XII. — TO CALESTRIUS TIRO.
I have suffered a most grievous loss, if loss is a word that can be applied to my being bereft of so distinguished a man. Corellius Rufus is dead, and what makes my grief the more poignant is that he died by his own act. Such a death is always most lamentable, since neither natural causes nor Fate can be held responsible for it. When people die of disease there is a great consolation in the thought that no one could have prevented it; when they lay violent hands on themselves we feel a pang which nothing can assuage in the thought that they might have lived longer. Corellius, it is true, felt driven to take his own life by Reason — and Reason is always tantamount to Necessity with philosophers — and yet there were abundant inducements for him to live. His conscience was stainless, his reputation beyond reproach; he stood high in men’s esteem. Moreover, he had a daughter, a wife, a grandson, and sisters, and, besides all these relations, many genuine friends. But his battle against ill-health had been so long and hopeless that all these splendid rewards of living were outweighed by the reasons that urged him to die.
I have heard him say that he was first attacked by gout in the feet when he was thirty-three years of age. He had inherited the complaint, for it often happens that a tendency to disease is handed down like other qualities in a sort of succession. While he was in the prime of life he overcame his malady and kept it well in check by abstemious and pure living, and when it became sharper in its attacks as he grew old he bore up against it with great fortitude of mind. Even when he suffered incredible torture and the most horrible agony — for the pain was no longer confined, as before, to the feet, but had begun to spread over all his limbs — I went to see him in the time of Domitian when he was staying at his country house. His attendants withdrew from his chamber, as they always did whenever one of his more intimate friends entered the room. Even his wife, a lady who might have been trusted to keep any secret, also used to retire. Looking round the room, he said: “Why do you think I endure pain like this so long? It is that I may outlive that tyrant, even if only by a single day.” Could you but have given him a frame fit to support his resolution, he would have achieved the object of his desire. However, some god heard his prayer and granted it, and then feeling that he could die without anxiety and as a free man ought, he snapped the bonds that bound him to life. Though they were many, he preferred death.
His malady had become worse, though he tried to moderate it by his careful diet, and then, as it still continued to grow, he escaped from it by a fixed resolve. Two, three, four days passed and he refused all food. Then his wife Hispulla sent our mutual friend Caius Geminius to tell me the sad news that Corellius had determined to die, that he was not moved by the entreaties of his wife and daughter, and that I was the only one left who might possibly recall him to life. I flew to see him, and had almost reached the house when Hispulla sent me another message by Julius Atticus, saying that now even I could do nothing, for his resolve had become more and more fixed. When the doctor offered him nourishment he said, “My mind is made up,” and the word has awakened within me not only a sense of loss, but of admiration. I keep thinking what a friend, what a manly friend is now lost to me. He was at the end of his seventy-sixth year, an age long enough even for the stoutest of us. True. He has escaped a lifelong illness; he has died leaving children to survive him, and knowing that the State, which was dearer to him than everything else beside, was prospering well. Yes, yes, I know all this. And yet I grieve at his death as I should at the death of a young man in the full vigour of life; I grieve — you may think me weak for so doing — on my own account too. For I have lost, lost for ever, the guide, philosopher, and friend of my life. In short, I will say again what I said to my friend Calvisius, when my grief was fresh: “I am afraid I shall not live so well ordered a life now.” Send me a word of sympathy, but do not say, “He was an old man, or he was infirm.” These are hackneyed words; send me some that are new, that are potent to ease my trouble, that I cannot find in books or hear from my friends. For all that I have heard and read occur to me naturally, but they are powerless in the presence of my excessive sorrow. Farewell.
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13. C. PLINIUS SOSIO SENECIONI SUO S.
1 Magnum proventum poetarum annus hic attulit: toto mense Aprili nullus fere dies, quo non recitaret aliquis. Iuvat me quod vigent studia, proferunt se ingenia hominum et ostentant, tametsi ad audiendum pigre coitur. 2 Plerique in stationibus sedent tempusque audiendi fabulis conterunt, ac subinde sibi nuntiari iubent, an iam recitator intraverit, an dixerit praefationem, an e: magna parte evolucrit librum; tum demum ac tunc quoque Lente cunctanterque veniunt, nec tamen permanent, sed ante finem recedunt, alii dissimulanter et furtim, alii simpliciter et libere. 3 At hercule memoria parentum Claudium Caesarem ferunt, cum in Palatio spatiaretur audissetque clamorem, causam requisisse, cumque dictum esset recitare Nonianum, subitum recitanti inopinatumque venisse. 4 Nunc otiosissimus quisque multo ante rogatus et identidem admonitus aut non venit aut, si venit, queritur se diem — quia non perdidit — perdidisse. 5 Sed tanto magis laudandi probandique sunt, quos a scribendi recitandique studio haec auditorum vel desidia vel superbia non retardat. Equidem prope nemini defui. Erant sane plerique amici; 6 neque enim est fere quisquam, qui studia, ut non simul et nos amet. His ex causis longius quam destinaveram tempus in urbe consumpsi. Possum iam repetere secessum et scribere aliquid, quod non recitem, ne videar, quorum recitationibus adfui, non auditor fuisse sed creditor. Nam ut in ceteris rebus ita in audiendi officio perit gratia si reposcatur. Vale.
XIII. — TO SOSIUS SENECIO.
This year has brought us a fine crop of poets: right through April hardly a day passed without some recital or other. I am delighted that literature is so flourishing and that men are giving such open proofs of brains, even though audiences are found so slow in coming together. People as a rule lounge in the squares and waste the time in gossip when they should be listening to the recital. They get some one to come and tell them whether the reciter has entered the hall yet, whether he has got through his introduction, or whether he has nearly reached the end of his reading. Not until then do they enter the room, and even then they come in slowly and languidly. Nor do they sit it out; no, before the close of the recital they slip away, some sidling out so as not to attract attention, others rising openly and walking out boldly. And yet, by Hercules, our fathers tell a story of how Claudius Caesar one day, while walking up and down in the palace, happened to hear some clapping of hands, and on inquiring the cause and being told that Nonianus was giving a reading, he suddenly joined the company to every one’s surprise. But nowadays even those who have most time on their hands, after receiving early notices and frequent reminders, either fail to put in an appearance, or if they do come they complain that they have wasted a day just because they have not wasted it. All the more praise and credit, therefore, is due to those who do not allow their love of writing and reciting to be damped either by the laziness or the fastidiousness of their audiences. For my own part, I have hardly ever failed to attend. True, the authors are mostly my friends, for almost all the literary people are also friends of mine, and for this reason I have spent more time in Rome than I had intended. But now I can betake myself to my country retreat and compose something, though not for a public recital, lest those whose readings I attended should think I went not so much to hear their works as to get a claim on them to come and hear mine. As in everything else, if you lend a man your ears, all the grace of the act vanishes if you ask for his in return. Farewell.
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14. C. PLINIUS IUNIO MAURICO SUO S.
1 Petis ut fratris tui filiae prospiciam maritum; quod merito mihi potissimum iniungis. Scis enim quanto opere summum illum virum suspexerim dilexerimque, quibus ille adulescentiam meam exhortationibus foverit, quibus etiam laudibus ut laudandus viderer effecerit. 2 Nihil est quod a te mandari mihi aut maius aut gratius, nihil quod honestius a me
suscipi possit, quam ut eligam iuvenem, ex quo nasci nepotes Aruleno Rustico deceat. 3 Qui quidem diu quaerendus fuisset, nisi paratus et quasi provisus esset Minicius Acilianus, qui me ut iuvenis iuvenem — est enim minor pauculis annis — familiarissime diligit, reveretur ut senem. 4 Nam ita formari a me et institui cupit, ut ego a vobis solebam. Patria est ei Brixia, ex illa nostra Italia quae multum adhuc verecundiae frugalitatis, atque etiam rusticitatis antiquae, retinet ac servat. 5 Pater Minicius Macrinus, equestris ordinis princeps, quia nihil altius volvit; allectus enim a Divo Vespasiano inter praetorios honestam quietem huic nostrae — ambitioni dicam an dignitati? — constantissime praetulit. 6 Habet aviam maternam Serranam Proculam e municipio Patavio. Nosti loci mores: Serrana tamen Patavinis quoque severitatis exemplum est. Contigit et avunculus ei P. Acilius gravitate prudentia fide prope singulari. In summa nihil erit in domo tota, quod non tibi tamquam in tua placeat. 7 Aciliano vero ipsi plurimum vigoris industriae, quamquam in maxima verecundia. Quaesturam tribunatum praeturam honestissime percucurrit, ac iam pro se tibi necessitatem ambiendi remisit. 8 Est illi facies liberalis, multo sanguine multo rubore suffusa, est ingenua totius corporis pulchritudo et quidam senatorius decor. Quae ego nequaquam arbitror neglegenda; debet enim hoc castitati puellarum quasi praemium dari. 9 Nescio an adiciam esse patri eius amplas facultates. Nam cum imaginor vos quibus quaerimus generum, silendum de facultatibus puto; cum publicos mores atque etiam leges civitatis intueor, quae vel in primis census hominum spectandos arbitrantur, ne id quidem praetereundum videtur. Et sane de posteris et his pluribus cogitanti, hic quoque in condicionibus deligendis ponendus est calculus. 10 Tu fortasse me putes indulsisse amori meo, supraque ista quam res patitur sustulisse. At ego fide mea spondeo futurum ut omnia longe ampliora quam a me praedicantur invenias. Diligo quidem adulescentem ardentissime sicut meretur; sed hoc ipsum amantis est, non onerare eum laudibus. Vale.
XIV. — TO JUNIUS MAURICUS.
You ask me to look out for a husband for your brother’s daughter, and you do well to select me for such a commission. For you know how I looked up to him, and what an affection I had for his splendid qualities; you know, too, what good advice he gave me in my salad days, and how by his warm praises he actually made it appear that I deserved them. You could not have given me a more important commission or one that I should be better pleased to undertake, and there is no charge that I could possibly accept as a greater compliment to myself than that of being set to choose a young man worthy of being the father of grandchildren to Arulenus Rusticus. I should have had to look carefully and long, had it not been that Minucius Acilianus was ready to hand, — one might almost say that Providence had prepared him for the purpose. He has for me the close and affectionate regard of one young man for another — for he is only a few years younger than myself — yet at the same time he pays me the deference due to a man of years, for he is as anxious that I should mould and form his character as I used to be that you and your son should mould mine. His native place is Brixia, a part of that Italy of ours which still retains and preserves much of the old- fashioned courtesy, frugality and even rusticity. His father, Minucius Macrinus, was one of the leaders of the Equestrian order, because he did not wish to attain higher rank; he was admitted by the divine Vespasian to Praetorian rank, and to the end of his days preferred this modest and honourable distinction to the — what shall I say? — ambitions or dignities for which we strive. His grandmother on his mother’s side was Serrana Procula, who belonged to the township of Patavia. You know the character of that place — well, Serrana was a model of austere living even to the people of Patavia. His uncle was Publius Acilius, a man of almost unique weight, judgment, and honour. In short, you will find nothing in the whole of his family which will fail to please you as much as if the family were your own.
As for Acilianus himself, he is an energetic and untiring worker, and the very pink of courtesy. He has already acquitted himself with great credit in the quaestorship, tribunate, and praetorship, and so he has thus spared you the trouble of having to canvass in his behalf. He has a frank, open countenance, fresh-coloured and blooming; a handsome, well-made figure, and an air that would become a senator. These are points which, in my opinion, are not to be neglected, for I regard them as meet rewards to a girl for her chastity. I don’t know whether I should add that his father is a well-to-do man, for when I think of you and your brother for whom we are looking out for a son-in-law, I feel disinclined to speak of money. On the other hand, when I consider the prevailing tendencies of the day and the laws of the state which lay such prominent stress upon the matter of income, I think it right not to overlook the point. Moreover, when I remember the possible issue of the marriage, I feel that in choosing a bridegroom one must take his income into account. Perhaps you will imagine that I have let my affection run away with me, and that I have exaggerated my friend’s merits beyond their due. But I pledge you my word of honour that you will find his virtues to be far in excess of my description of them. I have the most intense affection for the young man, and he deserves my love, but it is one of the proofs of a lover that you do not overburden the object of your regard with praise. Farewell.
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15. C. PLINIUS SEPTICIO CLARO SUO S.
1 Heus tu! Promittis ad cenam, nec venis? Dicitur ius: ad assem impendium reddes, nec id modicum. 2 Paratae erant lactucae singulae, cochleae ternae, ova bina, halica cum mulso et nive — nam hanc quoque computabis, immo hanc in primis quae perit in ferculo -, olivae betacei cucurbitae bulbi, alia mille non minus lauta. Audisses comoedos vel lectorem vel lyristen vel — quae mea liberalitas — omnes. 3 At tu apud nescio quem ostrea vulvas echinos Gaditanas maluisti. Dabis poenas, non dico quas. Dure fecisti: invidisti, nescio an tibi, certe mihi, sed tamen et tibi. Quantum nos lusissemus risissemus studuissemus! 4 Potes apparatius cenare apud multos, nusquam hilarius simplicius incautius. In summa experire, et nisi postea te aliis potius excusaveris, mihi semper excusa. Vale.
XV. — TO SEPTICIUS CLARUS.
What a fellow you are! You promise to come to dinner and then fail to turn up! Well, here is my magisterial sentence upon you. You must pay the money I am out of pocket to the last farthing, and you will find the sum no small one. I had provided for each guest one lettuce, three snails, two eggs, spelt mixed with honey and snow (you will please reckon up the cost of the latter as among the costly of all, since it melts away in the dish), olives from Baetica, cucumbers, onions, and a thousand other equally expensive dainties. You would have listened to a comedian, or a reciter, or a harp-player, or perhaps to all, as I am such a lavish host. But you preferred to dine elsewhere, — where I know not — off oysters, sow’s matrices, sea-urchins, and to watch Spanish dancing girls! You will be paid out for it, though how I decline to say. You have done violence to yourself. You have grudged, possibly yourself, but certainly me, a fine treat. Yes, yourself! For how we should have enjoyed ourselves, how we should have laughed together, how we should have applied ourselves! You can dine at many houses in better style than at mine, but nowhere will you have a better time, or such a simple and free and easy entertainment. In short, give me a trial, and if afterwards you do not prefer to excuse yourself to others rather than to me, why then I give you leave to decline my invitations always. Farewell.
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16. C. PLINIUS ERUCIO SUO S.
1 Amabam Pompeium Saturninum — hunc dico nostrum — laudabamque eius ingenium, etiam antequam scirem, quam varium quam flexibile quam multiplex esset; nunc vero totum me tenet habet possidet. 2 Audivi causas agentem acriter et ardenter, nec minus polite et ornate, sive meditata sive subita proferret. Adsunt aptae crebraeque sententiae, gravis et decora constructio, sonantia verba et antiqua. Omnia haec mire placent cum impetu quodam et flumine pervehuntur, placent si retractentur. 3 Senties quod ego, cum orationes eius in manus sumpseris, quas facile cuilibet veterum, quorum est aemulus, comparabis. 4 Idem tamen in historia magis satisfaciet ve
l brevitate vel luce vel suavitate vel splendore etiam et sublimitate narrandi. Nam in contionibus eadem quae in orationibus vis est, pressior tantum et circumscriptior et adductior. 5 Praeterea facit versus, quales Catullus meus aut Calvus, re vera quales Catullus aut Calvus. Quantum illis leporis dulcedinis amaritudinis amoris! Inserit sane, sed data opera, mollibus levibusque duriusculos quosdam; et hoc quasi Catullus aut Calvus. 6 Legit mihi nuper epistulas; uxoris esse dicebat. Plautum vel Terentium metro solutum legi credidi. Quae sive uxoris sunt ut affirmat, sive ipsius ut negat, pari gloria dignus, qui aut illa componat, aut uxorem quam virginem accepit, tam doctam politamque reddiderit. 7 Est ergo mecum per diem totum; eundem antequam scribam, eundem cum scripsi, eundem etiam cum remittor, non tamquam eundem lego. 8 Quod te quoque ut facias et hortor et moneo; neque enim debet operibus eius obesse quod vivit. An si inter eos quos numquam vidimus floruisset, non solum libros eius verum etiam imagines conquireremus, eiusdem nunc honor praesentis et gratia quasi satietate languescit? 9 At hoc pravum malignumque est, non admirari hominem admiratione dignissimum, quia videre alloqui audire complecti, nec laudare tantum verum etiam amare contingit. Vale.
Delphi Complete Works of Pliny the Younger (Illustrated) (Delphi Ancient Classics) Page 79