Letters of Pliny
indeed have we any occasion for anxiety upon this account. We who think
well of the man shall judge him with the same impartiality as the rest;
but if he is innocent, as I hope he is, and shall be glad to find, I
think this house may very justly deny the present motion till some
charge has been proved against him." Thus, according to the respective
order in which they were called upon, they delivered their several
opinions. When it came to my turn, I rose up, and, using the same
introduction to my speech as I have published in the defence, I replied
to them severally. It is surprising with what attention, what clamorous
applause I was heard, even by those who just before were loudest against
me: such a wonderful change was wrought either by the importance of the
affair, the successful progress of the speech, or the resolution of the
advocate. After I had finished, Vejento attempted to reply; but the
general clamour raised against him not permitting him to go on, "I
entreat you, conscript fathers,"[146] said he, "not to oblige me to
implore the assistance of the tribunes."[147] Immediately the tribune
Murena cried out, "You have my permission, most illustrious Vejento, to
go on." But still the clamour was renewed. In the interval, the consul
ordered the house to divide, and having counted the voices, dismissed
the senate, leaving Vejento in the midst, still attempting to speak. He
made great complaints of this affront (as he called it), applying the
following lines of Homer to himself:
"Great perils, father, wait the unequal fight; Those younger champions
will thy strength o'ercome."<a href="#linknote-148" name="linknoteref-
148" id="linknoteref-148">[148]</a>
There was hardly a man in the senate that did not embrace and kiss me,
and all strove who should applaud me most, for having, at the cost of
private enmities, revived a custom so long disused, of freely consulting
the senate upon affairs that concern the honour of the public; in a
word, for having wiped off that reproach which was thrown upon it by
other orders in the state, "that the senators mutually favoured the
members of their own body, while they were very severe in animadverting
upon the rest of their fellow-citizens." All this was transacted in the
absence of Certus; who kept out of the way either because he suspected
something of this nature was intended to be moved, or (as was alleged in
his excuse) that he was really unwell. Cæsar, however, did not refer the
examination of this matter to the senate. But I succeeded, nevertheless,
in my aim, another person being appointed to succeed Certus in the
consulship, while the election of his colleague to that office was
confirmed. And thus, the wish with which I concluded my speech, was
actually accomplished: "May he be obliged," said I, "to renounce, under
a virtuous prince,[149] that reward he received from an infamous
one!"[150] Some time after I recollected, as well as I could, the speech
I had made upon this occasion; to which I made several additions. It
happened (though indeed it had the appearance of being something more
than casual) that a few days after I had published this piece, Certus
was taken ill and died. I was told that his imagination was continually
haunted with this affair, and kept picturing me ever before his eyes, as
a man pursuing him with a drawn sword. Whether there was any truth in
this rumour, I will not venture to assert; but, for the sake of example,
however, I could wish it might gain credit. And now I have sent you a
letter which (considering it is a letter) is as long as the defence you
say you have read: but you must thank yourself for not being content
with such information as that piece could afford you. Farewell.
CII -- To GENITOR
I HAVE received your letter, in which you complain of having been highly
disgusted lately at a very splendid entertainment, by a set of buffoons,
mummers, and wanton prostitutes, who were dancing about round the
tables.[151] But let me advise you to smooth your knitted brow somewhat.
I confess, indeed, I admit nothing of this kind at my own house;
however, I bear with it in others. "And why, then," you will be ready to
ask, "not have them yourself?"
The truth is, because the gestures of the wanton, the pleasantries of
the buffoon, or the extravagancies of the mummer, give me no pleasure,
as they give me no surprise. It is my particular taste, you see, not my
judgment, that I plead against them. And indeed, what numbers are there
who think the entertainments with which you and I are most delighted no
better than impertinent follies! How many are there who, as soon as a
reader, a lyrist, or a comedian is introduced, either take their leave
of the company or, if they remain, show as much dislike to this sort of
thing as you did to those monsters, as you call them! Let us bear
therefore, my friend, with others in their amusements, that they, in
return, may show indulgence to ours. Farewell.
CIII -- To SABINIANUS
YOUR freedman, whom you lately mentioned to me with displeasure, has
been with me, and threw himself at my feet with as much submission as he
could have fallen at yours. He earnestly requested me with many tears,
and even with all the eloquence of silent sorrow, to intercede for him;
in short, he convinced me by his whole behaviour that he sincerely
repents of his fault. I am persuaded he is thoroughly reformed, because
he seems deeply sensible of his guilt. I know you are angry with him,
and I know, too, it is not without reason; but clemency can never exert
itself more laudably than when there is the most cause for resentment.
You once had an affection for this man, and, I hope, will have again;
meanwhile, let me only prevail with you to pardon him. If he should
incur your displeasure hereafter, you will have so much the stronger
plea in excuse for your anger as you show yourself more merciful to him
now. Concede something to his youth, to his tears, and to your own
natural mildness of temper: do not make him uneasy any longer, and I
will add too, do not make yourself so; for a man of your kindness of
heart cannot be angry without feeling great uneasiness. I am afraid,
were I to join my entreaties with his, I should seem rather to compel
than request you to forgive him. Yet I will not scruple even to write
mine with his; and in so much the stronger terms as I have very sharply
and severely reproved him, positively threatening never to interpose
again in his behalf. But though it was proper to say this to him, in
order to make him more fearful of offending, I do not say so to you. I
may perhaps, again have occasion to entreat you upon this account, and
again obtain your forgiveness; supposing, I mean, his fault should be
such as may become me to intercede for, and you to pardon. Farewell.
CIV -- To MAXIMUS
IT has frequently happened, as I have been pleading before the Court of
the Hundred, that these venerable judges, after having preserved for a
long period the gravity and solemnity suitable to their character, have
suddenly, as though urged by irresistible impulse, risen up to a man and
applauded me. I have often likewise gained as much glory in the senate
as my utmost wishes could desire: but I never felt a more sensible
pleasure than by an account which I lately received from Cornelius
Tacitus. He informed me that, at the last Circensian games, he sat next
to a Roman knight, who, after conversation had passed between them upon
various points of learning, asked him, "Are you an Italian, or a
provincial?" Tacitus replied, "Your acquaintance with literature must
surely have informed you who I am." "Pray, then, is it Tacitus or Pliny
I am talking with?" I cannot express how highly I am pleased to find
that our names are not so much the proper appellatives of men as a kind
of distinction for learning herself; and that eloquence renders us known
to those who would otherwise be ignorant of us. An accident of the same
kind happened to me a few days ago. Fabius Rufinus, a person of
distinguished merit, was placed next to me at table; and below him a
countryman of his, who had just then come to Rome for the first time.
Rufinus, calling his friend's attention to me, said to him, "You see
this man?" and entered into a conversation upon the subject of my
pursuits: to whom the other immediately replied, "This must undoubtedly
be Pliny." To confess the truth, I look upon these instances as a very
considerable recompense of my labours. If Demosthenes had reason to be
pleased with the old woman of Athens crying out, "This is Demosthenes!"
may not I, then, be allowed to congratulate myself upon the celebrity my
name has acquired? Yes, my friend, I will rejoice in it, and without
scruple admit that I do. As I only mention the judgment of others, not
my own, I am not afraid of incurring the censure of vanity; especially
from you, who, whilst envying no man's reputation, are particularly
zealous for mine. Farewell.
CV -- To SABINIANUS
I GREATLY approve of your having, in compliance with my letter,[152]
received again into your favour and family a discarded freedman, who you
once admitted into a share of your affection. This will afford you, I
doubt not, great satisfaction. It certainly has me, both as a proof that
your passion can be controlled, and as an instance of your paying so
much regard to me, as either to yield to my authority or to comply with
my request. Let me, therefore, at once both praise and thank you. At the
same time I must advise you to be disposed for the future to pardon the
faults of your people, though there should be none to intercede in their
behalf. Farewell.
CVI -- To LUPERCUS
I SAID once (and, I think, not inaptly) of a certain orator of the
present age, whose compositions are extremely regular and correct, but
deficient in grandeur and embellishment, "His only fault is that he has
none." Whereas he, who is possessed of the true spirit of oratory,
should be bold and elevated, and sometimes even flame out, be hurried
away, and frequently tread upon the brink of a precipice: for danger is
generally near whatever is towering and exalted. The plain, it is true,
affords a safer, but for that reason a more humble and inglorious, path:
they who run are more likely to stumble than they who creep; but the
latter gain no honour by not slipping, while the former even fall with
glory. It is with eloquence as with some other arts; she is never more
pleasing than when she risks most. Have you not observed what
acclamations our rope-dancers excite at the instant of imminent danger?
Whatever is most entirely unexpected, or as the Greeks more strongly
express it, whatever is most perilous, most excites our admiration. The
pilot's skill is by no means equally proved in a calm as in a storm: in
the former case he tamely enters the port, unnoticed and unapplauded;
but when the cordage cracks, the mast bends, and the rudder groans, then
it is that he shines out in all his glory, and is hailed as little
inferior to a sea-god.
The reason of my making this observation is, because, if I mistake not,
you have marked some passages in my writings for being tumid, exuberant,
and over-wrought, which, in my estimation, are but adequate to the
thought, or boldly sublime. But it is material to consider whether your
criticism turns upon such points as are real faults, or only striking
and remarkable expressions. Whatever is elevated is sure to be observed;
but it requires a very nice judgment to distinguish the bounds between
true and false grandeur; between loftiness and exaggeration. To give an
instance out of Homer, the author who can, with the greatest propriety,
fly from one extreme of style to another.
"Heav'n in loud thunder bids the trumpet sound; And wide beneath them