Letters of Pliny
seem to be universally governed by an innate passion to accumulate
wealth, the cultivation of a more generous affection in my own breast
taught me to emancipate myself from the slavery of so predominant a
principle: and I thought that my honest intentions would be the more
meritorious as they should appear to proceed, not from sudden impulse,
but from the dictates of cool and deliberate reflection. I considered,
besides, that I was not engaging myself to exhibit public games or
gladiatorial combats, but to establish an annual fund for the support
and education of young men of good families but scanty means. The
pleasures of the senses are so far from wanting the oratorical arts to
recommend them that we stand in need of all the powers of eloquence to
moderate and restrain rather than stir up their influence. But the work
of getting anybody to cheerfully undertake the monotony and drudgery of
education must be effected not by pay merely, but by a skilfully worked-
up appeal to the emotions as well. If physicians find it expedient to
use the most insinuating address in recommending to their patients a
wholesome though, perhaps, unpleasant regimen, how much more occasion
had he to exert all the powers of persuasion who, out of regard to the
public welfare, was endeavouring to reconcile it to a most useful though
not equally popular benefaction? Particularly, as my aim was to
recommend an institution, calculated solely for the benefit of those who
were parents to men who, at present, had no children; and to persuade
the greater number to wait patiently until they should be entitled to an
honour of which a few only could immediately partake. But as at that
time, when I attempted to explain and enforce the general design and
benefit of my institution, I considered more the general good of my
countrymen, than any reputation which might result to myself; so I am
apprehensive lest, if I publish that piece, it may perhaps look as if I
had a view rather to my own personal credit than the benefit of others.
Besides, I am very sensible how much nobler it is to place the reward of
virtue in the silent approbation of one's own breast than in the
applause of the world. Glory ought to be the consequence, not the
motive, of our actions; and although it happen not to attend the worthy
deed, yet it is by no means the less fair for having missed the applause
it deserved. But the world is apt to suspect that those who celebrate
their own beneficent acts performed them for no other motive than to
have the pleasure of extolling them. Thus, the splendour of an action
which would have been deemed illustrious if related by another is
totally extinguished when it becomes the subject of one's own applause.
Such is the disposition of mankind, if they cannot blast the action,
they will censure its display; and whether you do what does not deserve
particular notice, or set forth yourself what does, either way you incur
reproach. In my own case there is a peculiar circumstance that weighs
much with me: this speech was delivered not before the people, but the
Decurii;[9] not in the forum, but the senate; I am afraid therefore it
will look inconsistent that I, who, when I delivered it, seemed to avoid
popular applause, should now, by publishing this performance, appear to
court it: that I, who was so scrupulous as not to admit even these
persons to be present when I delivered this speech, who were interested
in my benefaction, lest it might be suspected I was actuated in this
affair by any ambitious views, should now seem to solicit admiration, by
forwardly displaying it to such as have no other concern in my
munificence than the benefit of example. These are the scruples which
have occasioned my delay in giving this piece to the public; but I
submit them entirely to your judgment, which I shall ever esteem as a
sufficient sanction of my conduct. Farewell.
VI -- To ATRIUS CLEMENS
IF ever polite literature flourished at Rome, it certainly flourishes
now; and I could give you many eminent instances: I will content myself,
however, with naming only Euphrates[10] the philosopher. I first became
acquainted with this excellent person in my youth, when I served in the
army in Syria. I had an opportunity of conversing with him familiarly,
and took some pains to gain his affection: though that, indeed, was not
very difficult, for he is easy of access, unreserved, and actuated by
those social principles he professes to teach. I should think myself
extremely happy if I had as fully answered the expectations he, at that
time, conceived of me, as he exceeds everything I had imagined of him.
But, perhaps, I admire his excellencies more now than I did then,
because I know better how to appreciate them; not that I sufficiently
appreciate them even now. For as none but those who are skilled in
painting, statuary, or the plastic art, can form a right judgment of any
performance in those respective modes of representation, so a man must,
himself, have made great advances in philosophy before he is capable of
forming a just opinion of a philosopher. However, as far as I am
qualified to determine, Euphrates is possessed of so many shining
talents that he cannot fail to attract and impress the most ordinarily
educated observer. He reasons with much force, acuteness, and elegance;
and frequently rises into all the sublime and luxuriant eloquence of
Plato. His style is varied and flowing, and at the same time so
wonderfully captivating that he forces the reluctant attention of the
most unwilling hearer. For the rest, a fine stature, a comely aspect,
long hair, and a large silver beard; circumstances which, though they
may probably be thought trifling and accidental, contribute, however, to
gain him much reverence. There is no affected negligence in his dress
and appearance; his countenance is grave but not austere; and his
approach commands respect without creating awe. Distinguished as he is
by the perfect blamelessness of his life, he is no less so by the
courtesy and engaging sweetness of his manner. He attacks vices, not
persons, and, without severity, reclaims the wanderer from the paths of
virtue. You follow his exhortations with rapt attention, hanging, as it
were, upon his lips; and even after the heart is convinced, the ear
still wishes to listen to the harmonious reasoner. His family consists
of three children (two of which are sons), whom he educates with the
utmost care. His father-in-law, Pompeius Julianus, as he greatly
distinguished himself in every other part of his life, so particularly
in this, that though he was himself of the highest rank in his province,
yet, among many considerable matches, he preferred Euphrates for his
son-in-law, as first in merit, though not in dignity. But why do I dwell
any longer upon the virtues of a man whose conversation I am so
unfortunate as not to have time sufficiently to enjoy? Is it to increase
my regret and vexation that I cannot enjoy it? My time is wholly taken
up in the execution of a very honourable, indeed, but equally
troublesome, employment; in hearing cases, signing petitions, making up
accounts, and writing a vast amount of the most illiterate literature. I
sometimes complain to Euphrates (for I have leisure at least to
complain) of these unpleasing occupations. He endeavours to console me,
by affirming that, to be engaged in the public service, to hear and
determine cases, to explain the laws, and administer justice, is a part,
and the noblest part, too, of philosophy; as it is reducing to practice
what her professors teach in speculation. But even his rhetoric will
never be able to convince me that it is better to be at this sort of
work than to spend whole days in attending his lectures and learning his
precepts. I cannot therefore but strongly recommend it to you, who have
the time for it, when next you come to town (and you will come, I
daresay, so much the sooner for this), to take the benefit of his
elegant and refined instructions. For I do not (as many do) envy others
the happiness I cannot share with them myself: on the contrary, it is a
very sensible pleasure to me when I find my friends in possession of an
enjoyment from which I have the misfortune to be excluded. Farewell.
VII -- To FABIUS JUSTUS
IT is a long time since I have had a letter from you, "There is nothing
to write about," you say: well then write and let me know just this,
that "there is nothing to write about," or tell me in the good old
style, _If you are well that's right, I am quite well_. This will do for
me, for it implies everything. You think I am joking? Let me assure you
I am in sober earnest. Do let me know how you are; for I cannot remain
ignorant any longer without growing exceedingly anxious about you.
Farewell.
VIII -- To CALESTRIUS TIRO
I HAVE suffered the heaviest loss; if that word be sufficiently strong
to express the misfortune which has deprived me of so excellent a man.
Corellius Rufus is dead; and dead, too, by his own act! A circumstance
of great aggravation to my affliction: as that sort of death which we
cannot impute either to the course of nature, or the hand of Providence,
is, of all others, the most to be lamented. It affords some consolation
in the loss of those friends whom disease snatches from us that they
fall by the general destiny of mankind; but those who destroy themselves
leave us under the inconsolable reflection, that they had it in their
power to have lived longer. It is true, Corellius had many inducements
to be fond of life; a blameless conscience, high reputation, and great
dignity of character, besides a daughter, a wife, a grandson, and
sisters; and, amidst these numerous pledges of happiness, faithful
friends. Still, it must be owned he had the highest motive (which to a
wise man will always have the force of destiny), urging him to this
resolution. He had long been tortured by so tedious and painful a
complaint that even these inducements to living on, considerable as they
are, were over-balanced by the reasons on the other side. In his thirty-
third year (as I have frequently heard him say) he was seized with the
gout in his feet. This was hereditary; for diseases, as well as
possessions, are sometimes handed down by a sort of inheritance. A life
of sobriety and continence had enabled him to conquer and keep down the
disease while he was still young, latterly as it grew upon him with
advancing years, he had to manfully bear it, suffering meanwhile the
most incredible and undeserved agonies; for the gout was now not only in
his feet, but had spread itself over his whole body. I remember, in
Domitian's reign, paying him a visit at his villa, near Rome. As soon as
I entered his chamber, his servants went out: for it was his rule, never
to allow them to be in the room when any intimate friend was with him;
nay, even his own wife, though she could have kept any secret, used to
go too. Casting his eyes round the room, "Why," he exclaimed, "do you
suppose I endure life so long under these cruel agonies? It is with the
hope that I may outlive, at least for one day, that villain." Had his
bodily strength been equal to his resolution, he would have carried his
desire into practical effect. God heard and answered his prayer; and
when he felt that he should now die a free, un-enslaved, Roman, he broke
through those other great, but now less forcible, attachments to the
world. His malady increased; and, as it now grew too violent to admit of
any relief from temperance, he resolutely determined to put an end to
its uninterrupted attacks, by an effort of heroism. He had refused all
sustenance during four days when his wife Hispulla sent our common
friend Geminius to me, with the melancholy news, that Corellius was