12. — TO MINICIANUS.
I must beg to be excused for just this one day. Titinius Capito is going to recite, and I hardly know whether it be more my duty or my desire to hear him. He is an excellent man, and one to be numbered among the special illustrations of our age; he cultivates literature, and loves, cherishes, and advances men of letters; he is the port, the harbour, the place of refuge for a number of those who do anything in the way of composition; an example to all; lastly, a restorer and reformer of letters, which are now in their decline. He lends his house to people who recite, and frequents audiences — and that not merely at his own abode — with rare good-nature; me certainly, provided he is in town, he has never failed. Besides, the nobler the incentive to gratitude, the more shabby it would be not to show one’s self grateful. Pray, if I were harassed by legal proceedings, should I consider myself bound to one who appeared to my recognisances; and now, because all my business, all my care is with literature, shall I be less obliged to one who frequents me with so much assiduity, in a matter which, if not the only one, is certainly the most important one which can lay me under an obligation? Yet, if I owed him no return, no mutual good office, so to speak, yet I should be attracted either by the genius of the man, which is so admirable, so grand, so gentle even when most serious, or else by the noble character of his theme. He is writing of the deaths of illustrious men, and among them of some who were very dear to me. I seem, then, to be discharging an office of piety when, in the case of those whose obsequies I could not attend, I am present at what may be termed their funeral eulogies, which, though late in time, are on that account all the more truthful.
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13. — TO GENIALIS.
I approve of your having read my little books in company with your father. It pertains to your advancement to learn from a man of the highest eloquence what deserves praise and what censure, and, at the same time, to be so trained as to learn to speak the truth. You see whom you ought to follow, in whose footsteps you ought to tread. Happy fellow! who have had the luck in one and the same person to meet with a model so excellent and so nearly related to you; who, in short, have him to imitate, above all others, whom nature willed that you should most resemble.
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14. — TO ARISTO.
As you are so deeply versed in civil and constitutional law (of which senatorial law forms a part), I desire to learn from you particularly whether I did or did not make a mistake in the Senate on a recent occasion, that I may be instructed, not with a view to the past (for it would be too late for that), but to the future, should anything of a like kind present itself.
You will say, “Why inquire about what you ought to know?” Because the slavery of past times has introduced a certain oblivion and ignorance, as well of all other excellent sciences, so also of senatorial law. For few have the patience to be willing to learn what they will never have to practise. Add to this, that it is difficult to retain what you have learnt unless you do practise it. Thus it happened that the restoration of liberty surprised us in an untrained and inexperienced condition, and, enflamed by her charms, we are obliged to do certain things before we are masters of them. On the other hand, it was the ancient usage that we should learn from our elders, not only through our ears, but through our eyes as well, what we ourselves should presently have to do, and, by a kind of succession, to hand down to our juniors. Hence striplings were forthwith inured to service in the camps, that they might be habituated to command by obedience, and to act the part of leaders while learning to follow. Hence such as were to be candidates for public offices stationed themselves by the doors of the Senate-house, and were spectators of the national council before becoming members of it. Each had his own father for an instructor, or to him who had no father the oldest and most illustrious citizens stood in the place of one. What are the privileges of those who introduce motions, what the rights of those who pronounce on them, what the power of the magistrates, and the liberty accorded to the remaining Senators, where to yield and where to resist, what is the time for silence and what the limit of speech, how to distinguish between the parts of a conflicting proposition, how those who would add anything to a previous proposal may execute their purpose; in short, the whole practice of the Senate was taught by example, the surest mode of instruction.
Yet we, when youths, were, to be sure, in the camps. Yes, but at a time when prowess was suspected and inactivity was prized; when the leaders were without authority and the soldiers without shame; when the supreme control was nowhere and obedience nowhere; when all things were in a state of solution and confusion, and even inversion; in short, of a character to be forgotten rather than remembered. We also had a view of the Senate, but a cowering and speechless Senate, at a time when it was dangerous to speak according to one’s wishes and vile to speak against them. What could be learnt at such a period? and what could be the advantage of learning? when the Senate was summoned either to fall into a profound sleep or to sanction some atrocious villainy, and, detained now for the purpose of exciting laughter, now for that of inflicting pain, pronounced decisions which were never serious, though oftentimes sad.
These same evils we witnessed and endured for many years after we had ourselves become senators and sharers in them, by which means our intellects were permanently dulled, broken, and bruised. It is but a short time (every time is short in proportion as it is happy) since we have learnt with pleasure what we are, and can practise with pleasure what we know. And this gives me a greater right to ask, first, that you will pardon my mistake, if there be a mistake; next, that you would apply to it your remedial learning, whose care it has always been to investigate constitutional in the same way as civil law, what is ancient in the same way as what is modern, what is rare equally with what is common. And indeed I am of opinion that the kind of point which I am submitting to you was either not very familiar, or else actually unknown in practice to those predecessors of ours whose constant and varied experience left them in ignorance of scarce anything. Hence, not only shall I be the more readily excused if I have chanced to trip, but you will be the more entitled to credit if you can instruct me on a point which it is uncertain to me whether you have studied.
The debate was about the freedmen of Afranius Dexter, the Consul, who had perished either by his own or his servants’ hands, either through their crime or their obedience to his commands, it is uncertain which. As to these persons, one senator (“Who?” you ask. It was I; but this is of no consequence) opined that, having been put to the question, they should be exempted from punishment; a second, that they should be banished to an island; a third, that they should suffer death. So great was the difference between these proposals, that they could only be taken singly. For what is there in common between putting to death and banishing? Nothing more, by Hercules, than between banishing and acquitting. Though, to be sure, a proposal for acquitting is somewhat nearer to one for banishing than would be a proposal for putting to death, since both the former leave life untouched, while the last takes it away. Yet, meanwhile, those who were for the punishment of death and those who were for banishment sat together, and by a temporary simulation deferred the discord which underlay their concord. I demanded that the proper number of these three propositions should be established, and that two of them should not be joined together in a short truce. Hence I insisted that those who were for the infliction of the capital penalty should leave the side of those who were for banishment, and that those who were shortly about to differ among themselves should not in the interim be united in opposition to the party who were for an acquittal; because it was of very little consequence that they disagreed with the same proposal, seeing that they had previously agreed to different ones. This too seemed to me particularly strange, that while he who had pronounced for banishing the freedmen and inflicting the last penalty on the slaves had been compelled to divide his vote, yet he who was for punishing the f
reedmen with death should he told off among those who were for banishing them. For if it had been right that the proposition of one should be divided, as comprehending two different things, I could not discover in what way the propositions could be joined together of two persons who pronounced themselves so differently. And indeed permit me — in your hearing precisely as there, and though the question is settled precisely as though it were still alive — to give you the reasons for my opinion, and to put together now at my ease what I then threw out disjointedly amidst many stormy interruptions.
Let us suppose three judges in all to have been assigned to this cause, and that the decision of one of these had been that the freedmen should die; of the second, that they should be banished; of the third, that they should be acquitted. Pray, should two of these opinions, by their united strength, destroy the last? Or, taken separately, should not each of them be worth just what the other is, so that the first can no more be connected with the second than the second with the third? It results that, in the Senate as well, votes ought to be reckoned as being opposed to each other, which are given as being different from each other. What if one and the same man were to pronounce for death and banishment? would it be possible for these persons both to die and to be banished in accordance with this single vote? Indeed, could that be considered one vote at all which conjoined things so diverse? How, then, when one pronounces for punishing them with death, and another for banishing them, can that appear to be one vote because it is pronounced by two, which would not appear one vote if it were pronounced by one? What! does not the law clearly teach that the votes for death and those for banishment should be separated, when it orders divisions to be taken in this manner:—” Those who are of this opinion to this side; those who are of any other opinion to the side which accords with your opinion.” Examine these words singly and weigh them. “Those who are of this opinion,” that is to say, who think the men should he banished, “to this side” — that is to say, to the side on which the senator who has made the motion for banishment is sitting. From this it is clear that those who are in favour of putting them to death cannot remain on the same side. “Those who are of any other opinion.” You observe that the law, not content with saying “other,” has added to it “any.” Can there be a doubt, then, that those who put to death hold an entirely different opinion from those who banish? “To that side which accords with your opinion.” Does not the law itself seem to call, to compel, to drive, those who differ to the opposite side? Does not the Consul, even, point out to every one, and that not merely in the customary form of words, but with his hand and by his gestures, the place where he is to remain or to which he is to pass over? “But it will happen that if the votes for death and those for banishment be divided, the vote in favour of acquittal may prevail.” What does this matter to the persons voting? It certainly does not become them to strive by every art and every calculation to prevent a more merciful decision from being carried. “It is proper, in any case, that those who are for the death penalty and those who are for banishment should first be compared with those who acquit, and afterwards with each other. As, for example, at certain of the shows, some individual is separated and reserved by lot to compete with the victor, so in the Senate there are certain first and second trials of strength, and the one of two proposals which comes out victorious is waited on by a third.” Need I say that if the first proposal be carried the remaining ones are put an end to? How, then, can propositions be joined on a common ground for which no place can be found subsequently? To repeat this more clearly, when the motion for banishment is made, if those who are for death do not at once go to the other side, it will be in vain that they will differ at a subsequent stage from those with whom they have voted just before.
But why do I seem to be teaching when I want to learn whether these motions should have been divided, whether they should have been gone into singly? To be sure I obtained what I demanded; none the less, however, do I ask whether I ought to have made the demand. In what way was it obtained? Why, the senator who had moved that the extreme penalty should be inflicted (overpowered, I do not know whether by the legality, but certainly by the equity of my demand), threw up his own motion, and went over to the side of him who was for banishment: fearing, no doubt, that if the motions were taken separately — and, but for his action, it seemed likely that they would be — the one for acquittal would obtain a majority. And, indeed, there were many more of that one party than in either of the other two taken singly. Then those senators, too, who were led by his authority, thus left to themselves after he had gone over, abandoned a proposal which had been forsaken by its own author, and followed in his species of desertion the person whom they followed in his lead. So out of three proposals two resulted, and of these two one prevailed, the third being extinguished, which, as it could not overcome the two others, had to choose by which of the two it would be defeated.
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15. — TO JUNIOR.
I have laid a burden on you by the despatch of so many volumes at once. However, I have burdened you, in the first place, because you had insisted on my doing so, and, in the next place, because you had written to me that the vintage was so slender in your parts as to make me see very clearly that you would have leisure (as the common phrase runs) “to pluck a book.” We have the same announcement from my own small estates. Consequently, on my side too, I shall be able to write something for you to read, if only paper can be bought anywhere. Should it be rough or porous, I shall either have not to write at all, or shall perforce make a smudge of whatever I write, be it good or bad.
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16. — TO PATERNUS.
I am prostrated by the ailments of my servants, by deaths among them, too, and of young ones into the bargain. I have two consolations, by no means on a par with the greatness of my sorrow, still consolations. One is my readiness in setting them free (for I do not seem to have lost quite prematurely such as had already gained their freedom when I lost them); the other is, that I permit even my slaves to make quasi-testamentary dispositions, observing these just as though they were legal documents. They enjoin and request whatever they choose, and I obey as if under orders. They distribute, give, and bequeath — at least, within the limits of the household. For to slaves the household is a kind of state, and stands in the place of a community.
Still, though soothed by these consolations, I am dispirited and broken by reason of the identical humanity of disposition which has prompted me to these same concessions. Yet I would not on that account be made harder, while not ignoring that others style mishaps of this sort a pecuniary loss and nothing more, and hence seem to themselves great and wise men. As for these, whether they be great and wise, I cannot tell; men they are not. For it is the part of a man to be affected by grief, to feel, yet at the same time to bear up and to admit of consolation, not to be in no need of consolation. However, about all this I have said more perhaps than I ought, yet less than I wished. There is, indeed, a certain pleasure even in grief, particularly if you weep into the bosom of a friend who is prepared to bestow on your tears either his approval or his pardon.
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17. — TO MACRINUS.
Is the weather as rough and unsettled with you as it is with us? Here we have constant storms and a succession of inundations. The Tiber has exceeded its channels, and is flowing high over its less elevated banks. Though its force is weakened by an outlet which the Emperor, in his great forethought, has constructed, yet it covers the valleys and pours over the fields, and where the surface is flat it presents itself to the eye in the place of the surface. Hence it forces backwards, as though it went to meet them, the streams which it usually receives and carries down in combination, and by this means covers, with waters not its own, a country which it does not itself touch. The Anio, most charming of rivers, and which on that account had seemed as it were to be inv
ited by and made to slacken its course near the villas on its banks has destroyed and carried off in great part the woods that overshadowed it. It has undermined hills, and, impeded in many places by the mass of falling debris, while seeking its lost way, it has thrown down houses, and risen and swept over their ruins. Those who on loftier ground were not caught by the tempest in question beheld in one place the appliances of wealth and costly furniture; in another, agricultural implements; here, cattle, ploughs, herdsmen; there, the loose herds left to themselves, and among these objects the trunks of trees, or the rafters and roofs of villas, all drifting in wide variety. Nor, indeed, have even those localities to which the river did not ascend been exempted from damage. For, in lieu of the river, there was a continuous downpour, and whirlwinds were precipitated from the clouds, the fences surrounding valuable enclosures were overthrown, public monuments were shaken and even toppled down. Many persons were disabled and overwhelmed and crushed by accidents of this description, and loss of property has been aggravated by mourning.
I am apprehensive that something of the same kind in a proportionate degree may have imperilled you where you are: and I beg you, if there has been nothing of the sort, to have regard to my anxiety with all possible speed. But, if there e’en has been, announce that, just the same. For the difference is but trifling between suffering misfortunes and anticipating them; except, however, that there is a limit to grief, while there is no limit to fear. Our grief is indeed proportioned to what we know to have happened: our fears to what may happen.
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Delphi Complete Works of Pliny the Younger (Illustrated) (Delphi Ancient Classics) Page 27
