Letters of Pliny
name="linknoteref-61" id="linknoteref-61">[61]</a>
Do you not think that the poet who wrote of me in such terms deserved
some friendly marks of my bounty then, and of my sorrow now? For he gave
me the very best he had to bestow, and would have given more had it been
in his power. Though indeed what can a man have conferred on him more
valuable than the honour of never-fading praise? But his poems will not
long survive their author, at least I think not, though he wrote them in
the expectation of their doing so. Farewell.
XXXVIII -- To FABATUS (HIS WIFE'S GRANDFATHER)
You have long desired a visit from your grand-daughter[62] accompanied
by me. Nothing, be assured, could be more agreeable to either of us; for
we equally wish to see you, and are determined to delay that pleasure no
longer. For this purpose we are already packing up, and hastening to you
with all the speed the roads will permit of. We shall make only one,
short, stoppage, for we intend turning a little out of our way to go
into Tuscany: not for the sake of looking upon our estate, and into our
family concerns, which we can postpone to another opportunity, but to
perform an indispensable duty. There is a town near my estate, called
Tifernum-upon-the-Tiber,[63] which, with more affection than wisdom, put
itself under my patronage when I was yet a youth. These people celebrate
my arrival among them, express the greatest concern when I leave them,
and have public rejoicings whenever they hear of my preferments. By way
of requiting their kindnesses (for what generous mind can bear to be
excelled in acts of friendship?) I have built a temple in this place, at
my own expense, and as it is finished, it would be a sort of impiety to
put off its dedication any longer. So we shall be there on the day on
which that ceremony is to be performed, and I have resolved to celebrate
it with a general feast. We may possibly stay on there for all the next
day, but shall make so much the greater haste in our journey afterwards.
May we have the happiness to find you and your daughter in good health!
In good spirits I am sure we shall, should we get to you all safely.
Farewell.
XXXIX -- To ATTIUS CLEMENS
REGULUS has lost his son; the only undeserved misfortune which could
have befallen him, in that I doubt whether he thinks it a misfortune.
The boy had quick parts, but there was no telling how he might turn out;
however, he seemed capable enough of going right, were he not to grow up
like his father. Regulus gave him his freedom,[64] in order to entitle
him to the estate left him by his mother; and when he got into
possession of it, (I speak of the current rumours, based upon the
character of the man,) fawned upon the lad with a disgusting shew of
fond affection which in a parent was utterly out of place. You may
hardly think this credible; but then consider what Regulus is. However,
he now expresses his concern for the loss of this youth in a most
extravagant manner. The boy had a number of ponies for riding and
driving, dogs both big and little, together with nightingales, parrots,
and blackbirds in abundance. All these Regulus slew round the funeral
pile. It was not grief, but an ostentatious parade of grief. He is
visited upon this occasion by a surprising number of people, who all
hate and detest the man, and yet are as assiduous in their attendance
upon him as if they really esteemed and loved him, and, to give you my
opinion in a word, in endeavouring to do Regulus a kindness, make
themselves exactly like him. He keeps himself in his park on the other
side the Tiber, where he has covered a vast extent of ground with his
porticoes, and crowded all the shore with his statues; for he unites
prodigality with excessive covetousness, and vain-glory with the height
of infamy. At this very unhealthy time of year he is boring society, and
he feels pleasure and consolation in being a bore. He says he wishes to
marry,--a piece of perversity, like all his other conduct. You must
expect, therefore, to hear shortly of the marriage of this mourner, the
marriage of this old man; too early in the former case, in the latter,
too late. You ask me why I conjecture this? Certainly not because he
says so himself (for a greater liar never stepped), but because there is
no doubt that Regulus will do whatever ought not to be done. Farewell.
XL -- To CATIUS LEPIDUS
I OFTEN tell you that there is a certain force of character about
Regulus: it is wonderful how he carries through what he has set his mind
to. He chose lately to be extremely concerned for the loss of his son:
accordingly he mourned for him as never man mourned before. He took it
into his head to have an immense number of statues and pictures of him;
immediately all the artisans in Rome are set to work. Canvas, wax,
brass, silver, gold, ivory, marble, all exhibit the figure of the young
Regulus. Not long ago he read, before a numerous audience, a memoir of
his son: a memoir of a mere boy! However he read it. He wrote likewise a
sort of circular letter to the several Decurii desiring them to choose
out one of their order who had a strong clear voice, to read this eulogy
to the people; it has been actually done. Now had this force of
character or whatever else you may call a fixed determination in
obtaining whatever one has a mind for, been rightly applied, what
infinite good it might have effected! The misfortune is, there is less
of this quality about good people than about bad people, and as
ignorance begets rashness, and thoughtfulness produces deliberation, so
modesty is apt to cripple the action of virtue, whilst confidence
strengthens vice. Regulus is a case in point: he has a weak voice, an
awkward delivery, an indistinct utterance, a slow imagination, and no
memory; in a word, he possesses nothing but a sort of frantic energy:
and yet, by the assistance of a flighty turn and much impudence, he
passes as an orator. Herennius Senecio admirably reversed Cato's
definition of an orator, and applied it to Regulus: "An orator," he
said, "is a bad man, unskilled in the art of speaking." And really
Cato's definition is not a more exact description of a true orator than
Seneclo's is of the character of this man. Would you make me a suitable
return for this letter? Let me know if you, or any of my friends in your
town, have, like a stroller in the marketplace, read this doleful
production of Regulus's, "raising," as Demosthenes says, "your voice
most merrily, and straining every muscle in your throat." For so absurd
a performance must excite laughter rather than compassion; and indeed
the composition is as puerile as the subject. Farewell.
XLI -- To MATURUS ARRIANUS
Mv advancement to the dignity of augur[65] is an honour that justly
indeed merits your congratulations; not only because it is highly
honourable to receive, even in the slightest instances, a testimony of
the approbation of so wise and discreet a prince,[66] but because it is
moreover an ancient and religious institution, which has this sacred and
peculiar privilege annexed to it, that it is for life. Other sacerdotal
offices, though they may, perhaps, be almost equal to this one in
dignity, yet as they are given so they may be taken away again: but
fortune has no further power over this than to bestow it. What
recommends this dignity still more highly is, that I have the honour to
succeed so illustrious a person as Julius Frontinus. He for many years,
upon the nomination-day of proper persons to be received into the sacred
college, constantly proposed me, as though he had a view to electing me
as his successor; and since it actually proved so in the event, I am
willing to look upon it as something more than mere accident. But the
circumstance, it seems, that most pleases you in this affair, is, that
Cicero enjoyed the same post; and you rejoice (you tell me) to find that
I follow his steps as closely in the path of honours as I endeavour to
do in that of eloquence. I wish, indeed, that as I had the advantage of
being admitted earlier into the same order of priesthood, and into the
consular office, than Cicero, that so I might, in my later years, catch
some spark, at least, of his divine genius! The former, indeed, being at
man's disposal, may be conferred on me and on many others, but the
latter it is as presumptuous to hope for as it is difficult to reach,
being in the gift of heaven alone. Farewell.
XLII -- To STATIUS SABINUS
YOUR letter informs me that Sabina, who appointed you and me her heirs,
though she has nowhere expressly directed that Modestus shall have his
freedom, yet has left him a legacy in the following words, "I give, &c.-
-To Modestus, whom I have ordered to have his freedom": upon which you
desire my opinion. I have consulted skilful lawyers upon the point, and
they all agree Modestus is not entitled to his liberty, since it is not
expressly given, and consequently that the legacy is void, as being
bequeathed to a slave.[67] But it evidently appears to be a mistake in
the testatrix; and therefore I think we ought to act in this case as
though Sabina had directed, in so many words, what, it is clear, she had
ordered. I am persuaded you will go with me in this opinion, who so
religiously regard the will of the deceased, which indeed where it can
be discovered will always be law to honest heirs. Honour is to you and
me as strong an obligation as the compulsion of law is to others. Let
Modestus then enjoy his freedom and his legacy as fully as if Sabina had
observed all the requisite forms, as indeed they effectually do who make
a judicious choice of their heirs. Farewell.
XLIII -- To CORNELIUS MINICIANUS
[68] Have you heard--I suppose, not yet, for the news has but just
arrived -- that Valerius Licinianus has become a professor in Sicily?
This unfortunate person, who lately enjoyed the dignity of praetor, and
was esteemed the most eloquent of our advocates, is now fallen from a
senator to an exile, from an orator to a teacher of rhetoric.
Accordingly in his inaugural speech he uttered, sorrowfully and
solemnly, the following words: "Oh! Fortune, how capriciously dost thou
sport with mankind! Thou makest rhetoricians of senators, and senators
of rhetoricians!" A sarcasm so poignant and full of gall that one might
almost imagine he fixed upon this profession merely for the sake of an
opportunity of applying it. And having made his first appearance in
school, clad in the Greek cloak (for exiles have no right to wear the
toga), after arranging himself and looking down upon his attire, "I am,
however," he said, "going to declaim in Latin." You will think, perhaps,
this situation, wretched and deplorable as it is, is what he well
deserves for having stained the honourable profession of an orator with
the crime of incest. It is true, indeed, he pleaded guilty to the
charge; but whether from a consciousness of his guilt, or from an
apprehension of worse consequences if he denied it, is not clear; for
Domitian generally raged most furiously where his evidence failed him
most hopelessly. That emperor had determined that Cornelia, chief of the
Vestal Virgins, should be buried alive, from an extravagant notion that
exemplary severities of this kind conferred lustre upon his reign.
Accordingly, by virtue of his office as supreme pontiff, or, rather, in
the exercise of a tyrant's cruelty, a despot's lawlessness, he convened
the sacred college, not in the pontifical court where they usually
assemble, but at his villa near Alba; and there, with a guilt no less
heinous than that which he professed to be punishing, he condemned her,
when she was not present to defend herself, on the charge of incest,
while he himself had been guilty, not only of debauching his own