BOOK NINE

1. To Novius (?) Maximus

I have often urged you to be as quick as you can about publishing the articles you wrote in your own defence or against Planta1 – or rather, with both ends in view as the subject demanded. Now that I have news of his death, I am even more anxious for you to do this. I know you have read them to a number of people and lent them to others to read, but I don’t want anyone to imagine that you waited for his death to begin what you had in fact completed during his lifetime. You must keep up your reputation for standing by your convictions, and can do so if it is known to your friends and enemies alike that you did not pluck up courage to write as a result of your enemy’s death, but that your work was already finished for publication when his death intervened. At the same time you will avoid Homer’s ‘impiety of boasting over the dead’;² for anything written and read about a man in his lifetime can still be published against him after death as if he were still alive, so long as it is published at once. So, if you have anything else in hand, lay it aside for the present and put the finishing touch to these speeches; although those of us who have read them think they reached perfection long ago. You should think the same, for the subject calls for action and the circumstances should cut short your hesitation.

2. To Statius Sabinus

It is kind of you to ask me to make my letters long as well as frequent. I have been rather doubtful about doing so, partly out of consideration for your busy life, partly because my own time has been much, taken up, mostly with trivial duties which interrupt concentration and make it difficult to resume it. Besides, I lacked subject-matter for writing more. You want me to follow Cicero’s example, but my position is very different from his. He was not only richly gifted but was supplied with a wealth of varied and important topics to suit his abilities, though you know without my telling you the narrow limits confining me. I might decide to send you a sort of pupil’s exercise for a letter, but I can imagine nothing less suitable, when I think of your life under arms, the camps, bugles and trumpets, sweat and dust and heat of the sun.

There is my excuse, a reasonable one I think, though I’m not sure if I want you to accept it; it is a sign of true affection to refuse to forgive a friend for the shortness of his letters although you know he has good reason for them.

3. To Valerius Paulinus

Opinions differ, but my idea of the truly happy man is of one who enjoys the anticipation of a good and lasting reputation, and, confident in the verdict of posterity, lives in the knowledge of the fame that is to come. Were my own eyes not fixed on the reward of immortality I could be happy in an easy life of complete retirement, for everyone, I think, must choose between two considerations: that fame is imperishable or man is mortal The former will lead him to a life of toil and effort, the latter will teach him to relax quietly and not to wear out his short existence with vain endeavours, as I see many doing, though their semblance of industry, as wretched as it is unrewarding, only brings them to despise themselves. I tell you this as I tell it to myself every day, so that I can stop if you disagree; but I doubt if you will, when you have some great and immortal project always in mind.

4. To Caecilius Macrinus

With this letter I am sending a speech which I might fear you would find too long, were it not the kind which gives the impression of repeated starts and conclusions; for each separate charge is treated as a separate case. So, wherever you begin and leave off, you will be able to read what follows either as a new subject or as part of the whole, and judge me long-winded over the complete speech but brief enough in each section.

5. To Calestrius Tiro

I am told you are doing splendidly (and I hope this will continue) in your administration of justice in your province; by your tact you make it accepted by the people, a tact which consists mainly in making every honest man your friend, and winning the affection of the humble without losing the regard of their superiors. Yet most people in their fear of appearing to allow too many concessions to the influence of the great, acquire the reputation of being clumsy and even offensive. You are quite free from this fault I know, but I cannot help sounding as if I were proffering advice when I mean to congratulate you on the way in which you preserve the distinctions of class and rank; once these are thrown into confusion and destroyed, nothing is more unequal than the resultant ‘equality’.

6. To Calvisius Rufus

I have been spending all the last few days amongst my notes and papers in most welcome peace. How could I – in the city? The Races were on, a type of spectacle which has never had the slightest attraction for me. I can find nothing new or different in them: once seen is enough, so it surprises me all the more that so many thousands of adult men should have such a childish passion for watching galloping horses and drivers standing in chariots, over and over again. If they were attracted by the speed of the horses or the drivers’ skill one could account for it, but in fact it is the racing-colours they really support and care about, and if the colours were to be exchanged in mid-course during a race, they would transfer their favour and enthusiasm and rapidly desert the famous drivers and horses whose names they shout as they recognize them from afar. Such is the popularity and importance of a worthless shirt – I don’t mean with the crowd, which is worth less than the shirt, but with certain serious individuals. When I think how this futile, tedious, monotonous business can keep them sitting endlessly in their seats, I take pleasure in the fact that their pleasure is not mine. And I have been very glad to fill my idle hours with literary work during these days which others have wasted in the idlest of occupations.

7. To Voconius Romanus

I am delighted to hear you are building; now I can count on you to plead my case, and be justified in my own plans if you are building too. We have a further point in common – you are building by the sea and I on the shores of Lake Como. There I have several houses, two of which give me a lot of pleasure but a corresponding amount of work. One is built on the rocks with a view over the lake, like the houses at Baiae,1 the other stands on the very edge of the water in the same style, and so I have named one Tragedy, because it seems to be raised on actor’s boots, and die other Comedy, because it wears low shoes. Each has its special charm and seems the more attractive to the occupant by contrast with the other. The former has a wider view of the lake, the latter a closer one, as it is built to curve gradually round a single bay, following its line by a broad terrace; while the other stands on a high ridge dividing two bays, where a straight drive extends for some distance above the shore. One is untouched by the water and you can look down from its height to the fishermen below, while the waves break against the other and you can fish from it yourself, casting your line from your bedroom window and practically from your bed as if you were in a boat. All these existing amenities give me a reason for building necessary additions on to both houses; though I know I need not explain myself to you, when this is no more than you are doing yourself.

8. To Sentius Augurims

If I begin praising you after your praise of me, I fear I shall look as though I am only showing gratitude instead of giving a true opinion. All the same, I do think all your written works are very fine, but especially those which deal with me. For this there is one and the same reason – you are at your best in writing about your friends, and I find it your best when it is about myself.

9. To Colonus

I very much appreciate your grief at the death of Pompeius Quintianus, and can understand how your love for him is increased by your sense of loss; unlike most people who feel affection only for the living, or rather make a show of doing so, and not even that unless they see their friends prospering: the unfortunate they forget as quickly as the dead. But your loyalty is unfailing, and your constancy in love too great for anything short of your own death to end it; and Quintianus was indeed a man who deserved affection through the example he gave of it. He loved his friends in success, helped them in misfortune, and mourned them in death. Think, too, of his honest countenance and deliberate speech, the happy balance he kept between reserve and friendliness, and his enthusiasm for literature combined with his critical powers: think how he lived dutifully with a father very unlike himself, and though an excellent son was never prevented from showing his merits as a man!

But I must not aggravate your suffering, though I know you loved the young man so dearly that you find suffering preferable to silence about him; and least of all do you want silence from me, when I can voice the praise which you feel can do honour to his life, prolong his memory, and give back to him the years taken from him.

10. To Cornelius Tacitus

I should like to obey your orders, but when you tell me I ought to honour Diana along with Minerva I find it impossible – there is such a shortage of boars. So I can only serve Minerva, and even her in the lazy way to be expected during a summer holiday. On my way here I made up some bits of nonsense (not worth keeping) in the conversational style one uses when travelling, and I added something to them once I was here and had nothing better to do; but peace reigns over the poems which you fancy are only too easy to finish in the woods and groves. I have revised one or two short speeches, though this is the sort of disagreeable task I detest and is more like one of the hardships of country life than its pleasures.

11. To Rosianus Geminus

I have your letter, a specially welcome one as you want me to write you something which can be included in your published work. I will find a subject, either the one you suggest or something preferable, for yours may give offence in certain quarters – use your eyes and you will see. I didn’t think there were any booksellers in Lugdunum,1 so I was all the more pleased to learn from your letter that my efforts are being sold. I’m glad they retain abroad the popularity they won in Rome, and I’m beginning to think my work must really be quite good when public opinion in such widely different places is agreed about it.

12. To Terentius Junior

Someone was reproving his son for spending rather too much buying horses and dogs. When the young man had left us I said to his father: ‘Well, have you never done anything your father could complain about? Or rather, don’t you still sometimes do things which your son could criticize as severely if he suddenly became father and you his son? Surely everyone is liable to make mistakes and everyone has his own foibles?’ I took warning myself from this instance of undue severity, and am writing to you as one friend to another so that you, too, may never be too harsh and strict with your son. Remember that he is a boy and you have been a boy yourself, and use your rights as a father without forgetting that you are only human and so is your son.

13. To Ummidius Quadratus

The more thoroughly you apply yourself to reading my speeches in vindication of Helvidius,1 the more pressing becomes your demand that I should give you a full account of the particulars not covered by the speeches as well as those arising out of them – in fact you want the whole sequence of the events which you were too young to witness yourself.

Once Domitian was dead I decided on reflection that this was a truly splendid opportunity for attacking the guilty, avenging the injured, and making oneself known. Moreover, though many crimes had been committed by numerous persons, none seemed so shocking as the violent attack in the Senate-house made by a senator on a fellow senator, by a praetorian acting as judge on a consular who had been brought to trial. I had also been the friend of Helvidius, as far as friendship was possible with one who had been driven through fear of the times to hide his famous name and equally famous virtues in retirement, and the friend of his stepmother Fannia and her mother Arria. But I was not moved to act so much by personal obligations as by the demands of common justice, the enormity of the deed, and the thought of establishing a precedent. Now, in the early days after liberty was restored, everyone had acted for himself, brought his personal enemies to trial (if they were not too powerful), and had them condemned amid the general confusion and chaos. By contrast I believed that the proper course, as well as the more effective, was to deal with this atrocious criminal not through the universal hatred of Domitian’s time, but by bringing a specific charge against him at a moment when the first outburst had spent itself and the fury which was daily abating had yielded to justice. So though I was greatly distressed at the time by the recent death of my wife,1 I sent a message to Anteia (widow of Helvidius) asking her to visit me, as I was kept indoors by my recent bereavement. When she came I told her I had determined not to leave her husband unavenged. ‘Tell this to Arria and Fannia,’ I said (for they were back from exile). ‘Talk it over with them and see whether you wish to be associated with this case. I don’t need support, but I am not so jealous for my own glory as to grudge you a share in it.’ Anteia did as I asked and the women acted promptly.

Fortunately the Senate met on the next day but one. I was in the habit of referring everything to Corellius Rufus, whom I knew to possess the greatest foresight and wisdom of our time, but on this occasion I was satisfied with my own judgement; for I was afraid he might forbid me to proceed, being rather cautious and hesitant. However, I could not bring myself not to tell him of my intended action on the actual day, when my decision was made. (I have learned from experience that, if your mind is already made up, you should not consult people whose advice you should take if you ask for it.) I entered the Senate, asked for permission to speak, and for a while won warm approval for what I was saying, but as soon as I mentioned the charge and indicated (though not yet by name) who was to be accused, there was a general outcry against me. ‘Tell us who is the object of this irregular attack!’ ‘Who is being charged before notice is served?’ ‘Let us survivors remain alive!’ and so on. I listened, calm and unafraid; such is the strength to be won from an honest cause, and so much does confidence or fear depend on whether one’s conduct meets with active opposition or no more than disapproval. It would take too long to recount all the arguments on both sides, but finally the consul told me that if I had anything to say I could speak in my proper turn.

I pointed out that I had only been granted the permission which was never refused anyone, and then sat down while other business was dealt with. Meanwhile, one of my friends amongst the consulars took me aside privately and seriously rebuked me for coming forward so rashly and recklessly, advised me to desist, and added that I had made myself a marked man in the eyes of future Emperors. ‘Never mind,’ said I, ‘as long as they are bad ones.’ Scarcely had he left me when another began: ‘What are you doing? Where are you heading? What about the risks you are running? Why such confidence in the present when the future is uncertain? You are challenging a man who is already a Treasury official and will soon be consul, and has besides such influence and friends to support him!’ (He named someone1 who was then in the east, at the head of a powerful and celebrated army, and about whom serious though unconfirmed rumours were circulating.) To this I replied,’ “All have I foreseen and gone through in my mind”;² if it is to be my fate, I am prepared to face the penalty for an honest deed while punishing a criminal one.’

By now it was time for members to give their opinions. Domitius Apollinaris the consul-elect, Fabricius Veiento, Fabius Postuminus, Bittius Proculus, colleague of Publicius Certus (the subject of the debate) and stepfather of my late wife, all spoke, and were followed by Ammius Flaccus. All defended Certus as if I had named him (though I had not yet done so), and set about refuting a charge as yet unspecified. What else they said I needn’t tell you, as you have it all in the published speeches – I gave it all in full, in the words of the speakers.

Avidius Quietus and Cornutus Tertullus then spoke on the opposite side. Quietus argued that it was quite unjust to refuse to hear the complaints of injured parties, and that therefore Arria and Fannia should not be denied their right of protest; what mattered was not a man’s position but the case he had to answer. Cornutus said that the consuls had appointed him guardian to Helvidius’s daughter at the request of her mother and stepfather, and even at the present time he could not think of giving up his responsibilities; however, he would set a limit to his personal indignation and comply with the very moderate sentiments of these excellent women, who asked no more than to remind the Senate of the bloodstained servility of Publicius Certus and to petition that if such flagrant crime were to go unpunished, he might at least be branded with some degradation like the former censors’ mark. Then Satrius Rufus made a vague and ambiguous sort of speech. ‘In my opinion,’ he said, ‘injustice will be done to Publicius Certus if he is not acquitted; for his name was only mentioned by the friends of Arria and Fannia, and by his own friends. We need not be apprehensive, for it is we, who have confidence in the man, who will be his judges. If he is innocent, as I hope and wish and shall continue to believe until something is proved against him, you will be able to acquit him.’

These were the views expressed as the speakers were called upon in order. Then my turn came. I rose to my feet with the opening words you see in the published speech, and replied to them one by one. It was remarkable to see the attention and applause with which all I said was received by those who had previously shouted me down: a change of front produced either by the importance of the issue, the success of the speech, or the firmness of the speaker. I came to an end, and Veiento began to reply. No one would allow it, and the interruption and uproar increased until he said, ‘I beg you, Conscript Fathers, not to compel me to appeal for the protection of the tribunes.’ At once the tribune Murena retorted, ‘The honourable member has my permission to proceed.’ Again there was an outcry, and meanwhile the consul called out names, took a division, and dismissed the Senate, leaving Veiento still standing and trying to speak. He has complained bitterly about this insult (as he calls it) in a line of Homer’s: ‘My lord, the young fighters are surely too much for your age.’1

Almost the entire Senate embraced me with open arms and overwhelmed me with enthusiastic congratulations for having revived the practice, long fallen into disuse, of bringing measures for the public good before the Senate at the risk of incurring personal enmities; I had in fact freed the Senate from the odium in which it was held amongst the other classes for showing severity to others while sparing its own members by a sort of mutual connivance. Certus was not present at these proceedings; either he suspected something of the sort or he was ill – the excuse he gave. It is true that the Emperor brought no motion against him before the Senate, but I won my point. The consulship was given to Certus’s colleague, and Certus was removed from his Treasury post, so that my concluding demand was fulfilled that ‘he should give back under the best of Emperors the reward he received from the worst’.

Afterwards I set down what I could remember of my speech, and made several additions. By coincidence, though it seemed no mere coincidence, a few days after the speech was published Certus fell ill and died. I have heard it said that always in his mind’s eye he had a vision of me threatening him with a sword. Whether this is true I shouldn’t like to say, but it helps to point a moral if it is accepted as true.

Here you have a letter as long as the speeches you have read, if you think what the length of a letter should be – but you weren’t satisfied with the speeches and have only yourself to blame.

14. To Cornelius Tacitus.

You are never satisfied with yourself, but I never write with such confidence as when I write about you. Whether posterity will give us a thought I don’t know, but surely we deserve one – I don’t say for our genius, which sounds like boasting, but for our application, hard work, and regard for future generations. Only let us continue along the path we have chosen; if it leads few to the full light of fame, it brings many out of the shades of obscurity.

15. To Pompeius Falco

I took refuge in Tuscany to be free to do as I liked, but even there it has been impossible. I am beset on all sides by the peasants with all their petitions full of complaints, and these I read rather more unwillingly than my own writings, which I really have no wish to read either. (I am revising some minor speeches of mine, and after a lapse of time it is a tedious and exasperating task.) My accounts are neglected, as if 1 had not come here to do them. I do, however, take a horse sometimes and play the part of proprietor, but only to the extent of riding round part of the estate for exercise. Don’t you drop your habit of sending me the city news while I am rusticating in this way!

16. To Pomponius Mamilianus

I’m not surprised you enjoyed your hunting so much, with all that in the bag – you write as the historians do that the numbers couldn’t be counted. Personally I have neither time nor inclination for hunting; no time because I am busy with the grape harvest, and no inclination because it is a bad one. But I am bringing in some new verses instead of new wine, and, as you are kind enough to ask for them, I will send them when the fermenting stage is over.

17. To Julius Genitor

Thank you for your letter. You complain about a dinner party, a grand affair which filled you with disgust at the mimes and clowns and the male ‘dancers’ going the round of the tables. Please don’t be for ever frowning – I have nothing of that kind in my own house, but I can put up with those who do. The reason why I don’t have them is that I find nothing novel or amusing to attract me in that sort of ‘dancer’s’ charms, in a mime’s impudence, or a clown’s folly. But you see I am not pleading my principles but my personal taste; and think how many people there are who dislike the entertainments which we find fascinating, and think them either pointless or boring. How many take their leave at the entry of a reader, a musician, or an actor, or else lie back in disgust, as you did when you had to endure those monstrosities as you call them! Let us then be tolerant of other people’s pleasures so as to win indulgence for our own.

18. To Statius Sabinus

The devoted concentration with which you read and remember my small efforts is clear from your letter; so you are to blame for the task you set yourself by begging and coaxing me to send you as much of my work as I can. I can’t refuse, but I shall send it bit by bit in small doses – grateful though I am to that memory of yours, I don’t want to confuse it by application to too much material at a time and leave it overwhelmed and surfeited, so that it has to sacrifice the parts for the whole and the earlier items for the later.

19. To Cremutius Ruso

You say you have read in a letter of mine1 that Verginius Rufus ordered this inscription for his tomb:

Here lies Rufus, who once defeated Vindex and set free the imperial power
Not for himself, but for his country.

You dislike this; Frontinus, you say, showed a better and nobler spirit in forbidding any monument at all to be set up to himself; finally, you want my opinion on both men.

I loved them both, but I admired more the man you criticize, admired him so much that I thought he could never be praised enough. Yet now the time has come when I must undertake his defence. Everyone who has done some great and memorable deed should, I think, not only be excused but even praised if he wishes to ensure the immortality he has earned, and by the very words of his epitaph seeks to perpetuate the undying glory of his name. And I cannot easily think of anyone except Verginius whose fame in action is matched by his modesty in speaking of it. I can bear witness to this myself; I enjoyed his confidence and close friendship, but only once in my hearing did he go so far as to make a single reference to what he had done. This was the occasion when Cluvius1 said, ‘You know how a historian must be faithful to facts, Verginius, so, if you find anything in my histories which is not as you would like it, please forgive me.’ To this he replied, ‘Don’t you realize, Cluvius, that I did what I did so that the rest of you should be at liberty to write as you please?’

Now let us consider Frontinus, on the very point in which you find him more moderate and restrained. Frontinus forbade any monument to be set up, but what were his words ? ‘A monument is money wasted; my memory will live on if my life has deserved it.’ Do you really think that it shows more reticence to publish throughout the world that your memory will live on, than to record your achievement in a single place in a mere couple of lines? However, my intention was not to criticize Frontinus but to defend Verginius; though there could be no better defence of him for your ears than a comparison with the man you prefer. My own feeling is that neither should be blamed, for both hoped for fame though they sought it by different roads, one by claiming the epitaph which was his due, the other by professing to despise it.

20. To Venator

Your letter pleased me all the more for being a long one, especially as it was all about my own books. I can’t be surprised that you enjoy them, since you care almost as much for my efforts as you do for myself. As for me, at this very moment I am gathering in the grape harvest, which is poor, but better than I had expected; if you can call it’ gathering ‘ to pick an occasional grape, look at the press, taste the fermenting wine in the vat, and pay a surprise visit to the servants I brought from the city – who are now standing over the peasants at work and have abandoned me to my secretaries and readers.

21. To Sabinianus

The freedman of yours with whom you said you were angry has been to me, flung himself at my feet, and clung to me as if I were you. He begged my help with many tears, though he left a good deal unsaid; in short, he convinced me of his genuine penitence. I believe he has reformed, because he realizes he did wrong. You are angry, I know, and I know too that your anger was deserved, but mercy wins most praise when there was just cause for anger. You loved the man once, and I hope you will love him again, but it is sufficient for the moment if you allow yourself to be appeased. You can always be angry again if he deserves it, and will have more excuse if you were once placated. Make some concession to his youth, his tears, and your own kind heart, and do not torment him or yourself any longer – anger can only be a torment to your gentle self.

I’m afraid you will think I am using pressure, not persuasion, if I add my prayers to his – but this is what I shall do, and all the more freely and fully because I have given the man a very severe scolding and warned him firmly that I will never make such a request again. This was because he deserved a fright, and is not intended for your ears; for maybe I shall make another request and obtain it, as long as it is nothing unsuitable for me to ask and you to grant.

22. To Herennius (?) Severus

I have been very worried about the illness of Passennus Paulus – and with every just reason, for he is the best of men, the soul of honesty, and my devoted friend. His literary work is modelled on that of the ancients whom he imitates and brings back to life, Propertius in particular, from whom he traces his descent; and he is indeed a true descendant, resembling the poet most in the qualities which were his greatest Take up his elegiacs and you will find them exquisitely finished, full of sensuous charm, and truly in Propertius’s style. He has lately turned to lyric poetry, and here he recalls Horace as successfully as he does Propertius elsewhere: if kinship has any influence on literature, you would think he was related to Horace too. He is highly versatile, with many changes of mood; he can love like a true lover and portray grief in all its passion; his tributes are generous and his wit is brilliant: in fact he can do everything with a specialist’s perfection.

This is the friend and genius for whom I have been as sick at heart as he was in body, but now at last he is restored, and I with him. Congratulate me, congratulate literature itself, for the danger to his life has brought it through hazards as great as the glory his recovery will ensure for it.

23. To Maximus

It has often happened to me when speaking in the Centumviral Court that my hearers have preserved their judicial dignity and impassivity for a while and then suddenly jumped to their feet with one accord to congratulate me as if driven by some compelling force. From the Senate, too, I have often had all the applause my heart could desire; but never have I felt such pleasure as I did recently at something Tacitus said. He was describing how at the last Races he had sat next to a Roman knight who engaged him in conversation on several learned subjects and then asked if he came from Italy or the provinces. ‘You know me,’ said Tacitus, ‘from your reading.’ At which the man said, ‘Then are you Tacitus or Pliny?’ I can’t tell you how delighted I am to have our names assigned to literature as if they belonged there and not to individuals, and to learn that we are both known by our writing to people who would otherwise not have heard of us.

A similar thing happened to me a day or two ago. I had a distinguished neighbour at dinner, Fadius Rufinus, and on his other side was someone from his native town who had come to Rome on his first visit that same day. Pointing to me, Rufinus said to him, ‘Do you see my friend here?’ Then he spoke at length about my work, and the man exclaimed, ‘It must be Pliny!’

I confess I feel well rewarded for my labours. If Demosthenes had the right to be pleased when the old woman of Attica recognized him with the words’ That’s Demosthenes!’1 I may surely be glad when my name is well known. In fact I am glad and admit it. For I’m not afraid of appearing too boastful when I have other people’s opinions to quote and not only my own, especially when talking to you; for you are never envious of anyone’s reputation and are always furthering mine.

24. To Sabinianus

You have done the right thing in taking back into your home and favour the freedman who was once dear to you, with my letter to mediate between you both. You will be glad of this, and I am certainly glad, first because I see you are willing to be reasonable and take advice when angry, and then because you have paid me the tribute of bowing to my authority, or, if you prefer, granting my request. So accept my compliments as well as my thanks, but, at the same time, a word of advice for the future: be ready to forgive the faults of your household even if there is no one there to intercede for them.

25. To Pomponius Mamilianus

You grumble about being beset with military affairs, and yet you can read my bits of nonsense as if you had all the leisure in the world – you even enjoy them, clamour for them, and are insistent that I produce more like them. I am in fact beginning to think that I can look for more than mere amusement from this kind of writing, and now that I have the opinion of one who is both learned and serious, and above all sincere, I may even think of fame.

At the moment I have some legal work to do, not much, but enough to occupy my time. When this is finished I will entrust something inspired by the same Muse to your kindly care. If you think well of my little sparrows and doves, as they do of themselves, let them fly among your eagles; and if you don’t, please shut them in a cage or keep them in their nest.

26. To Lupercus

One of our contemporary orators is a sound and sober speaker while lacking in grandeur and eloquence, so that I think my comment on him has point: his only fault is that he is faultless.

The orator ought in fact to be roused and heated, sometimes even to boiling-point, and to let his feelings carry him on till he treads the edge of a precipice; for a path along the heights and peaks often skirts the sheer drop below. It may be safer to keep to the plain, but the road lies too low to be interesting.1 A runner risks more falls than a man who keeps to a snail’s pace, but he wins praise in spite of a stumble, whereas there is no credit in walking without a fall. Eloquence is in fact one of the skills which gain most from the risks they run. You have seen tightrope walkers and the applause they win as they move along the length of the rope and every minute look as though they are going to fall; for it is the most unexpected and dangerous feats which win most admiration: ventures which the Greeks can define so well in a single word. Consequently the courage demanded of a helmsman to steer his course through a stormy sea is quite different from what he needs when the sea is calm and he reaches harbour unnoticed, to find no praise and congratulations awaiting him. It is when the sheets creak, the mast bends, and the rudder groans that he is covered with glory and stands almost equal to the gods of the sea!

I write as I do because I had an idea that you had criticized some passages in my writings for being pompous, though I thought them splendid, and what I imagined to be a full treatment of a bold enterprise you dismissed as redundant and exaggerated. But it is important to determine whether you are attacking genuine faults or only striking phrases; for, though anyone can see what stands out above the average, it needs a keen judgement to decide whether this is extravagant and disproportionate or lofty and sublime. Homer provides the best examples; no one can fail to notice (whatever he feels about them) such expressions as ‘high heaven’s trumpet rang out’, ‘his spear rested on a cloud’, and ‘neither the sea’s breakers roar so loud’,² but they must be weighed with care before judging if they are meaningless phantasies or noble creations of a divine inspiration. Not that I think that these are the times and I am the person to have written words like these, nor that I have the ability to do so: I am not so foolish. But I want to make the point that eloquence should be given its head, and the pace of genius should not be confined within too narrow a ring.

You may say that orators are different from poets – as if indeed Cicero lacked daring! However, let us leave out Cicero, since in his case I think there is no dispute. But there is surely no curb nor restraint holding back Demosthenes, the true model and exemplar of oratory, when he delivers the famous ‘Abominable men, flatterers and evil spirits’ and ‘neither with stones nor bricks did I fortify this city’, and later, ‘Was it not to make Euboea the bulwark of Attica on the seaward side?’1 Elsewhere he says ‘For my part, men of Athens, by the gods I believe that Philip is drunk with the magnitude of his achievements’,² and there can hardly be anything bolder than the magnificent long digression beginning ‘For a disease.. .’³ The following passage may be shorter but is no less daring: “Then when Python swaggered and poured out a torrent of abuse on us, I stood firm’;⁴ and this bears the same stamp:’ But when a man has grown strong, as Philip has, by rapacity and crime, then the first pretext, some trifling slip, overthrows and shatters all.’⁵ In the same style are the expressions ‘Cordoned off from every right which holds sacred in the city’ and ‘You have thrown away their claim to pity, Aristogeiton, indeed you have destroyed it once and for all. Do not then seek anchorage in harbours which you have yourself blocked up and filled with stakes.’ In the same speech he had said ‘But I cannot see that any one of these topics gives a sure foothold to the defendant; he has nothing before him but precipices, gulfs, and pitfalls’, and also ‘I am afraid that to some you will appear to have set up as a trainer of any citizen with a taste for wickedness’. There is also ‘I cannot believe that your ancestors built you these law courts as a hotbed for rascals of this sort’ and ‘If he is a jobbing dealer, a pedlar, and retailer of wickedness ‘,⁶ and innumerable such instances, not counting those which Aeschines called ‘not words but wonders’.⁷

This is an argument on the wrong side, and you will retort that Demosthenes is at fault in the same way as you say I am. But you must see how much greater he is than Aeschines, his critic, and greater in these very passages; he can show vigour elsewhere, but here he stands out as sublime. Besides, was Aeschines himself free from the faults he finds in Demosthenes? ‘For it is essential, men of Athens, that the orator and the law should speak the same language; but when the law says one thing, and the orator another…’ Elsewhere he says that “Then he displays himself as especially concerned with the decree’, and again ‘But keep watch and lie in ambush as you listen to him, so that you drive him to keep within die limits of the charge of illegality’,1 and he is so pleased with this metaphor that he repeats it: ‘But as in the race track, drive him to keep to the relevant course.’² Nor is his style any more controlled and restrained in this example: ‘But you reopen old wounds, and are more concerned with today’s speeches than with the welfare of the State’; and he aims high when he asks: ‘Will you not dismiss this man as a public menace to Greece? Or arrest him as a pirate who infests politics by cruising around the State in his brig of words, and then bring him to justice?’³

I am waiting for you to strike out certain expressions in this letter (such as ‘the rudder groans’ and ‘equal to the gods of the sea’) by the same rule as you attack the passages I am quoting; for I am well aware that in seeking indulgence for my past offences I have fallen into the very errors you condemn. Strike then – as long as you will fix an early date for us to discuss both past and present in person. Then you can make me more cautious or I shall teach you to be venturesome.

27. To Plinius Paternus

I have often been conscious of the powers of history, its dignity and majesty and inspired authority, but never more so than on a recent occasion. An author had begun a reading of a work of exceptional candour, and had left part to be read another day. Up came the friends of someone I won’t name, begging and praying him not to read the remainder; such is the shame people feel at hearing about their conduct, though they felt none at the time of doing what they blush to hear. The author complied with their request, as he could well do without loss of sincerity, but the book, like their deeds, remains and will remain; it will always be read, and all the more for this delay, for information withheld only sharpens men’s curiosity to hear it.

28. To Voconius Romanus

Your letters have reached me after a long delay, three in fact at once, all beautifully expressed, warmly affectionate, and such as I ought to have from you, especially when I had been waiting for them. In one you entrust me with the very welcome commission of forwarding your letter to the august lady Plotina:1 it shall be done. The same letter introduces Popilius Artemisius. I carried out his request at once. You also say that you have had a poor grape harvest, and I can join you in this complaint, although we live so far from each other.²

The second letter tells me you are setting down or dictating your impressions of myself. Thank you – I would thank you more if you had been willing for me to read the actual pages as they are finished; as you read my work, in common justice I should read yours, even when someone else is the subject. At the end you promise that, once you have some definite news of my arrangements, you will escape from your domestic affairs and take refuge here with me, where I am already forging you fetters which you will never manage to break.

Your third letter mentions that you have received my speech on behalf of Clarius and thought it seemed fuller than when you heard me deliver it. It is fuller, for I made several additions afterwards. You then want to know if I have had the other letter you sent, which was composed with special care. No, I haven’t, and I can’t wait for it. So send it as soon as you can, and pay me full interest: I work it out at twelve per cent per annum, and can’t be expected to let you off more lightly than that.

29. To Fabius (?) Rusticus³

It is better to excel in one thing than do several moderately well, but moderate skill in several things is better if you lack ability to excel in one. Bearing this in mind, I have tried my hand at various styles of composition as I have never felt confident in any one. So when you read anything of mine you must be indulgent to each style I use in consideration of its not being my only one; quantity is an excuse for lack of quality in the other arts, so why should there be a harsher law for literature where success is even more difficult? But I mustn’t talk about indulgence as if I were ungrateful – if you receive my latest efforts as kindly as you did my earlier work I should be looking for praise rather than begging indulgence, though this would be enough.

30. To Rosianus Geminus

I have often heard you praise your friend Nonius in person, as you do in your last letter, for his generosity to certain people, and I will add my own praises if his generosity is not confined to these individual cases. I should like to see the truly generous man giving to his country, neighbours, relatives, and friends, but by them I mean his friends without means; unlike the people who bestow their gifts on those best able to make a return. Such persons do not seem to me to part with anything of their own, but use their gifts as baits to hook other people’s possessions. Other smart characters rob one person to give to another, hoping their rapacity will bring them a reputation for generous giving. But the first essential is to be content with your own lot, the second to support and assist those you know to be most in need, embracing them all within the circle of your friendship.

If your friend can achieve all this he is wholly to be praised, if part only he is still praiseworthy in a lesser degree; so few instances are there even of partial generosity. Greed for ownership has taken such a hold of us that we seem to be possessed by wealth rather than to possess it.

31. To Sardus

I am still enjoying your company as much as before we parted, for I have been reading your book, and, to be honest, rereading again and again the passages about myself, where you have indeed been eloquent! The wealth of your material and variety of treatment, and the skill whereby you avoid repetition without loss of consistency, makes me wonder whether I should mingle congratulations with my thanks. I can do neither adequately, and if I could I should be afraid it would look conceited to congratulate you on the very thing for which I am thanking you. I will only add that my pleasure in your work increased its merit for me, while its merit added to my pleasure.

32. To Cornelius Titianus

What are you doing, and what are your plans? As for me, fan enjoying life to the full, which means I am thoroughly idle. Consequently I can’t be bothered with writing longer letters in my pampered state, though I should welcome some to read in my idle hours. No one is so lazy as a pampered man, and nothing so inquisitive as a man with nothing to do.

33. To Caninius Rufus1

I have come across a true story which sounds very like fable, and so ought to be a suitable subject for your abundant talent to raise to the heights of poetry. I heard it over the dinner table when various marvellous tales were being circulated, and I had it on good authority – though I know that doesn’t really interest poets. However, it was one which even a historian might well have trusted.

The Roman town of Hippo² is situated on the coast of Africa. Near by is a navigable lagoon, with an estuary like a river leading from it which flows into the sea or back into the lagoon according to the ebb and flow of the tide. People of all ages spend their time here to enjoy the pleasures of fishing, boating and swimming, especially the boys who have plenty of time to play. It is a bold feat with them to swim out into deep water, the winner being the one who has left the shore and his fellow-swimmers farthest behind. In one of these races a particularly adventurous boy went farther out than the rest. A dolphin met him and swam now in front, now behind him, then played round him, and finally dived to take him on its back, then put him off, took him on again, and first carried him terrified out to sea, then turned to the shore and brought him back to land and his companions.

The tale spread through the town; everyone ran up to stare at the boy as a prodigy, ask to hear his story and repeat it. The following day crowds thronged the shore, watched the sea, and anything like the sea, while the boys began to swim out, amongst them the same boy, but this time more cautious. The dolphin punctually reappeared and approached the boy again, but he made off with the rest. Meanwhile the dolphin jumped and dived, coiled and uncoiled itself in circles as if inviting and calling him back. This was repeated the next day, the day after, and on several more occasions, until these people, who are bred to the sea, began to be ashamed of their fears. They went up to the dolphin and played with it, called it, and even touched and stroked it when they found it did not object, and their daring increased with experience. In particular the boy who first met it swam up when it was in the water, climbed on its back, and was carried out to sea and brought back; he believed it knew and loved him, and he loved it. Neither was feared nor afraid, and the one grew more confident as the other became tamer. Some of the other boys used to go with him on either side, shouting encouragement and warnings, and with it swam another dolphin (which is also remarkable), but only to look on and escort the other, for it did not perform the same feats nor allow the same familiarities, but only accompanied its fellow to shore and out to sea as the boys did their friend. It is hard to believe, but as true as the rest of the story, that the dolphin who carried and played with the boys would even come out on to the shore, dry itself in the sand, and roll back into the sea when it felt hot.

Then, as is generally known, the governor Octavius Avitus was moved by some misguided superstition to pour scented oil on the dolphin as it lay on the shore, and the strange sensation and smell made it take refuge in the open sea. It did not reappear for many days, and then seemed listless and dejected; but as it regained strength it returned to its former playfulness and usual tricks. All the local officials used to gather to see the sight, and their arrival to stay in the little town began to burden it with extra expense, until finally the place itself was losing its character of peace and quiet. It was then decided that the object of the public’s interest should be quietly destroyed.

I can imagine how sadly you will lament this ending and how eloquently you will enrich and adorn this tale – though there is no need for you to add any fictitious details; it will be enough if the truth is told in full.

34. To Suetonius Tranquillus

Please settle my doubts. I am told that I read badly – I mean when I read verse, for I can manage speeches, though this seems to make my verse reading all the worse. So, as I am planning to give an informal reading to my personal friends, I am thinking of making use of one of my freedmen. This is certainly treating them informally, as the man I have chosen is not really a good reader, but I think he will do better than I can as long as he is not nervous. (He is in fact as inexperienced a reader as I am a poet) Now, I don’t know what I am to do myself while he is reading, whether I am to sit still and silent like a mere spectator, or do as some people and accompany his words with lips, eye, and gesture. But I don’t believe I am any better at mime that at reading aloud. Once more, then, settle my doubts and give me a straight answer whether it would be better to read myself, however badly, than to do or leave undone what I have just said.

35. To Atrius(?)

I have received the book you sent, for which many thanks. I am very busy just now, so I haven’t read it yet in spite of my impatience. But I hold literature in general and your writings in particular in such high regard that I should feel it sacrilege to handle them, unless I could give my undivided attention.

I very much approve of the trouble you take over revising your work, but there should be a limit to this; first because too much application blurs the outline instead of improving the details, and then because it distracts us from more recent subjects and prevents us from starting on new work and also from finishing off the old.

36. To Fuscus Salinator

You want to know how I plan the summer days I spend in Tuscany. I wake when I like, usually about sunrise, often earlier but rarely later. My shutters stay closed, for in the stillness and darkness I feel myself surprisingly detached from any distractions and left to myself in freedom; my eyes do not determine the direction of my thinking, but, being unable to see anything, they are guided to visualize my thoughts. If I have anything on hand I work it out in my head, choosing and correcting the wording, and the amount I achieve depends on the ease or difficulty with which my thoughts can be marshalled and kept in my head. Then I call my secretary, the shutters are opened, and I dictate what I have put into shape; he goes out, is recalled, and again dismissed. Three or four hours after I first wake (but I don’t keep to fixed times) I betake myself according to the weather either to the terrace or the covered arcade, work out the rest of my subject, and dictate it. I go for a drive, and spend the time in the same way as when walking or lying down; my powers of concentration do not flag and are in fact refreshed by the change. After a short sleep and another walk I read a Greek or Latin speech aloud and with emphasis, not so much for the sake of my voice as my digestion, though of course both are strengthened by this. Then I have another walk, am oiled, take exercise, and have a bath. If I am dining alone with my wife or with a few friends, a book is read aloud during the meal and afterwards we listen to a comedy or some music; then I walk again with the members of my household, some of whom are well educated. Thus the evening is prolonged with varied conversation, and, even when the days are at their longest, comes to a satisfying end.

Sometimes I vary this routine, for, if I have spent a long time on my couch or taking a walk, after my siesta and reading I go out on horseback instead of in a carriage so as to be quicker and take less time. Part of the day is given up to friends who visit me from neighbouring towns, and sometimes come to my aid with a welcome interruption when I am tired. Occasionally I go hunting, but not without my notebooks so that I shall have something to bring home even if I catch nothing. I also give some, time to my tenants (they think it should be more) and the boorishness of their complaints gives fresh zest to our literary interests and the more civilized pursuits of town.

37. To Valerius Paulinas

It is not your nature to demand the conventional formalities from your personal friends when they are likely to be inconvenienced, and I love you too surely to fear you will misinterpret my intentions if I am not present when you take up your consulship on the first of the month; especially when I must stay here to arrange for letting my farms on long leases and I shall have to adopt a new system for this. During the past five years, despite the large reductions I made in the rents, the arrears have increased and as a result most of my tenants have lost interest in reducing their debt because they have no hope of being able to pay off the whole; they even seize and consume the produce of the land in the belief that they will gain nothing themselves by conserving it.

I must therefore face this growing evil and find a remedy. One way would be to let the farms not for a money rent but for a fixed share of the produce, and then make some of my servants overseers to keep a watch on the harvest. There is certainly no more just return than what is won from the soil, climate and seasons, but this method requires strict honesty, keen eyes, and many pairs of hands. However, I must make the experiment and try all possible changes of remedy for an obstinate complaint.

You see that it is not pure selfishness on my part which prevents my attending you on the first day of your consulship, and I shall celebrate it here with prayers, rejoicing and congratulations as if I were with you.

38. To Pompeius Satuminus

I do indeed congratulate Rufus, not at your request but because he merits praise. I have read his book, a finished performance in every way, my pleasure in which was much increased by my affection for its author. I did however read it critically; for criticism is not confined to those who read only to find fault.

39. To Mustius

I am told by the soothsayers that I must rebuild the temple of Ceres which stands on my property; it needs enlarging and improving, for it is certainly very old and too small considering how crowded it is on its special anniversary, when great crowds gather there from the whole district on 13 September and many ceremonies are performed and vows made and discharged. But there is no shelter near by from rain or sun, so I think it will be an act of generosity and piety alike to build as fine a temple as I can and add porticoes – the temple for the goddess and the porticoes for the public.

Will you then please buy me four marble columns, any kind you think suitable, and marble for improving the floor and walls; and we shall also have to have made a statue of the goddess, for several pieces are broken off the original wooden one as it is so old. As for the porticoes, at the moment I can’t think of anything I want from you, unless you will draw me a plan suitable for the position. They cannot be built round the temple, for the site has a river with steep banks on one side and a road on the other. On the far side of the road is a large meadow where they might quite well stand facing the temple; unless you can think of a better solution from your professional experience of overcoming difficulties of terrain.

40. To Fuscus Salinator

You say you were delighted with my letter describing how I spend my summer holidays in Tuscany, and you want to know what change I make at Laurentum in winter. None, except that I cut out my siesta and shorten my nights a good deal by using the hours before dawn or after sunset; and, if I have an urgent case pending, as often happens in winter, instead of having comedy or music after dinner I work again and again over what I have dictated, and so fix it in my memory by repeated revision.

Now that you have my habits in summer and winter you can add spring and autumn, the intermediate seasons, during which none of the day is wasted and so very little is stolen from the night.