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6. — TO FUNDANUS.
Now, if ever, I could wish you were in Rome, and I beg that you will he. I have need of one to share my aspirations, my labours, my anxiety. Julius Naso is a candidate for office; he is standing with many competitors and good ones too, whom it will be glorious to beat and correspondingly difficult. So I am in a state of suspense, and am exercised by hope as well as troubled by fear, no longer feeling like one who has himself served the office of Consul; but once more imagining myself a candidate for each of the posts successively filled by me.
He merits this anxiety by his long affection for me. My friendship for him is not, to be sure, derived from any I had for his father — for in consequence of my age that could not be — however, when I was barely a stripling, his father used to be held out to me as a man of great reputation. He was deeply attached, not to learning only, but also to learned men, and was in the habit of coming almost daily to hear those whom I frequented at that time, Quintilian and Nicetes Sacerdos. He was in other respects a distinguished and authoritative personage, whose memory ought to be of service to his son. But now there are many in the Senate to whom he was unknown, and though there are many to whom he was known, yet these honour none but the living; so that my friend, putting aside the glory of his father — which, though a great illustration, is but a feeble recommendation to him — must all the more vigorously exert himself and go to work in person. And this to be sure he has always carefully done, as if foreseeing the present occasion. He has procured friends for himself, and those whom he has procured he has cultivated; me, certainly, as soon as he permitted himself to form a judgment, he selected as the object of his affection and imitation. He stands watchful by me when speaking in public; he sits by me when I recite; he interests himself in my literary trifles from their very inception and from the moment of their birth; alone now, formerly in company with his brother, whose part (for he is lately dead) I ought to undertake, whose place I ought to fill. I grieve indeed that the one should have been so cruelly torn from us by a premature death, and the other deprived of his brother’s assistance and left to the help of his friends alone.
For these reasons I implore you to come and join your suffrages to mine. It is of great importance to me to be able to produce you and go about with you. The weight you carry is so great as to make me think I could canvass even my own friends more successfully in your company. Break short anything that detains you. My critical situation, my honour, my dignity even, demand this of you. I have taken in hand a candidate, and it is known that I have taken him in hand. The canvass is mine, the danger is mine. In short, if Naso gets what he asks, his will be the honour; if he fails, the defeat will be mine.
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7. — TO CALPURNIA, HIS WIFE.
You write that you are not a little affected by my absence, and that you have but one solace — in possessing my books instead of me, and even in often laying them beside you in bed, in my place. I am glad that you miss me, glad that you are soothed by such lenitives as these. In return, I keep reading your letters, and ever and anon take them into my hands as if they were just received, yet all the more am I inflamed with a longing for you. For when your letters are so agreeable, what must be the charm of your conversation! However, do you write as often as you can, though your doing so delights me in such a way as to torment me at the same time.
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8. — TO PRISCUS.
You both know and have a regard for Atilius Crescens. Indeed, what man of any mark either does not know him or has not a regard for him? He is one whom I cherish, not after the vulgar fashion, but with my whole heart. Our native towns are separated by one day’s journey only. Our love for each other began — and this is the most fervent kind of love — when we were mere striplings. It endured to after years, and far from being cooled, was strengthened by our mature judgment. Those who are most intimately acquainted with either of us know this. For, not only does he widely proclaim and circulate his friendship for me, but I too make no secret of the interest I feel in his modest life, his repose, and his security. Moreover, when he apprehended the insolence of a certain individual who was about to enter on the Tribuneship of the Plebs, and had informed me of the fact, I replied, “Not during my lifetime!”
Why do I tell you all this? That you may know that Atilius shall not suffer an injury while I am in existence. Again you will say, “Why all this?” Why, because Valerius Varus owed him a sum of money. Now the heir of this Varus is our friend Maximus, whom I myself have a great regard for, but you a still closer one. I pray you then, and indeed demand of you by right of our friendship, to see that my good Atilius has not only the principal but also several years’ interest secured to him. He is a man most scrupulous as to encroaching on other people’s property, and careful of his own; he does not live by any business, and has no income but what results from his economy. For, the literary pursuits, in which he so greatly excels, he follows only for his own pleasure and glory. The smallest loss is a hard matter for him, it being so very hard to make good what is lost. Believe him and relieve me from this difficulty: suffer me to enjoy to the full his amiable and sprightly character; for indeed I can’t bear to see one sad whose cheerfulness will not allow me to be sad. In short, you know the quaint humour of the man, and I pray you take care that injustice does not turn it to bile and bitterness. What will be the strength of his resentment you may judge by that of his affection. His lofty and independent spirit will not brook a loss accompanied by an affront. And though he should brook it, I shall esteem the loss and the affront my own; only I shall be much more indignant than if it were my own. However, why employ denunciations and what may seem threats? Bather, as I began, so I beg and pray you to see to it that he does not think himself neglected by me (which I most strongly fear), or I think the same of you. And you will see to it, if the latter consideration weighs as much with you as the former does with me.
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9. — TO TACITUS.
You commend Julius Naso to my favour as a candidate. Naso to me! What if you commended my own self! However, I bear with it and forgive you. For I should have commended this very Naso to you, if you had been staying in Rome and I had been absent. There is this about anxiety that it will leave no stone unturned. However, I vote that you canvass other people; I will act as agent, assistant, and partner in your applications.
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10. — TO ALBINUS.
On my arrival at my mother-in-law’s house near Alsium, which was once the property of Rufus Verginius, the sight of the place itself painfully renewed my regrets for that admirable and illustrious man. For this was the retreat where he commonly resided, calling it indeed “the dear little nest of his old age.” Turn where I would, my soul, my eyes, looked for him. I was desirous of seeing his monument as well, and repented having seen it. For it is still unfinished; nor is this owing to any difficulty in the undertaking (which is of moderate, or rather small, dimensions), but to the apathy of the person on whom the duty was enjoined. A sense of indignation mingled with pity steals over me to think that ten years after his death there should be lying without an epitaph, without a name over them, the ashes of one the glory of whose memory pervades the world. Yet he had enjoined and provided that that divine and immortal exploit of his should be inscribed in verse.
“Here Rufus lies, who Vindex overcame,
Not for his own, but for his country’s fame.”
So rare is fidelity in friendship, so easy is it to forget the dead, that we ought to raise for ourselves even our own sepulchres and to anticipate all the duties of our heirs. For who has not cause to fear what we see to have happened in the case of Verginius? Only in his case his celebrity makes the wrong done him, as it is the more undeserved, so also the more widely known.
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11. — TO MAXIMUS.
O joyful day! Summoned to assist the Præfect of the city, I have heard two young men of the greatest promise and the highest qualities pleading against each other, Fuscus Salinator and Ummidius Quadratus, an admirable pair, destined to be ornaments not only of our age, but of learning itself. Both of them exhibited remarkable modesty, yet with resolution unimpaired. Their deportment was noble, their language pure Latin, their voices manly, their memories tenacious, and their great natural faculties were equalled by their judgment. Each of these things singly was a pleasure, and, together with them this, that the young men directed their glances at me as their guide and teacher, and seemed to those who heard them to be imitating me and treading in my footsteps. O day (for I must repeat it) most joyful, and to be marked by me with the whitest of stones! What, indeed, can be more joyful, in a public point of view, than that young men of the highest rank should be seeking a name and fame from intellectual pursuits; or more desirable for me personally than that I should be set up as a kind of model to such as have noble aims? I pray the gods to make me the constant recipient of such delight as this; and I beg of these same gods (taking you to witness) that all those who shall think it worth their while to imitate me may desire to be better than me.
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12. — TO FABATUS, HIS WIFE’S GRANDFATHER.
You, assuredly, ought not to hold your hand in recommending to me those persons whom you think worthy of support. For, not only is it becoming in you to render services to many, but it becomes me also to undertake whatever pertains to your wishes. Consequently I will do all in my power for Vettius Priscus, particularly in my own arena — that is, in the Centumviral Court. You bid me forget those letters which you wrote me, as you term it, with your heart laid open. But there are no letters which I more desire to bear in mind. For by these I am particularly made sensible of the strength of your affection for me, since you dealt with me as you were used to deal with your own son. Nor can I conceal from you that they were rendered all the more agreeable to me by the fact that I had a good case, since I had attended with the greatest diligence to what you wished attended to. Accordingly I entreat you, again and again, always to convey your reproaches to me in the same straightforward way as often as I shall seem to fall short (I say “seem,” for I never shall really fall short), since I shall understand that they proceed from the strength of your affection, and you will rejoice to find that I do not deserve them.
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13. — TO URSUS.
Have you ever seen any one so troubled and exercised as my friend Varenus? He has had to defend, and as it were make fresh application for, that which he had obtained only after a great struggle. The Bithynians were impudent enough to criticise the decree of the Senate, and even to try and invalidate it, before the Consuls, and actually to incriminate it to the Emperor, who was absent from Rome. On being referred back to the Senate by him, they did not desist from their efforts. Claudius Capito spoke for them, disrespectfully rather than firmly, since he impeached a decree of the Senate in presence of the Senate. Catius Pronto replied with dignity and resolution. The Senate itself was admirable. For even those who had previously been for refusing the application of Varenus were of opinion that, having once been allowed, it should still be allowed, on the ground that though it was permissible for individuals to differ when a matter was undecided, yet when it was fairly settled the vision of the majority should be unanimously upheld.
Only Acilius Rufus and, with him, some seven or eight — seven rather — persisted in their former opinion. In this small number there were some whose temporary fit of severity, or rather affectation of severity, furnished much amusement. You will, however, be able to judge what a struggle awaits us in the fight itself, when the preludes to it and the preliminary skirmishes, so to speak, have aroused such contests.
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14. — TO MAURICUS.
You invite me to your place near Formiæ. I will accept on one condition, that you do not put yourself out in any way; an arrangement by which I bargain for myself as well. For it is not the sea and the seaside that I am going after, but my own ease, and liberty, and you; otherwise it would be preferable to remain in town. It is best that one’s actions should be entirely dependent on the will of others, or else on one’s own: the nature of my taste is certainly such that it will have nothing but what is complete in itself and free from admixture.
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15. — TO ROMANUS.
You were not present at a very curious occurrence, nor was I either; but the story reached me soon after the event. Passennus Paulus, a distinguished Roman knight, and among the first for learning, writes elegiac verse. This runs in his family; he is a townsman of Propertius, and even numbers Propertius among his ancestors. As this Paulus was reciting, he commenced with these words —
“Priscus, thou bids’t me.”
Upon which Javolenus Priscus (who was present in his character of a particular friend of Paulus) cried out, “I don’t bid you, however” You may imagine how the people laughed and jested. To be sure, Priscus is of doubtful sanity, yet he takes part in ceremonial occasions, sits as assessor to the magistrates, and even gives legal opinions publicly, which makes this action of his all the more ridiculous and remarkable. Meanwhile Paulus, through another’s folly, found his audience somewhat chilled. Such particular care should people take beforehand, when they are going to recite, not only to be sane themselves, but also to invite none but sane hearers. —
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16. — TO TACITUS. (Mount Vesuvius Eruption Account I)
You ask me to write you an account of my uncle’s end, in order that you may be able the more faithfully to transmit it to posterity. I thank you, as I see that his death, if commemorated by you, has an imperishable renown offered it. For though he fell amid the destruction of such fair regions, and seems destined to live for ever — like so many peoples and cities — through the memorable character of the disaster; though he himself was the author of many and enduring works; yet the immortality of your writings will add greatly to the uninterrupted continuance of his fame. For my part I deem those blessed to whom, by favour of the gods, it has been granted either to do what is worth writing of, or to write what is worth reading; above measure blessed those on whom both gifts have been conferred. In the latter number will be my uncle, by virtue of his own and of your compositions. Hence, I the more readily undertake, and even lay claim to perform what you request.
He was at Misenum, in personal command of the fleet. The ninth day before the Kalends of September, at about the seventh hour, my mother indicated to him the appearance of a cloud of unusual size and shape. He had sunned himself, and next gone into his cold bath; and after a light meal, which he took reposing, was engaged in study. He called for his sandals, and ascended to a spot from which this portent could best be seen. A cloud was rising — from what mountain was a matter of uncertainty to those who looked at it from a distance: afterwards it was known to be Vesuvius — whose appearance and form would be represented by a pine better than any other tree. For, after towering upwards to a great height with an extremely lofty stem, so to speak, it spread out into a number of branches; because, as I imagine, having been lifted up by a recent breeze, and having lost the support of this as it grew feebler, or merely in consequence of yielding to its own weight, it was passing away laterally. It was at one time white, at another dingy and spotted, according as it carried earth or ashes. To a man of my uncle’s attainments, it seemed a remarkable phenomenon, and one to be observed from a nearer point of view. He ordered his fast-sailing cutter to be got ready, and, in case I wished to accompany him, gave me leave to do so. I replied that I preferred to go on with my studies, and it so happened that he had himself gi
ven me something to write out.
He was in the act of leaving the house, when a note was handed him from Rectina. Cæsius Bassus, frightened, together with the people there, at the imminence of the peril (for his villa lay under the mountain, and there was no escape for him except by taking ship), begged my uncle to rescue him from so critical a situation. Upon this he changed his plan, and, having started on his enterprise as a student, proceeded to carry it out in the spirit of a hero. He launched his four-ranked galleys, and embarked in person, in order to carry assistance, not to Rectina only, but to many others, for the charms of the coast caused it to be much peopled. He hastened in the direction whence every one else was flying, holding a direct course, and keeping his helm set straight for the peril, so free from fear that he dictated and caused to be noted down, as fast as he seized them with his eyes, all the shiftings and shapes of the dreadful prodigy. Ashes were already falling on the ships, hotter and thicker the nearer they approached; and even pumice and other stones, black, and scorched, and cracked by the fire. There had been a sudden retreat of the sea, and the debris from the mountain made the shore unapproachable. Having hesitated for a moment whether to turn back, he shortly called out to the helmsman (who was urging him to do so), “Fortune favours the brave! Make in the direction of Pomponianus.” The latter was at Stabiæ, separated from him by the whole width of the bay, for the sea flows in by shores gradually winding and curving inwards. There, in view of the danger which, though it had not yet approached, was nevertheless manifest, and must be upon them as soon as it extended itself, he had got his effects together on board ship, resolved to fly, if only the wind left off blowing from the opposite quarter. My uncle, brought to shore by this same wind, which precisely favoured him, embraced his trembling friend, consoling and exhorting him, and, in order to calm his fears by his own sang froid, bade them conduct him to the bath. After bathing, he took his place at table, and dined gaily, or (which was equally heroic) with an air of gaiety.
Delphi Complete Works of Pliny the Younger (Illustrated) (Delphi Ancient Classics) Page 19
