dress in recommending to their paticllts a ,vllolc­some, tllOUgll, pel'haps, llnple~sant regimen; rao,v Inuch more occas.ion had he to exert all the PO\\"'­ers of persuasion, ,vho, out of regard to the pllblic \velfare, ,vas endeavourillg to reconcile it to a nlO~t. useful, though not very popular benefaction? par­ticularly, as lny aim ,vas to reconlmend all illsti­tlltioll, calculated solely for tIle benefit of tllose who were parents, to men, who, at preseni had 110 childrell; and to persuade tIle greater number patielltly to ,vait till tlley sllould be elltitled t. &11

honour, of whicll a fi'w ollly cO\lld ilnmc(liately partake. But as at tllat till1e, when 1. attcDlpted to explaill and ellforcc tile design alld bCllCfit of Iny institutiol1, I COllsidcred more tile gC!lcral

BOOK I. OF PLINY. -;)

good of my countrymen, than any reputation \vhich nlight result to myself; so I am apprehensive, if I should publish this piece, it will seem as if I had a view rather to my own glory', than to the benefit of others. I aln very sensible how much nobler it is to place the reward of virtue in the silent a~­l~robation of onc's own breast, than in the applause of the world. Fame ought to be the consequence, not ~J~e motive of our actiolls; and though it should happen not to attelld the worthy deed, yet is it by no nle~ns tIle less meritorious for having missed the applause it· deserved. But tIle world is apt to suspect, tllat those, who celebrate their own be­neficent acts:, performed them for no other motive than to ha,<re the pleasure of extolling thel11.

Thus, the spleIldour of an action, ,vhich \vould have beell deemed illustrious if related by another, is totally cxtinguislled when it becomes the sub­ject of one's o,vn applause. Such is the disposi­tion of mankind, if the)· cannot blast the action, tIley' will censure the \?anity ; and \vhether }TOU do lvllat does not deserve particular notice, or set forth yourself what does, eitlter way you incur re­proach. In my O\VD case~ there is a peculiar cir­cumstance that weig)ls much '\vith me. Tl1is speech was delivered not before a general asse~­hly of the people of Rome, but the Decurii ;* not in tIle forllm, but a municipal assembly; I doubt, tllerefore, it ,viII appear inconsistent that I, ,"-ho, 'VIle!l I &poke it, seemed to endeavour to avoid

tic The Dccnrii welte a SOl't of senators in the municipal 01' corp019ate cities of Italy.

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26 THE LETTERS BOOK I.

popular applause, should now, by publishing this performance, appear to court it: that I, who was so scrupulGus as tlot to admit even those persons to be present \Then I pronounced this discourse, \vho were intele~ted in my benefaction, Jest it might be suspec~.ed I was actuated in this affair by any ambitious \ ie,vs; should now seem to so­licit admiration, by f~r\\-l.rdly displaying it to such as have no other cone-ern in DIy munificence, than

_ the benefit of example. These are the scruples lvhich have occasioned my delaying to give this piece to the public; but I submit them entirely to your judgment, which I shall ever esteem as a c;ufficient sanction cf my conduct. Farewell.

LETTER IX.

TO )IINUTIUS FCSDAX1:S.

\VHEN one considers bo,v the tilDe passes at Rome, one cannot but be· surprised, tIl at, take any single da}·, and it eitbf.l is, or at least seems to be, spent reasonably enoutI1J ; and yet, upon casting up the whole .sum, the amount will appear quite otherwise. Ask anyone, hOlY he has been em­ployed to-day? He will tell }~OU, perhaps, " I have '~ be-cn at the ~eremony of investing the manly " robe ;iI thia friend invitt!d me to a ,,·edding; that

- The Roman youths, at tIle Hge of se,·cl.tecn, changed tbeir laahit, and took up the taga ~,irili8, or Dlanly gown; upon wbicll occasion they ,,·ere conducted, by tile friends of tile family, ,,·ith great eercJllony, either into the forum or capitol, ·~nd there iu,9csted ,,·itl1 tbis new robe.

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BOOK J. OF PLl~Y.

"desil~ed me to attend the hearing of his cause ; " cne begged me to be witness to his will; a710-

" th~r called me to a consultation." l1hese are offices, which seem~ while one is engaged in them, ~xtremely necessary; and yet, when, in the silence of retiremeut, we look back upon the many hours thus emplo};l~d, we cannot but condemn them a~ 50icmn impertinences. At SllCh a season one is apt to reflect, Do'lD much of,.y life has 6een 8ftent in trijl~8! _~t least, it is a reflection \vbieIl fre­quently occurs to me at Laurentum, after I have been employing myself in my studIes, or even in the necessary care of the animcll machine (for the body must be repaired L~d supported, if we would preserve the mind in all its vigour.) In t~at peaceful retreat, 1 neither hear nor speak an}­thing of wllich I have occasion to repent. I suf­fer none to repeat to me the whispers of slander; nor do I censure any man, unless myself, when I -am dissatisfied with my compositions. There I live undisturbed by rumour, and free frorii tIle anxious solicitudes of hope or fear, conversing only with myself and my bocks. True and genu­ine life! pleasing and honourable repose ! l',iore, perhaps, to be desired than employments of any kind! Thou solema sea and solitary shore, best and most retired sc~ne for contemplation, ,vith ho,v mallY noble thoughts have; ye inspired me! Snatc}, then, my friend, as I ha'te, the first occa·· sion of leaving the noisy to\vn, with all its frivo­lous pursuits, and (levote your days to study, or even resign thcln to indolence; for, as m}· ingc-

')8 ~ THE LETTERS BOOK I.

nious friend Attilius pleasantly said, " It is better " to have nothing to do, than to be doing nothing." ~'are'vell.

rro A TRIUS CLE)IE~S.

IF ever polite literature flourished rtt ROIne, it certainly flourishes now; and I could give you Inany eminent ins·ta,nces: I will content myself, llowever, with naming only Euphrates, the phi­losopher. I first became acquainted ,vith this ex­cellent person in my youth, ,vhen I served in the army of Syria. I had an opportunity of convers­illg \vith hinl familiarly, and took some pains to gain his affection: tllOUgh that, indeed, ,vas noth­ing difficult, for he is exceedingly open to access, and actuated by those social principles he pro­fesses to teach. I should think myself extremely happy if I had as fully al1swered the expectations he, Jot that time, conceived of me, as he exceeds every thing I had imagined of him. But, per­llaps, I admire his excellencies more now, than I did tllen-. beCa'llSe I kno,v better ho,v to appreci­ate them; if I can with truth say, I yet know. For, as none but those ,,,110 arc skilled ill painting, stattlar}~, or the plastic art, can forIn a right judg­lnel1t of any performance in those respective Inodes of representatioll, so a man must, himself, have Dladc great advances in philosophy, before he is capable of forlning a just opinioll of a phi­losopher. However, as fur as I am qualifie(l to

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 29

determine, Eup}lrates is possessed of so man}? shining talents, that he cannot fail to strike the most injudicious observer. He reasons with much force, acuteness, and elegance; and fre­quently rises into all the sublime and luxuriant eloquence of Plato. His style is rich and flowing, and, at the same time, so wonderfully captivating, that he forces the reluctant attention of the most un,vilIing hearer. His outward appearance is agreeable to all 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 11abit; his countenance is g;a\,e, but nut, austere; and his approach com­mands respect, without creating awe. Distin­guiA1led (l.S he is by -the sanctity of his manners, he is no less so by his polite and affable address. He points his eloquence against the vices, not the persons of mankind; and, ,vitllOUt severity, re­claims tIle wanderer from the patlls of virtue. I-lis exhortations so captivate your attention, that you hang, as it were, upon IllS lips; al1d even af­ter the heart is convinced, the ear still \\-ishcs to listell to the harrnO!1ious reasoner. His falnily' consists of three children, (two of ,vhich are sons) ,vllom lle educates ,vith the utmost care. Hits fatller-ill-law, Pompeills Juliallus, as he greatly uistinguished llilnself in every otller part of his life, so l)articularly in this, that, though lIe ,vas lliTnself of the higllest rallk in his province, yrt,

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rJIE LETTI:ItS ROOK :.

amnng Inany considerable competitors for his daughter, he preferred Euph!'3.tes, as first in mer­it, though not in dignity. But to dwell any longer upon the virtues of a man, whose conversaticn 1 am so unfortunate as not to have leisure suffi­Cie!lLY to enjoy; lvhat would it avail but to in­crease my regret? My time is wholly taken up in the execution of a very honourable, indeed, but very troublesome employment; iIi hearing causes, answering petitions, passing accounts, and writ­ing letters ;-but letters, alas ! where genius has no share. I sometimes comp)ai~ tr: Eu;>hrates (for I have leisure at l6ast to complain) of these llopleasing occupations. He endeavo,!~ 'tu !'om­fort me, by :}flirming, that to be engaged in L~e ser­'.~ice of the public, to hear and determine causes, to expiain the laws, and administer justice, is a part, and the nub!~st part too, of philosophy; as it is reducing to practice ~hat her professors teach in speCUlation. It may be so: but that it is as agreeahle as to spend ",·hole day's in attending to his useful convers~tion, even Ilia rhetoric will never be able to convince me. I cannot, there­fore, but strongly recommend it to you, lvho have leisure, the next til,l£' }~OU come to Rome, (and you ,viII come, I dare say, so much the sooner) to take the benefit of his ciegant and refined instruc­tions. I am not, you see, in the nunlbcr of those -:.rho en\')' others the happiness they cannot share +\lclnscivcs ; on the contrary, it 1S a very sensible plca;,nrc to me~ 'VhCli I find my friends in pos-

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5CssioD of an enjoyment, from which I have the misfortune to be excluded. Farewell.

LETTER XI ..

TO F ABIVS JU5T'--S.

IT is long since I received a letter frum you. You will allege, perhaps, you have noth­ing to write ; but let me have the satisfaction, at least, of seeing it under your hand, that you have nothing to write, or tell me) in the good old ;tyle, If you ar~ flJeU, I am VJ~II. I shall be contented e\"'en with that; as, indeed, that single circum­stance from G friend includes every thing. You may possibly think I jest; but, believe me, I am perfectly in earnest. In !short, all I desire is, to know ho\\' it is with you ; fot I can no longer re­main in this ignorance without the utmost anxie­~y. Farewell.

TO C~,LESTBIUS TIRO.

I H.~ VE suffered a most sensible 1088 ; if that \vord is sufficiently strong to express the misfor­tune which h::.s deprived me of so excellent a man. Corellius RuftlS is dead! and dead, too, by his own act! a circumstance of great aggra'~ation to m) affiiction ; 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 la­nlelltcd. It affords some consolation in the loss

52 THE LET'fERS BOOK I·

of those friends ,vhom disease Sllatclles from us, that they fall by the general destiny of mankind; but tho3e, who destro}- tllemselves, leave us under the inconsolable reflection, that they had it in tlieir po\ver to have li,·ed longer. 'Tis true, Co­rell!us had many inducements to be fond of life; a blalneless conscience, high reputation) and great dignity of character, together with all the tender endearments of a wife, a daughter, a grandson, and sisters; and amidst these considerable pledges of happiness, he had many and faithful friends. Still, it must be owned, he had the highest reason (which, to a wise man, "iiI a!\vays have the force of the strongest obligation) to determine him in this resolution. He had long laboured under so tedious and painful a distemper, that even these blessings, great and valuable as they are, could Dot balance tIle evils he suffered. In his thirty­third year, (as I have frequently heard him say) he was seized with the gout in his feet. rrhis dis­temper he received from his fa!llCr; sin trans­mitted by inheritance. A life of abstinellce and virtue hacl somewhat broken the force of this dis­temper ,vhile he had strength and youth to strug.

~

gle \vith it ; as a manly courage supported him under the increasing weight of it in his old age. I remember, in the t:eign of Donlitian, to have made hiln a visit at his villa, near Rome, '\' here I found him under tIle utmost tortures; for the gout ,vas not Oilly in llis feet, but hacl spread itself over his ,vllolc bodv. As soon as I cl1tcrcd his

J

cllambcr, his serYants ,vithdrew; for it ,vas his

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constant rule, never to suffer them to be present lvhen any very intimate friend was .,ith him: !i.: even carried it so iar as to dismiss his wife upon such occasions, though worthy of the highest con· fidence. Casting his eyes round the room, "no -, you knO\V," says he, "why I endure life under " these cruel agonies ? It is with the hope that I "may outlive, at least for one day, that villain." ".4~d Oh! ye gods, had you given me sL-ength,

. " as you have given me resolution, I wowd iI:&JJi­

" bly have that pleasure !~~ Heaven heard his pray­er; and, having survived that tyrant, and lived to see liberty restored, he broke through those oth­er great, but now less forcible attachments to the world, since he could leave it in possession of se­curity and freedom. llls malady increased; and, as it now grew too violent to admit of any relief from temperance, he reSOltltely determiued to put an end to its unint:errupted attacks, by 3D effort of heroism. He had refused aii sustenance during four days, when his wife Hispulla sent our COBl­

mon friend Geminius to me, with the melancholy news, that he was resol ved to die ; and that she aDd Iler daughter having in yain joined in their most tender persuasions to divert him from his purpose, the only hnpe they had now left was my endeav­ours to reconcile him to life. I ran to his house with the utmost precipitation. As I approached it, I met a second messenger from Hispulla, who in­formed me there was nothing to be hoped for, even from me, as he oo,v scclnc(l n10rc inflexible than

• Domitian.

34 THE LETTERS BOOK I.

ever.in his resolution. \Vhat confirmed their fears was an expression he made use of to his physician, who pressed him to take some nourishment. "'Tis resolved," he replied; an expression which, as it raised my admiration of his greatness of soul, so it does my grief, for the loss of him. I am every mo­ment reflecting what a valuable friend, \vhat an ex­cellent man, I am deprived of. That he was ar­rived to his sixty-seventh year, which is an age e,·en the strongest seldom exceed, I '~"ell kno\v ; that he is delivered from a life of continual pain ; tl.lat he left his family anJ (what he loved even more) his country in a flourishing state: 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 o\vn my 'veakness?) up­on a private account. For I have lost, oh! my friend, I have lost the witness, the guide, and the governor of my life! 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 undel~ his eye, I shall not keep so strict a guard over my conduct. Speak comfort to me, not that he 'Was old, he 'Was

infirm: all this I know; but by s\lpplying me ,vith some reflections that are uncommOll and resistless, that neither the commerce of the world, nor the precepts of the philosophers, can teach me. For all that I have heard, and all that I have read, oc­cur to me of themsel\'es ; but all these are by far too weak to support me tInder so severe an affiic .. tiOfl. ~"'are'vel)'

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BOOK I. OF PLINY.

LETTER XIII.

TO SOCIUS SESECIO.

THIS year has proved extremely fertile in poetical prodl1ctionS: d.uring the whole month of April, scarce a day has passed wherein \ve have not been entertained ,vitI) the recital of some poem. It is a pleasure to me to find, notwith­standing there seems to be so little disposition in the pllblic to attend assemblies of this kind, that a taste for polite literature still exists, and men of genius are not discouraged from producing their performances. It is visible, the greater part cf the audience, which is collected upon these oc· casions, come with reluctance, loiter rotlnd the place of assembly, join in little parties oi conver­sation, and are perpetually sending to inquire ,vhether tIle author had made his entrance, ,vhether he has read the preface, or \vhether lle has almost fillished the piece. Then, \vith an air of the greatest indifference, they just look in, and \vithdra,v again; some by stealth, and others "!Tith less cerenlony. It was not tilUS ill the titne of our ancestors. It is reported, that Claudius C·re­sar, one day heariIlg a lloise near llis palace, in­(luired the occasion; ~nd being informed that N oJlianlls was recitillg a conlposition of his, ,vent immediately to the place, alld agreeably surprised the autllor witll his presence. But now, \vere one to bespeak the cOl11pany eVe)l of tile most idle mall living, and l'clnind hiln of tile alJpointnlent ever so

36 THE LETTYRS BOOK I.

often, or ever so long beforehand; either he would a~oid it under pretence of forgetfulness, or, if not, ,,""ocld look upon it as so much time lost; and for no other reason, perhaps, but because he had not

lost it. So much the rather do tIJoae allthors de­serve our encouragement ~d applause, who haTe resolution to persevere in their studies, and exhibit their per£ormances~ notwithstanding this fastidi­ousness, or indilFere;:l",e of their audience. For my part, ! £carce e,-er r~fuse to be present upon such occasions; though, to say truth, the authors have genera1lybeen my friends,as,indeed, there are few men of genius who are not. It is this has kept me in town longer than I int{~nded. I am now, how .. e\'er, at lib6rty to return into the country, and compose something myse-If; but without any in­tention of reciting it, lest I should seem to have rather lent than given laY attendance to those i'et:itations of my friends ; fer in these, as in all other good offices, the obligation ceases the mo­ment von seem to eXD'!ct a return. Fare\vell.

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LETTER XI'T.

TO Jt:NIt:S )(ACRICt:S.

\·OU desire me to look out a proper hus· band for )·our niece: it is with justice }"ou enjoin nle that office. You were a "'itness to the esteem and affection I bore that great man, her father, and \,·ith \vhat noble instructions Ile formed my )·outh, and taug-Ilt me to rleserve those praises he \\"as plca&ed to besto,\" upon me. You could not gi,-c,

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RIC, then, a more important, or more agreeable commission; nor could I be employed in an of­fice of higher hono1Jr, 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, if I were not acquainted with ~linutius EmiJianus, who seems lormed for our purpose. He loves me with all that lvarmth of ~fTection which is usual bctlveen young men of equal years, (as, indeed, I hal-e 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 ·JY my instructions, than I lvas by those of yourself md }-our brother. He is a native of Brixia,* one of those provinces in Italy which still retain muell of the frugal simplicity and purity of ancient man­ners. He is the son of l\1inutius l\facrinus, ,vhose humble desires were satisfied lvith standing at the llcad of the equestrian order:t for though he was nominated by Vespasian among tllose whom that prince dignified ,vitIl tlle prretorian office, yet, 'VitII an inflexible greatness of mind, he resolute­ly preferred an elegant repose, to the ambitious, a;hall I call them, or ]lonourable pursuits, in w hicll \ve in public life arc engaged? His grand-mother, on the mother's side, is Serrana Procula, of Padua : )'OU are no stranger to the character of its citizens, )·ct Serrana is looked upon, even alnong tllese people of correct manners, as an exemplary in-

.. ~\ ~o"·n in the territories of" cnicc, now called Brescia. t See page 47, note.

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38 THE LETrCFRS BOOK 1.

stanc~ of strict virtue. Acillius, his uncle, is a lnan of singular gravity, lvisclom, and integrity. III short, you ,viII find nothing throughout his family un,vortIlY of YOllrs. l\tIinutius himself has great vi,~acity', as ,veIl as application, together ,vitIl a most amiable and beconling modesty. He lIas already, with much credit, passed througll the offices of qucestor, tribul1e, and pr~tor; so that you will be spared tIle trouble of solicitil}~ fori him those honollrable elnp]oymellts. He" has a genteel and fiori(l countenance, ,vith a certain no­ble mien that speaks tIle man of distinction: ad­vantages, I think, by no Ineans to be sligllted, and lvhich I consider as the proper tribute to virgil1 innocence. I am doubtful \vhetller I should add, that his father is very rich. When I contemplate the cllaracter of those who require a llusband of my choosing, I kno,v it is unnecessary to mention lvealtll ; but ,vhen I reflect upon the prevailillg manners of the age, an'} even tIle laws of Rome, which rank a man according to his possessions, it cel~tainly claims some regard; and, indeed, in es­tablishments of this nature, ,vhere children and many other circumstances are to be duly weighed, it is an article that well deserves to be takell into the account. You ,viII be inclined, perhaps, to suspect that affection has had too great a share in the character I have been drawing, and that I 11a,~c IleightellC(l it beyond tIle truth: but I will stake all my credit, that YOll ,viII filld every circum­stance far beyond ,vllat I have represente(1. I confess} il1deed., I love lVIinutius (as he ..1tlstly

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BOOK I. OF PLINY. 39

(leserves) ,vith the ,varmth of a most ardent uf­fection ~ but for that very reason I WOllld not ascribe more to his merit than I kno,Y it will sup­l~ort. I~arewell . •

LETTER xv. TO SEIJTITIUS CLARl:S.

HO\V happened it, D1Y friend, tllat you (lid not keep your engagement tIle other night to sup ,vith me? But take notice, justice is to be had, and I expect }~ou shall fu)ly reimburse me the expense I \vas at to treat you; \vhich, let me tell you, was no small sum. I had prepared, you must kno\v, a lettuce a-piece, three snails,* t\VQ

eggs, al1d a barley cake, ,vith some s,veet ,vine and snow:t the sno,v most certainly I shall charge

• The English reader may probably be surprised to find this article in Pliny's philosophical bill of fare; it "'ill not be im­proper, therefore, to inform him, that a dish of snails was ,'cry common at a Roman table. 'fhe manner "Red to fatten th~m is related by some very grave authors of antiquity; and Pliny the elder mentions one Fulvius Hirpinus, who had studied that art ~'ith &0 nluoh suceess, that tile shells of SO!:ae of his snails would contain about ten quarts. [H. N. i. 9,56.] In some parts of Switzerland this food is still in high repute. See AD­D I SON'S T,"a'V. p. 364. t The Romans used snow not only to cool their liquors, but

their stomachs, after having inflamed themselves with high eating: Ni'Ven/' rodttnt, says Seneca, solatium stomachi «stu­antis.-[ Ep. 95. ] This custom still prevails in Italy, espe­cially at Naples, \\'herc (as Mr. Addison observes) they" drink ,'ery fe,v liquol's, not 80 much as ,vater, that have not lain in fresco, and every body, from the higbest to the lowest, nlakcs use of it; insomuch, that a scarcity of sno,\\' 'w'ould raise a lnu-

40 THE LETTERS BOOK ].

to ~·our account, as a rarity that will not keep. Besides all tllese curious dishes, there \\"ere 01-i\Pcs of Alld~lusia, hourcis, S111.L10[:), and a hundred other dairttics e(luail}~ sunlptuouS. You should likeu-isc hav(! been cntertQ.iIled either ,,-ith an in­terlude, the rehearsal of a poem, or a piece cf music, as }-OU liked best; or (suell \vas nly liber­ality) with all three. But the luxurious delicacies· and Spanish daIlcers of a certain I kno,\- Ilot how, 'Were, it seems, more to your taste. Ho\v­eTer, I shall hat'e my revenge of }You, depend upon it i-in ,,-hat manner, shall at present be a secret. 1:1 good truth it was not kind, thus to mortify }'our frienc1-! had almost said yourself ?--and, upon second thoughts, I do say so: for how agreeably

ti!lY at Naples, as much as a dearth o~ com or prot'isioDS in :another country ." 7-raT:. 185.

• In th~ original, the dishes are specified, viz. Oyfiters, tlae m~triees of S9~S, -with a certain sea sl.ell-fish, prickly like a bedge-laog, ealle~ Echinu., all in the hig)lert estimation among lbt Roman admirers f)f table luxury, as appears by numberless I,assages in the classic ~-riters. Our 0"-0 country Ilad the honour to furnish t1Jcm ,,-it}, o~ slers, ,,·hieh they fetched from Sandwieh: llontanus, mcutione<i by Ju,-ena!, "-as so ,,-ell ~k.jl1ed in thp 3cienee of good eating, that b~ i!c.luld teU, by the first taste, ,,·hetller t11CY caIne frolll that coast:

--C'ircaia nota forellt, D7l .IJl:crinuln ad l'a.rum, Rupino~e etlita lundo O,trea, cat/t:hat primo tlcprt'ndere mOI·all.

Sal. 1\". l-iO.

lIe, ,,-hetbcr Circe's rotk his (lysters bore, Or 1 ,UCI ane lake, or the llatupia1Z sbo~c, Knc,'· at fir~t t:llte.------

1..­t I

I I

( , .

f l

I r .. r , t , r

t i

..

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 41

should we have spent the evening, in laugIllng, trilling, and literary amusements! You may su\', I confess, at many places 1Jl1)~'e splendidly; but you can no ,,"llere he treated wit!. more unCOL-­

strained cheerfulness, simplicity, and freedom: only make the experiment; and if you do not ever after\vards pref~r my iable !c an}' other, never favour me with your company again. Farewell.

LETTER XVI.

TO ER t.~ C ICS.

I CONCEIVED an affection for lny friend Pompeius Saturninus, and admired his genius, even long before I knew the extensive variety of his talents: but he has now taken full and unre­served po~se5sion of my whole heart. I have heard him, in the unpremeditated as lvell as stud­ied speech, plead with no less farce and energy, than grace and eloquence. He abounds with just reflections; his periods are graceful and majestic; his ,vords harmonions, and stamped lvith the mark of genuine antiquity. These united qualities in­finitely delight you, not only when you are carrie(1 along, if I may so say, \vith the resistless HOlV ~f

his cl.arnling and enlpha1ical elocution, but also , .. -hen consi(lel~cd distinctly and apart from that advantage. I 3.1n persuaded you \vill be of this opinioJl ,\911Cn YOlI peruse his orations, and will not hesitate to place him in tIle. same rank ,vith the ancicllts, whonl 11C so happily emulates. llut you ,,-ill "\-ie-,·.; llim ,~:ith increased pleaSl!l'C- in the ch:lr-

n '~

°rHE LET'fERS BOO~ I

acter of an historian, in \vhich his style is botl~ concise and clear, elegant and sublime ; and the same strengtll of expression, though more com­pressed, runs through his historical harangues, ,vhich so eminently distinguishes and adorns his public orations. But these are not the whole of his excellencies; he has composed several poeti­cal pieces in the manner of Calvus and Catullus. What strokes of wit, what s\veetness of numbers, what pointed satire, and what touches of the ten­der passion appear in llis verses! in the midst of lvhich he sometimes designedly falls into an agreeable negligence in Ius metre, in the manner, too, of those adrrlired peets. He read to me, the other d~y, some letters, lvhich he assured me \¥ere ",vritten by his wife: I fancied I ,vas perusing Plautus or ri'erence in prose.. \Vh~ther they are that lady's, (as he positively affirm;..) or his (JWD,

,vhich lle absolutely denies, he deserves equal applause; either for 'vriting ::c politely hiDlself, or fOl' having so highly improved and refined the g-cnius of his wife, whom he .nlarried yllung and l.lninstructecl. His works arc c\yer in lny hands; :.~rJd I ne,·er sit down to compose any thing of my (J\\·n, or to revise ,vhat I have already ,vritten, or ~l111 in a disposition to amuse myself, that I do Jl0t take up this agreeable author; and, as oCtetl as I do so, he is still ne\v. Let me strongly recornnlend hinl to the same degree of intimacy with }You ; 1101'"

!>c it an~T objectioll to llis ,vol'ks, that he is a con­;cmporary author. llau he flourishr,d in ~onlC

':()r'TIer age, n()t only 'lis publicaiio11s, llut pic-

.. ,

? 1-

BOOK 1. OF PLIXY.

tures and statues, representing his person, would have been passionately inquired after: shall ~e, then, from a sort of satiety, and merely because he is presellt among us, suiTer his talents to lan­guish and fade away, unhonoured and unadmired ! It is surely a very perverse and en,·ious dispo­sition, to look with indifference upon a man wor­thy of the highest approbation, for no other reason, but because we have it in our power to see him, and to COD,"erse \vith him, and not only to give him our applause, but our friendship. Farewell.

LETTER XVII.

TO CORNELI-cS TITIANCS.

THE social virtues have 110t yet quite for­saken the world; and there are still those whose generous esteem extends even to departed merit. rritianus Capito has obtained the emperor's per­mission to erect a statue in the forum to the late L. Syllanus. It is a truly laudable and noble ap­plication of princely favour, to employ it to so ,vorthy a purpose, and to exert one's interest for the giory of others. To preserve the Dlcmory of eminent cllaracters, is, indeed, habitual to Capito: he has placed in his house (where he may safely take that liberty) the statues of the Brllti, the Cassii, and the Catos,· ,vhich he not only COII-

• Suetonius informs us, that CaUgt11a destroyed the stattles ',f those illustrious persons, ,,·hich Augustus t.ad erected in tlae c"l,itol; and published an edict, whereby he prohibited iitatues to b~ railed to any person iu his life-tlmp" Wlles8 hy

44 THE LET'{"E1lS BOOK I.

templates with ardent ,"eneration, but lias also cel­ebrated the respective lives of those great patriots in some excellent vers€:s. One may be very sure a person possesses great virtue himself, who thus admires it in others. Capito has, by this act, Se­cured to himself that immortality, lvhich lle has bestowe(I on Syllanus; for, he lyho erects a statue in the Roman forunl to a worthy character, re­ceives as much honour ?'i he confers. Farc\f'ell.

LETTER XVIII.

TO srETOXIl:S TRA~QUILLLS.

YOUR letter informs me, that you arc ex­tremely alarmed by a dream; apprehending, that it forebodes some ill success to you in the cause you have undertaken to defend ; and, therefore, desire that I would get it adjourned for a felv days, or, at least, to the next. This is a favollr, l"fJU are sensible, not very easily obtained, bllt J ,viII lIse

a11 my int~rest for that purpose;

-- For dreams descend from Jo,·e.-.,-IIo)f . . III the mean 'v hile, it is very material for you to recollect, lvhether y'our dreams t generally

the emperor's express perrr,ilsione It is probable, Pliny Jlcrc allude~ to a decree of this Datore made by some succeeding emperor, perhaps Domitian, against publicly erecting statues to these glorious assertors of liberty.

• I' 0 P E, Iliad I. 69.

t Dreams were considered, from the earliest antiquity, as sacred admonitions and hints of futurity. M~ny of the hea­-.hen o11l~I~s ,'-ere rj(:1irered in this manner; and. ""-f'n among

-

• t II' ,1

!-

[

f

t 1

nOOK 1. OF PLINY. 45

represent things as they afterwards fallout, or quite the reverse. But if ! may judge of )90urs by one that happened to myself, you have nothing to fear; for, it porte'nds you will acquit yourself with great success. I had promised to be counsel for Julius Pastor; when I fancied in my sleep that my motiler-in-Iaw came to me, and, throwing herself at lny feet, earnestly entreated me not to be concerned in the cause. I ,vas at tha.t time a ,"ery l'oung man ; the case ,,·as to be argued in the four centumviral courts; my ad­\"ersaries were some of the n.£ost considerable men in Rome, and pArticular favourites of Czsar; any of which circumstances were sufficient, after such an inauspicious dream, to have discouraged me. Notwithstanding this, 1 engaged in the cause, re­flecting that,

the Jews, lre find several intimations conveyed to their proph­ets i~ the &ame ,,-aYe The Romans, in geDerai~ were great observers of dreams; and Augustus Ca:sar is said ~o haTe es­caped a very imminent danger at the battle of Philippi, by qu~tting his tent in compliance with a dream of Antonius, his I'hysician. (Val. Max. L. I. C. 7.) This is mentioned to obvi­ate any prt:judice agniost Pliny, which may arise in the mind Qf a reader unacquainted with the prevailing sentiments of the aD~ients upon tbis point, who might otherwise be surprised to fintl our author talk seriously upon a subj~et of this nature. The truth is, as an cl'ainent criti(f (Dacier ,ur H(Jr. L II. Ep. 2.) has observed, 1\,ith great good sense, thE:~e seems to be as mucb temerity in never giving credit to dream~, as there is supers~ition in al'.vays doing 10. "It appears to me,7' says he, " that the true medium between these two extremes, is to treat them as we would a known liar; we arc sure he most usually relates f~llsclao()ds ; ho,,·e,·er, ;lotl,ing binders but h~ Jl~!ly som ~timcs f peak trl!t h."

46 -fHE LETTERS

Without a sign, his sword the °braTe man draws, And asks nQ on)en but his counu1·'s e:,ause·-

BOOK I.

for Ilookctl \!J:Cli the pr(Jnlise I had gIven to be as sacred to me as my COlIn try , or, if that were pos­sible, more so. riiIJhe event happened as I wished; and it was that very cause which first procured me the favourable attention of the pltbJic, and thre\v open to me the gates of Fame. Consider then, whether ~~our dream, like that lvhich I have re" ... lated, may not pre-signify success. But, after all, perhaps you will think it more safe to pursue this cautiollS maxim: "never do a thing, concerning " the rectitude of which you arc in doubt :" if so, write me word. In the interval, I will consider of some expedient, and endeavour that your cause shall be heard any day you like best. In this re­spect, you u.:-~ in a better situation than I was : Ule court of the centumviri, where I was to plead, admits of no adjournment; whereas, in that where you r' cause i~ to be heard, though it is not easy to procure one, still, however, it is possible. Fare­well.

LETTER XIX.

TO RO~IANUS FI]t~IUS.

AS you are my to\Vn'S-lnan, my school-fel­low, and the earliest companictn of my youth; as there was the strictest friendship between my motllcr and uncle, and your father ; (a happiness ,vhich I also enjoyed as far as the great illeqllality

f: llicltl }{ II. 243. I' 0 P E .

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. f· ~.

f r

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I t , , t .

t r(.

l:

BOOK 1. OF PLl~Y. 47

of our ages \VOllld adn1it,) can I fail (thus biassed as I am by so Jnany strong ru~d ,,,"eighty rea~t ns,) to contribute all in my po\ver to the advancelilent of your honours? The rank y·ou bear in our prClv­inee, as decurio, is a proof that }"ou are possessed, at least, of an hundred thousand sesterccs;* but that \ve Inay also have the satisfaction of seeing rou a Romant knight, I present to yOll three hun­dred thousand,t in order to make up the sum i~C­quisite to entitle you to that dignity. The long acqllaintance If'e have had, leaves nle no roum to dcubt }You ,viII ever be forgetful of this illst&.nce of my friendship. And I kll0\V }¥our disposition much too ,veIl to think it necessary to ~dvise you to enjoy- this llonour ,vitil tIle modesty that be­comes a person ,vho received it froln me: for the advanced rank ,ve possess by the gnod offices of a

• About 8001. of our money. The scsterce was a Roman silver coin, the value of which the most accurate antiquarians have settled at 1 penny, 3 farthings, and 3-4i.hs, making 1000 to be equal to 81. Is. 5d. half-penny; but, to avoid fractions in this place, and throughout all the following calculations, a tbousan,l sesterces are considered as equivalent to only 81. ster­ling.

t "The equestrian dignity, or that order of tIle ltoman peo .. pIe which we commonly call k,.,lights, ha{l not11ing in it analo­gous to any order of modern knighthood, but depended entire .. ly upon a valuation of their estates; and every citizen, whosp. entire fortunf'5 amounte(l to 400,000 sesterces, that is, 32291. of Our rnonp.y, "-as enrolled, 6f course, in the Jiat of knights, ~' lao ,,'ere consi(]ercd as a middle order hetween the senators and COlnmon people, yet, without any other distinction than the privilege of wearing a gold ring, which ,,·u the peculial- bad~'{ of their order." Life of TlI,l~lJ, '''01. I. Ill. i7l, ",or.

t About 24001. sterling.

48 ]OIIr LET'TERS BOOK I.

friend, is a kind of sacred tfl)st, ,,-herein \\·e have hill judglncnt, as ,veIl as our f;W1l character, to maintain, and therefore to be guardc~ ,vi tIl the

. greater CatltlOD.

TO CORXELl~S T.\CITt:S.

I H ... \. VE frequent debates ,,-ith a Icarnc(l and judicious person of my acquaintance, \\-ho ad­mires notlling so muelt in the eloquence of the bar, as conciseness. I agree \yith him, \vherc the cause will admit of this precisioll, it l11a}· be prop­erly adopted; but insist, tllat to omit \vhat is Ina­terial to be mentioned, or only slightly to touell llpon those points ,vhich should be strongly incul­cated, and impressed on the mU1ds of the audi ... cncc, is, in effect, to desert tIle cause Olle !1as un­dertaken. In many cases, a COpiOliS l11anner of cxpressioll gi,"es strength and ,veight to our ideas, \Vllich frequently make their effect l1pon the nlind~ as iron does upon soliel bodies, rather by repeated strokes than a single blo\v. In ans,,·cr to this, he usually has recourse to authorities, ancl procluces Lysias amongst the Grecians, together ,vith Cato and the t,yO Gracchi, among our 0"·11 countrynlen, as instances in favour of tile concise style. III re­ttlrn, I nanle Demosthcnes, iEschines, IIypcriucs, and many others in opposition to Lysias; \\~hile I confrollt Cato and the Gracclli, as also C~sar, Pollio, Crelius, but above all, Cicero, ,,·hose long­est oration is generally c5;tccnlCtl t]lC bC'st. It is

·. ~ .

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 49

in gootl compositions, as "in e\'er}~ tiling else that is valuable; tIle IDore there is of them, the better. YOll may observe in statues, basso-rcJievos, pic­tu, es, and the llodies of men, and even in ,t[,inJals and trees, that nottling is· Dlore graceful thnn nlag­nitude, if accoDlpanied with proportioll. 1"lle saIne holds true in pleading; and even in books, a large volQrne. carries some\vhat of beauty and aut110rity .in its \re' .. ·y size. My antagonist, \,,-ho is extrf-mely · ~extel"ous at evading an argllment, eludes all this, and much more, ,vhich I usually urge to tt.e same purpose, by insisting that those ,·ery persons, upon whose wOl·ks I found nly opinion, made consider­able additions to their orations \vhen tlley published them. This I deny; and appeal to the haranglles of numberless orators, particularly to those of Cicero, for l\iurena and \'rarenus, ,\"llere lle seems to have given us little more thaI} the general cllarge. "Thence it appears, tllat man}· things ,\·hich lle en-larged upon at tIle time he deli,"ered t]10se orations, were retrenched \,"hen he gave thell1 1,(: the public. The satne excellent orator inform s u s~ tllat, agr( e­ably to the ancient custom, ,yhicIl 41ilolved olllv of

J

one counsel 011 a side, Cluentius li4\d r.o other ,~cl-

vocate tllan l .. iolsclf; and lle tells tlS furtl1el', t11at llC cnlployed fOllr \\yl101c (lays ill def'·~nce of Corl1e­lills; by ,~·hich it plainly appears, that thosf; ora­tions \vhich, \Vhell deli,·crcd at t},eir flllllength, ha(l necessarily tu ken tlJl so nltlcll ti,nc ~t the Lar. ,vc rc greatly altcl·ed and abridged '\vhcn he aftcr\vul'ds con1l>risc(1 tllClll in a single Y(Jlllln{'~·t110Uf.;11, I lllust confess, indeed, a htrg-e one. But it i'3 ()l'jc_~t('d, there is "' wide difference 'between gOIJll plcadinr.:

THE LETTERS BOOK I •

.. -dltl just con11)osition. This opinion, I ackno\v­l(.:(lgc, has ha<1 !')ome ta,·ourt;'-s, and it may' be true; ilc,·crthcleS5, I alIt. pcrsuade(1 (tbfJugh I l11ay, per­!1aps, be nlistake~)) that, as it is possible :l pleading rnay' be lvell l'cceived by the alldieJ1CC, \\·llich has not merit enough to recomloend it to the reader; ~o a good oration cannot be a b~d pleading : for t lIe oration on paper is, in truth, the original and lDodel of tIle speech that ,vas pronounced. It is for this reaSOIl we find, in man)" of the best ora­tiollS extant, numberless expressions Wllich have the air of unpremeditated discourse ; and even in those which we are sure weri,; never spoken; as, for instance, in the following passage from the oration J.gainst \r erres.-" A certa!n mechanic-,vhat's ,,~ his name? Oh, I'm obliged to you for helping ,,' me to it: )Yes, I mean Polycletus." It cannot tl1CJl be denied, that the nearer approach a speaker ~11akcs to tIle rules of just composition, the more perfect he ,viII be in his art ; al'vays supposing, llo,vever, tllat he has the necessary indulgence in point of time ; for, if he be limited in tllat article, ll~ t,lan1c can jus~:y be fixecl upon tIle advocate, thougll mtlcll certainly upon the judge. The sense of the Ia,Ys, I aln sure, is on my' side, ,vbich are by no Blcuns sl)aring of the orator's til11e : it is not brevity, b1.1t copiousness, a full reprl'sentation of cvcr'f 111atcriaI cirCllnlstullce, \yllicll tIley reC01TI--1)1Clld. AntI 110\V is it llossible for an aclvQcate tn

acquit hinlsclf of that (luty', tlnlcss ill the nlost irf ... significant causes, if he affect to l)c concise? Let lllC a(lcl \Vllat experience .. that llllCrl'illg gui(lc, Jlas

T~\'l:~h1: r,,'1("' : it ll:\~i fl'Cfltlcntly bccTl1ny l'\'O\tll~C tt:·

, J '

-,

r f i , l'i.! -? ...

...

1 ,

BOOK 1. OF PLIX~.

act both as an advocate and a judge; and I ha,-c often also attended as an assessor.· t,: pon tllOSC

occasions, I have e,-cr found the judgmellts of ma11-

kind are to be influenced by different modes of al)­plication, and that the slightest circumstances fre­quently produce the most important consequences. There is so ,·ast a variety in tile dispositions and understandulgs of men, that they seldom agree in their opinions concerning anyone point in debate before them; or, if they do, it is generally frolll the movement of different passions. Besides, as everv man naturallv fa,~ouillS Ilis a\vn discoveries.

~ ~ . \VhCll he hears an argument urged If'hich had before occurred to Jlimself, he "-ill certainly embrace it as extremely COD\Tincing. The orator, therefore, should so adapt himself to his audience, as to throw out sometlling \vhicll everyone of them, ill

turn, may receive and appro\Te a! conforillable to his o\vn particular sentiments. I remCDlber \\·hen Regulus al1d I \vere cOllccrn{~d together in a caus(;, he said to me, " You seem to thillk it necessary to "d,vel1 upon every SiJlgle circumstance: '\?)lcreas I " al\vays take aim at once at my ad\rrsary's throat, " and there I cios~ly press lliln.'~ ('l'is true? I}t~

tenaciously holds whatever part lIe llas once fixe(} upon; but the misfortune is, Ile is extremely apt to Inis·~ake the right place.) I al}s\vcrcd, it might possibly happen, tllat ~llat he called tIle tllroat, ,vas, in reality, some less vital part. As for my~ self, sa.id I, WllO do not pret.end to, tJircct m}" ailll

• The prztor '~'as assi8t(~d by ten ~e'jf'SsOrSt fiv~ of whom ,,,crt:' ~(!natol's, and the rest knigh(s. ""itb t l~t.'se he ",·RS <thUg-cd VI con· ~ult, l-cfol'C he pt'oDonnccd sehtcnc(',

·rHl: LETTERS BOOK I.

\~- lLil SO muell certainty, I attack every part, and f;l!S!l at e\-ery' opening; in short, to use a vulgar ~rc,-\·crJ, I ieave 1iO atone ll11tllrned. As in agt'icul­tJil'e, it is 110t my vineyards, or my woods alone, but nly fields also, that I cultivate; and (~O pl\r­sue the allusion) as I do not COlltellt myself \,"ith sQ\ving those fields with only one kind of grain, ))ut elnploy sevel"al difTerent sorts; so, in my' plead­ings at the bar, I scatter various argul11ents like so lllany killds of seed, in order to reap from tllence' 'v hate\rer may llappen to succeed: for the disposi­tion of your judges is as precarious, and as little to be ascertained, as that of soils and seasons. 1 renlcnlber the comic ,vriter Eupolis mentiol1S it in l)raise Qf that excellent orator Pericles, that

-On 'a;- lipg Pt!I~uasion Jlung, And po,,'erful Reason rul'd his tongue: 'J·hU8 he alone could boast the art, 1·0 charlll at once, and pierce the heart.

But could Pericles, ,vithout tIle richest variety of eXl11'cssil)n, 811(1 nlcrely by force of the concise or the rapid style, or botll together, (for they are ex­tremely cliffercnt) have thus clzarmed and /lierced the lleart? To delight an(l to persuade, reqllires time, and a great compass of lang~lage; and to leave a 8,-ing in the nlinds of his audience, is an ef- .j

feet not to be expected from an orator who sliglltl}' lluslles, but from hiln, and Ilim ollly, who thrllsts home an(l deep. Another comic poet,- speaking of tIle saIne orator, says,

"

J

BOOK I. OF PLINY.

His mighty words like JOTe's OWD thunder roll ; Gl·t:cee hears, and trembtes to her inmost soul.

- .' ~.,

But it is not the close and the reserved; it is tIle copious, the majestic, and the sublime orator, who, ,vith the lightning ancl thunder of his eloquence, hurries you impetllously along, and bears down all before 11im. There is a just mean, I O\f"D, in e,"ery thing; but he equally misseth the mark, ,,-ho falls short of it, as he who goes beyond it; he who COD- •

· fines Ilimself in too narro\v a compass, as he who launclles out witll too great a latitude.. Hence it is as common to hear our orators condemned for being too barren, as too luxuriant; for not reach­ing, as well as for overflowing the bounds of theil' SUbject. Both, no doubt, are equally distant froDl the proper medium; hut with this difference, ho\v­ever, that in the one the fault arises from all abun­dance, in the other, from a deficienC)T; an error, ,vhicil, if it be not a sign of a more correct, yet, it is certainly of a more fertile genius. \Vhel) I say· this, I ,vould not be llnderstoo(l to approve tIl",t

everlasting talker,· lnentioned in I-Iotner, but that othcrt described in tile follo\ving lines :

}"reqncnt and soft, as fai~s the '\l' inter £no\~(, 1"hus froJn his lil)S the copiou! periods flo,,·.

l'{ at but I cxtrcnlcly adtnire llim, toO,} of \v 110lYl the poet. says,

Fc,v ,vcrc his words, but 'fonucrfully strong •

•. 'rhcrsites, Iliad ii. ",'. 212. t l:lysses, IUad iii. v. ~~~. t ~-Icnclt",s,.ihid

E~

54 THE LE·rTEll~ BOOK I.

Yet, if I were to choose, I should clearly gi,·e tIle preference to the style resetnbling fDinter 11111),&:",

that is, to the full and diffusi,"e ; in short, to that pOl11P of eloquence ,vhich seems all heavenly and di\~ine. But (it is replied) the harangue of a more moderate length is most gellerally adolired. It is so, I cotlfess :-but by whom? B}· the indolent only' ; and to fix tile standard by the lazilless and false delicacy of these, \vould surely be the highest hbsurdity.--Were }"ou to consult persons of this. cast, they "rould tell )You, not only that it is best to sa}- little;but that it is best to say nothing.

1'hllS, Iny friend, I have laid before you my sen­timents upon this subject, and I shall readily aban­(Ion them, if not agreeable to yours. But, should you dissent from me, I beg you ,vould communi­~ate to me }Tour reasons. For, tllOUgh I ought to yield, in this case, to }Tour more enliglltened judg­lncllt, yet, ill a point of such consequel1ce, I had rather receive my con\"ictioll from argtlment, tllan allthorily'. If }·ou should be of Dly Ol)illion ia this ]11utter, a line or t,vo ill return, illtilnatiIlg }·OUl' c(}nCUrrel1ce, ,viII be sufficient to confirm me ill

the justness of my sentilncnts: on the cOlltrary', if YOll ShOllld thillk 111C lllistakcn, I beg }10U to give fIle YO'Jr oLjections at large. Yet, Ilas it not sonlC­'."hat the air of bribery, to l'C(lucst onl}' a sllort let.ter, if y"Ou agree ,vitll me; l)llt enjoin you the troul)le of a very long Olle, if YOll sllOtllcl be of a tli:l·ercnt 0l)ini~}~l ? Farc,,,cll.

,-

!J

BOOK I. 01' PLINY. 55

LETTER XXI.

TO PATER~US •

.. ~s I rely' \~ery much upon the strength of )"our judgmen:, so I do upon the goodness of your eyes: not because I think your discernment \rery great, (for I would not make you vain,) but, because I think it as good as mine: which, it must be owned, is sa}·ing a great deal in its favour. Jesting apart, I like ,~ery ,veIl the appearance of the slaves WIlicll were purchased for me by y'our recommendation; all that I want farther, is to be satisfied of their behaviour : allti, for this, I must depend upon their characters more than th~~r COllntenan ces . . : Fare,\cll.

LETTER XXII.

1:0 C A TILIUS SE,TER us.

I All, at present, Can(l ha,"e been a consider­able tilne) detained in ROlllC, under the most alarm­ing apprellensions. Titus Ali~to, ,vhom I esteem and love ,vitll singular regard, is fallen into a danger­ous and obstillate illness, \vhich deeply affects me. Virtllc, kno\vledge, and goo(l sense, shine--out ,viti. so superior a lustre ill this excellent nlan, tllat learning herself, and every valuable endO,\"nlent, seems ill .. ·olved in the danger of his single person. Ho\v consumlnate is his kno\vledgc, botll ill tIle political and li"il la\vs of ),is C()tllltry ! llo\v tborouglll)T COIl versant is 11C ill every branch of

Sci THB .. ETTERS BOOK. 1~ .

history and antiquity ? In a word, there is no ar. ticle of science, you would wish to be illformed of, in whicll he is not skilled. As for my own part, lvhenevcr I \vould acquaint myself lvith any ab­struse point !)f literature, I lla\We recourse to hiln, as to one who supplies me with its most hidden treasures. \Vhat an engaging sincerity, what dig­nity in his conversation! Ho,v humble, yet hOlY

graceful his diffidence! Though he conceives, at once, every point in clebate, yet he is as s}O\V to de­cide, as he is quick to appr(Ohend ; callnly and de­liberately weighillg every OPI)osite r ~ason that is of­fered, and tracillg it, ,,·itll a nlost judicious penetra-­tion, from its source through all its remotest COD­

s~quences. I-lis diet is frugal, his dress plain; and whene,"er I enter his chamber, and vic\v him re­clined upon his couch, I consider the scene before me, as a true iIllage of ancient simplicity, to which his illtlstrious mind reflects the noblest ornament. lIe places no part of his happiness in ostentation, but in the secret approbatiotl of his conscience; seeking the re\vard of his virtue, not in the clamor­ous applauses of the '\1orld, but in the silent satis­factiol1 \vhich results froln ha"il1g acte(l well. In short, you \vil111ot easily filld his equal, even ~\mong ()ur philosophers by l1rofessioll. He frequents not tIle l)laces of l)ublic disp\ltations,· 1101' idly amuses llimself anc) othel·s \vitll ,~ain and endless controvcr .. sies.. Hi.y exalte(l talellts ,trc empl~yed to nobler purposes, and exerted in tile SCCI1CS of civil alld ac ...

*' The pl.;l()~nphp .. s uscrl to hold their di~l)ntntinns in tl~r. Gym na"ia Rnd l'ortieos, being places of the Iflost public resort for " .. alking, Itc.

I'

.U

BOOIt I. OF PI .. INY. 5i

tive life. l\1any has he assisted ,,~ith llis interest, still more lvith his ad,,-i{;c ! But though he cledi­cates his time to the aif"irs of the lvorld, he regu­l".t{~s his conduct by the precepts of philosophy; and, in temperance, piety, justice, and fortitude, he has no superior. It is astonishing \vith what patience he supports his illness; hOl, lIe bears pain, endures thirst, and quietly suhmits to tIle pl·essure of tllose clotl1es \vhich are laid upon him to pro­mote per3piration in this raging fever. He lately called me, and a fe\v more of his particular frie11ds, to his bed-si(le, requesting us to ask his physicians what turn they apprehended his distemper would

. take; that, if they pronounced it incurable, he might voluntarily pllt an end to his life; but if there were hopes of a recovery, how tedious and difficult soever it might prove, he would calmly wait the e,·ent ; for so much, he thOllght, was due to the tears and entreat!es of his ,vife and daughter, al1d to the affectionate intercession of his friends, as not voluntarily to aballdon our hopes, if they were not entirely desperate. A resolution this, ill my estimation, truly IleroicaJ, and worthy of tl1e highest applause. InstatlCes are freqllcnt in the \yorld, of rushing illto the arms of death withollt re .. flection, and by a sort of blind impulse; but clelib­erately to ",'eigh the reaSOllS for life or. death, and to be determinr.d in otlr clloice, as either side of the scale prevails, is the il1ark of no comtnon greatness of mind.· We 11a\'e had the satisfaction to re-

• The general la \vfulness of self-murder, 'WAS a doctrine by no lneans unh'cl'sally l'ecch'ed in the ancient pagan ,vol'ld; many of t~le lnost considcl"C\blc names, both Greek and ROlnan, be-ring (\x-

53 ~HE LETTERS- BOOK I.

ceive the Opil1ion of Ilis physicians in his fa\"O\lr: may )leavell give success to t)leir art, and free me from tllis painful al)xiety' If tllat should happily be the eVciit, I shall ilnmt;riiately retire to my fa­"\"Ollrite I"auren"inum, or, in other words, to my boohs alld my studies. At present, so much of my time and thoughts are employed ill attendance upon my friend, and in :Illy apprehensions for his life, that I have neither leisure nor inclinatiun for subjects of literature.

Thus have I informed }"OU of my fears, my lvishcs, and my intentions. COlnmunicate to me, in returr" but in a gayer st}9Ie, an accott!lt not only of what you are and have been doing, but even of your fu­ture de'signs. It ,viII be a very sensible consolation to nle in this distress of mind, to be assured that yours is eas}·. Ft:.re'.veIl.

l)ressly tleelar~d n.g~l.inc:,t that practice. Ilytllagora3, !)oerdtes, Plato, 1'ulIy, have cvnd(:;mned it: el"en Brutus Jlimself, though he fell hy his O\VD handa, yet, in his cooler and philosophical 11011rs, wrote a treatise, It l\'herein be highly condemned Cato, 8S beinp: guilty of au act ~)tb of iU1l)iety alld co,,~ardicc, in destroying him­Relf. The judicious \rjrgil also adopts the same sClitiments, an. l":pfcsents. such unhapllY persons as in a state of I)unisbmcnt :

.Proxillza deinde te7lellt mtesti loea, qul sioi letunl I1l80ni{ls peperere 11UI1l11, lllcenLfJue pet"oei Pr(Jjece1"e aninJat: QUQ1n vellent ttthet'e in alto, Jv1tllC ~t pauperieln et duros pC1ier1'e lahore8 .It Then cro,\~ds succeed, "'ho, prodigal ofbrcath, rChemselves antjcjllatt~ the doom of death; . Though free froln guilt, they cast their lives 3''''1,', A nd sad aud ~ulJcn hate the golden day. Oh! with "'hat joy the wl'etches now would bear Pain, toil and woe, to bl'~athe the ,~jtal air!

.:;: Pluto in Brut.

· ~.

, ,

r

OF PLINY. 59

LETTER XXIII.

TO PO:MPEIVS F . .\LCO.

YOU desire my opinioJl, lvhetller you call \\"ith (lecency act as an advocate during your tri­buneship?- B' . before I determine that question, I must kno,v ,vhat are your sentiments of that office; ,vhetJler you look upon it as a mere shadow of hon­our, and an empty title, or as a sacred and inviola­ble function, the exercise of \vhich as no po\ver can suspend, so neither ollght the person llilDself ,vho is invested ,vith it? \vhen I ,\?as myself in that post, (possibly I migllt be mistakcl1 ill sUppOSillg I l\"aS become of any importance, 110\'-CVer, upon tIle suppositioll tllat I really was) I entirely (luitted the bar. I thougllt it unbccomillg a Inagistrate, ,vho, upon all oc'casions, had a right of prececlenc}Y, and in \vhosc presence evcl1'P person is obligeu to rise, to be seen stulldillg, ,vhilc all about hilll ".-/ere seat­ed ; that lle, WI10 has "llthority to illlpose sileIlce 011 any man, should hinlself be directed \VIlel) to cease speaking; that lle, \\"110m it is l1cld impious to ill­

tCl'l'Upt,t sllould be exposed to ~lle scurrilous lib .. erties of bar orators; ,y hich, to cllastise, would be thought a sort of insolence of office, ancl }ret it "PQuid be \rCakllcss to overlook. I considered, f,,,r-

;{I Sec Dook 9. lei. 13 note.

t A!\ their ch,lractcrs ,\'cre held sacred, it ,,·as csteeillcd the high .. e~t Rct of ilnpicty t.o oft-c.' thena any injury, or so IHue·h as to intcl·" rnpt them "'hen they ,rCl·C IPC~\k.iJ~gf

60 THE LETTERS BOOK I

ther, the great difficulty I should be under, if eithel­my client or his adversary should happen to appeal to 1Ile as tribune, whether to illterpose my authori. ty, or, by a k.ind of resignation of Dly office, to act solely in my private capacity. For these reasons, I ratller chose to officiate as tlte public Dlagistrate, than tIle private advocate. But, \vith respect to }70U,

(I relleat it again) the ,vhole depends upon w)lat your sentitnents are of the office in question, and 1Inder \v hat character Y'ou would choose to appear; remembering always, that a wise man ,viii take llpon himself such only as he is capa!Jle of sustaining ,vith dignity.

LETTER XXIV.

TO BEBIUS.

MY f:"icnJ and guest, Tra1_quillllS, Ilas an in­clination to purchase a small farnl, of ,,"hich, as I anl informed, all acquaintance of yours iljtends to dispose~ I beg you ,voliid endea,·o111' he nlay ob­tain it uI)on re,:soIlable terms; lvllich ,viII add to liis satisfactioll in tIle purcllase. A dear bargain is aJ\vays disagl~ceal)le, particularl\~, as.. it is are­fle~tioll upon the buyer's judgtnent. "fllcre arc sc­\?crul cil~cumstances attellding this little villa, \Vllicb (supposing 1llY frieIl(l has no objection to the price) are extl'elncly suitul})e to Ili:~ taste anc) desires: the convenient distal1CC frolll ROllle, tllC gOOdJ1CSS of t.!'c

ro~\rls, the sln,illness of the buildillg, UJld the Vt l'y few c.\crt·s of land ul'ound it, which are just cnollg-h to ,\1nllSC, bllt llot to C111i)loy llim. '1'0 a Dl .. ,n of

. BOOK I. f)f' PLINY. 61

the literary turD that Tranquillus is, it is sufficient if he have but a. small spot to relieve the mind and divel't the eye, lvhere he may saunter round his grounds,traverse his single \valk, grow fanliliar \vith his two or three vines, and count his little planta­tions. I mention these partiC\llars, to let you see how much he will be obliged to me, as I shall be to you, if you can help him to this convenient little hor, at a price which he shall have no occasion to repent. Farewell .

•

THE

LETTERS

(1

PLINY' THE CONSUL.

'VITH OCCASION.~L RE)IARKS.

-BY 1VILLLIJ.M MELMOTH, ESQ .

•

VOL. I.

-+-BOSTON:

PUBLISH£D BY E. LAR.KIN. No. 47, COR.NHILI .•

••••••••••••

Greenough & Stebbins, Printe1's.

1809.

THE PREFACE.

-_.a

PLINY may be considered in these Letters as writing his own memoirs; every epistle is a kind of historical sketch, \vhere­in ,ve have a vie,v of him in some striking attitude, either of active or contemplative life. And if that were his real design in their publication, he coull not, it should

seem, have taken a more agreeable, or, perhaps, a more modest method of trans­mitting himself to posterity. To enter, therefore, into a detail concerning him, \vol.dd be only anticipating the author himself, and amusing the reader ,vith a copy, ,vhile the original stands before him. Nothing seems requ isite to be £1rther added to the piece, than just to mark the date. PLINY ,vas born in the reign of NERO,

4 THE PREF .. 4.CE.

about the eight hundred and fifteenth year

of Rome, and th~ sixty -second of the Chris­tian era. As to the time of his death, an­tiquity has given us no information; but it is conjectured, he died either a little before, or soon after, the decease of that excellent prince, the admirable TRAJ AN ;

that is, about the year of Christ one hun­

dred and sixteen. -

The elegance of this author's manner

adds force to the most interesting" at the same time that it enlivens; the most common

subjects. But the polite and spirited tum of these letters is by no means their princi­pal recommendation; they receive a much higher value, as they exhibit on.e of the most

amiable and exemplary characters in all antiquity. PLINY'S whole life seems to have been employed in the exercise of

every generous and social virtue. ''fo for­ward modest merit, to e.ncoura:;e ingenious

\' · ,. d ~aJents, to Vlllalcatc oppresse Innocence, ate some of the glorious purposes to lvhich

he devoted his power, his fortune, and his

THE PREF ACE.

abilities. But how does he rise in our es­

teem and admiration, when we see him ex­

erting (with a grace that discovers his

humanity as well as his politene~s) the

noblest a~ts both of public and private

nll",nifif.!ence, not so mllch from the abun­

dance of his wealth, as the lvisdom of his

economy? \Vhat a celebrated ancient has obsenred

concemirlg the style of the famous Grecian painter TIMANTHES, is applicaJ?le to that of }11. IN Y: "Intelligitur plus semper quam pingitur;" his meaning is generally much fuller than his expression. This, as it heightens the difficulty of his interpreter's

task, so it necessarily g:ves great scope

to an objector. But in drawing after these

t~xcellent masters of antIquity, the most

successful are only, perhaps, the most cx­

(~tlsable; as those ,\tllO have the truest taste of their works, will least ~xpect tu see the strength and spirit of them fully preserved

in a copy. This, however, is not nlCD­

tioned as claiming indulgence to any errors A 2

6 THE PREF .~CE.

in the present attempt; on the contrary,

they are willingly resigned to just correc­tion. A true critic is a kind of censor in the republic of letters; and q,one who wish well

to its interests, would desire to suppress or restrain his office. The translator, at least, has received too much advantage in the ~ourse pf this performance, from the ani­madversions of some of the best judges in both languages, not to value that enlighten­ing art, wherever it may be el:ercised ,vith the same accurate and candid spirit.

.. ~

I " ,

-~ ~-------------------------------------

THE LETTERS ()F PLINY.

BOOK FIRS'f.

LETTER I.

TO SEPTITIUS.

YOU have frequently pressed me to nlake a select collection of my Lette14s, (if, in truth, there be any which deserve a preference) and gi,"e them to the public. I have selected them accordingly; not, indeed, in their proper order of time, for I \vas not compiling a history; lJut just as they presented themselves to my hands. And no,v I 11ave only to wish that you may have no reason to repent of your advice, nor I of my t:·om .. pliance: in that case, I may probably inq'uire after the rest, '\vhich at present lie neglected, and pre­serve tllose I shall hereafter write. Farewel!.

LETTER II.

TO ARIANUSII

I FORESEE your journ'~y hither is likely lO be delayed, and, therefore, send you the sl'eecll

8 THE LETTERS BOOK I~

which I promised in my former; requesting you, as usual, to revise and correct it. I desire this, the lnore earnestly, as I never, I think, in any. of. my former speeches-, attempted the same style of composition; for I have endeavoured to imitate your old favourite Demosthellcs, and Calvus, ,vho is lately become mine. When I say this, I mean only with.respect to their manner; for, to catch tlleir'sublime sjli1it, is given, alone, to the inspired few. My _ subject, indeed, seemed naturally to lead me to this (may I venture" to call it ?) emu­lation; as it ,vas, in ger1eral, of such a nature as demanded all the thunder (Jf eloquence, even to a degree sufficient to have awakened (if it be pos­sible) that int:lolence, in which I havelong reposed. I have not, however, neglected the softer graces of my admired Tully, wherever I could, with pro-

, priety, step out of my direct road, to enjoy a more flowery path: for, it ,vas warmth, not austerity, at which I aimed. I would not have you imagine, by this, tha~ I am bespeaking your indulgence : un the contrary, to illduce you to eXf;:rcise the utmost severity of your criticisln~ I will confess, thf')~t neither my friends nor myself are averse from the publication of this piece, if you should join \vith us in giving the same partial vote. rrhc truth is, as I nlU~~ publish something, I wish (and it is the wish, I confess, of indolence) it might be this performance rather than any other, merely because it is already finished. At all cvel1ts, however, something I must publish, and for tnany reasons; chiefly, because the tracts whicll I have

OF PLI~rY. 9

already sent into the worI(I, thongl. they llave long since lost all tlleir recommendation from novelty, are still, I am told, in request; if, irldeed, the booksellers (10 not flatter me~ l\rld let them; since, by that innocent deceit, I aln encouraged to pursue 1"'.1y st\ldiesc Farewell:;

LETTER III.

TO C,A\NINUS RUFUS.

HO\V stp.nds Comum,· that favourite scene of yours and mine? What becomes of the pleasaIlt villa, the vernal portico, the shady plane­tree-waik, thf ,rystal canal, so agreeably winding alonr, its flowery banks, together ,vith the charm­ing la,ket below, ",hien serves, at once, the purposes of use and beauty ? What have you to tell 111e of tIle firm yet soft gestatio,f th~ sunny bath, the public saloon, the private dining-room, and all the elega!'t apal'tments for repose".both at noon § and night ? Do these possess my fCiend, and divide his time with pleasillg vicissitude ? Or

• The city wl1ere Pliny was born: it still subsists, and is now called C01:;O, situated upon the lake Larius~ or IIf!g~ di Como, in the duchy of Milan.

t The lake Larius, upon the banks of which this villa was situated. _ * A piece of ground set apart for the purpose of exercising, either on horseback, or in their vehicles; it was g'~neral1y con­tiguous to their gardens, and laid out in the form of a cirellS.

§ It 'vas customary among the Romans to slcep in the middle of the day; and they had apartments for that purpose distinct €tom their bedcham bel's.

10 THE LETTERS l~OOK 1.

do the affairs of the \vorld, as usual, call him frequently from this ag~eeable retreat? If the scene of your enjoy·ments lies \vholly th~re, you are happy: if not, }·ou are la;}der the common error of mankind. But leave, my friend, (for . certainly it is time) the sordid pursuits of life to others, and devote }·ourself, in this calm and undisturbed recess, entirely to pleasures of tile studious kind. Let these employ your idle as lvell as serious ho·urs; let them be, at once, your busint;~s and your amusement; the subjects of }Tour waking and even sleepirlg thoughts: pro­duce something that shall be rea!1~7 and for ever your own.. All YOllr other pos5cssions will pass from one master to another: thi8 alone, \vhen once yours, \vilI remain yours for ever. As I well know the temper and genius of him to whom I arn addressing myself, I must exhort you to think of your ~_bilities as they desel've; do ju.stice to those excelle'nt talents you possess, and the ,vorld-, believe me, will certainly do so too. Fare .. 'veIl.

LETTER IV.

TO POMPEIA CELERINA.

YOU might perceive, by my last short let· ter, I had no occasion for y()~rs, to inform me of the various conveniencits you enjoy at your sev­eral villas. The elegant accommodations \vhich are to be found at rJarnia,* Ocriclllum,t Carso-

• Now called Narni, a city in Ombr;&, in the ducby of Spo-Icto. t OtricoJi, in the same duchy.

BOOK I. OF PLI~ f. 1 I

Ia,t Pernsia,§ particularly the pretty bath at N arnia, I am extremely well acquainted lvith. The fact is, I have a property in every thing which belongs to you; and I know of no other difference between your house and my own, than that I am more care­fully attend~d in the forn,er than the latter. You may, perhaps, have occasion to make the same observation in your turn, ,vhenever you shall give me your company here; and I wish for it, not only that you may partake of 11line \vith the same ease and freedom that I do of yours, but to awaken the industry of my domestics, ,vho are grown some­what careless in their attendance upon me. A long course of mild treatment is apt to wear out the impressions of a,ve in servants; whereas, ne,v faces quicken tlleir diligence, and they are gene­rally more inclined to plea::;e tlleir 111aster by atten­tions to his guest, than to t~inlsc!f. Fare\vell.

LETTER V.

TO VOCONIUS R()?tIANlTS.

DID you ever sec a m~re al~jf~c4". and r}lcan..r spirited creature than Regulus has 31)p{'~lred sir..~e the death of Domitian ; during whose reign his conduct ,vas no less infamous, thollgll more con­cealed, than under Nero's? He has l.ately express­ed some apprehensions of my resentmellt: and, jl1deed, he has reason; for I look upon him with the utmost indignatioll. He not only promoted tile prosecution against R~sticus Artllenus, but

t. Carsola, in tile same duchy. § Perugia, ill Tuscany.

12 TIlE LETTERS BOOK ~.

exulted in his death; insomuch, that he actually recited and published a libel upon his mt!mory, wherein he styles him, t"~ stoic'lI IJft~: adding, that " he was atigmllted- by the wllllnd he receiv­" ed in the cause of Vitellius :" such is the strain of lus eloquence! He fell so furiously upon the

• The impropriety of this expressioD, in the original, seems to lie in the word 8tigmolum, which Regulus, probably, either cIJined through affectation, or used through ignoranee. It is a word, at least, which does not ceeur in any author of .11thor­ity: The translator has endeavoured, therefore, to pn5ert'e the same sort of impropriety, lJy using an e:cpreAicm cf the Ilk--;, ~tnwarranted stamp.

It ~:. observable how careful the Romans V'ere of presej~g the purity of t.heir language. It seem£ even to have lx-en a point which they thought wOrtby the attention of the state it­self; for, we find the CumeaDI not daring to make use of ~e Latin Iaogtblce in their public acts, without having first obtain­ed leave in form:- And Tiberiu&, himself, would Dot ha2ard the word monopolium, in the senate, without makin, an aen...c:e for employing a foreign term.t Seneca gives it as a eert~iQ maxim, that whereycr a general &Ise taste in style and expr::s­sion ill'cvaiis, it is an infallible sign of a corruption of mann( rs in that people: a liberty of introducing oblOlet~ words, lr

forming new ones, is a mark, be tllinks~ of an equal lice!' tiou 5-

ness of the moral kind.* Accordingly, it is o"senel,!J thelC is scarce more than eight or ten iostanecs of new worJa ea 1

be producer. from the most approved Roman writers, in tlle!

course of tw~ or three centuries. It is possible, however, L

delicacy of this sort may be carri~d too far; and, in fact, ""C

find 8om~ I)f their belt writers complaining of the pO\~erty of their language ;§ notwithstanding, Tully bas ,"el£turcd to assert it was more copious than the Greek.··

.. Liv. 1. 40. c.42. t Suet. in Tib. c. 71. * Ep. 114. II Sanael. BUJ' Ho~. § Luc,'. t. 33~. Quintil. 8. S. Plin. Ep. 13, 1. 4. ~ * D . P' I 1 I .. ' Of' e In.. • 8Uv In.Z ...

BOOK 1. OF PLIKY.

character of Herennius Senecio, who was capi~uly convicted upon the information of ~Ietius Carus1

that the latter said to him, one day, Pray, what

hU8ine88 have you'Dlith my dead meT!? Did I ever

i.'lterf~re in th~ affair of Cra3&U8, or Camerillu8 ? These, you know, were ,-ictims to Regulus, in ~ero's time. For these reasons, he imagines I am highly exasperated; and, therefore, when he recited his last piece, did not give me an invita­tion. Besides, he has not forgotten, it seems, the dangerous snare he once laid for me, when he and I were pleading before the centumTiri.· Rusticus had desired me to be counsel for ArioniIla, Ti­mon's wife: Regulus was engaged against her. III the course of my defence, I strongly insisted lll)on a decree which had b~en formerly made by :ile ,,-orthy Modestus, at that time banished by Domitian. No\v behold Regulus in his true col .. ours: " Pra}-," says he, ~ what are YOllr sentiments ., of l\lodestus ?" You will e~;-;ily judge howex­tremely hazardous it would have It?-en to ha,-e an­s,,'cred ir.;. his favour, and how infamou: if the re­,~ersc. But some guardian power, I am pcrsuad-

tt A scieet body of men who fOl-med a eourt of judicature, called the centum~iral court. Their jurisdiction extended chieny, if Dot entirely, to 'luestions concerniog ,,-iUs and intes­tatc estates; for, though Tully, in Lis first book de O,tore, enumerates otder pointl whieh came in question before them, ) et 1);1 iscus· is of opinion (and \l'ith gr(::.~ probability) that, in latter times, their business was singly confined to the cases first mentioned. Their numbel", as appeaN by our author, amounted to 180.

• Le .. t ... in 'If;·!;. ~

14 THE LETTER~ BOOK I.

eel, assisted l11e iTi this emergenc? "I would tell ~, }rOl! my sentiments," I stIid, " if that were a mat­., ter for the consideration of tlle centumviri.,J ~,(iii ile repeated his question. I replied, "It ;, was not customary to examine witnesses to the " character of a man, after sentence had passed ~, upon him." He pressed me a tllird time: " I " do not inlJuir~,';' said he, " 'What you think of Mo­" delltufs in general; I only aBk your opinion of hia

" loyalty."--" Since you will have my sentiments, ,~ then," I returned, " I thi11k it illegal e-/}en to a8k

" a qi.{e8tion concerning a jlerson wlzo stand8 con­" 'Victed." This silenced him; and I ,vas univer .. sally applauded and congratulated, tt!at, without wounding my character by an advantageous, per­haps, though ungenerous anSlver, I llad not entan­gled myself in so insidious a snare. Regulus, conscious of this llDworthy treatment, llas solicited Crecilius Celer, and Fabius Justus, to use their interest to bring about a reconciliation between us. And, lest this should nQt be sufficient, he has applied also to Spurinna for the same purpose; to 'V:I0(n he came in the humblest Inanner, (for he is the :!lust abject creature living, ,vhere he has any thing to fear) and entreated Ilim to c~11 UpOll me very early the next morning, and endeavow·, by any means, to soften my resentment; "for," says he, " I can no longer support myself under tllis " anxiety of mind." Accordingly, I ,vas awak-ened, the follo,ving day, with a message from Spu­rinna, il1forming me that he \vould wait upon me. I ~ent ,vord back, I \vould call upon Ilim j 110\\·"

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 15

e~ri both of us mutually setting out to pay this visit, we met under Livia's portico. He acquaint­ed me with the commission he had received froln Regulus, and interceded for him, as became so worthy a man in behalf of one of a very different character, without greatly pressing the thing. I ought not, I said, to conceal from him the true state of the case, and after I should have informed him, I would leave it to himself to consider what answer was proper for me to return. "But, I cannot positivel;-," I added, " determine any thing till Mauricus* (il1ho 'lDaB then in exile). shall re .. turn, by whose sentiments I think myself obliged ·to be entitely guided in this affair." ~~ few da}~s after, Re<;ulus met me as I was attending \~pon the prretor, and calling me aside, said, he was afraid I deeply resented an expression he had once. made use of, in his reply to me and Satrius Rufus, before the centumviri, to this purpose: Rufu8 and

. that other, 'Who alfecta to rival Tully, and to despi8e tile eloquence of our agt. I answered, that no\v, indeed, I perceived he spoke it with a sneer, since he owned he meant it so; otherwise it might have passed for a compliment. I was free to own, I said, that I endeavoured to imitate Cicero, and ,vas, by no means, contented with taking my ex­ample from modern eloquence; for I looked I1pon it as a very absurd thing not to copy the best models of every kind. But," how happens it," continued I, " that. you, who remp.mber so ,veIl

':$ Brothel' to RustiCl1S Arulenus, who had been put to death ~~rJun the information of this Regulus.

16 TilE LETTP'RS BOOK I.

\vhat p~~ed upon tJlis \)~casion, should have for­gotten that other, when you pusbed me so strongly concerning the !oyalty of Modestus ?" Confounde(} by this unexpected question, pallid as he always is, he turned still paler. After a good deal of hesitation, he said, it was not at me he aimed; it \vas only at Modestus. 01)serve no,v, I besec£ll Y(;U, the imp!a~blc spirit of this fellow, who was !~{)t ashamed thus to confess himself capable of ir}sulting the unfortunate. But the reason he gave, in justification of this infamous proceeding, is pleasant. "He W'rot~," said he, " in a certain letter, which \vas read to Domitian, that I was the most execrable of all scoundrels :" and the char­"lcter l\fodestus gave of him was the truth, beyond all manner of controversy. Here, I ~link, I broke ofT tIle conversation, being desirous to reserve to lnyself the liberty of acting as I should see proper, \Vilen Mauricu~ returns. It is no easy matter, I well know, to d.estroy Regulus; he is rich, and at the head of a party; there are many with whom l\e bas credit,· and more that are afraid of him: a passion that will sometimes prevail even beyond

• There seems to b3,",c been a cast of uneommon blackness jn the character of this Jtegulus; otl1crwise the benevolen.t l'liny would scarce have singled him out, as he bas in this and sonlC following letters, for the object of his warmest contempt :&ud io(lignation. Yet, infamous as hc appears to have been, IIC ,,-as not, it seeDlS, ,,·itltout his flatterers and admirers; an,l :t contemporary poet frequentJ, reln·csents him as One of the lilost fiDishcd char-deter..; of the :age, both in eloquence and vir­J. ne; particularly ill the fono,,- iug epigram, occasioned by hie; '''~'-';'l'~ fron) an imnlinellt danger.

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 17

friendship itself. But, after all, ties of this sort are not so strong, but they may be loosened; and the popularity of a bad man is nolaore to be de-

Itur ad HercuJej gelidas qlla Tiburia arees, Canaque Bulphureis .I1lhula /umat aquis ;

Rura nemluque sacrum, dilectaqtle jugera .lJl'U8i.~, Signa' 'Vicina quart1.l8 ab urbe lapis:

Bie rums £Iti'Va8 prlZ8taba..,~ PorticUB umbra8 : net/, quam petie 1uroum Porhem aut:a lle/aa !

,,'\am subieQ eoUaps" ruit, cum mole 8tlb ilia Ge8tatua bijflgi8 RegulU8 easet equi8.

tiVi,mrum ti11lmt MItra. FfJrtuna querelae, Que par tam magn« I'm erat in:vidi4e.

&'·unc et damna ju'Vant; 81mt ipsa pericula tanti: Stantia non poterant tecta probare Deos.

MAR T. Lib. 1. Ep. 13.

'Vhere leads the way to Tybur's shady towers, And snow-white Albula sulphureous pours, ... -\. villa stands, from Rome a little space ; .... ~nd every muse delights to haunt the plact:. Here once a Artie lent her cooling shade; Alas! how near to impious guilt betrayed ! Sudden it fell; what time the steeds convey Safe from her nodding walls great Regulus 3,va.r. To erosh that head, not even Fortune dared, And the world's general indignation fe:u·~d. Blest be the ruin, be the danger blest! The .tanding pile had ne'er the go(ls confcst.

But poets, especially needy ones, sueb as "TC lrnow l\Iartiul was, arc not generally the most fa:thful painters in this ,,-ay ; and of the t,,·o copies of Regulus now before \l!\, there t.an be no doubt ",hieh mnst resembled the original. If antiquity had delivered down to us more of these dra,,'ings of the same per .. sons by different bands, the troth of characters might be easier ascertained, and many of those, which we now view witll hiS,1t admiration, would greatly sink, perhaps, in our esteerr,; :IS "'(~

must ha'·e conceived a very favourable idea of ReS'\11u~, if \\'C

n 2

IS THE LETTERS nOOK I.-

pended UpOll tllan he is himself. Ho,vever (to repeat it again) I shall do nothing in this a~3jr till Mauricu9turns. He is a man of sound judgment and great sagacity, formed upon long experience, and who, from his observations on the past, well knows how to judge of the future. I shall consult with him, and think myself justi­fied either in pursuing or dropping this affair, as h~ shall advise. In the meanwhile, I thought ' lowed this account to that friendship which sub­sists between us, and gives you don undoubted right to be informed, not only of all my actions, hllt all my designs. F~.re,yell.

LETTER. VIr

'fO CORXELIUS l ... ACITUS.

CERT.l\INLY you ,viiI laugh (and laugh YOll ll1ay) wilen I tell you, that YOllr old acqllaint­~lllCC is tllrned sportsman, and has captured three lloble boars. \Vhat! (you ,vill say with astonish~ lllcnt) p,liny!-ElJen he. However, I indulged, ~lt the same time, my beloved inactiyity; and, ~rhilst I sat at m}9 nets, you \vould have found me, 110t ,vith my spear, but my pencil and tablet by lny side. I mused and ,vrote, being resolved, if I returned ,vith my hands empty, at least to come

had never seen his pictul'e but from ~Iartial's pencil. E\"cn liol'ace bimself, we find giving a very different air to his Lol .. llu~;· from that in vibich he is represented by Patcrculus. t

.. [Jib . .i .. Oel. 9, t I.ib. ~, 1 (\2.

BOOK I. l£.

home \l"ith my memorandums full. Bclie,"e mc .. this manner of studying is not to be despised : you cannot conceive how greatly exercise con­tributes to enliven the imagination. There is, besides, something in the solemnity of the venera­ble woods ,,,ith ,vhich one is surrounded, together \vith that profound silence· which is opserved on these occasioDR, that strongly inclines the mind to meditation. For the future, therefore, let me ad­vise you, wllenever you hunt, to take alollg with you your pencil and tablets, as ,veIl as your basket and bottle: for be assured you will find Minerva as fond of traversing the hills as Diana. Fare­,veIl.

it By thE: circumstance of Biience, here mentioned, as well as by the whole air of tbis ~~!# "'r, it is plain the hunting here recommended was of a Tery different kind from what is prac­tised amongst us. It is probable the wild boars were allured into their nets by some kind of prey, with which they wer~ baited, ,vbilc the sportsman watched at a di8ta~~e; in silence and concealment. Something, at least, of this manner is here plainly implied, and is necessary to be hinted to the English 1'eader, in order to his conceiving the propriety of Pliny's sen­tinlent, ,\\,hich otherwise must seem absurd. This, perhaps, Vlas their usual method of hunting in summer; as driving L"esc animals into toils, by the assistance of hounds, is mentioned by I-Iorace as a winter exercise:

-Czun toOO1lti, anntt8 hibernu8 JO't'i8 1mbres 7I,ivesqtte comparat,

Trudit acre8 },inc et hi1,r fnulta cane .Apro8 ill, obstante. plaga8. Epop. H.

-When rain and snows appear, And ,vintl·Y Jove loud thunders o'er the YC8l'J '

"Tith hounds he drives into the toils, ·fbe foaming boar. :\Ir. FRA~ClS.

20 THE LETTERS BOOK I.

LETTER VII.

TO OCTATIt:S RCFCS.

SEE to what an exalted station YOlI have raised me ! You have even invested me with a so,·ereignty equal to that which Homer attributes to his mighty Jove:

From Haven's imperial, Jove beanl bis prayer, Part he admiu, and scatters part in air.-

'Tis thus, with a nod or a fro."" I may grant or reject your petition as I sec proper. To be seri­ous, as I am at liberty, I th:~k, to excuse myself to the Bztici,t especially at rc.qr request, from being their advocate against a single individual i so, on the other hand, to oppose a whole proTince, which I have long since attached to me by many good officess and spared no pai-ts to oblige, e~en at the hazard of my own interest, would be acting inconsistently with my bonour, and that uniformity of conduct whic}, I knClw yon admire. I shall steer, therefore, in thi& affair, a middle course,and, of the alternatives which you propose to me, choose that \\·hich ,viII satisfy your judgment, as well as your inclination. F or I do not look 11pon myself obliged to consider so much wh"t you at present desire, as what a man of your worthy character wil! al'l:Jaya approve. 1 hope to be at

• 11-,1 - '-'-0 la'i. DL "er. _) . t The people of B:ttiea, a part of SpaiD fompreheni!ing .\0-

dalusia and Grana('a.

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 21

Rome about the 15th of Oct~ber, when we will join our united credit with Gallus, in convincing him of the reasonableness of my offer. In the mem while, you may assure him ~f my good dis­position towards him :

_--"'L The sire of men and gods, ,,9ith gracious aspect mild, e()mplian~c nods.t

For why should I not continue to qu~f:e Homer's l!'erses, since you will not put it in my l':.'wer to quote any of yours ? which yet I so passionately wish for, that I question whether I could withstand

~ such a bribe, even to plead against myoId clients, the good people of Bztica. I had almost forgot­ten to mention (wh.at, however, is of too much im­portance to be omitted) that I have received the ext:ellent dates you sent me. They are likely to pro,·e very powerful rivals to my favourite figs and morells. Farewell.

LETTER VIII.

TO POMPEIUS SA TURNINUS.

NOTIIING could be more seasonable than the letter I received frotri you, wherein you de­sire me to communicate to you some of my com­positions: I was at that very time designing to send you one. Your request, therefore, has for­warded my intentions, and freed Dle from every thing that I had to appre!lcIld either fronl ,'our

t IHad. t. , .. ~lS

ot') _M THE LETTEllS BOOK I.

refusal of this trouble, or my scruples to giye it you. Without hesitation, then, I make use of Jocr offer, as you must now take the consequence of it without reluctance. But you mnst not ex­pect from a man of my indolence any thing new. On the contrary·, I am going to e~treat you to revise again the speech I made to my countrymen, \v hen I dedicated the public library which I founded fJr the~ use. You have a) ready, I re­member, obliged me with some remarks upon this piece; I now beg of YOll, Lot only to take a general yiew of the whole, but distinctly to criti­£ise it, with your usw accuracy, in all its parts. When IOU have corrected it, I shall., still be at liberty either to publish (\r suppress it: and the delay, in the mean time, will be attended with ona 6f these alternatiYes; for, while we are deliberat­ing whether it is fit for the public view; a fre­quent revisal will either make it so, or convince me that it is not. Though, indeed, the principal difficulty with me cODcerning the publicatiol1 of this haranglle, does not arise so much from the composition itself, as from the subject, which has something in it, I fear, that will look like ostenta­tion. For, be the style evt!~ GO Vbin and unorna"' mented, yet, as the occasion necessarily led me to speak riot only of the rauniticence of my ancest\lrl, but of my own; my modesty will be greatly em· barrassed.. ..~ dangerous and slippery situation this, even when one is led into it, by a plea of ne­cessity! For, if mankind are not very fa,'S)urabl~

to pallcgyric, cycn ,vhcn g-iven us by ot]lers; ho,v

I ~ . '.

r I -

~ ,

, • ~

, BOOK I. OF PLI~T.

much more difficult is it tr, reconcile them to it, ~hen it is a tribute which we pay to ourselves or to our ancestors? Honourable actions, though st7ipr;ed of all external advantages, are generally the object of envy, but particularly so, when glory is her attendant; and the wOFld is neT"cr so little disposed to detract from the rectitude of your con­duct, as when it passes unobsen"ed and unapplaud­ed. For these reasons, I freq·lently ask myself, whether I composed this harangue, such as it is, merely from a personal consideration, or with a \iew also to the pilblic ; and I am sensible, that what may be exceedingly expedient and proper in the prosecution oi any affair, may lose an its grace and fitness the moment the business is completed: for instance, in the case before us, n9thing could be more to my purpose than to ex­plain at large the motives of my in!ended OOUDty; for, by this means, I accustomed my mind (0 gen­erous sentiments; grew more enamoured (.\f the lovely forms by frequent attention to them; and guarded, at the same time, against that repent­ance, which usually attends a hasty execution of liberalities not well considered. There arose, also, a farther advantage from this method, as it fixect.in me a certain habitual contempt of money. For, while mankind seem to be universaUy gov· emed by an innate passion to accumulate wealth; the cultivation oi a more generous affection in my o\vn breast, taught me to emancipate myself fronl the slavery of so predominant a principle : And I thought my llonest intentiolls would be the

~'HE LETTERS BOOK 1.

more meritorious, as tIley should appear to pro­ceed, not from a sudden start of munificence, but from the dictates of cool and deliberate reflection. I considered, besides, the natllre of my designs ; I was not engaging myself to exhibit public games or gladiatorial combats, but to estabJish an annual fund for the support and education of ingenious youths. The pleasures of the ::.enses are so far from wanting the oratorial arts to recommend them, that we stand in need of all the powers of el&quence, to moderate an,l restrain their influ­ence. But to prevail \vith tl~ose who are capable of the office, to undertake witll cllcerfulncss the disagreeable business- of education; it is necessa­r)Y to apply, in tIle most artf1.111nanner, not only to their interest, but their passions. If pllysicians find it expedient to lIse the IDfJst insilluating ad­dress in recommending to their paticllts a ,vllolc­some, tllOUgll, pel'haps, llnple~sant regimen; rao,v Inuch more occas.ion had he to exert all the PO\\"'­ers of persuasion, ,vho, out of regard to the pllblic \velfare, ,vas endeavourillg to reconcile it to a nlO~t. useful, though not very popular benefaction? par­ticularly, as lny aim ,vas to reconlmend all illsti­tlltioll, calculated solely for tIle benefit of tllose who were parents, to men, who, at preseni had 110 childrell; and to persuade tIle greater number patielltly to ,vait till tlley sllould be elltitled t. &11

honour, of whicll a fi'w ollly cO\lld ilnmc(liately partake. But as at tllat till1e, when 1. attcDlpted to explaill and ellforcc tile design alld bCllCfit of Iny institutiol1, I COllsidcred more tile gC!lcral

BOOK I. OF PLINY. -;)

good of my countrymen, than any reputation \vhich nlight result to myself; so I am apprehensive, if I should publish this piece, it will seem as if I had a view rather to my own glory', than to the benefit of others. I aln very sensible how much nobler it is to place the reward of virtue in the silent a~­l~robation of onc's own breast, than in the applause of the world. Fame ought to be the consequence, not ~J~e motive of our actiolls; and though it should happen not to attelld the worthy deed, yet is it by no nle~ns tIle less meritorious for having missed the applause it· deserved. But tIle world is apt to suspect, tllat those, who celebrate their own be­neficent acts:, performed them for no other motive than to ha,<re the pleasure of extolling thel11.

Thus, the spleIldour of an action, ,vhich \vould have beell deemed illustrious if related by another, is totally cxtinguislled when it becomes the sub­ject of one's o,vn applause. Such is the disposi­tion of mankind, if the)· cannot blast the action, tIley' will censure the \?anity ; and \vhether }TOU do lvllat does not deserve particular notice, or set forth yourself what does, eitlter way you incur re­proach. In my O\VD case~ there is a peculiar cir­cumstance that weig)ls much '\vith me. Tl1is speech was delivered not before a general asse~­hly of the people of Rome, but the Decurii ;* not in tIle forllm, but a municipal assembly; I doubt, tllerefore, it ,viII appear inconsistent that I, ,"-ho, 'VIle!l I &poke it, seemed to endeavour to avoid

tic The Dccnrii welte a SOl't of senators in the municipal 01' corp019ate cities of Italy.

c

26 THE LETTERS BOOK I.

popular applause, should now, by publishing this performance, appear to court it: that I, who was so scrupulGus as tlot to admit even those persons to be present \Then I pronounced this discourse, \vho were intele~ted in my benefaction, Jest it might be suspec~.ed I was actuated in this affair by any ambitious \ ie,vs; should now seem to so­licit admiration, by f~r\\-l.rdly displaying it to such as have no other cone-ern in DIy munificence, than

_ the benefit of example. These are the scruples lvhich have occasioned my delaying to give this piece to the public; but I submit them entirely to your judgment, which I shall ever esteem as a c;ufficient sanction cf my conduct. Farewell.

LETTER IX.

TO )IINUTIUS FCSDAX1:S.

\VHEN one considers bo,v the tilDe passes at Rome, one cannot but be· surprised, tIl at, take any single da}·, and it eitbf.l is, or at least seems to be, spent reasonably enoutI1J ; and yet, upon casting up the whole .sum, the amount will appear quite otherwise. Ask anyone, hOlY he has been em­ployed to-day? He will tell }~OU, perhaps, " I have '~ be-cn at the ~eremony of investing the manly " robe ;iI thia friend invitt!d me to a ,,·edding; that

- The Roman youths, at tIle Hge of se,·cl.tecn, changed tbeir laahit, and took up the taga ~,irili8, or Dlanly gown; upon wbicll occasion they ,,·ere conducted, by tile friends of tile family, ,,·ith great eercJllony, either into the forum or capitol, ·~nd there iu,9csted ,,·itl1 tbis new robe.

.,-~

i

i I t l I I

BOOK J. OF PLl~Y.

"desil~ed me to attend the hearing of his cause ; " cne begged me to be witness to his will; a710-

" th~r called me to a consultation." l1hese are offices, which seem~ while one is engaged in them, ~xtremely necessary; and yet, when, in the silence of retiremeut, we look back upon the many hours thus emplo};l~d, we cannot but condemn them a~ 50icmn impertinences. At SllCh a season one is apt to reflect, Do'lD much of,.y life has 6een 8ftent in trijl~8! _~t least, it is a reflection \vbieIl fre­quently occurs to me at Laurentum, after I have been employing myself in my studIes, or even in the necessary care of the animcll machine (for the body must be repaired L~d supported, if we would preserve the mind in all its vigour.) In t~at peaceful retreat, 1 neither hear nor speak an}­thing of wllich I have occasion to repent. I suf­fer none to repeat to me the whispers of slander; nor do I censure any man, unless myself, when I -am dissatisfied with my compositions. There I live undisturbed by rumour, and free frorii tIle anxious solicitudes of hope or fear, conversing only with myself and my bocks. True and genu­ine life! pleasing and honourable repose ! l',iore, perhaps, to be desired than employments of any kind! Thou solema sea and solitary shore, best and most retired sc~ne for contemplation, ,vith ho,v mallY noble thoughts have; ye inspired me! Snatc}, then, my friend, as I ha'te, the first occa·· sion of leaving the noisy to\vn, with all its frivo­lous pursuits, and (levote your days to study, or even resign thcln to indolence; for, as m}· ingc-

')8 ~ THE LETTERS BOOK I.

nious friend Attilius pleasantly said, " It is better " to have nothing to do, than to be doing nothing." ~'are'vell.

rro A TRIUS CLE)IE~S.

IF ever polite literature flourished rtt ROIne, it certainly flourishes now; and I could give you Inany eminent ins·ta,nces: I will content myself, llowever, with naming only Euphrates, the phi­losopher. I first became acquainted ,vith this ex­cellent person in my youth, ,vhen I served in the army of Syria. I had an opportunity of convers­illg \vith hinl familiarly, and took some pains to gain his affection: tllOUgh that, indeed, ,vas noth­ing difficult, for he is exceedingly open to access, and actuated by those social principles he pro­fesses to teach. I should think myself extremely happy if I had as fully al1swered the expectations he, Jot that time, conceived of me, as he exceeds every thing I had imagined of him. But, per­llaps, I admire his excellencies more now, than I did tllen-. beCa'llSe I kno,v better ho,v to appreci­ate them; if I can with truth say, I yet know. For, as none but those ,,,110 arc skilled ill painting, stattlar}~, or the plastic art, can forIn a right judg­lnel1t of any performance in those respective Inodes of representatioll, so a man must, himself, have Dladc great advances in philosophy, before he is capable of forlning a just opinioll of a phi­losopher. However, as fur as I am qualifie(l to

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 29

determine, Eup}lrates is possessed of so man}? shining talents, that he cannot fail to strike the most injudicious observer. He reasons with much force, acuteness, and elegance; and fre­quently rises into all the sublime and luxuriant eloquence of Plato. His style is rich and flowing, and, at the same time, so wonderfully captivating, that he forces the reluctant attention of the most un,vilIing hearer. His outward appearance is agreeable to all 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 11abit; his countenance is g;a\,e, but nut, austere; and his approach com­mands respect, without creating awe. Distin­guiA1led (l.S he is by -the sanctity of his manners, he is no less so by his polite and affable address. He points his eloquence against the vices, not the persons of mankind; and, ,vitllOUt severity, re­claims tIle wanderer from the patlls of virtue. I-lis exhortations so captivate your attention, that you hang, as it were, upon IllS lips; al1d even af­ter the heart is convinced, the ear still \\-ishcs to listell to the harrnO!1ious reasoner. His falnily' consists of three children, (two of ,vhich are sons) ,vllom lle educates ,vith the utmost care. Hits fatller-ill-law, Pompeills Juliallus, as he greatly uistinguished llilnself in every otller part of his life, so l)articularly in this, that, though lIe ,vas lliTnself of the higllest rallk in his province, yrt,

c· 2

rJIE LETTI:ItS ROOK :.

amnng Inany considerable competitors for his daughter, he preferred Euph!'3.tes, as first in mer­it, though not in dignity. But to dwell any longer upon the virtues of a man, whose conversaticn 1 am so unfortunate as not to have leisure suffi­Cie!lLY to enjoy; lvhat would it avail but to in­crease my regret? My time is wholly taken up in the execution of a very honourable, indeed, but very troublesome employment; iIi hearing causes, answering petitions, passing accounts, and writ­ing letters ;-but letters, alas ! where genius has no share. I sometimes comp)ai~ tr: Eu;>hrates (for I have leisure at l6ast to complain) of these llopleasing occupations. He endeavo,!~ 'tu !'om­fort me, by :}flirming, that to be engaged in L~e ser­'.~ice of the public, to hear and determine causes, to expiain the laws, and administer justice, is a part, and the nub!~st part too, of philosophy; as it is reducing to practice ~hat her professors teach in speCUlation. It may be so: but that it is as agreeahle as to spend ",·hole day's in attending to his useful convers~tion, even Ilia rhetoric will never be able to convince me. I cannot, there­fore, but strongly recommend it to you, lvho have leisure, the next til,l£' }~OU come to Rome, (and you ,viII come, I dare say, so much the sooner) to take the benefit of his ciegant and refined instruc­tions. I am not, you see, in the nunlbcr of those -:.rho en\')' others the happiness they cannot share +\lclnscivcs ; on the contrary, it 1S a very sensible plca;,nrc to me~ 'VhCli I find my friends in pos-

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ISOOK J. OF PLI.:oiY.

5CssioD of an enjoyment, from which I have the misfortune to be excluded. Farewell.

LETTER XI ..

TO F ABIVS JU5T'--S.

IT is long since I received a letter frum you. You will allege, perhaps, you have noth­ing to write ; but let me have the satisfaction, at least, of seeing it under your hand, that you have nothing to write, or tell me) in the good old ;tyle, If you ar~ flJeU, I am VJ~II. I shall be contented e\"'en with that; as, indeed, that single circum­stance from G friend includes every thing. You may possibly think I jest; but, believe me, I am perfectly in earnest. In !short, all I desire is, to know ho\\' it is with you ; fot I can no longer re­main in this ignorance without the utmost anxie­~y. Farewell.

TO C~,LESTBIUS TIRO.

I H.~ VE suffered a most sensible 1088 ; if that \vord is sufficiently strong to express the misfor­tune which h::.s deprived me of so excellent a man. Corellius RuftlS is dead! and dead, too, by his own act! a circumstance of great aggra'~ation to m) affiiction ; 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 la­nlelltcd. It affords some consolation in the loss

52 THE LET'fERS BOOK I·

of those friends ,vhom disease Sllatclles from us, that they fall by the general destiny of mankind; but tho3e, who destro}- tllemselves, leave us under the inconsolable reflection, that they had it in tlieir po\ver to have li,·ed longer. 'Tis true, Co­rell!us had many inducements to be fond of life; a blalneless conscience, high reputation) and great dignity of character, together with all the tender endearments of a wife, a daughter, a grandson, and sisters; and amidst these considerable pledges of happiness, he had many and faithful friends. Still, it must be owned, he had the highest reason (which, to a wise man, "iiI a!\vays have the force of the strongest obligation) to determine him in this resolution. He had long laboured under so tedious and painful a distemper, that even these blessings, great and valuable as they are, could Dot balance tIle evils he suffered. In his thirty­third year, (as I have frequently heard him say) he was seized with the gout in his feet. rrhis dis­temper he received from his fa!llCr; sin trans­mitted by inheritance. A life of abstinellce and virtue hacl somewhat broken the force of this dis­temper ,vhile he had strength and youth to strug.

~

gle \vith it ; as a manly courage supported him under the increasing weight of it in his old age. I remember, in the t:eign of Donlitian, to have made hiln a visit at his villa, near Rome, '\' here I found him under tIle utmost tortures; for the gout ,vas not Oilly in llis feet, but hacl spread itself over his ,vllolc bodv. As soon as I cl1tcrcd his

J

cllambcr, his serYants ,vithdrew; for it ,vas his

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constant rule, never to suffer them to be present lvhen any very intimate friend was .,ith him: !i.: even carried it so iar as to dismiss his wife upon such occasions, though worthy of the highest con· fidence. Casting his eyes round the room, "no -, you knO\V," says he, "why I endure life under " these cruel agonies ? It is with the hope that I "may outlive, at least for one day, that villain." ".4~d Oh! ye gods, had you given me sL-ength,

. " as you have given me resolution, I wowd iI:&JJi­

" bly have that pleasure !~~ Heaven heard his pray­er; and, having survived that tyrant, and lived to see liberty restored, he broke through those oth­er great, but now less forcible attachments to the world, since he could leave it in possession of se­curity and freedom. llls malady increased; and, as it now grew too violent to admit of any relief from temperance, he reSOltltely determiued to put an end to its unint:errupted attacks, by 3D effort of heroism. He had refused aii sustenance during four days, when his wife Hispulla sent our COBl­

mon friend Geminius to me, with the melancholy news, that he was resol ved to die ; and that she aDd Iler daughter having in yain joined in their most tender persuasions to divert him from his purpose, the only hnpe they had now left was my endeav­ours to reconcile him to life. I ran to his house with the utmost precipitation. As I approached it, I met a second messenger from Hispulla, who in­formed me there was nothing to be hoped for, even from me, as he oo,v scclnc(l n10rc inflexible than

• Domitian.

34 THE LETTERS BOOK I.

ever.in his resolution. \Vhat confirmed their fears was an expression he made use of to his physician, who pressed him to take some nourishment. "'Tis resolved," he replied; an expression which, as it raised my admiration of his greatness of soul, so it does my grief, for the loss of him. I am every mo­ment reflecting what a valuable friend, \vhat an ex­cellent man, I am deprived of. That he was ar­rived to his sixty-seventh year, which is an age e,·en the strongest seldom exceed, I '~"ell kno\v ; that he is delivered from a life of continual pain ; tl.lat he left his family anJ (what he loved even more) his country in a flourishing state: 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 o\vn my 'veakness?) up­on a private account. For I have lost, oh! my friend, I have lost the witness, the guide, and the governor of my life! 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 undel~ his eye, I shall not keep so strict a guard over my conduct. Speak comfort to me, not that he 'Was old, he 'Was

infirm: all this I know; but by s\lpplying me ,vith some reflections that are uncommOll and resistless, that neither the commerce of the world, nor the precepts of the philosophers, can teach me. For all that I have heard, and all that I have read, oc­cur to me of themsel\'es ; but all these are by far too weak to support me tInder so severe an affiic .. tiOfl. ~"'are'vel)'

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BOOK I. OF PLINY.

LETTER XIII.

TO SOCIUS SESECIO.

THIS year has proved extremely fertile in poetical prodl1ctionS: d.uring the whole month of April, scarce a day has passed wherein \ve have not been entertained ,vitI) the recital of some poem. It is a pleasure to me to find, notwith­standing there seems to be so little disposition in the pllblic to attend assemblies of this kind, that a taste for polite literature still exists, and men of genius are not discouraged from producing their performances. It is visible, the greater part cf the audience, which is collected upon these oc· casions, come with reluctance, loiter rotlnd the place of assembly, join in little parties oi conver­sation, and are perpetually sending to inquire ,vhether tIle author had made his entrance, ,vhether he has read the preface, or \vhether lle has almost fillished the piece. Then, \vith an air of the greatest indifference, they just look in, and \vithdra,v again; some by stealth, and others "!Tith less cerenlony. It was not tilUS ill the titne of our ancestors. It is reported, that Claudius C·re­sar, one day heariIlg a lloise near llis palace, in­(luired the occasion; ~nd being informed that N oJlianlls was recitillg a conlposition of his, ,vent immediately to the place, alld agreeably surprised the autllor witll his presence. But now, \vere one to bespeak the cOl11pany eVe)l of tile most idle mall living, and l'clnind hiln of tile alJpointnlent ever so

36 THE LETTYRS BOOK I.

often, or ever so long beforehand; either he would a~oid it under pretence of forgetfulness, or, if not, ,,""ocld look upon it as so much time lost; and for no other reason, perhaps, but because he had not

lost it. So much the rather do tIJoae allthors de­serve our encouragement ~d applause, who haTe resolution to persevere in their studies, and exhibit their per£ormances~ notwithstanding this fastidi­ousness, or indilFere;:l",e of their audience. For my part, ! £carce e,-er r~fuse to be present upon such occasions; though, to say truth, the authors have genera1lybeen my friends,as,indeed, there are few men of genius who are not. It is this has kept me in town longer than I int{~nded. I am now, how .. e\'er, at lib6rty to return into the country, and compose something myse-If; but without any in­tention of reciting it, lest I should seem to have rather lent than given laY attendance to those i'et:itations of my friends ; fer in these, as in all other good offices, the obligation ceases the mo­ment von seem to eXD'!ct a return. Fare\vell.

- £

LETTER XI'T.

TO Jt:NIt:S )(ACRICt:S.

\·OU desire me to look out a proper hus· band for )·our niece: it is with justice }"ou enjoin nle that office. You were a "'itness to the esteem and affection I bore that great man, her father, and \,·ith \vhat noble instructions Ile formed my )·outh, and taug-Ilt me to rleserve those praises he \\"as plca&ed to besto,\" upon me. You could not gi,-c,

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RIC, then, a more important, or more agreeable commission; nor could I be employed in an of­fice of higher hono1Jr, 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, if I were not acquainted with ~linutius EmiJianus, who seems lormed for our purpose. He loves me with all that lvarmth of ~fTection which is usual bctlveen young men of equal years, (as, indeed, I hal-e 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 ·JY my instructions, than I lvas by those of yourself md }-our brother. He is a native of Brixia,* one of those provinces in Italy which still retain muell of the frugal simplicity and purity of ancient man­ners. He is the son of l\1inutius l\facrinus, ,vhose humble desires were satisfied lvith standing at the llcad of the equestrian order:t for though he was nominated by Vespasian among tllose whom that prince dignified ,vitIl tlle prretorian office, yet, 'VitII an inflexible greatness of mind, he resolute­ly preferred an elegant repose, to the ambitious, a;hall I call them, or ]lonourable pursuits, in w hicll \ve in public life arc engaged? His grand-mother, on the mother's side, is Serrana Procula, of Padua : )'OU are no stranger to the character of its citizens, )·ct Serrana is looked upon, even alnong tllese people of correct manners, as an exemplary in-

.. ~\ ~o"·n in the territories of" cnicc, now called Brescia. t See page 47, note.

D

38 THE LETrCFRS BOOK 1.

stanc~ of strict virtue. Acillius, his uncle, is a lnan of singular gravity, lvisclom, and integrity. III short, you ,viII find nothing throughout his family un,vortIlY of YOllrs. l\tIinutius himself has great vi,~acity', as ,veIl as application, together ,vitIl a most amiable and beconling modesty. He lIas already, with much credit, passed througll the offices of qucestor, tribul1e, and pr~tor; so that you will be spared tIle trouble of solicitil}~ fori him those honollrable elnp]oymellts. He" has a genteel and fiori(l countenance, ,vith a certain no­ble mien that speaks tIle man of distinction: ad­vantages, I think, by no Ineans to be sligllted, and lvhich I consider as the proper tribute to virgil1 innocence. I am doubtful \vhetller I should add, that his father is very rich. When I contemplate the cllaracter of those who require a llusband of my choosing, I kno,v it is unnecessary to mention lvealtll ; but ,vhen I reflect upon the prevailillg manners of the age, an'} even tIle laws of Rome, which rank a man according to his possessions, it cel~tainly claims some regard; and, indeed, in es­tablishments of this nature, ,vhere children and many other circumstances are to be duly weighed, it is an article that well deserves to be takell into the account. You ,viII be inclined, perhaps, to suspect that affection has had too great a share in the character I have been drawing, and that I 11a,~c IleightellC(l it beyond tIle truth: but I will stake all my credit, that YOll ,viII filld every circum­stance far beyond ,vllat I have represente(1. I confess} il1deed., I love lVIinutius (as he ..1tlstly

·f r~1 ... 1 ...

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 39

(leserves) ,vith the ,varmth of a most ardent uf­fection ~ but for that very reason I WOllld not ascribe more to his merit than I kno,Y it will sup­l~ort. I~arewell . •

LETTER xv. TO SEIJTITIUS CLARl:S.

HO\V happened it, D1Y friend, tllat you (lid not keep your engagement tIle other night to sup ,vith me? But take notice, justice is to be had, and I expect }~ou shall fu)ly reimburse me the expense I \vas at to treat you; \vhich, let me tell you, was no small sum. I had prepared, you must kno\v, a lettuce a-piece, three snails,* t\VQ

eggs, al1d a barley cake, ,vith some s,veet ,vine and snow:t the sno,v most certainly I shall charge

• The English reader may probably be surprised to find this article in Pliny's philosophical bill of fare; it "'ill not be im­proper, therefore, to inform him, that a dish of snails was ,'cry common at a Roman table. 'fhe manner "Red to fatten th~m is related by some very grave authors of antiquity; and Pliny the elder mentions one Fulvius Hirpinus, who had studied that art ~'ith &0 nluoh suceess, that tile shells of SO!:ae of his snails would contain about ten quarts. [H. N. i. 9,56.] In some parts of Switzerland this food is still in high repute. See AD­D I SON'S T,"a'V. p. 364. t The Romans used snow not only to cool their liquors, but

their stomachs, after having inflamed themselves with high eating: Ni'Ven/' rodttnt, says Seneca, solatium stomachi «stu­antis.-[ Ep. 95. ] This custom still prevails in Italy, espe­cially at Naples, \\'herc (as Mr. Addison observes) they" drink ,'ery fe,v liquol's, not 80 much as ,vater, that have not lain in fresco, and every body, from the higbest to the lowest, nlakcs use of it; insomuch, that a scarcity of sno,\\' 'w'ould raise a lnu-

40 THE LETTERS BOOK ].

to ~·our account, as a rarity that will not keep. Besides all tllese curious dishes, there \\"ere 01-i\Pcs of Alld~lusia, hourcis, S111.L10[:), and a hundred other dairttics e(luail}~ sunlptuouS. You should likeu-isc hav(! been cntertQ.iIled either ,,-ith an in­terlude, the rehearsal of a poem, or a piece cf music, as }-OU liked best; or (suell \vas nly liber­ality) with all three. But the luxurious delicacies· and Spanish daIlcers of a certain I kno,\- Ilot how, 'Were, it seems, more to your taste. Ho\v­eTer, I shall hat'e my revenge of }You, depend upon it i-in ,,-hat manner, shall at present be a secret. 1:1 good truth it was not kind, thus to mortify }'our frienc1-! had almost said yourself ?--and, upon second thoughts, I do say so: for how agreeably

ti!lY at Naples, as much as a dearth o~ com or prot'isioDS in :another country ." 7-raT:. 185.

• In th~ original, the dishes are specified, viz. Oyfiters, tlae m~triees of S9~S, -with a certain sea sl.ell-fish, prickly like a bedge-laog, ealle~ Echinu., all in the hig)lert estimation among lbt Roman admirers f)f table luxury, as appears by numberless I,assages in the classic ~-riters. Our 0"-0 country Ilad the honour to furnish t1Jcm ,,-it}, o~ slers, ,,·hieh they fetched from Sandwieh: llontanus, mcutione<i by Ju,-ena!, "-as so ,,-ell ~k.jl1ed in thp 3cienee of good eating, that b~ i!c.luld teU, by the first taste, ,,·hetller t11CY caIne frolll that coast:

--C'ircaia nota forellt, D7l .IJl:crinuln ad l'a.rum, Rupino~e etlita lundo O,trea, cat/t:hat primo tlcprt'ndere mOI·all.

Sal. 1\". l-iO.

lIe, ,,-hetbcr Circe's rotk his (lysters bore, Or 1 ,UCI ane lake, or the llatupia1Z sbo~c, Knc,'· at fir~t t:llte.------

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BOOK I. OF PLINY. 41

should we have spent the evening, in laugIllng, trilling, and literary amusements! You may su\', I confess, at many places 1Jl1)~'e splendidly; but you can no ,,"llere he treated wit!. more unCOL-­

strained cheerfulness, simplicity, and freedom: only make the experiment; and if you do not ever after\vards pref~r my iable !c an}' other, never favour me with your company again. Farewell.

LETTER XVI.

TO ER t.~ C ICS.

I CONCEIVED an affection for lny friend Pompeius Saturninus, and admired his genius, even long before I knew the extensive variety of his talents: but he has now taken full and unre­served po~se5sion of my whole heart. I have heard him, in the unpremeditated as lvell as stud­ied speech, plead with no less farce and energy, than grace and eloquence. He abounds with just reflections; his periods are graceful and majestic; his ,vords harmonions, and stamped lvith the mark of genuine antiquity. These united qualities in­finitely delight you, not only when you are carrie(1 along, if I may so say, \vith the resistless HOlV ~f

his cl.arnling and enlpha1ical elocution, but also , .. -hen consi(lel~cd distinctly and apart from that advantage. I 3.1n persuaded you \vill be of this opinioJl ,\911Cn YOlI peruse his orations, and will not hesitate to place him in tIle. same rank ,vith the ancicllts, whonl 11C so happily emulates. llut you ,,-ill "\-ie-,·.; llim ,~:ith increased pleaSl!l'C- in the ch:lr-

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°rHE LET'fERS BOO~ I

acter of an historian, in \vhich his style is botl~ concise and clear, elegant and sublime ; and the same strengtll of expression, though more com­pressed, runs through his historical harangues, ,vhich so eminently distinguishes and adorns his public orations. But these are not the whole of his excellencies; he has composed several poeti­cal pieces in the manner of Calvus and Catullus. What strokes of wit, what s\veetness of numbers, what pointed satire, and what touches of the ten­der passion appear in llis verses! in the midst of lvhich he sometimes designedly falls into an agreeable negligence in Ius metre, in the manner, too, of those adrrlired peets. He read to me, the other d~y, some letters, lvhich he assured me \¥ere ",vritten by his wife: I fancied I ,vas perusing Plautus or ri'erence in prose.. \Vh~ther they are that lady's, (as he positively affirm;..) or his (JWD,

,vhich lle absolutely denies, he deserves equal applause; either for 'vriting ::c politely hiDlself, or fOl' having so highly improved and refined the g-cnius of his wife, whom he .nlarried yllung and l.lninstructecl. His works arc c\yer in lny hands; :.~rJd I ne,·er sit down to compose any thing of my (J\\·n, or to revise ,vhat I have already ,vritten, or ~l111 in a disposition to amuse myself, that I do Jl0t take up this agreeable author; and, as oCtetl as I do so, he is still ne\v. Let me strongly recornnlend hinl to the same degree of intimacy with }You ; 1101'"

!>c it an~T objectioll to llis ,vol'ks, that he is a con­;cmporary author. llau he flourishr,d in ~onlC

':()r'TIer age, n()t only 'lis publicaiio11s, llut pic-

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BOOK 1. OF PLIXY.

tures and statues, representing his person, would have been passionately inquired after: shall ~e, then, from a sort of satiety, and merely because he is presellt among us, suiTer his talents to lan­guish and fade away, unhonoured and unadmired ! It is surely a very perverse and en,·ious dispo­sition, to look with indifference upon a man wor­thy of the highest approbation, for no other reason, but because we have it in our power to see him, and to COD,"erse \vith him, and not only to give him our applause, but our friendship. Farewell.

LETTER XVII.

TO CORNELI-cS TITIANCS.

THE social virtues have 110t yet quite for­saken the world; and there are still those whose generous esteem extends even to departed merit. rritianus Capito has obtained the emperor's per­mission to erect a statue in the forum to the late L. Syllanus. It is a truly laudable and noble ap­plication of princely favour, to employ it to so ,vorthy a purpose, and to exert one's interest for the giory of others. To preserve the Dlcmory of eminent cllaracters, is, indeed, habitual to Capito: he has placed in his house (where he may safely take that liberty) the statues of the Brllti, the Cassii, and the Catos,· ,vhich he not only COII-

• Suetonius informs us, that CaUgt11a destroyed the stattles ',f those illustrious persons, ,,·hich Augustus t.ad erected in tlae c"l,itol; and published an edict, whereby he prohibited iitatues to b~ railed to any person iu his life-tlmp" Wlles8 hy

44 THE LET'{"E1lS BOOK I.

templates with ardent ,"eneration, but lias also cel­ebrated the respective lives of those great patriots in some excellent vers€:s. One may be very sure a person possesses great virtue himself, who thus admires it in others. Capito has, by this act, Se­cured to himself that immortality, lvhich lle has bestowe(I on Syllanus; for, he lyho erects a statue in the Roman forunl to a worthy character, re­ceives as much honour ?'i he confers. Farc\f'ell.

LETTER XVIII.

TO srETOXIl:S TRA~QUILLLS.

YOUR letter informs me, that you arc ex­tremely alarmed by a dream; apprehending, that it forebodes some ill success to you in the cause you have undertaken to defend ; and, therefore, desire that I would get it adjourned for a felv days, or, at least, to the next. This is a favollr, l"fJU are sensible, not very easily obtained, bllt J ,viII lIse

a11 my int~rest for that purpose;

-- For dreams descend from Jo,·e.-.,-IIo)f . . III the mean 'v hile, it is very material for you to recollect, lvhether y'our dreams t generally

the emperor's express perrr,ilsione It is probable, Pliny Jlcrc allude~ to a decree of this Datore made by some succeeding emperor, perhaps Domitian, against publicly erecting statues to these glorious assertors of liberty.

• I' 0 P E, Iliad I. 69.

t Dreams were considered, from the earliest antiquity, as sacred admonitions and hints of futurity. M~ny of the hea­-.hen o11l~I~s ,'-ere rj(:1irered in this manner; and. ""-f'n among

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nOOK 1. OF PLINY. 45

represent things as they afterwards fallout, or quite the reverse. But if ! may judge of )90urs by one that happened to myself, you have nothing to fear; for, it porte'nds you will acquit yourself with great success. I had promised to be counsel for Julius Pastor; when I fancied in my sleep that my motiler-in-Iaw came to me, and, throwing herself at lny feet, earnestly entreated me not to be concerned in the cause. I ,vas at tha.t time a ,"ery l'oung man ; the case ,,·as to be argued in the four centumviral courts; my ad­\"ersaries were some of the n.£ost considerable men in Rome, and pArticular favourites of Czsar; any of which circumstances were sufficient, after such an inauspicious dream, to have discouraged me. Notwithstanding this, 1 engaged in the cause, re­flecting that,

the Jews, lre find several intimations conveyed to their proph­ets i~ the &ame ,,-aYe The Romans, in geDerai~ were great observers of dreams; and Augustus Ca:sar is said ~o haTe es­caped a very imminent danger at the battle of Philippi, by qu~tting his tent in compliance with a dream of Antonius, his I'hysician. (Val. Max. L. I. C. 7.) This is mentioned to obvi­ate any prt:judice agniost Pliny, which may arise in the mind Qf a reader unacquainted with the prevailing sentiments of the aD~ients upon tbis point, who might otherwise be surprised to fintl our author talk seriously upon a subj~et of this nature. The truth is, as an cl'ainent criti(f (Dacier ,ur H(Jr. L II. Ep. 2.) has observed, 1\,ith great good sense, thE:~e seems to be as mucb temerity in never giving credit to dream~, as there is supers~ition in al'.vays doing 10. "It appears to me,7' says he, " that the true medium between these two extremes, is to treat them as we would a known liar; we arc sure he most usually relates f~llsclao()ds ; ho,,·e,·er, ;lotl,ing binders but h~ Jl~!ly som ~timcs f peak trl!t h."

46 -fHE LETTERS

Without a sign, his sword the °braTe man draws, And asks nQ on)en but his counu1·'s e:,ause·-

BOOK I.

for Ilookctl \!J:Cli the pr(Jnlise I had gIven to be as sacred to me as my COlIn try , or, if that were pos­sible, more so. riiIJhe event happened as I wished; and it was that very cause which first procured me the favourable attention of the pltbJic, and thre\v open to me the gates of Fame. Consider then, whether ~~our dream, like that lvhich I have re" ... lated, may not pre-signify success. But, after all, perhaps you will think it more safe to pursue this cautiollS maxim: "never do a thing, concerning " the rectitude of which you arc in doubt :" if so, write me word. In the interval, I will consider of some expedient, and endeavour that your cause shall be heard any day you like best. In this re­spect, you u.:-~ in a better situation than I was : Ule court of the centumviri, where I was to plead, admits of no adjournment; whereas, in that where you r' cause i~ to be heard, though it is not easy to procure one, still, however, it is possible. Fare­well.

LETTER XIX.

TO RO~IANUS FI]t~IUS.

AS you are my to\Vn'S-lnan, my school-fel­low, and the earliest companictn of my youth; as there was the strictest friendship between my motllcr and uncle, and your father ; (a happiness ,vhich I also enjoyed as far as the great illeqllality

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t r(.

l:

BOOK 1. OF PLl~Y. 47

of our ages \VOllld adn1it,) can I fail (thus biassed as I am by so Jnany strong ru~d ,,,"eighty rea~t ns,) to contribute all in my po\ver to the advancelilent of your honours? The rank y·ou bear in our prClv­inee, as decurio, is a proof that }"ou are possessed, at least, of an hundred thousand sesterccs;* but that \ve Inay also have the satisfaction of seeing rou a Romant knight, I present to yOll three hun­dred thousand,t in order to make up the sum i~C­quisite to entitle you to that dignity. The long acqllaintance If'e have had, leaves nle no roum to dcubt }You ,viII ever be forgetful of this illst&.nce of my friendship. And I kll0\V }¥our disposition much too ,veIl to think it necessary to ~dvise you to enjoy- this llonour ,vitil tIle modesty that be­comes a person ,vho received it froln me: for the advanced rank ,ve possess by the gnod offices of a

• About 8001. of our money. The scsterce was a Roman silver coin, the value of which the most accurate antiquarians have settled at 1 penny, 3 farthings, and 3-4i.hs, making 1000 to be equal to 81. Is. 5d. half-penny; but, to avoid fractions in this place, and throughout all the following calculations, a tbousan,l sesterces are considered as equivalent to only 81. ster­ling.

t "The equestrian dignity, or that order of tIle ltoman peo .. pIe which we commonly call k,.,lights, ha{l not11ing in it analo­gous to any order of modern knighthood, but depended entire .. ly upon a valuation of their estates; and every citizen, whosp. entire fortunf'5 amounte(l to 400,000 sesterces, that is, 32291. of Our rnonp.y, "-as enrolled, 6f course, in the Jiat of knights, ~' lao ,,'ere consi(]ercd as a middle order hetween the senators and COlnmon people, yet, without any other distinction than the privilege of wearing a gold ring, which ,,·u the peculial- bad~'{ of their order." Life of TlI,l~lJ, '''01. I. Ill. i7l, ",or.

t About 24001. sterling.

48 ]OIIr LET'TERS BOOK I.

friend, is a kind of sacred tfl)st, ,,-herein \\·e have hill judglncnt, as ,veIl as our f;W1l character, to maintain, and therefore to be guardc~ ,vi tIl the

. greater CatltlOD.

TO CORXELl~S T.\CITt:S.

I H ... \. VE frequent debates ,,-ith a Icarnc(l and judicious person of my acquaintance, \\-ho ad­mires notlling so muelt in the eloquence of the bar, as conciseness. I agree \yith him, \vherc the cause will admit of this precisioll, it l11a}· be prop­erly adopted; but insist, tllat to omit \vhat is Ina­terial to be mentioned, or only slightly to touell llpon those points ,vhich should be strongly incul­cated, and impressed on the mU1ds of the audi ... cncc, is, in effect, to desert tIle cause Olle !1as un­dertaken. In many cases, a COpiOliS l11anner of cxpressioll gi,"es strength and ,veight to our ideas, \Vllich frequently make their effect l1pon the nlind~ as iron does upon soliel bodies, rather by repeated strokes than a single blo\v. In ans,,·cr to this, he usually has recourse to authorities, ancl procluces Lysias amongst the Grecians, together ,vith Cato and the t,yO Gracchi, among our 0"·11 countrynlen, as instances in favour of tile concise style. III re­ttlrn, I nanle Demosthcnes, iEschines, IIypcriucs, and many others in opposition to Lysias; \\~hile I confrollt Cato and the Gracclli, as also C~sar, Pollio, Crelius, but above all, Cicero, ,,·hose long­est oration is generally c5;tccnlCtl t]lC bC'st. It is

·. ~ .

BOOK I. OF PLINY. 49

in gootl compositions, as "in e\'er}~ tiling else that is valuable; tIle IDore there is of them, the better. YOll may observe in statues, basso-rcJievos, pic­tu, es, and the llodies of men, and even in ,t[,inJals and trees, that nottling is· Dlore graceful thnn nlag­nitude, if accoDlpanied with proportioll. 1"lle saIne holds true in pleading; and even in books, a large volQrne. carries some\vhat of beauty and aut110rity .in its \re' .. ·y size. My antagonist, \,,-ho is extrf-mely · ~extel"ous at evading an argllment, eludes all this, and much more, ,vhich I usually urge to tt.e same purpose, by insisting that those ,·ery persons, upon whose wOl·ks I found nly opinion, made consider­able additions to their orations \vhen tlley published them. This I deny; and appeal to the haranglles of numberless orators, particularly to those of Cicero, for l\iurena and \'rarenus, ,\"llere lle seems to have given us little more thaI} the general cllarge. "Thence it appears, tllat man}· things ,\·hich lle en-larged upon at tIle time he deli,"ered t]10se orations, were retrenched \,"hen he gave thell1 1,(: the public. The satne excellent orator inform s u s~ tllat, agr( e­ably to the ancient custom, ,yhicIl 41ilolved olllv of

J

one counsel 011 a side, Cluentius li4\d r.o other ,~cl-

vocate tllan l .. iolsclf; and lle tells tlS furtl1el', t11at llC cnlployed fOllr \\yl101c (lays ill def'·~nce of Corl1e­lills; by ,~·hich it plainly appears, that thosf; ora­tions \vhich, \Vhell deli,·crcd at t},eir flllllength, ha(l necessarily tu ken tlJl so nltlcll ti,nc ~t the Lar. ,vc rc greatly altcl·ed and abridged '\vhcn he aftcr\vul'ds con1l>risc(1 tllClll in a single Y(Jlllln{'~·t110Uf.;11, I lllust confess, indeed, a htrg-e one. But it i'3 ()l'jc_~t('d, there is "' wide difference 'between gOIJll plcadinr.:

THE LETTERS BOOK I •

.. -dltl just con11)osition. This opinion, I ackno\v­l(.:(lgc, has ha<1 !')ome ta,·ourt;'-s, and it may' be true; ilc,·crthcleS5, I alIt. pcrsuade(1 (tbfJugh I l11ay, per­!1aps, be nlistake~)) that, as it is possible :l pleading rnay' be lvell l'cceived by the alldieJ1CC, \\·llich has not merit enough to recomloend it to the reader; ~o a good oration cannot be a b~d pleading : for t lIe oration on paper is, in truth, the original and lDodel of tIle speech that ,vas pronounced. It is for this reaSOIl we find, in man)" of the best ora­tiollS extant, numberless expressions Wllich have the air of unpremeditated discourse ; and even in those which we are sure weri,; never spoken; as, for instance, in the following passage from the oration J.gainst \r erres.-" A certa!n mechanic-,vhat's ,,~ his name? Oh, I'm obliged to you for helping ,,' me to it: )Yes, I mean Polycletus." It cannot tl1CJl be denied, that the nearer approach a speaker ~11akcs to tIle rules of just composition, the more perfect he ,viII be in his art ; al'vays supposing, llo,vever, tllat he has the necessary indulgence in point of time ; for, if he be limited in tllat article, ll~ t,lan1c can jus~:y be fixecl upon tIle advocate, thougll mtlcll certainly upon the judge. The sense of the Ia,Ys, I aln sure, is on my' side, ,vbich are by no Blcuns sl)aring of the orator's til11e : it is not brevity, b1.1t copiousness, a full reprl'sentation of cvcr'f 111atcriaI cirCllnlstullce, \yllicll tIley reC01TI--1)1Clld. AntI 110\V is it llossible for an aclvQcate tn

acquit hinlsclf of that (luty', tlnlcss ill the nlost irf ... significant causes, if he affect to l)c concise? Let lllC a(lcl \Vllat experience .. that llllCrl'illg gui(lc, Jlas

T~\'l:~h1: r,,'1("' : it ll:\~i fl'Cfltlcntly bccTl1ny l'\'O\tll~C tt:·

, J '

-,

r f i , l'i.! -? ...

...

1 ,

BOOK 1. OF PLIX~.

act both as an advocate and a judge; and I ha,-c often also attended as an assessor.· t,: pon tllOSC

occasions, I have e,-cr found the judgmellts of ma11-

kind are to be influenced by different modes of al)­plication, and that the slightest circumstances fre­quently produce the most important consequences. There is so ,·ast a variety in tile dispositions and understandulgs of men, that they seldom agree in their opinions concerning anyone point in debate before them; or, if they do, it is generally frolll the movement of different passions. Besides, as everv man naturallv fa,~ouillS Ilis a\vn discoveries.

~ ~ . \VhCll he hears an argument urged If'hich had before occurred to Jlimself, he "-ill certainly embrace it as extremely COD\Tincing. The orator, therefore, should so adapt himself to his audience, as to throw out sometlling \vhicll everyone of them, ill

turn, may receive and appro\Te a! conforillable to his o\vn particular sentiments. I remCDlber \\·hen Regulus al1d I \vere cOllccrn{~d together in a caus(;, he said to me, " You seem to thillk it necessary to "d,vel1 upon every SiJlgle circumstance: '\?)lcreas I " al\vays take aim at once at my ad\rrsary's throat, " and there I cios~ly press lliln.'~ ('l'is true? I}t~

tenaciously holds whatever part lIe llas once fixe(} upon; but the misfortune is, Ile is extremely apt to Inis·~ake the right place.) I al}s\vcrcd, it might possibly happen, tllat ~llat he called tIle tllroat, ,vas, in reality, some less vital part. As for my~ self, sa.id I, WllO do not pret.end to, tJircct m}" ailll

• The prztor '~'as assi8t(~d by ten ~e'jf'SsOrSt fiv~ of whom ,,,crt:' ~(!natol's, and the rest knigh(s. ""itb t l~t.'se he ",·RS <thUg-cd VI con· ~ult, l-cfol'C he pt'oDonnccd sehtcnc(',

·rHl: LETTERS BOOK I.

\~- lLil SO muell certainty, I attack every part, and f;l!S!l at e\-ery' opening; in short, to use a vulgar ~rc,-\·crJ, I ieave 1iO atone ll11tllrned. As in agt'icul­tJil'e, it is 110t my vineyards, or my woods alone, but nly fields also, that I cultivate; and (~O pl\r­sue the allusion) as I do not COlltellt myself \,"ith sQ\ving those fields with only one kind of grain, ))ut elnploy sevel"al difTerent sorts; so, in my' plead­ings at the bar, I scatter various argul11ents like so lllany killds of seed, in order to reap from tllence' 'v hate\rer may llappen to succeed: for the disposi­tion of your judges is as precarious, and as little to be ascertained, as that of soils and seasons. 1 renlcnlber the comic ,vriter Eupolis mentiol1S it in l)raise Qf that excellent orator Pericles, that

-On 'a;- lipg Pt!I~uasion Jlung, And po,,'erful Reason rul'd his tongue: 'J·hU8 he alone could boast the art, 1·0 charlll at once, and pierce the heart.

But could Pericles, ,vithout tIle richest variety of eXl11'cssil)n, 811(1 nlcrely by force of the concise or the rapid style, or botll together, (for they are ex­tremely cliffercnt) have thus clzarmed and /lierced the lleart? To delight an(l to persuade, reqllires time, and a great compass of lang~lage; and to leave a 8,-ing in the nlinds of his audience, is an ef- .j

feet not to be expected from an orator who sliglltl}' lluslles, but from hiln, and Ilim ollly, who thrllsts home an(l deep. Another comic poet,- speaking of tIle saIne orator, says,

"

J

BOOK I. OF PLINY.

His mighty words like JOTe's OWD thunder roll ; Gl·t:cee hears, and trembtes to her inmost soul.

- .' ~.,

But it is not the close and the reserved; it is tIle copious, the majestic, and the sublime orator, who, ,vith the lightning ancl thunder of his eloquence, hurries you impetllously along, and bears down all before 11im. There is a just mean, I O\f"D, in e,"ery thing; but he equally misseth the mark, ,,-ho falls short of it, as he who goes beyond it; he who COD- •

· fines Ilimself in too narro\v a compass, as he who launclles out witll too great a latitude.. Hence it is as common to hear our orators condemned for being too barren, as too luxuriant; for not reach­ing, as well as for overflowing the bounds of theil' SUbject. Both, no doubt, are equally distant froDl the proper medium; hut with this difference, ho\v­ever, that in the one the fault arises from all abun­dance, in the other, from a deficienC)T; an error, ,vhicil, if it be not a sign of a more correct, yet, it is certainly of a more fertile genius. \Vhel) I say· this, I ,vould not be llnderstoo(l to approve tIl",t

everlasting talker,· lnentioned in I-Iotner, but that othcrt described in tile follo\ving lines :

}"reqncnt and soft, as fai~s the '\l' inter £no\~(, 1"hus froJn his lil)S the copiou! periods flo,,·.

l'{ at but I cxtrcnlcly adtnire llim, toO,} of \v 110lYl the poet. says,

Fc,v ,vcrc his words, but 'fonucrfully strong •

•. 'rhcrsites, Iliad ii. ",'. 212. t l:lysses, IUad iii. v. ~~~. t ~-Icnclt",s,.ihid

E~

54 THE LE·rTEll~ BOOK I.

Yet, if I were to choose, I should clearly gi,·e tIle preference to the style resetnbling fDinter 11111),&:",

that is, to the full and diffusi,"e ; in short, to that pOl11P of eloquence ,vhich seems all heavenly and di\~ine. But (it is replied) the harangue of a more moderate length is most gellerally adolired. It is so, I cotlfess :-but by whom? B}· the indolent only' ; and to fix tile standard by the lazilless and false delicacy of these, \vould surely be the highest hbsurdity.--Were }"ou to consult persons of this. cast, they "rould tell )You, not only that it is best to sa}- little;but that it is best to say nothing.

1'hllS, Iny friend, I have laid before you my sen­timents upon this subject, and I shall readily aban­(Ion them, if not agreeable to yours. But, should you dissent from me, I beg you ,vould communi­~ate to me }Tour reasons. For, tllOUgh I ought to yield, in this case, to }Tour more enliglltened judg­lncllt, yet, ill a point of such consequel1ce, I had rather receive my con\"ictioll from argtlment, tllan allthorily'. If }·ou should be of Dly Ol)illion ia this ]11utter, a line or t,vo ill return, illtilnatiIlg }·OUl' c(}nCUrrel1ce, ,viII be sufficient to confirm me ill

the justness of my sentilncnts: on the cOlltrary', if YOll ShOllld thillk 111C lllistakcn, I beg }10U to give fIle YO'Jr oLjections at large. Yet, Ilas it not sonlC­'."hat the air of bribery, to l'C(lucst onl}' a sllort let.ter, if y"Ou agree ,vitll me; l)llt enjoin you the troul)le of a very long Olle, if YOll sllOtllcl be of a tli:l·ercnt 0l)ini~}~l ? Farc,,,cll.

,-

!J

BOOK I. 01' PLINY. 55

LETTER XXI.

TO PATER~US •

.. ~s I rely' \~ery much upon the strength of )"our judgmen:, so I do upon the goodness of your eyes: not because I think your discernment \rery great, (for I would not make you vain,) but, because I think it as good as mine: which, it must be owned, is sa}·ing a great deal in its favour. Jesting apart, I like ,~ery ,veIl the appearance of the slaves WIlicll were purchased for me by y'our recommendation; all that I want farther, is to be satisfied of their behaviour : allti, for this, I must depend upon their characters more than th~~r COllntenan ces . . : Fare,\cll.

LETTER XXII.

1:0 C A TILIUS SE,TER us.

I All, at present, Can(l ha,"e been a consider­able tilne) detained in ROlllC, under the most alarm­ing apprellensions. Titus Ali~to, ,vhom I esteem and love ,vitll singular regard, is fallen into a danger­ous and obstillate illness, \vhich deeply affects me. Virtllc, kno\vledge, and goo(l sense, shine--out ,viti. so superior a lustre ill this excellent nlan, tllat learning herself, and every valuable endO,\"nlent, seems ill .. ·olved in the danger of his single person. Ho\v consumlnate is his kno\vledgc, botll ill tIle political and li"il la\vs of ),is C()tllltry ! llo\v tborouglll)T COIl versant is 11C ill every branch of

Sci THB .. ETTERS BOOK. 1~ .

history and antiquity ? In a word, there is no ar. ticle of science, you would wish to be illformed of, in whicll he is not skilled. As for my own part, lvhenevcr I \vould acquaint myself lvith any ab­struse point !)f literature, I lla\We recourse to hiln, as to one who supplies me with its most hidden treasures. \Vhat an engaging sincerity, what dig­nity in his conversation! Ho,v humble, yet hOlY

graceful his diffidence! Though he conceives, at once, every point in clebate, yet he is as s}O\V to de­cide, as he is quick to appr(Ohend ; callnly and de­liberately weighillg every OPI)osite r ~ason that is of­fered, and tracillg it, ,,·itll a nlost judicious penetra-­tion, from its source through all its remotest COD­

s~quences. I-lis diet is frugal, his dress plain; and whene,"er I enter his chamber, and vic\v him re­clined upon his couch, I consider the scene before me, as a true iIllage of ancient simplicity, to which his illtlstrious mind reflects the noblest ornament. lIe places no part of his happiness in ostentation, but in the secret approbatiotl of his conscience; seeking the re\vard of his virtue, not in the clamor­ous applauses of the '\1orld, but in the silent satis­factiol1 \vhich results froln ha"il1g acte(l well. In short, you \vil111ot easily filld his equal, even ~\mong ()ur philosophers by l1rofessioll. He frequents not tIle l)laces of l)ublic disp\ltations,· 1101' idly amuses llimself anc) othel·s \vitll ,~ain and endless controvcr .. sies.. Hi.y exalte(l talellts ,trc empl~yed to nobler purposes, and exerted in tile SCCI1CS of civil alld ac ...

*' The pl.;l()~nphp .. s uscrl to hold their di~l)ntntinns in tl~r. Gym na"ia Rnd l'ortieos, being places of the Iflost public resort for " .. alking, Itc.

I'

.U

BOOIt I. OF PI .. INY. 5i

tive life. l\1any has he assisted ,,~ith llis interest, still more lvith his ad,,-i{;c ! But though he cledi­cates his time to the aif"irs of the lvorld, he regu­l".t{~s his conduct by the precepts of philosophy; and, in temperance, piety, justice, and fortitude, he has no superior. It is astonishing \vith what patience he supports his illness; hOl, lIe bears pain, endures thirst, and quietly suhmits to tIle pl·essure of tllose clotl1es \vhich are laid upon him to pro­mote per3piration in this raging fever. He lately called me, and a fe\v more of his particular frie11ds, to his bed-si(le, requesting us to ask his physicians what turn they apprehended his distemper would

. take; that, if they pronounced it incurable, he might voluntarily pllt an end to his life; but if there were hopes of a recovery, how tedious and difficult soever it might prove, he would calmly wait the e,·ent ; for so much, he thOllght, was due to the tears and entreat!es of his ,vife and daughter, al1d to the affectionate intercession of his friends, as not voluntarily to aballdon our hopes, if they were not entirely desperate. A resolution this, ill my estimation, truly IleroicaJ, and worthy of tl1e highest applause. InstatlCes are freqllcnt in the \yorld, of rushing illto the arms of death withollt re .. flection, and by a sort of blind impulse; but clelib­erately to ",'eigh the reaSOllS for life or. death, and to be determinr.d in otlr clloice, as either side of the scale prevails, is the il1ark of no comtnon greatness of mind.· We 11a\'e had the satisfaction to re-

• The general la \vfulness of self-murder, 'WAS a doctrine by no lneans unh'cl'sally l'ecch'ed in the ancient pagan ,vol'ld; many of t~le lnost considcl"C\blc names, both Greek and ROlnan, be-ring (\x-

53 ~HE LETTERS- BOOK I.

ceive the Opil1ion of Ilis physicians in his fa\"O\lr: may )leavell give success to t)leir art, and free me from tllis painful al)xiety' If tllat should happily be the eVciit, I shall ilnmt;riiately retire to my fa­"\"Ollrite I"auren"inum, or, in other words, to my boohs alld my studies. At present, so much of my time and thoughts are employed ill attendance upon my friend, and in :Illy apprehensions for his life, that I have neither leisure nor inclinatiun for subjects of literature.

Thus have I informed }"OU of my fears, my lvishcs, and my intentions. COlnmunicate to me, in returr" but in a gayer st}9Ie, an accott!lt not only of what you are and have been doing, but even of your fu­ture de'signs. It ,viII be a very sensible consolation to nle in this distress of mind, to be assured that yours is eas}·. Ft:.re'.veIl.

l)ressly tleelar~d n.g~l.inc:,t that practice. Ilytllagora3, !)oerdtes, Plato, 1'ulIy, have cvnd(:;mned it: el"en Brutus Jlimself, though he fell hy his O\VD handa, yet, in his cooler and philosophical 11011rs, wrote a treatise, It l\'herein be highly condemned Cato, 8S beinp: guilty of au act ~)tb of iU1l)iety alld co,,~ardicc, in destroying him­Relf. The judicious \rjrgil also adopts the same sClitiments, an. l":pfcsents. such unhapllY persons as in a state of I)unisbmcnt :

.Proxillza deinde te7lellt mtesti loea, qul sioi letunl I1l80ni{ls peperere 11UI1l11, lllcenLfJue pet"oei Pr(Jjece1"e aninJat: QUQ1n vellent ttthet'e in alto, Jv1tllC ~t pauperieln et duros pC1ier1'e lahore8 .It Then cro,\~ds succeed, "'ho, prodigal ofbrcath, rChemselves antjcjllatt~ the doom of death; . Though free froln guilt, they cast their lives 3''''1,', A nd sad aud ~ulJcn hate the golden day. Oh! with "'hat joy the wl'etches now would bear Pain, toil and woe, to bl'~athe the ,~jtal air!

.:;: Pluto in Brut.

· ~.

, ,

r

OF PLINY. 59

LETTER XXIII.

TO PO:MPEIVS F . .\LCO.

YOU desire my opinioJl, lvhetller you call \\"ith (lecency act as an advocate during your tri­buneship?- B' . before I determine that question, I must kno,v ,vhat are your sentiments of that office; ,vhetJler you look upon it as a mere shadow of hon­our, and an empty title, or as a sacred and inviola­ble function, the exercise of \vhich as no po\ver can suspend, so neither ollght the person llilDself ,vho is invested ,vith it? \vhen I ,\?as myself in that post, (possibly I migllt be mistakcl1 ill sUppOSillg I l\"aS become of any importance, 110\'-CVer, upon tIle suppositioll tllat I really was) I entirely (luitted the bar. I thougllt it unbccomillg a Inagistrate, ,vho, upon all oc'casions, had a right of prececlenc}Y, and in \vhosc presence evcl1'P person is obligeu to rise, to be seen stulldillg, ,vhilc all about hilll ".-/ere seat­ed ; that lle, WI10 has "llthority to illlpose sileIlce 011 any man, should hinlself be directed \VIlel) to cease speaking; that lle, \\"110m it is l1cld impious to ill­

tCl'l'Upt,t sllould be exposed to ~lle scurrilous lib .. erties of bar orators; ,y hich, to cllastise, would be thought a sort of insolence of office, ancl }ret it "PQuid be \rCakllcss to overlook. I considered, f,,,r-

;{I Sec Dook 9. lei. 13 note.

t A!\ their ch,lractcrs ,\'cre held sacred, it ,,·as csteeillcd the high .. e~t Rct of ilnpicty t.o oft-c.' thena any injury, or so IHue·h as to intcl·" rnpt them "'hen they ,rCl·C IPC~\k.iJ~gf

60 THE LETTERS BOOK I

ther, the great difficulty I should be under, if eithel­my client or his adversary should happen to appeal to 1Ile as tribune, whether to illterpose my authori. ty, or, by a k.ind of resignation of Dly office, to act solely in my private capacity. For these reasons, I ratller chose to officiate as tlte public Dlagistrate, than tIle private advocate. But, \vith respect to }70U,

(I relleat it again) the ,vhole depends upon w)lat your sentitnents are of the office in question, and 1Inder \v hat character Y'ou would choose to appear; remembering always, that a wise man ,viii take llpon himself such only as he is capa!Jle of sustaining ,vith dignity.

LETTER XXIV.

TO BEBIUS.

MY f:"icnJ and guest, Tra1_quillllS, Ilas an in­clination to purchase a small farnl, of ,,"hich, as I anl informed, all acquaintance of yours iljtends to dispose~ I beg you ,voliid endea,·o111' he nlay ob­tain it uI)on re,:soIlable terms; lvllich ,viII add to liis satisfactioll in tIle purcllase. A dear bargain is aJ\vays disagl~ceal)le, particularl\~, as.. it is are­fle~tioll upon the buyer's judgtnent. "fllcre arc sc­\?crul cil~cumstances attellding this little villa, \Vllicb (supposing 1llY frieIl(l has no objection to the price) are extl'elncly suitul})e to Ili:~ taste anc) desires: the convenient distal1CC frolll ROllle, tllC gOOdJ1CSS of t.!'c

ro~\rls, the sln,illness of the buildillg, UJld the Vt l'y few c.\crt·s of land ul'ound it, which are just cnollg-h to ,\1nllSC, bllt llot to C111i)loy llim. '1'0 a Dl .. ,n of

. BOOK I. f)f' PLINY. 61

the literary turD that Tranquillus is, it is sufficient if he have but a. small spot to relieve the mind and divel't the eye, lvhere he may saunter round his grounds,traverse his single \valk, grow fanliliar \vith his two or three vines, and count his little planta­tions. I mention these partiC\llars, to let you see how much he will be obliged to me, as I shall be to you, if you can help him to this convenient little hor, at a price which he shall have no occasion to repent. Farewell .

•