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General LettersPart I
Part I
I
To Septitius
You have frequently pressed me to make a select collection of my Letters
(if there really be any deserving of a special preference) and give them to
the public. I have selected them accordingly; not, indeed, in their proper
order of time, for I was not compiling a history; but just as each came to
hand. And now I have only to wish that you may have no reason to repent of
your advice, nor I of my compliance: in that case, I may probably enquire
after the rest, which at present lie neglected, and preserve those I shall
hereafter write. Farewell.
II
To Arrianus
I foresee your journey in my direction is likely to be delayed, and
therefore send you the speech which I promised in my former; requesting you,
as usual, to revise and correct it. I desire this the more earnestly as I
never, I think, wrote with the same empressement in any of my former speeches;
for I have endeavoured to imitate your old favourite Demosthenes and Calvus,
who is lately become mine, at least in the rhetorical forms of the speech; for
to catch their sublime spirit, is given, alone, to the "inspired few." My
subject, indeed, seemed naturally to lend itself to this (may I venture to
call it?) emulation; consisting, as it did, almost entirely in a vehement
style of address, even to a degree sufficient to have awakened me (if only I
am capable of being awakened) out of that indolence in which I have long
reposed. I have not, however, altogether neglected the flowers of rhetoric of
my favourite Marc-Tully, wherever I could with propriety step out of my direct
road, to enjoy a more flowery path: for it was energy, not austerity, at which
I aimed. I would not have you imagine by this that I am bespeaking your
indulgence: on the contrary, to make your correcting pen more vigorous, I will
confess that neither my friends nor myself are reverse from the publication of
this piece, if only you should join in the approval of what is perhaps my
folly. The truth is, as I must publish something, I wish it might be this
performance rather than any other, because it is already finished: (you hear
the wish of laziness). At all events, however, something I must publish, and
for many reasons; chiefly because the tracts which I have already sent into
the world, though they have long since lost all recommendation from novelty,
are still, I am told, in request; if, after all, the booksellers are not
tickling my ears. And let them; since, by that innocent deceit, I am
encouraged to pursue my studies. Farewell.
III
To Voconius Romanus
Did you ever meet with a more abject and mean-spirited creature than
Marcus Regulus since the death of Domitian, during whose reign his conduct was
no less infamous, though more concealed, than under Nero`s? He began to be
afraid I was angry with him, and his apprehensions were perfectly correct; I
was angry. He had not only done his best to increase the peril of the position
in which Rusticus Arulenus^1 stood, but had exulted in his death; insomuch
that he actually recited and published a libel upon his memory, in which he
styles him "The Stoics` Ape": adding, "stigmated^2 with the Vitellian scar."^3
You recognize Regulus` eloquent strain! He fell with such fury upon the
character of Herennius Senecio that Metius Carus said to him, one day, "What
business have you with my dead? Did I ever interfere in the affair of
Crassus^4 or Camerinus^5?" Victims, you know, to Regulus, in Nero`s time. For
these reasons he imagined I was highly exasperated, and so at the recitation
of his last piece, I got no invitation. Besides, he had not forgotten, it
seems, with what deadly purpose he had once attacked me in the Court of the
Hundred.^6 Rusticus had desired me to act as counsel for Arionilla, Timon`s
wife: Regulus was engaged against me. In one part of the case I was strongly
insisting upon a particular judgment given by Metius Modestus, an excellent
man, at that time in banishment by Domitian`s order. Now then for Regulus,
"Pray," says he, "what is your opinion of Modestus?" You see what a risk I
should have run had I answered that I had a high opinion of him, how I should
have disgraced myself on the other hand if I had replied that I had a bad
opinion of him. But some guardian power, I am persuaded, must have stood by me
to assist me in this emergency. "I will tell you my opinion," I said, "If that
is a matter to be brought before the court," "I ask you," he repeated, "what
is your opinion of Modestus?" I replied that it was customary to examine
witnesses to the character of an accused man, not to the character of one on
whom sentence had already been passed. He pressed me a third time. "I do not
now enquire," said he, "your opinion of Modestus in general, I only ask your
opinion of his loyalty." "Since you will have my opinion then," I rejoined, "I
think it illegal even to ask a question concerning a person who stands
convicted." He sat down at this, completely silenced; and I received applause
and congratulation on all sides, that without injuring my reputation by an
advantageous, perhaps, though ungenerous answer, I had not entangled myself in
the toils of so insidious a catch-question. Thoroughly frightened upon this
then, he first seizes upon Caecilius Celer, next he goes and begs of Fabius
Justus, that they would use their joint interest to bring about a
reconciliation between us. And lest this should not be sufficient, he sets off
to Spurinna as well; to whom he came in the humblest way (for he is the most
abject creature alive, where he has anything to be afraid of) and says to him,
"Do, I entreat of you, call on Pliny to-morrow morning, certainly in the
morning, no later (for I cannot endure this anxiety of mind longer), and
endeavour by any means in your power to soften his resentment." I was already
up, the next day, when a message arrived from Spurinna, "I am coming to call
on you." I sent back word, "Nay, I will wait upon you"; however, both of us
setting out to pay this visit, we met under Livia`s portico. He acquainted me
with the commission he had received from Regulus, and interceded for him as
became so worthy a man in behalf of one so totally dissimilar, without greatly
pressing the thing. "I will leave it to you," was my reply, "to consider what
answer to return Regulus; you ought not to be deceived by me. I am waiting for
Mauricus`^7 return" (for he had not yet come back out of exile), "so that I
cannot give you any definite answer either way, as I mean to be guided
entirely by his decision, for he ought to be my leader here, and I simply to
do as he says." Well, a few days after this, Regulus met me as I was at the
praetor`s; he kept close to me there and begged a word in private, when he
said he was afraid I deeply resented an expression he had once made use of in
his reply to Satrius and myself, before the Court of the Hundred, to this
effect: "Satrius Rufus, who does not endeavour to rival Cicero, and who is
content with the eloquence of our own day." I answered, now I perceived
indeed, upon his own confession, that he had meant it ill-naturedly;
otherwise it might have passed for a compliment. "For I am free to own," I
said, "that I do endeavour to rival Cicero, and am not content with the
eloquence of our own day. For I consider it very height of folly not to copy
the best models of every kind. But how happens it that you, who have so good a
recollection of what passed upon this occasion, should have forgotten that
other, when you asked me my opinion of the loyalty of Modestus?" Pale as he
always is, he turned simply pallid at this, and stammered out, "I did not
intend to hurt you when I asked this question, but Modestus." Observe the
vindictive cruelty of the fellow, who made no concealment of his willingness
to injure a banished man. But the reason he alleged in justification of his
conduct is pleasant. Modestus, he explained, in a letter of his, which was
read to Domitian, had used the following expression: "Regulus, the biggest
rascal that walks upon two feet": and what Modestus had written was the simple
truth, beyond all manner of controversy. Here, about, our conversation came to
an end, for I did not wish to proceed further, being desirous to keep matters
open until Mauricus returns. It is no easy matter, I am well aware of that, to
destroy Regulus; he is rich, and at the head of a party; courted^8 by many,
feared by more: a passion that will sometimes prevail even beyond friendship
itself. But, after all, ties of this sort are not so strong but they may be
loosened; for a bad man`s credit is as shifty as himself. However (to repeat),
I am waiting until Mauricus comes back. He is a man of sound judgment and
great sagacity, formed upon long experience, and who, from his observations of
the past, well knows how to judge of the future. I shall talk the matter over
with him, and consider myself justified either in pursuing or dropping this
affair, as he shall advise. Meanwhile I thought I owed this account to our
mutual friendship, which gives you an undoubted right to know about not only
all my actions but all my plans as well. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: A pupil and intimate friend of Paetus Thrasea, the distinguished
Stoic philosopher. Arulenus was put to death by Domitian for writing a
panegyric upon Thrasea.]
[Footnote 2: The impropriety of this expression, in the original, seems to lie
in the word stigmosum, which Regulus probably either coined through
affectation or used through ignorance. It is a word, at least, which does not
occur in any author of authority: the translator has endeavoured, therefore,
to preserve the same sort of impropriety, by using an expression of like
unwarranted stamp in his own tongue. M.]
[Footnote 3: An allusion to a wound he had received in the war between
Vitellius and Vespasian.]
[Footnote 4: A brother of Piso Galba`s adopted son. He was put to death by
Nero.]
[Footnote 5: Sulpicius Camerinus, put to death by the same emperor, upon some
frivolous charge.]
[Footnote 6: A select body of men who formed a court of judicature, called the
centumviral court. Their jurisdiction extended chiefly, if not entirely, to
questions of wills and interstate estates. Their number, it would seem,
amounted to 105. M.]
[Footnote 7: Junius Mauricus, the brother of Rusticus Arulenus. Both brothers
were sentenced on the same day, Arulenus to execution and Mauricus to
banishment.]
[Footnote 8: There seems to have been a cast of uncommon blackness in the
character of this Regulus; otherwise the benevolent Pliny would scarcely have
singled him out, as he has in this and some following letters, for the subject
of his warmest contempt and indignation. Yet, infamous as he was, he had his
flatterers and admirers; and a contemporary poet frequently represents him as
one of the most finished characters of the age, both in eloquence and virtue.]
IV
To Cornelius Tacitus
You will laugh (and you are quite welcome) when I tell you that your old
acquaintance is turned sportsman, and has taken three noble boars. "What!" you
exclaim, "Pliny!" - Even he. However, I indulged at the same time my beloved
inactivity; and, whilst I sat at my nets, you would have found me, not with
boar spear or javelin, but pencil and tablet, by my side. I mused and wrote,
being determined to return, if with all my hands empty, at least with my
memorandums full. Believe me, this way of studying is not to be despised: it
is wonderful how the mind is stirred and quickened into activity by brisk
bodily exercise. There is something, too, in the solemnity of the venerable
woods with which one is surrounded, together with that profound silence which
is observed on these occasions, that forcibly disposes the mind to meditation.
So for the future, let me advise you, whenever you hunt, to take your tablets
along with you, as well as your basket and bottle, for be assured you will
find Minerva no less fond of traversing the hills than Diana. Farewell.
V
To Pompeius Saturninus
Nothing could be more seasonable than the letter which I received from
you, in which you so earnestly beg me to send you some of my literary efforts;
the very thing I was intending to do. So you have only put spurs into a
willing horse and at once saved yourself the excuse of refusing the trouble,
and me the awkwardness of asking the favour. Without hesitation then I avail
myself of your offer; as you must now take the consequence of it without
reluctance. But you are not to expect anything new from a lazy fellow, for I
am going to ask you to revise again the speech I made to my fellow-townsmen
when I dedicated the public library to their use. You have already, I
remember, obliged me with some annotations upon this piece, but only in a
general way; and so I now beg of you not only to take a general view of the
whole speech, but, as you usually do, to go over it in detail. When you have
corrected it, I shall still be at liberty to publish or suppress it: and the
delay in the meantime will be attended with one of these alternatives; for,
while we are deliberating whether it is fit for publishing, a frequent
revision will either make it so, or convince me that it is not. Though indeed
my principal difficulty respecting the publication of this harangue arises not
so much from the composition as out of the subject itself, which has something
in it, I am afraid, that will look too like ostentation and self-conceit.
For, be the style ever so plain and unassuming, yet, as the occasion
necessarily led me to speak not only of the munificence of my ancestors, but
of my own as well, my modesty will be seriously embarrassed. A dangerous and
slippery situation this, even when one is led into it by plea of necessity!
For, if mankind are not very favourable to panegyric, even when bestowed upon
others, how much more difficult is it to reconcile them to it when it is a
tribute which we pay to ourselves or to our ancestors! Virtue, by herself, is
generally the object of envy, but particularly so when glory and distinction
attend her; and the world is never so little disposed to detract from the
rectitude of your conduct as when it passes unobserved and unapplauded. For
these reasons, I frequently ask myself whether I composed this harangue, such
as it is, merely from a personal consideration, or with a view to the public
as well; and I am sensible that what may be exceedingly useful and proper in
the prosecution of any affair may lose all its grace and fitness the moment
the business is completed: for instance, in the case before us, what could be
more to my purpose than to explain at large the motives of my intended bounty?
For, first, it engaged my mind in good and ennobling thoughts; next, it enable
me, by frequent dwelling upon them, to receive a perfect impression of their
loveliness, while it guarded at the same time against that repentance which is
sure to follow on an impulsive act of generosity. There arose also a further
advantage from this method, as it fixed in me a certain habitual contempt of
money. For, while mankind 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 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 may own case there is a peculiar circumstance that weighs much
with me: this speech was delivered not before the people, but the Decurii;^1
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 those 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.
[Footnote 1: The Decurii were a sort of senators in the municipal or corporate
cities of Italy. M.]
VI
To Attius 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,^1 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.
[Footnote 1: "Euphrates was a native of Tyre, or, according to others, of
Byzantium. He belonged to the Stoic school of philosophy. In his old age he
became tired of life, and asked and obtained from Hadrian permission to put an
end to himself by poison." Smith`s Dict. of Greek and Roman Biog.]
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
overbalanced 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, unenslaved 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
resolved to die; and that neither her own entreaties nor her daughter`s could
move him from his purpose; I was the only person left who could reconcile him
to life. I ran to his house with the utmost precipitation. As I approached it,
I met a second messenger from Hispulla, Julius Atticus, who informed me there
was nothing to be hoped for now, even from me, as he seemed more hardened than
ever in his purpose. He had said, indeed, to his physician, who pressed him to
take some nourishment, "`Tis resolved": an expression which, as it raised my
admiration of the greatness of his soul, so it does my grief for the loss of
him. I keep thinking what a friend, what a man, I am deprived of. That he had
reached his sixty-seventh year, an age which even the strongest seldom
exceed, I well know; that he is released from a life of continual pain; that
he has left his dearest friends behind him, and (what was dearer to him than
all these) the state in a prosperous condition: all this I know. Still I
cannot forbear to lament him, as if he had been in the prime and vigour of his
days; and I lament him (shall I own my weakness?) on my own account. And - to
confess to you as I did to Calvisius, in the first transport of my grief - I
sadly fear, now that I am no longer under his eye, I shall not keep so strict
a guard over my conduct. Speak comfort to me then, not that he was old, he was
infirm: all this I know; but by supplying me with some reflections that are
new and resistless, which I have never heard, never read, anywhere else. For
all that I have heard, and all that I have read, occur to me of themselves;
but all these are by far too weak to support me under so severe an affliction.
Farewell.
IX
To Socius Senecio
This year has produced a plentiful crop of poets: during the whole month
of April scarcely a day has passed on which we have not been entertained with
the recital of some poem. It is a pleasure to me to find that a taste for
polite literature still exists, and that men of genius do come forward and
make themselves known, notwithstanding the lazy attendance they get for their
pains. The greater part of the audience sit in the lounging-places, gossip
away their time there, and are perpetually sending to enquire whether the
author has made his entrance yet, whether he has got through the preface, or
whether he has almost finished the piece. Then at length they saunter in with
an air of the greatest indifference, nor do they condescend to stay through
the recital, but go out before it is over, some slyly and stealthily, others
again with perfect freedom and unconcern. And yet our fathers can remember how
Claudius Caesar, walking one day in the palace, and hearing a great shouting,
enquired the cause; and being informed that Nonianus^1 was reciting a
composition of his, went immediately to the place, and agreeably surprised the
author with his presence. But now, were one to bespeak the attendance of the
idlest man living, and remind him of the appointment ever so often, or ever so
long beforehand; either he would not come at all, or if he did would grumble
about having "lost a day!" for no other reason but because he had not lost it.
So much the more do those authors deserve our encouragement and applause who
have resolution to persevere in their studies, and to read out their
compositions in spite of this apathy or arrogance on the part of their
audience. Myself indeed, I scarcely ever miss being present upon any occasion;
though, to tell the truth, the authors have generally been friends of mine, as
indeed there are few men of literary tastes who are not. It is this which has
kept me in town longer than I had intended. I am now, however, at liberty to
go back into the country, and write something myself; which I do not intend
reciting, lest I should seem rather to have lent than given my attendance to
these recitations of my friends, for in these, as in all other good offices,
the obligation ceases the moment you seem to expect a return. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: A pleader and historian of some distinction, mentioned by
Tacitus, Ann. xiv. 19, and by Quintilian, x. 1, 102.]
X
To Junius Mauricus
You desire me to look out a proper husband for your niece: it is with
justice you enjoin me that office. You know the high esteem and affection I
bore that great man, her father, and with what noble instructions he nurtured
my youth, and taught me to deserve those praises he was pleased to bestow upon
me. You could not give me, then, a more important, or more agreeable,
commission; nor could I be employed in an office of higher honour, than that
of choosing a young man worthy of being father of the grandchildren of
Rusticus Arulenus; a choice I should be long in determining, were I not
acquainted with Minutius Aemilianus, who seems formed for our purpose. He
loves me with all that warmth of affection which is usual between young men of
equal years (as indeed I have the advance of him but by a very few), and
reveres me at the same time, with all the deference due to age; and, in a
word, he is no less desirous to model himself by my instructions than I was by
those of yourself and your brother.
He is a native of Brixia, one of those provinces in Italy which still
retain much of the old modesty, frugal simplicity, and even rusticity, of
manner. He is the son of Minutius Macrinus, whose humble desires were
satisfied with standing at the head of the equestrian order: for though he was
nominated by Vespasian in the number of those whom that prince dignified with
the praetorian office, yet, with an inflexible greatness of mind, he
resolutely preferred an honourable repose to the ambitious, shall I call them,
or exalted, pursuits, in which we public men are engaged. His grandmother, on
the mother`s side, is Serrana Procula, of Patavium:^1 you are no stranger to
the character of its citizens; yet Serrana is looked upon, even among these
correct people, as an exemplary instance of strict virtue. Acilius, his uncle,
is a man of almost exceptional gravity, wisdom, and integrity. In short, you
will find nothing throughout his family unworthy of yours. Minutius himself
has plenty of vivacity, as well as application, together with a most amiable
and becoming modesty. He has already, with considerable credit, passed through
the offices of quaestor, tribune, and praetor; so that you will be spared the
trouble of soliciting for him those honourable employments. He has a fine,
well-bred countenance, with a ruddy, healthy complexion, while his whole
person is elegant and comely and his mien graceful and senatorian: advantages,
I think, by no means to be slighted, and which I consider as the proper
tribute to virgin innocence. I think I may add that his father is very rich.
When I contemplate the character of those who require a husband of my
choosing, I know it is unnecessary to mention wealth; but when I reflect upon
the prevailing manners of the age, and even the laws of Rome, which rank a man
according to his possessions, it certainly claims some regard; and, indeed, in
establishments of this nature, where children and many other circumstances are
to be duly weighed, it is an article that well deserves to be taken into the
account. You will be inclined, perhaps, to suspect that affection has had too
great a share in the character I have been drawing, and that I have heightened
it beyond the truth; but I will stake all my credit, you will find everything
far beyond what I have represented. I love the young fellow indeed (as he
justly deserves) with all the warmth of a most ardent affection; but for that
very reason I would not ascribe more to his merit than I know it will bear.
Farewell.
[Footnote 1: Padua.]
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