Letters of Pliny
island has its peculiar shape and size, but the edges of all of them are
worn away by their frequent collision with the shore and one another.
They are all of the same height and motion; as their respective roots,
which are formed like the keel of a boat, may be seen hanging not very
far down in the water, and at an equal depth, on whichever side you
stand. Sometimes they move in a cluster, and seem to form one entire
little continent; sometimes they are dispersed into different quarters
by the wind; at other times, when it is calm, they float up and down
separately. You may frequently see one of the larger islands sailing
along with a lesser joined to it, like a ship with its long boat; or,
perhaps, seeming to strive which shall out-swim the other: then again
they are all driven to the same spot, and by joining themselves to the
shore, sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other, lessen or
restore the size of the lake in this part or that, accordingly, till at
last uniting in the centre they restore it to its usual size. The sheep
which graze upon the borders of this lake frequently go upon these
islands to feed, without perceiving that they have left the shore, until
they are alarmed by finding themselves surrounded with water; as though
they had been forcibly conveyed and placed there. Afterwards, when the
wind drives them back again, they as little perceive their return as
their departure. This lake empties itself into a river, which, after
running a little way, sinks under ground, and, if anything is thrown in,
it brings it up again where the stream emerges.--I have given you this
account because I imagined it would not be less new, nor less agreeable,
to you than it was to me; as I know you take the same pleasure as myself
in contemplating the works of nature. Farewell.
XCIV -- To ARRIANUS
NOTHING, in my opinion, gives a more amiable and becoming grace to our
studies, as well as manners, than to temper the serious with the gay,
lest the former should degenerate into melancholy, and the latter run up
into levity. Upon this plan it is that I diversify my graver works with
compositions of a lighter nature. I had chosen a convenient place and
season for some productions of that sort to make their appearance in;
and designing to accustom them early to the tables of the idle, I fixed
upon the month of July, which is usually a time of vacation to the
courts of justice, in order to read them to some of my friends I had
collected together; and accordingly I placed a desk before each couch.
But as I happened that morning to be unexpectedly called away to attend
a cause, I took occasion to preface my recital with an apology. I
entreated my audience not to impute it to me as any want of due regard
for the business to which I had invited them that on the very day I had
appointed for reading my performances to a small circle of my friends I
did not refuse my services to others in their law affairs. I assured
them I would observe the same rule in my writings, and should always
give the preference to business, before pleasure; to serious engagements
before amusing ones; and to my friends before myself. The poems I
recited consisted of a variety of subjects in different metres. It is
thus that we who dare not rely for much upon our abilities endeavour to
avoid satiating our readers. In compliance with the earnest solicitation
of my audience, I recited for two days successively; but not in the
manner that several practise, by passing over the feebler passages, and
making a merit of so doing: on the contrary, I omitted nothing, and
freely confessed it. I read the whole, that I might correct the whole;
which it is impossible those who only select particular passages can do.
The latter method, indeed, may have more the appearance of modesty, and
perhaps respect; but the former shows greater simplicity, as well as a
more affectionate disposition towards the audience. For the belief that
a man's friends have so much regard for him as not to be weary on these
occasions, is a sure indication of the love he bears them. Otherwise,
what good do friends do you who assemble merely for their own amusement?
He who had rather find his friend's performance correct, than make it
so, is to be regarded as a stranger, or one who is too lackadaisical to
give himself any trouble. Your affection for me leaves me no room to
doubt that you are impatient to read my book, even in its present very
imperfect condition. And so you shall, but not until I have made those
corrections which were the principal inducement of my recital. You are
already acquainted with some parts of it; but even those, after they
have been improved (or perhaps spoiled, as is sometimes the case by the
delay of excessive revision) will seem quite new to you. For when a
piece has undergone various changes, it gets to look new, even in those
very parts which remain unaltered. Farewell.
XCV -- To MAXIMUS
My affection for you obliges me, not indeed to direct you (for you are
far above the want of a guide), but to admonish you carefully to observe
and resolutely to put in practice what you already know, that is, in
other words, to know it to better purpose. Consider that you are sent to
that noble province, Achaia, the real and genuine Greece, where
politeness, learning, and even agriculture itself, are supposed to have
taken their first rise; sent to regulate the condition of free cities;
sent, that is, to a society of men who breathe the spirit of true
manhood and liberty; who have maintained the rights they received from
Nature, by courage, by virtue, by alliances; in a word, by civil and
religious faith. Revere the gods their founders; their ancient glory,
and even that very antiquity itself which, venerable in men, is sacred
in states. Honour them therefore for their deeds of old renown, nay,
their very legendary traditions. Grant to every one his full dignity,
privileges, yes, and the indulgence of his very vanity. Remember it was
from this nation we derived our laws; that she did not receive ours by
conquest, but gave us hers by favour. Remember, it is Athens to which
you go; it is Lacedaemon you govern; and to deprive such a people of the
declining shadow, the remaining name of liberty, would be cruel,
inhuman, barbarous. Physicians, you see, though in sickness there is no
difference between freedom and slavery, yet treat persons of the former
rank with more tenderness than those of the latter. Reflect what these
cities once were; but so reflect as not to despise them for what they
are now. Far be pride and asperity from my friend; nor fear, by a proper
condescension, to lay yourself open to contempt. Can he who is vested
with the power and bears the ensigns of authority, can he fail of
meeting with respect, unless by pursuing base and sordid measures, and
first breaking through that reverence he owes to himself? Ill, believe
me, is power proved by insult; ill can terror command veneration, and
far more effectual is affection in obtaining one's purpose than fear.
For terror operates no longer than its object is present, but love
produces its effects with its object at a distance: and as absence
changes the former into hatred, it raises the latter into respect. And
therefore you ought (and I cannot but repeat it too often), you ought to
well consider the nature of your office, and to represent to yourself
how great and important the task is of governing a free state. For what
can be better for society than such government, what can be more
precious than freedom? How ignominious then must his conduct be who
turns good government into anarchy, and liberty into slavery? To these
considerations let me add, that you have an established reputation to
maintain: the fame you acquired by the administration of the
quaestorship in Bithynia,[133] the good opinion of the emperor, the
credit you obtained when you were tribune and praetor, in a word, this
very government, which may be looked upon as the reward of your former
services, are all so many glorious weights which are incumbent upon you
to support with suitable dignity. The more strenuously therefore you
ought to endeavour that it may not be said you showed greater urbanity,
integrity, and ability in a province remote from Rome, than in one which
lies so much nearer the capital; in the midst of a nation of slaves,
than among a free people; that it may not be remarked, that it was
chance, and not judgment, appointed you to this office; that your
character was unknown and unexperienced, not tried and approved. For
(and it is a maxim which your reading and conversation must have often
suggested to you) it is a far greater disgrace losing the name one has
once acquired than never to have attained it. I again beg you to be
persuaded that I did not write this letter with a design of instruction,
but of reminder. Though indeed, if I had, it would have only been in
consequence of the great affection I bear you: a sentiment which I am in
no fear of carrying beyond its just bounds: for there can be no danger
of excess where one cannot love too well. Farewell.
XCVI -- To PAULINUS
OTHERS may think as they please; but the happiest man, in my opinion, is
he who lives in the conscious anticipation of an honest and enduring
name, and secure of future glory in the eyes of posterity. I confess, if
I had not the reward of an immortal reputation in view, I should prefer
a life of uninterrupted ease and indolent retirement to any other. There
seems to be two points worthy every man's attention: endless fame, or
the short duration of life. Those who are actuated by the former motive
ought to exert themselves to the very utmost of their power; while such
as are influenced by the latter should quietly resign themselves to
repose, and not wear out a short life in perishable pursuits, as we see
so many doing--and then sink at last into utter self-contempt, in the
midst of a wretched and fruitless course of false industry. These are my
daily reflections, which I communicate to you, in order to renounce them
if you do not agree with them; as undoubtedly you will, who are for ever
meditating some glorious and immortal enterprise. Farewell.
XCVII -- To CALVISIUS
I HAVE spent these several days past, in reading and writing, with the
most pleasing tranquillity imaginable. You will ask, "How that can
possibly be in the midst of Rome?" It was the time of celebrating the
Circensian games; an entertainment for which I have not the least taste.
They have no novelty, no variety to recommend them, nothing, in short,
one would wish to see twice. It does the more surprise me therefore that
so many thousand people should be possessed with the childish passion of
desiring so often to see a parcel of horses gallop, and men standing
upright in their chariots. If, indeed, it were the swiftness of the
horses, or the skill of the men that attracted them, there might be some
pretence of reason for it. But it is the dress[134] they like; it is the
dress that takes their fancy. And if, in the midst of the course and
contest, the different parties were to change colours, their different
partisans would change sides, and instantly desert the very same men and
horses whom just before they were eagerly following with their eyes, as
far as they could see, and shouting out their names with all their
might. Such mighty charms, such wondrous power reside in the colour of a
paltry tunic! And this not only with the common crowd (more contemptible
than the dress they espouse), but even with serious-thinking people.
When I observe such men thus insatiably fond of so silly, so low, so
uninteresting, so common an entertainment, I congratulate myself on my
indifference to these pleasures: and am glad to employ the leisure of