The Letters of the Younger Pliny, First Series – Volume 1

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Pliny the Younger. The Letters of the Younger Pliny, First Series – Volume 1

INTRODUCTION

BOOK I

1.I.—TO SEPTICIUS

1.II.—TO ARRIANUS

1.III.—TO CANINIUS RUFUS

1.IV.—TO POMPEIA CELERINA

1.V.—TO VOCONIUS ROMANUS

1.VI.—TO CORNELIUS TACITUS

1.VII.—TO OCTAVIUS RUFUS

1.VIII.—TO POMPEIUS SATURNINUS

1.IX.—TO MINUTIUS FUNDANUS

1.X.—TO ATTIUS CLEMENS

1.XI.—TO FABIUS JUSTUS

1.XII.—TO CALESTRIUS TIRO

1.XIII.—TO SOSIUS SENECIO

1.XIV.—TO JUNIUS MAURICUS

1.XV.—TO SEPTICIUS CLARUS

1.XVI.—TO ERUCIUS

1.XVII.—TO CORNELIUS TITIANUS

1.XVIII.—TO SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS

1.XIX.—TO ROMANUS FIRMUS

1.XX.—TO CORNELIUS TACITUS

1.XXI.—TO PLINIUS PATERNUS

1.XXII.—TO CATILIUS SEVERUS

1.XXIII.—TO POMPEIUS FALCO

1.XXIV.—TO BAEBIUS HISPANUS

BOOK II

2.I.—TO ROMANUS

2.II.—TO PAULINUS

2.III.—TO NEPOS

2.IV.—TO CALVINA

2.V.—TO LUPERCUS

2.VI.—TO AVITUS

2.VII.—TO MACRINUS

2.VIII.—TO CANINIUS

2.IX.—TO APOLLINARIS

2.X.—TO OCTAVIUS

2.XI.—TO ARRIANUS

2.XII.—TO ARRIANUS

2.XIII.—TO PRISCUS

2.XIV.—TO MAXIMUS

2.XV.—TO VALERIANUS

2.XVI.—TO ANNIANUS

2.XVII.—TO GALLUS

2.XVIII.—TO MAURICUS

2.XIX.—TO CERIALIS

2.XX.—TO CALVISIUS

BOOK III

3.I.—TO CALVISIUS

3.II.—TO MAXIMUS

3.III.—TO CORELLIA HISPULLA

3.IV.—TO MACRINUS

3.V.—TO BAEBIUS MACER

3.VI.—TO ANNIUS SEVERUS

3.VII.—TO CANINIUS RUFUS

3.VIII.—TO SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS

3.IX.—TO CORNELIUS MINICIANUS

3.X.—TO VESTRICIUS SPURINNA AND HIS WIFE COTTIA

3.XI.—TO JULIUS GENITOR

3.XII.—TO CATILIUS SEVERUS

3.XII.—TO VOCONIUS ROMANUS

3.XIV.—TO ACILIUS

3.XV.—TO SILIUS PROCULUS

3.XVI.—TO NEPOS

3.XVII.—TO JULIUS SERVIANUS

3.XVIII.—TO CURIUS SEVERUS

3.XIX.—TO CALVISIUS RUFUS

3.XX.—TO MESSIUS MAXIMUS

3.XXI.—TO CORNELIUS PRISCUS

BOOK IV

4.I.—TO FABATUS

4.II.—TO ATTIUS CLEMENS

4.III.—TO ANTONIUS

4.IV.—TO SOSIUS SENECIO

4.V.—TO SPARSUS

4.VI.—TO JULIUS NASO

4.VII.—TO CATIUS LEPIDUS

4.VIII.—TO MATURUS ARRIANUS

4.IX.—TO CORNELIUS URSUS

4.X.—TO STATIUS SABINUS

4.XI.—TO CORNELIUS MINICIANUS

4.XII.—TO MATURUS ARRIANUS

4.XIII.—TO TACITUS

4.XIV.—TO PATERNUS

4.XV.—TO FUNDANUS

4.XVI.—TO VALERIUS PAULINUS

4.XVII.—TO ASINIUS GALLUS

4.XVIII.—TO ARRIUS ANTONINUS

4.XIX.—TO CALPURNIA HISPULLA

4.XX.—TO MAXIMUS

4.XXI.—TO VELIUS CEREALIS

4.XXII.—TO SEMPRONIUS RUFUS

4.XXIII.—TO POMPONIUS BASSUS

4.XXIV.—TO FABIUS VALENS

4.XXV.—TO MESSIUS MAXIMUS

4.XXVI.—TO NEPOS

4.XXVII.—TO POMPEIUS FALCO

4.XXVIII.—TO VIBIUS SEVERUS

4.XXIX.—TO ROMATIUS FIRMUS

4.XXX.—TO LICINIUS SURA

BOOK V

5.I.—TO ANNIUS SEVERUS

5.II.—TO CALPURNIUS FLACCUS

5.III.—TO TITIUS ARISTO

5.IV.—TO JULIUS VALERIANUS

5.V.—TO NONIUS MAXIMUS

5.VI.—TO DOMITIUS APOLLINARIS

5.VII.—TO CALVISIUS

5.VIII.—TO TITINIUS CAPITO

5.IX.—TO RUFUS

5.X.—TO SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS

5.XI.—TO CALPURNIUS FABATUS

5.XII.—TO TERENTIUS SCAURUS

5.XIII.—TO VALERIANUS

5.XIV.—TO PONTIUS

5.XV.—TO ARRIUS ANTONINUS

5.XVI.—TO MARCELLINUS

5.XVII.—TO SPURINNA

5.XVIII.—TO CALPURNIUS MACER

5.XIX.—TO PAULINUS

5.XX.—TO URSUS

5.XXI.—TO SATURNINUS

Отрывок из книги

You have constantly urged me to collect and publish the more highly finished of the letters that I may have written. I have made such a collection, but without preserving the order in which they were composed, as I was not writing a historical narrative. So I have taken them as they happened to come to hand. I can only hope that you will not have cause to regret the advice you gave, and that I shall not repent having followed it; for I shall set to work to recover such letters as have up to now been tossed on one side, and I shall not keep back any that I may write in the future. Farewell.

As I see that your arrival is likely to be later than I expected, I forward you the speech which I promised in an earlier letter. I beg that you will read and revise it as you have done with other compositions of mine, because I think none of my previous works is written in quite the same style. I have tried to imitate, at least in manner and turns of phrase, your old favourite, Demosthenes, and Calvus, to whom I have recently taken a great fancy; for to catch the fire and power of such acknowledged stylists is only given to the heaven-inspired few. I hope you will not think me conceited if I say that the subject- matter was not unworthy of such imitation, for throughout the whole argument I found something that kept rousing me from my sleepy and confirmed indolence, that is to say, as far as a person of my temperament can be roused. Not that I abjured altogether the pigments of our master Cicero; when an opportunity arose for a pleasant little excursion from the main path of my argument I availed myself of it, as my object was to be terse without being unnecessarily dry. Nor must you think that I am apologising for these few passages. For just to make your eye for faults the keener, I will confess that both my friends here and myself have no fear of publishing the speech, if you will but set your mark of approval against the passages that possibly show my folly. I must publish something, and I only hope that the best thing for the purpose may be this volume which is ready finished. That is the prayer of a lazy man, is it not? but there are several reasons why I must publish, and the strongest is that the various copies I have lent out are said to still find readers, though by this time they have lost the charm of novelty. Of course, it may be that the booksellers say this to flatter me. Well, let them flatter, so long as fibs of this kind encourage me to study the harder. Farewell.

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If ever there was a time when this Rome of ours was devoted to learning, it is now. There are many shining lights, of whom it will be enough to mention but one. I refer to Euphrates the philosopher. I saw a great deal of him, even in the privacy of his home life, during my young soldiering days in Syria, and I did my best to win his affection, though that was not a hard task, for he is ever easy of access, frank, and full of the humanities that he teaches. I only wish that I had been as successful in fulfilling the hopes he then formed of me as he has been increasing his large stock of virtues, though possibly it is I who now admire them the more because I can appreciate them the better. Even now my appreciation is not as complete as it might be. It is only an artist who can thoroughly judge another painter, sculptor, or image-maker, and so too it needs a philosopher to estimate another philosopher at his full merit. But so far as I can judge, Euphrates has many qualities so conspicuously brilliant that they arrest the eyes and attention even of those who have but modest pretensions to learning. His reasoning is acute, weighty, and elegant, often attaining to the breadth and loftiness that we find in Plato. His conversation flows in a copious yet varied stream, strikingly pleasant to the ear, and with a charm that seizes and carries away even the reluctant hearer. Add to this a tall, commanding presence, a handsome face, long flowing hair, a streaming white beard—all of which may be thought accidental adjuncts and without significance, but they do wonderfully increase the veneration he inspires. There is no studied negligence in his dress, it is severely plain but not austere; when you meet him you revere him without shrinking away in awe. His life is purity itself, but he is just as genial; his lash is not for men but for their vices; for the erring he has gentle words of correction rather than sharp rebuke. When he gives advice you cannot help listening in rapt attention, and you hope he will go on persuading you even when the persuasion is complete. He has three children, two of them sons, whom he has brought up with the strictest care. His father-in-law is Pompeius Julianus, a man of great distinction, but whose chief title to fame is that though, as ruler of a province, he might have chosen a son-in-law of the highest social rank, he preferred one who was distinguished not for social dignities but for wisdom.

Yet why describe at greater length a man whose society I can no longer enjoy? Is it to make myself feel my loss the more? For my time is all taken up by the duties of an office—important, no doubt, but tedious in the extreme. I sit at my magisterial desk; I countersign petitions, I make out the public accounts; I write hosts of letters, but what illiterary productions they are! Sometimes—but how seldom I get the opportunity—I complain to Euphrates about these uncongenial duties. He consoles me and even assures me that there is no more noble part in the whole of philosophy than to be a public official, to hear cases, pass judgment, explain the laws and administer justice, and so practise in short what the philosophers do but teach. But he never can persuade me of this, that it is better to be busy as I am than to spend whole days in listening to and acquiring knowledge from him. That makes me the readier to urge you, whose time is your own, to let him put a finish and polish upon you when you come to town, and I hope you will come all the sooner on that account. I am not one of those—and there are many of them—who grudge to others the happiness they are debarred from themselves; on the contrary, I feel a very lively sense of pleasure in seeing my friends abounding in joys that are denied to me. Farewell.

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