Letters of Pliny
highest esteem for Corellia, both as the sister of Rufus, whose memory
will always be a sacred one to me, and as my mother's intimate friend.
Besides, that excellent man Minutius Tuscus, her husband, has every
claim to my affection that a long friendship can give him; as there was
likewise the closest intimacy between her son and me, so much so indeed
that I fixed upon him to preside at the games which I exhibited when I
was elected praetor. This lady, when I was last in the country,
expressed a strong desire for some place upon the borders of our lake of
Comum; I therefore made her an offer, at her own price, of any part of
my land there, except what came to me from my father and mother; for
that I could not consent to part with, even to Corellia, and accordingly
when the inheritance in question fell to me, I wrote to let her know it
was to be sold. This letter I sent by Hermes, who, upon her requesting
him that he would immediately make over to her my proportion of it,
consented. Am I not then obliged to confirm what my freedman has thus
done in pursuance of my inclinations? I have only to entreat my fellow-
coheirs that they will not take it ill at my hands that I have made a
separate sale of what I had certainly a right to dispose of. They are
not bound in any way to follow my example, since they have not the same
connections with Corellia. They are at full liberty therefore to be
guided by interest, which in my own case I chose to sacrifice to
friendship. Farewell.
LXXVIII -- To CORELLIA
You are truly generous to desire and insist that I take for my share of
the estate you purchased of me, not after the rate of seven hundred
thousand sesterces for the whole, as my freedman sold it to you; but in
the proportion of nine hundred thousand, agreeably to what you gave to
the farmers of the twentieths for their part. But I must desire and
insist in my turn that you would consider not only what is suitable to
your character, but what is worthy of mine; and that you would suffer me
to oppose your inclination in this single instance, with the same warmth
that I obey it in all others. Farewell.
LXXIX -- To CELER
EVERY author has his particular reasons for reciting his works; mine, I
have often said, are, in order, if any error should have escaped my own
observation (as no doubt they do escape it sometimes), to have it
pointed out to me. I cannot therefore but be surprised to find (what
your letter assures me) that there are some who blame me for reciting my
speeches: unless, perhaps, they are of opinion that this is the single
species of composition that ought to be held exempt from any correction.
If so, I would willingly ask them why they allow (if indeed they do
allow) that history may be recited, since it is a work which ought to be
devoted to truth, not ostentation? or why tragedy, as it is composed for
action and the stage, not for being read to a private audience? or lyric
poetry, as it is not a reader, but a chorus of voices and instruments
that it requires? They will reply, perhaps, that in the instances
referred to custom has made the practice in question usual: I should be
glad to know, then, if they think the person who first introduced this
practice is to be condemned? Besides the rehearsal of speeches is no
unprecedented thing either with us or the Grecians. Still, perhaps, they
will insist that it can answer no purpose to recite a speech which has
already been delivered. True; if one were immediately to repeat the very
same speech word for word, and to the very same audience; but if you
make several additions and alterations; if your audience is composed
partly of the same, and partly of different persons, and the recital is
at some distance of time, why is there less propriety in rehearsing your
speech than in publishing it? "But it is difficult," the objectors urge,
"to give satisfaction to an audience by the mere recital of a speech;"
that is a consideration which concerns the particular skill and pains of
the person who rehearses, but by no means holds good against recitation
in general. The truth is, it is not whilst I am reading, but when I am
read, that I aim at approbation; and upon this principle I omit no sort
of correction. In the first place, I frequently go carefully over what I
have written, by myself, after this I read it out to two or three
friends, and then give it to others to make their remarks. If after this
I have any doubt concerning the justness of their observations, I
carefully weigh them again with a friend or two; and, last of all, I
recite them to a larger audience, then is the time, believe me, when I
correct most energetically and unsparingly; for my care and attention
rise in proportion to my anxiety; as nothing renders the judgment so
acute to detect error as that deference, modesty, and diffidence one
feels upon those occasions. For tell me, would you not be infinitely
less affected were you to speak before a single person only, though ever
so learned, than before a numerous assembly, even though composed of
none but illiterate people? When you rise up to plead, are you not at
that juncture, above all others, most self-distrustful? and do you not
wish, I will not say some particular parts only, but that the whole
arrangement of your intended speech were altered? especially if the
concourse should be large in which you are to speak? for there is
something even in a low and vulgar audience that strikes one with awe.
And if you suspect you are not well received at the first opening of
your speech, do you not find all your energy relaxed, and feel yourself
ready to give way? The reason I imagine to be that there is a certain
weight of collective opinion in a multitude, and although each
individual judgment is, perhaps, of little value, yet when united it
becomes considerable. Accordingly, Pomponius Secundus, the famous tragic
poet, whenever some very intimate friend and he differed about the
retaining or rejecting anything in his writings, used to say, "I
appeal[117] to the people"; and thus, by their silence or applause,
adopted either his own or his friend's opinion; such was the deference
he paid to the popular judgment! Whether justly or not, is no concern of
mine, as I am not in the habit of reciting my works publicly, but only
to a select circle, whose presence I respect, and whose judgment I
value; in a word, whose opinions I attend to as if they were so many
individuals I had separately consulted, at the same time that I stand in
as much awe before them as I should before the most numerous assembly.
What Cicero says of composing will, in my opinion, hold true of the
dread we have of the public: "Fear is the most rigid critic imaginable."
The very thought of reciting, the very entrance into an assembly, and
the agitated concern when one is there; each of these circumstances
tends to improve and perfect an author's performance. Upon the whole,
therefore, I cannot repent of a practice which I have found by
experience so exceedingly useful; and am so far from being discouraged
by the trifling objections of these censors that I request you would
point out to me if there is yet any other kind of correction, that I may
also adopt it; for nothing can sufficiently satisfy my anxiety to render
my compositions perfect. I reflect what an undertaking it is resigning
any work into the hands of the public; and I cannot but be persuaded
that frequent revisals, and many consultations, must go to the
perfecting of a performance, which one desires should universally and
forever please. Farewell.
LXXX -- To PRISCUS
THE illness of my friend Fannia gives me great concern. She contracted
it during her attendance on Junia, one of the Vestal virgins, engaging
in this good office at first voluntarily, Junia being her relation, and
afterwards being appointed to it by an order from the college of
priests: for these virgins, when excessive ill-health renders it
necessary to remove them from the temple of Vesta, are always delivered
over to the care and custody of some venerable matron. It was owing to
her assiduity in the execution of this charge that she contracted her
present dangerous disorder, which is a continual fever, attended with a
cough that increases daily. She is extremely emaciated, and every part
of her seems in a total decay except her spirits: those, indeed, she
fully keeps up; and in a way altogether worthy the wife of Helvidius,
and the daughter of Thrasea. In all other respects there is such a
falling away that I am more than apprehensive upon her account; I am
deeply afflicted. I grieve, my friend, that so excellent a woman is
going to be removed from the eyes of the world, which will never,
perhaps, again behold her equal. So pure she is, so pious, so wise and
prudent, so brave and steadfast! Twice she followed her husband into
exile, and the third time she was banished herself upon his account. For
Senecio, when arraigned for writing the life of Helvidius, having said
in his defence that he composed that work at the request of Fannia,
Metius Carus, with a stern and threatening air, asked her whether she
had made that request, and she replied, "I made it." Did she supply him
likewise with materials for the purpose? "I did." Was her mother privy
to this transaction? "She was not." In short, throughout her whole
examination, not a word escaped her which betrayed the smallest fear. On
the contrary, she had preserved a copy of those very books which the
senate, over-awed by the tyranny of the times, had ordered to be
suppressed, and at the same time the effects of the author to be
confiscated, and carried with her into exile the very cause of her
exile. How pleasing she is, how courteous, and (what is granted to few)
no less lovable than worthy of all esteem and admiration! Will she
hereafter be pointed out as a model to all wives; and perhaps be
esteemed worthy of being set forth as an example of fortitude even to
our sex; since, while we still have the pleasure of seeing and
conversing with her, we contemplate her with the same admiration, as
those heroines who are celebrated in ancient story? For myself, I
confess, I cannot but tremble for this illustrious house, which seems
shaken to its very foundations, and ready to fall; for though she will
leave descendants behind her, yet what a height of virtue must they
attain, what glorious deeds must they perform, ere the world will be
persuaded that she was not the last of her family! It is an additional
affliction and anguish to me that by her death I seem to lose her mother
a second time; that worthy mother (and what can I say higher in her
praise?) of so noble a woman! who, as she was restored to me in her
daughter, so she will now again be taken from me, and the loss of Fannia
will thus pierce my heart at once with a fresh, and at the same time re-
opened, wound. I so truly loved and honoured them both, that I know not
which I loved the best; a point they desired might ever remain
undetermined. In their prosperity and their adversity I did them every
kindness in my power, and was their comforter in exile, as well as their
avenger at their return. But I have not yet paid them what I owe, and am
so much the more solicitous for the recovery of this lady, that I may
have time to discharge my debt to her. Such is the anxiety and sorrow
under which I write this letter! But if some divine power should happily
turn it into joy, I shall not complain of the alarms I now suffer.
Farewell.
LXXXI -- To GEMINIUS
NUMIDIA QUADRATILLA is dead, having almost reached her eightieth year.
She enjoyed, up to her last illness, uninterrupted good health, and was
unusually stout and robust for one of her sex. She has left a very
prudent will, having disposed of two-thirds of her estate to her