Books: The Letters of Pliny the Younger

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On the other side of the building there is a nicely decorated chamber,
then another room which would serve either as a large bed-chamber or a
moderate sized dining-room, as it enjoys plenty of sunshine and an
extensive sea-view. Behind this is an apartment with an ante-room,
suitable for summer use because of its height, and for winter use owing
to it sheltered position, for it is out of reach of all winds. Another
room with an ante-room is joined to this by a common wall. Next to it
is the cold bath room, a spacious and wide chamber, with two curved
swimming baths thrown out as it were from opposite sides of the room and
facing one another. They hold plenty of water if you consider how close
the sea is. Adjoining this room is the anointing room, then the
sweating room, and then the heating room, from which you pass to two
chambers of graceful rather than sumptuous proportions. Attached to
these is a warm swimming bath which everybody admires, and from it those
who are taking a swim can command a view of the sea. Close by is the
tennis court, which receives the warmest rays of the afternoon sun; on
one side a tower has been built with two sitting rooms on the ground
floor, two more on the first floor, and above them a dining-room
commanding a wide expanse of sea, a long stretch of shore, and the
pleasantest villas of the neighbourhood. There is also a second tower,
containing a bedroom which gets the sun morning and evening, and a
spacious wine cellar and store-room at the back of it. On the floor
beneath is a sitting-room where, even when the sea is stormy, you hear
the roar and thunder only in subdued and dying murmurs. It looks out
upon the exercise ground, which runs round the garden.

This exercise ground has a border of boxwood, or rosemary where the box
does not grow well--for box thrives admirably when it is sheltered by
buildings, but where it is fully exposed to wind and weather and to the
spray of the sea, though it stands at a great distance therefrom, it is
apt to shrivel. On the inside ring of the exercise ground is a pretty
and shady alley of vines, which is soft and yielding even to the bare
foot. The garden itself is clad with a number of mulberry and fig-
trees, the soil being specially suitable for the former trees, though it
is not so kindly to the others. On this side, the dining-room away from
the sea commands as fine a view as that of the sea itself. It is closed
in behind by two day-rooms, from the windows of which can be seen the
entrance to the villa from the road and another garden as rich as the
first one but not so ornamental.

Along its side stretches a covered portico, almost long enough for a
public building. It has windows on both sides, most of them facing the
sea; those looking on the garden are single ones, and less numerous than
those on the other side, as every alternate window was left out. All
these are kept open when it is a fine day and there is no wind; when the
wind is high, the windows only on the sheltered side are opened and no
harm is done. In front of the portico is a terrace walk that is
fragrant with violets. The portico increases the warmth of the sun by
radiation, and retains the heat just as it keeps off and breaks the
force of the north wind. Hence it is as warm in front as it is cool
behind. In the same way it checks the south-west winds, and similarly
with all winds from whatever quarter they blow--it tempers them and
stops them dead. This is its charm in winter, but in summer it is even
greater, for in the mornings its shade tempers the heat of the terrace
walk, and in the afternoon the heat of the exercise ground and the
nearest part of the garden, the shadows falling longer and shorter on
the two sides respectively as the sun rises to his meridian and sinks to
his setting. Indeed, the portico has least sunshine when the sun is
blazing down upon its roof. Consequently it receives the west winds
through its open windows and circulates them through the building, and
so never becomes oppressive through the stuffy air remaining within it.

At the head of the terrace and portico successively is a garden suite of
rooms, my favourite spot and well worthy of being so. I had them built
myself. In this is a sunny chamber which commands the terrace on one
side, the sea on another, and the sun on both; besides an apartment
which looks on the portico through folding doors and on the sea through
a window. In the middle of the wall is a neat recess, which by means of
glazed windows and curtains can either be thrown into the adjoining room
or be cut off from it. It holds a couch and two easy-chairs, and as you
lie on the couch you have the sea at your feet, the villa at your back,
and the woods at your head, and all these views may be looked at
separately from each window or blended into one prospect. Adjoining is
a chamber for passing the night in or taking a nap, and unless the
windows are open, you do not hear a sound either of your slaves talking,
or the murmur of the sea, or the raging of the storms; nor do you see
the flashes of the lightning or know that it is day. This deep
seclusion and remoteness is due to the fact that an intervening passage
separates the wall of the chamber from that of the garden, and so all
the sound is dissipated in the empty space between. A very small
heating apparatus has been fitted to the room, which, by means of a
narrow trap-door, either diffuses or retains the hot air as may be
required. Adjoining it is an ante-room and a chamber projected towards
the sun, which the latter room catches immediately upon his rising, and
retains his rays beyond mid-day though they fall aslant upon it. When I
betake myself into this sitting-room, I seem to be quite away even from
my villa, and I find it delightful to sit there, especially during the
Saturnalia, when all the rest of the house rings with the merry riot and
shouts of the festival-makers; for then I do not interfere with their
amusements, and they do not distract me from my studies.

The convenience and charm of the situation of my villa have one drawback
in that it contains no running water, but I draw my supply from wells or
rather fountains, for they are situated at a high level. Indeed, it is
one of the curious characteristics of the shore here that wherever you
dig you find moisture ready to hand, and the water is quite fresh and
not even brackish in the slightest degree, though the sea is so close
by. The neighbouring woods furnish us with abundance of fuel, and other
supplies we get from a colony of Ostia. The village, which is separated
only by one residence from my own, supplies my modest wants; it boasts
of three public baths, which are a great convenience, when you do not
feel inclined to heat your own bath at home, if you arrive unexpectedly
or wish to save time. The shore is beautified by a most pleasing
variety of villa buildings, some of which are close together, while
others have great intervals between them. They give the appearance of a
number of cities, whether you view them from the sea or from the shore
itself, and the sands of the latter are sometimes loosened by a long
spell of quiet weather, or--as more often happens--are hardened by the
constant beating of the waves. The sea does not indeed abound with fish
of any value, but it yields excellent soles and prawns. Yet our villa
provides us with plenty of inland produce and especially milk, for the
herds come down to us from the pastures whenever they seek water or
shade.

Well, do you think that I have just reasons for living here, for passing
my time here, and for loving a retreat for which your mouth must be
watering, unless you are a confirmed town-bird? I wish that your mouth
did water! If it did, the many great charms of my little villa would be
enhanced in the highest degree by your company. Farewell.

2.XVIII.--TO MAURICUS.

No, you could not have given me a pleasanter commission than to find a
teacher of rhetoric for your brother's children. For, thanks to you, I
go to school again, and, as it were, enjoy once more the happiest days
of my life. I sit among young people, as I used to do, and I can judge
what authority I have among them owing to my literary pursuits. Just
recently in a full class-room, before a number of members of our order,
the boys were joking among themselves quite loudly; the moment I entered
they were quiet as mice. I should not mention the incident except that
it redounded more to their credit than to mine, and that I wish you to
feel sure that your brother's sons can attend the lectures to their
advantage. Moreover, when I have heard all the lectures, I will write
and tell you what I think about each one of them, and so--as far as I
can by a letter--I will make you think that you have heard them all
yourself. I owe this to you, and I owe it to the memory of your brother
to deal loyally by him and take this interest, especially on such an
important subject. For what can touch you more closely than that these
children--I should say your children, but that you love them more than
if they were your own--should be found worthy of such a father and such
an uncle as yourself. Even if you had not asked me to look after them,
I should have done so on my own account. I do not forget that in
choosing a public teacher one is apt to give offence, but on behalf of
your brother's sons I must risk giving offence and even incurring
animosity with as little compunction as a parent would in looking after
his own children. Farewell.

2.XIX.--TO CERIALIS.

You urge me to recite my speech before a company of my friends. I will
do so, because you ask me to, but I am exceedingly doubtful of the
wisdom of the step. For I cannot help remembering that speeches which
are recited lose all their spirit and passion and almost the right to
the name of speeches--which are properly enhanced and fired by the bench
of judges, the crowds of supporters, the waiting for the verdict, the
reputation of the various counsel, and the divided partisanship of the
audience. Besides all this, there are the gestures of the pleader, his
moving to and fro, even his hurried strides, and every movement of his
body which corresponds to some thought passing through his mind. Hence
it is that those who plead sitting down, although they have practically
the same environment as those who plead standing, are not so impressive
and telling just because they happen to be seated. But when a man
recites a speech, his eyes and hands--which are the most important aids
to expression--are otherwise occupied, and so it is no wonder that the
attention of the audience becomes languid, when there are no external
graces to charm them and no thrills to stimulate them. Moreover, the
address I am talking about is a fighting speech and full of contentious
matter, and Nature has so ordained it that we think, if a subject has
given us trouble to write, it will give an audience trouble to listen to
it. How few conscientious listeners there are who prefer a stiff,
closely-reasoned argument to honeyed and sonorous eloquence! It is
wrong, I know, that there should be a difference of taste between judge
and listener, but there is such a difference and it constantly crops up.
The audience want one thing and the judges another, whereas, on the
contrary, a listener ought to be impressed just by those points which
would make most impression on him if he were judge. However, it is
possible that in spite of these difficulties the speech may be
recommended by a certain novelty--a novelty that is quite Roman,--for
though the Greeks have a custom which does bear a remote resemblance to
it, it is really quite different. For just as it was their practice, in
showing that a law was opposed to earlier laws, to prove that it was so
by comparing it with the others, so I had to show that my accusation was
covered by the law against extortion by comparing it with other laws as
well as by proving it from the law itself. Such a subject, though far
from having any charm for the ears of the man in the street, ought to be
as interesting to the learned as it is uninteresting to the unlearned.
But if I make up my mind to recite the speech, I shall invite all the
learned people to hear it. However, please think it over by all means
and tell me whether you still consider that I ought to recite it; place
on either side all the considerations I have raised, and choose the
conclusion which has the weight of argument in its favour. It is from
you, not from me, that a reason will be required; my apology will be
that I did as I was told. Farewell.

2.XX.--TO CALVISIUS.

Get ready your penny and I will tell you a golden story, nay, more than
one, for the new one has reminded me of some old tales, and it does not
matter with which I begin. Verania, the wife of Piso, was lying very
ill--I mean the Piso who was adopted by Galba. Regulus paid her a
visit. First mark the impudence of the man in coming to see the
invalid, for he had been her husband's bitter enemy and she loathed and
detested him. However, that might pass if he had only called, but he
actually sat down beside her on the couch and asked her on what day and
at what hour she had been born. On being told he puts on a grave look,
fixes his eyes hard, moves his lips, works his fingers and makes his
reckoning, but says nothing. Then after keeping the poor lady on the
tenter-hooks, wondering what he would say, he exclaims: "You are
passing through a critical time, but you will pull through. Still, just
to reassure you, I will go and consult a soothsayer with whom I have
often had dealings." He goes off at once; offers the sacrifice and
swears that the appearance of the entrails corresponds with the warning
of the stars. She, with all the credulity of an invalid, calls for her
tablets and writes down a legacy for Regulus; subsequently she grows
worse and exclaims as she dies, "What a rascal, what a lying and worse
than perjured wretch, thus to have sworn falsely on the head of his
son!"

That is Regulus's trick, and he has recourse to the scandalous device
constantly, for he calls down the anger of the gods, whom he daily
outrages, upon the head of his luckless son. Velleius Blaesus, the rich
Consular, was stricken with the illness which carried him off, and was
desirous of changing his will. Regulus, who was capable of hoping for
anything from an alteration of the will because he had lately begun to
haunt him on the chance of a legacy, begged and prayed of the doctors to
prolong Blaesus's life by hook or by crook. But when the will was
signed he took quite a different line. He changed his tone and said to
the same doctors: "How long do you intend to torture the poor man? Why
do you grudge him an easy death when you cannot give him life?" Blaesus
dies, and, as though he had heard every word, he leaves Regulus not a
brass farthing. Two stories are quite enough. Or do you ask for a
third, on the rhetoricians' principle? Well, I have one for you. When
Aurelia, a lady of great means, was about to make her will, she put on
for the occasion her most handsome tunics. When Regulus came to witness
the signing he said, "I beg you to leave me these." Aurelia thought the
man was joking, but he was serious and pressed the matter. Well, to cut
the story short, he compelled the poor woman to open the tablets and
leave to him the tunics she was wearing at the time. He watched her as
she wrote, and looked to see whether she had written it rightly.
Aurelia still lives, but he forced her to make that legacy as if she had
been on the point of death. Yet this is the fellow who receives
inheritances and legacies as though he deserved them.

But why do I worry myself when I live in a country where villainy and
rascality have long been getting not less but far more handsome rewards
than modesty and virtue? Look at Regulus, for example, who, from being
a pauper and without a shilling, has now become such a rich man by sheer
villainy that he once told me that, when he was consulting the omens as
to how soon he would be worth sixty millions of sesterces, he found
double sets of entrails, which were a token that he would be worth 120
millions. So he will too, if only he goes on, as he has begun,
dictating wills which are not their own to the very people who are
making their wills, which is about the most disgraceful kind of forgery
imaginable. Farewell.

BOOK III.

3.I.--TO CALVISIUS.

I don't think I ever spent a more delightful time than during my recent
visit at Spurinna's house; indeed, I enjoyed myself so much that, if it
is my fortune to grow old, there is no one whom I should prefer to take
as my model in old age, as there is nothing more methodical than that
time of life. Personally, I like to see men map out their lives with
the regularity of the fixed courses of the stars, and especially old
men. For while one is young a little disorder and rush, so to speak, is
not unbecoming; but for old folks, whose days of exertion are past and
in whom personal ambition is disgraceful, a placid and well-ordered life
is highly suitable. That is the principle upon which Spurinna acts most
religiously; even trifles, or what would be trifles were they not of
daily occurrence, he goes through in fixed order and, as it were, orbit.

In the morning he keeps his couch; at the second hour he calls for his
shoes and walks three miles, exercising mind as well as body. If he has
friends with him the time is passed in conversation on the noblest of
themes, otherwise a book is read aloud, and sometimes this is done even
when his friends are present, but never in such a way as to bore them.
Then he sits down, and there is more reading aloud or more talk for
preference; afterwards he enters his carriage, taking with him either
his wife, who is a pattern lady, or one of his friends, a distinction I
recently enjoyed. How delightful, how charming that privacy is! What
glimpses of old times one gets! What noble deeds and noble men he tells
you of! What lessons you drink in! Yet at the same time it is his
custom so to blend his learning with modesty that he never seems to be
playing the schoolmaster. After riding seven miles he walks another
mile, then he again resumes his seat or betakes himself to his room and
his pen. For he composes, both in Latin and Greek, the most scholarly
lyrics. They have a wonderful grace, wonderful sweetness, and wonderful
humour, and the chastity of the writer enhances its charm. When he is
told that the bathing hour has come--which is the ninth hour in winter
and the eighth in summer--he takes a walk naked in the sun, if there is
no wind. Then he plays at ball for a long spell, throwing himself
heartily into the game, for it is by means of this kind of active
exercise that he battles with old age. After his bath he lies down and
waits a little while before taking food, listening in the meantime to
the reading of some light and pleasant book. All this time his friends
are at perfect liberty to imitate his example or do anything else they
prefer. Then dinner is served, the table being as bright as it is
modest, and the silver plain and old-fashioned; he also has some
Corinthian vases in use, for which he has a taste though not a mania.
The dinner is often relieved by actors of comedy, so that the pleasures
of the table may have a seasoning of letters. Even in the summer the
meal lasts well into the night, but no one finds it long, for it is kept
up with such good humour and charm. The consequence is that, though he
has passed his seventy-seventh year, his hearing and eyesight are as
good as ever, his body is still active and alert, and the only symptom
of his age is his wisdom.

This is the sort of life that I have vowed and determined to forestall,
and I shall enter upon it with zest as soon as my age justifies me in
beating a retreat. Meanwhile, I am distracted with a thousand things to
attend to, and my only solace therein is the example of Spurinna again,
for he undertook official duties, held magistracies, and governed
provinces as long as it became him to do so, and earned his present
leisure by abundant toil. That is why I set myself the same race to run
and the same goal to attain, and I now register the vow and place it in
your hands, so that, if ever you see me being carried beyond the mark,
you may bring me to book, quote this letter of mine against me and order
me to take my ease, so soon as I shall have made it impossible for
people to charge me with laziness. Farewell.

3.II.--TO MAXIMUS.

I think I am justified in asking you to grant to one of my friends a
favour which I should certainly have offered to friends of yours, had I
the same opportunity for conferring them as you have. Arrianus Maturus
is the leading man in Altinum; and when I say that, I mean not that he
is the richest man there--though he possesses considerable property--but
I refer to his character, to his chastity, justice, weight, and wisdom.
I turn to him in business for advice, and for criticism in literary
matters, for he is wonderfully loyal, straightforward, and shrewd. He
has the same regard for me as you have, and I cannot conceive a more
ardent affection than that. He is by no means an ambitious man, and for
that reason, though he might easily have attained the highest rank in
the state, he has been content to remain in the equestrian order. Yet I
feel that I must do something to add to his honours and give him some
token of my regard. And so I am very anxious to heap some dignity upon
him, though he does not expect it, knows nothing about it, and perhaps
even would rather I did not--but it must be a real distinction and one
that involves no troublesome responsibilities. So I ask you to confer
upon him such a favour at your earliest opportunity, and I shall be
profoundly obliged to you. And he will be also, for though he does not
run after honours, he welcomes them as thankfully as if his heart were
set upon them. Farewell.

3.III.--TO CORELLIA HISPULLA.

I know not whether I regarded your father, who was a man of consummate
judgment and rectitude of life, with greater love or reverence, and as I
have a very special regard for you for his sake and also for your own, I
feel bound to desire and even to do all that lies in my power to help
your son to turn out like his grandfather. For choice, I should prefer
him to be like his grandfather on his mother's side, though his paternal
grandfather was also a man of distinction and eminence, and his father
and his uncle won conspicuous laurels. I feel sure that the only way to
secure his growing up to be like them in all their good qualities is for
him to drink deeply of the honourable arts, and the choice of a teacher
from whom he may learn them is a matter of the highest importance. So
far, his tender years have naturally kept him close by your side; he has
had tutors at home, where there is little or no chance of his going
wrong. But now his studies must take him out of doors, and we must look
out for a Latin rhetorician with a good reputation for school
discipline, for modesty, and above all, for good morals. For our young
friend has been endowed, in addition to his other gifts of nature and
fortune, with striking physical beauty, and at his slippery age we must
find him not only a teacher but a guardian who will keep him straight.

Well, I fancy I can recommend to you Julius Genitor. I have a regard
for him, and my affection, which was based on judgment, does not blind
my judgment of him. He is without faults, a man of real character,
perhaps a little over-rugged and austere for this libertine age. You
can learn from others what an accomplished speaker he is, for ability to
speak is an open gift and is recognised at once when the power is
displayed, but a man's private life is full of deep recesses and obscure
mazes. For the latter in Genitor's case you may hold me as guarantor.
From a man like him your son will hear nothing but what will be to his
profit; he will learn nothing of which he had better have remained in
ignorance, and Genitor will remind him, as often as you or I would, of
the special obligations in his case of "noblesse oblige" and the dignity
of the names he has to worthily uphold. So bid him God-speed and
entrust him to a tutor who will teach him morals first and eloquence
afterwards, for it is but a poor thing to learn the latter without the
former. Farewell.

3.IV.--TO MACRINUS.

Although my course of action was approved in general estimation and by
the friends who were with me at the time, I am anxious to know what you
think of it. I should have liked to have had your opinion before
finally deciding, so now that the matter is over I am exceedingly keen
to hear your judgment. I had run down to my Tuscan estate to lay the
foundations of a public building at my own expense, after obtaining
leave of absence as Praefect of the Treasury, when a deputation from the
province of Baetica, who were about to lodge complaints against the
governorship of Caecilius Classicus, petitioned the Senate to appoint me
to conduct their case for them. My colleagues, who are the best of
fellows and devoted to my interests, pleaded the engagements and duties
of the office we hold, and tried to get me off and make excuses for me.
The Senate passed a handsome resolution, saying that I should be allowed
to champion the cause of the provincials if they succeeded in persuading
me to take up the brief. Then the deputation was again introduced, when
I was in my place in the Senate, and asked my assistance, appealing to
my loyalty, of which they had previous experience in the action against
Massa Baebius, and adducing their legal right to a patronus. The Senate
responded to the appeal with the loud applause which usually precedes a
decree of that body.

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