C. Suetonius Tranquillus[1228] was the son of Suetonius Lenis, who served as tribunus angusticlavus of the thirteenth legion at the battle of Bedriacum, in which the Emperor Otho was defeated by Vitellius. The time of his birth is uncertain; but from a passage at the end of his Life of Nero[1229] it may be inferred that he was born very soon after the death of that emperor, which took place A. D. 68; for in it he mentions that, when twenty years subsequent to Nero’s death, a false Nero appeared, he was just arriving at manhood (adolescens.) The knowledge of language and rhetorical taste displayed in the remains of his works on these subjects prove that he was well instructed in these branches of a Roman liberal education: and a letter of the younger Pliny,[1230] whose intimate friend he was, speaks of him as an advocate by profession. This letter represents him as unwilling to plead a cause, which he had undertaken, because he was frightened by a dream. It is probable that this anecdote is an authentic one, because so many examples occur in his memoirs of his superstitious belief in dreams, omens, ghosts, and prodigies.[1231]
The affectionate regard which Pliny entertained for his friend was very great, and led him to form too high an estimate of his talents as a writer and an historian. On one occasion he used his influence at court to get him a tribuneship; which, however, he did not accept.[1232] On another he obtained for him, from Trajan,[1233] the “jus trium liberorum,” although he had no children. But this privilege, as in the case of Martial, was sometimes granted under similar circumstances. In this letter, which he wrote to the Emperor, he speaks of Suetonius as a man of the greatest probity, integrity, and learning; and adds that, after the experience of a long acquaintance, the more he knows of him the more he loves him.
Subsequently Suetonius became private secretary (Magister Epistolarum) to Hadrian,[1234] but was deprived of the situation. Owing to the only sources of information respecting Suetonius being his own works, and the few scattered notices in the letters of Plinius Secundus, nothing more is known respecting his life.
A catalogue of his numerous writings is given by Suidas:[1235] but, with the exception of the Lives of the Twelve Cæsars, it does not contain his chief extant works. These are notices of illustrious grammarians and rhetoricians, and the lives of the poets Terence, Horace, Persius, Lucan, and Juvenal.
Niebuhr[1236] believed that the history, or rather the biography of the Cæsars was written when Suetonius was still young, before he was secretary to Hadrian, and previous to the publication of the Histories of Tacitus. If so, he neither enjoyed the opportunities of consulting the imperial records which his situation at court would have given him, nor of profiting by the accurate guidance and profound reflection of Tacitus. Krause,[1237] on the other hand, adduces many parallelisms between the language of Tacitus and Suetonius; and as Tacitus did not publish his earliest historical work before A. D. 117,[1238] assumes that Suetonius did not write his biographies until after the accession of Hadrian.
It is very difficult to determine which of these theories is the correct one; but there can be no doubt that the sources from which he derived his information are quite independent of the authority of Tacitus; and that the Lives of the Twelve Cæsars would have contained all that we find in them, even if the Annals and Histories had never been written. He does not only trust to the works of the Roman historians, but his exact quotations from acts of the senate and people, edicts, fasti, and orations, and the use which he makes of annals and inscriptions, prove that he was a man of diligent research, and that he examined original documents for himself.
Again, as a writer of biographical memoirs rather than of regular history, and fond of anecdote and scandal, he availed himself largely of such private letters of Emperors and their dependants as fell in his way, of testamentary documents, and of the information he could collect in conversation. Many of the lives which he wrote were those of his contemporaries. Some of the events recorded were passing under the eyes of the public, and were matters of notoriety. He himself asserts in three several places[1239] that he received some of the accounts which he gives from the testimony of eye-witnesses. The more secret habits of the Emperors, either truly told or exaggerated by an appetite for scandal, would ooze out. Anecdotes of the reigning Emperor’s private life would be eagerly sought for, and be the favourite topic of gossip in all circles of Roman society. Nor would he have any difficulty in procuring copious stores of information respecting those Emperors who reigned before he was born from those of his contemporaries who were a generation older than himself, and who were spectators of, or actors in, many of the scenes which he describes. As a biographer, there is no reason to doubt his honesty and veracity; he is industrious and careful; he indulges neither in ornament of style nor in romantic exaggeration; the picture which he draws is a terrible one, but it is fully supported by the contemporary authority of Juvenal and Tacitus. Nevertheless, his mind was not of that comprehensive and philosophical character which would qualify him for taking an enlarged view of political affairs, or for the work of an historian. He has no definite plan formed in his mind, without which an historian can never hope to make his work a complete whole; he wanders at will from one subject to another, just as the idea seizes him, and is by no means careful of committing offences against chronological order.
Niebuhr accuses him of inconsistency in the character which he draws and the praise which he bestows on Vespasian:[1240] but adds what may, in some sort, be considered a defence, namely, that Vespasian was, negatively speaking, a good, upright, and just man, and that the dark side of his character must be considered in reference to the fearful times in which he reigned. He also mentions, as an example of his deficiencies as an historian, the bad accounts which he has left of his own times, especially of the anarchy which followed Nero’s death, and the commencement of the reign of Vespasian. But in his praise it may be said that Suetonius has formed a just estimate of his own powers in undertaking to be a biographer and not an historian; and it is scarcely fair to criticise severely his unfitness for a task to which he made no pretensions.
One great fault pollutes his pages. The dark pictures which he draws of the most profligate Emperors, the disgusting annals of their unheard-of crimes, are dwelt upon as though he took pleasure in the description, and loved to wallow in the mire of the foulest debauchery. Truth, perhaps, required that they should not have been passed over in silence, but they might have been lightly touched, and not painted in detail with revolting faithfulness. He is often brief, sometimes obscure: in such passages of his narrative we would have gladly welcomed both brevity and obscurity.
The doubts which have always been entertained respecting the time when the biographer of Alexander the Great flourished, and which no investigations have been sufficient to dissipate, render it impossible to pass him by unnoticed, although he may, perhaps, belong to an age beyond the chronological limits of this work. The purity of his style has, in the opinion of some critics, entitled him to a place among the writers of the silver age; whilst Niebuhr, judging by the internal evidence, thinks that he must have lived as late as the reign of Caracalla or Septimius Severus.
No valid argument, however, can be based upon his style, because it is evidently artificial: it is, indeed, infected with a love of declamatory ornament; it is sometimes more like poetry than prose; it abounds in metaphors, and therefore proves that he lived in a rhetorical age; but it is upon the whole an imitation of the Latinity of Livy. This rhetorical character of his style gives some value to the opinion of F. A. Wolf, that he was the Q. Curtius Rufus mentioned by Suetonius in his treatise on Illustrious Orators. If so, he was probably a contemporary.
With respect to internal evidence, reference has been made to two passages as containing allusions to his times. (1.) Multis ergo casibus defuncta (sc. Tyrus,) nunc tamen longa pace cuncta refovente, sub tutela Romanæ mansuetudinis acquiescit.[1241] (2.) Proinde jure meritoque P. R. salutem se principi suo debere profitetur, qui noctis, quam pæne supremam habuimus, novum sidus illuxit, hujus hercule, non solis ortus, lucem caliganti reddidit mundo, cum sine suo capite discordia membra trepidarent.[1242] The former has been considered descriptive of many periods in Roman history: although Niebuhr[1243] makes the unqualified assertion, that it has no meaning, unless it alludes to the times of Septimius Severus and Caracalla. The latter is equally vague: Niebuhr thinks it might refer to Aurelian: Gibbon considers that it alluded to Gordian. But to how many Emperors might a spirit of eulogistic flattery make it applicable! Upon the whole, it is most probable that he lived towards the close of the first century.
The biography of Alexander is deeply interesting; for, although Curtius evidently disdains historic reality, his hero always seems to have a living existence: it is a romance rather than a history. He never loses an opportunity by the colouring which he gives to historical facts of elevating the Macedonian conqueror to a superhuman standard. He has no inclination to weigh the merits of conflicting historical testimonies: he selects that which supports his partial predilections; nor are his talents for story-telling checked by a profound knowledge of either tactics or geography, or other objective historical materials, for correct details in which he is too frequently negligent.[1244] His florid and ornamented style is suitable to the imaginary orations which are introduced in the narrative, and which constitute the most striking portions of the work. The sources from which he derived his information are various, the principal one being the account of Alexander’s exploits by the Greek historian Clitarchus, who accompanied the Macedonian conqueror in his Asiatic expedition. He is, however, by no means a servile follower; for in one instance he does not hesitate to accuse him of inaccuracy. They were, however, kindred spirits: both would sacrifice truth to romantic interest; both indulged in the same tale-telling tendency. His work originally consisted of ten books. Two of these are lost, and their places have been supplied, in a very inferior manner, by Cellarius and Freinsheim. Even in the eight books which are extant, an hiatus of more or less extent occasionally occurs.
Brief as the epitomes are which bear the name of L. Annæus Florus, the style is characterized by the rhetorical spirit of the age to which they belong. They are diffuse and declamatory, and their author is rather the panegyrist of his countrymen than the grave and sober narrator of the most important events contained in their history. This short summary, entitled “Rerum Romanarum, Libri IV.,” or “Epitome de Gestis Romanorum,” is a well-arranged compilation from the authorities extant; but it is probable that, like all other Roman historians except Velleius Paterculus, he derived his materials principally from Livy. Such a dry skeleton of history, however, must be uninteresting. Who the author was is by no means certain. Some have supposed him to be the same with Annæus Florus, who wrote three trochaic verses to Hadrian. Titze[1245] imagines that it is the work of two authors, one a contemporary of Horace,[1246] the other belonging to a later literary period.
It is generally assumed that the author[1247] of the Epitomes was either a Spaniard or a Gaul; and, if we may consider the introduction to the work as genuine, he lived in the reign of Trajan.
The family of the Senecas exercised a remarkable influence over literature; they may, in fact, be said to have given the tone to the taste of their age.
M. Annæus Seneca was born at Corduba (Cordova.) The precise date of his birth is unknown; but Clinton places it about B. C. 61. This is not improbable, for he asserts[1248] that he had heard all the eminent orators except Cicero, and that he might have enjoyed that privilege also if the civil wars had not compelled him to remain in his native country. After this hinderance was removed by the accession of Augustus he came to Rome, and, as a professional rhetorician, amassed a considerable fortune. Subsequently he returned to Cordova, and married Helvia, by whom he had three sons, of whom L. Annæus Seneca, the philosopher, was the eldest.
He left behind him two works, the composition of which was the employment of his old age. They are the results of his long and successful experience as a teacher of rhetoric, the gleanings of his commonplace book, the stores accumulated by his astonishing memory, which enabled him to repeat two thousand unconnected words after once hearing them, and to report literally any orations which he had heard delivered. They are valuable as showing how a hollow and artificial system, based upon the recollection of stock-passages and commonplaces, had supplanted the natural promptings of true eloquence. They explain the principles and practice of instruction in the popular schools of rhetoric, the means by which the absence of natural endowments could be compensated. They exhibit wit, learning, ingenuity, and taste to select and admire the best literary specimens of earlier periods; but it is plain that matter was now subordinate to form—that the orator was content to borrow the phraseology of his predecessors in which to clothe sentiments which he could neither feel nor understand. The ear still yearned for the language of sincerity, although the heart no longer throbbed with the ardour of patriotism. It is this want of conformity of ideas to words which causes the coldness of a declamatory and florid style. It is a mere representation of warmth: it disappoints like a mere painted fire.
The first work of M. Seneca was entitled Controversiæ: it was divided into ten books, of which, with the exception of fragments, only the first, second, seventh, eighth, and tenth are extant. It contains a series of exercises or declamations in judicial oratory on fictitious cases. The imaginary causes were probably sketched out by the professor. The students composed their speeches according to the rules of rhetoric: they were then corrected, committed to memory, and recited, partly with a view to practice, partly in order to amuse an admiring audience. The cases are frequently as puerile as a schoolboy’s theme, sometimes extravagant and absurd.
His other work, the Suasoriæ, contains exercises in deliberative oratory. The subjects of them are taken from the historians and poets: they are as harmless as tyranny could desire: there is no danger that languid patriotism should revive, or the empire be menaced, by such uninteresting discussions. Nor were they confined to mere students. Public recitations had, since the days of Juvenal, been one of the crying nuisances of the times. The poets began it, the rhetoricians followed, and the most absurd trash was listened to with patience, being ushered into popular notice by partial flatterers or hired claqueurs.
L. Seneca was born at his father’s native town about the commencement of the Christian era. He was brought to Rome when very young, and there studied rhetoric and philosophy. He soon displayed great talents as a pleader; and by his success is said to have provoked the jealousy of Caligula. In the reign of Claudius he was accused by the infamous Messalina of improper intimacy with Julia, the emperor’s niece, and was accordingly banished to Corsica.[1249] He solaced his exile with the study of the Stoic philosophy; and although its severe precepts exercised no moral influence over his conduct, he not only professed himself a Stoic, but sincerely imagined that he was one. Eight years afterwards Agrippina caused his recall,[1250] in order to make him tutor to her son Nero.
His pupil was naturally vicious; and Seneca, though wise and prudent, was too unscrupulous a man of the world to attempt the correction of his propensities, or to instil into him high principles. After the accession of Nero,[1251] Seneca endeavoured to arrest his depraved career; but it was too late: all he could do was to put into his mouth specious words of clemency and mercy. He saw how dangerous was the unprincipled ambition of Agrippina; and dreadful though it was to sanction parricide, there was scarcely any other course to be pursued, except the consenting to her death. When the deed was done, he had the pitiful meanness to screen the murderer by a falsehood. He wrote a letter, which Nero sent to the senate, accusing his mother of treason, and asserting that she had committed suicide.[1252]
Seneca had by usury and legacy-hunting, amassed one of those enormous fortunes, of which so many instances are met with in Roman history. This had already exposed him to envy,[1253] and caused his temporary banishment to the Balearic isles.[1254] But after that Burrus was dead, who shared his influence over the Emperor, he felt the dangers of wealth, and offered his property to Nero.[1255] The Emperor refused; but Seneca retired from public life. Being now under the influence of new favourites, Nero wished to rid himself of Seneca; and although there was no evidence of his being privy to the conspiracy of Piso, it furnished a pretext for his destruction.[1256] In adversity his character shone with brighter lustre. Though he had lived ill, he could die well. His firmness was the result, not of Stoical indifference, but of Roman courage. He met the messengers of death without trembling. His noble wife Paullina determined to die with him. The veins of both were opened at the same time. The little blood which remained in his emaciated and enfeebled frame refused to flow: he suffered excruciating agony: a warm bath was applied, but in vain; and a draught of poison was equally ineffectual. At last he was suffocated by the vapour of a stove, and expired.[1257]
Seneca lived in a perilous atmosphere. The philosophy in which he believed was hollow, and, being unsuited to his court life,[1258] he thought it expedient to allow himself some relaxation from its severity. His rhetorical taste led him to overstate even his own real convictions; and hence the incongruity of his life appeared more glaring. He was not insincere; but he had not firmness to act up to the high moral standard which he proposed to himself. In his letters, and his treatise “De Consolatione,” addressed to Polybius, he even convicts himself of this defect. He had difficult questions to decide, and had not sufficient moral principle to lead him in the right course. He was avaricious; but it was the great sin of his times. Tacitus is not blind to his weaknesses;[1259] but he estimates his character with more candour and fairness than Dio.[1260] He is neither a panegyrist nor an accuser. The education of one who was a brute rather than a man was a task to the discharge of which no one would have been equal. He, therefore, retained the influence which he had not uprightness to command by miserable and sinful expedients. He had great abilities, and some of the noble qualities of the old Romans. Had he lived in the days of the Republic he would have been a great man.
Seneca was the author of twelve ethical treatises, the best of which are entitled “De Providentiâ,” “De Constantiâ Sapientis,” and “De Consolatione.” The latter was addressed to his mother Helvia, and written during his exile in Corsica. In the treatise on Providence he discusses the question why, since there is a Divine Providence, good men are liable to misfortunes. Although the difficulty is explained by the doctrine that the remedy, “suicide,” is always in man’s power, it asserts the omnipresence of the Deity, and the existence of a moral Governor of the universe.
Great as are the inconsistencies in his ethical philosophy (nor could it be otherwise, as his life was always doing despite to his moral sense of right and wrong,) his views are generally clear and practical. In this he was a true Roman; he cared little for abstract speculation; he did not value, except as subordinate aids, either mental or natural philosophy. He delighted to inculcate precepts rather than investigate principles. It is for this reason that his works are not satisfactory as a whole, whilst they furnish a rich mine for quotations. The fault which pervades all Roman philosophy exists in an exaggerated form in his works: they are ethical digests of didactic precepts; but there is no system, no developement of new truths. His studies taught him that general principles are the foundations of morals, and that casuistry is the application of those principles;[1261] but the Romans were naturally inclined to be casuists rather than moralists; and in this preference Seneca went beyond all his countrymen. He writes like a teacher of youth rather than as a philosopher; he inculcates, without proof, maxims and instructions, and impresses them by repetition, as though they recommended themselves by their intrinsic truthfulness to the consciences of his hearers.
Seneca was always a favourite with Christian writers; he is in fact a better guide to others than he was to himself. Some of his sentiments are truly Christian; there is even a tradition that he was acquainted with St. Paul, and fourteen letters to that apostle have been, though without grounds, attributed to him. He may, however, unconsciously have imbibed some of the principles of Christianity. The gospel had already made great and rapid strides over the civilized world, and thoughtful minds may have been enlightened by some of the rays of divine truth dispersed through the moral atmosphere, just as we are benefited by the light of the sun, even when its disc is obscured by clouds.
His Epistles, of which there are one hundred and twenty-four, are moral essays in an epistolary form, and are the most delightful of his works. Although addressed to a disciple named Lucilius, they are evidently written for the public eye: they are rich in varied thought, and the reflections flow naturally and without effort. Letters were perhaps the most appropriate vehicle for his preceptive philosophy, because such a desultory style is best adapted to convey isolated and unconnected maxims. They contain a free and unconstrained picture of his mind. We see in them how he despised verbal subtleties,[1262] the external badges of a sect or creed, and insisted that the great end of science is to learn how to live and how to die.
In his old age he wrote seven books on questions connected with natural phenomena (Quæstionum Naturalium, Libri vii.) Why he did so it is impossible to say, since he had so often argued against the utility of physical studies.[1263] The declamatory praise which he bestows upon them in this work would lead us to suppose that it was a mere exercise for amusement and relaxation. But in this case he is not so inconsistent as might be supposed—he treats the subject like a moralist, and makes it the occasion of ethical reflections.[1264]
Once he indulged in the playfulness of satire. He had written a fulsome funeral oration on Claudius, which Nero delivered in the midst of laughter and derision; but for this abject flattery he afterwards made compensation by composing, as a parody on the apotheosis of the stupid Emperor, the Apocolocyntosis, or his metamorphosis into a pumpkin. The pun was good enough, but the execution miserable.
In the style of Seneca we see the result of that false declamatory taste of which the works of his father furnish specimens. Thought was subordinate to expression. The masters of rhetoric were all in all. His style is too elaborate to please; it is generally affected, often florid and bombastic: he seems always striving to produce striking effects, either by antithesis or ornament; of course he defeats his object, for there is no light and shade. There is too much sparkle and glitter, too little repose and simplicity.
Pliny the Elder was born A. D. 23, either at Verona[1265] or Novo-Comum[1266] (Como.) As he possessed estates at the latter town, and his nephew, the younger Pliny, whom he adopted, was undoubtedly born there, it was most probably the family residence and the place of the elder Pliny’s nativity. He was educated at Rome; and serving Claudius in Germany, employed the opportunities which this campaign afforded him in travelling. Afterwards he returned to Rome and practised at the bar; filled different civil offices, amongst them that of augur, and was subsequently appointed procurator in Spain.[1267]
Some interesting particulars respecting his life and habits are contained in a letter of the younger Pliny to his friend Macer,[1268] illustrative of his studies, his temper, his thirst for knowledge, and his strict economy of time. The letter is also valuable for another reason—namely, as giving a catalogue of all the writings of his uncle. “It is a great satisfaction to me,” he writes, “that you so constantly and diligently read my uncle’s works, that you wish to possess them all, and ask me for a list of them. I will therefore perform the duty of an index; and will also tell you the order in which they were written.” He then subjoins the following titles:—(1.) The Art of using the Javelin on Horseback; composed when he was commander of cavalry in Germany. (2.) The Life of his friend Pomponius Secundus. (3.) A History of all the Wars, twenty in number, which the Romans had carried on with the Germans. This was commenced during his German campaign, in obedience to the suggestions of a dream:—“There appeared to him whilst sleeping the shade of Drusus; commended his memory to his care, and besought him to rescue it from undeserved oblivion.” In accordance with his superstitious and credulous temper, he obeyed the call of his supernatural visitant. (4.) A treatise on Eloquence, entitled “Studiosus,” in three books, but subdivided, on account of its length, into six volumes. In it he traces the education of an orator from the very cradle. (5.) Eight books on Grammatical Ambiguity, which he wrote during the reign of Nero, a period when imperial tyranny rendered studies of a freer kind too perilous. (6.) Thirty books in continuation of the History of Aufidius Bassus, dedicated to the Emperor Titus.[1269] (7.) Thirty-seven books on Natural History—a work, not only, as Pliny the Younger describes it, as full of variety as Nature herself, but, as will be shown hereafter, a treasure-house of the arts, as well as of natural objects.
“You will wonder,” he continues, “how a man occupied with official business could have completed so many volumes filled with such minute information. You will be still more surprised to learn that he practised sometimes as a pleader; that he died in his fifty-sixth year; and that the intermediate time was distracted and interrupted by the friendship of princes and most important public affairs. But he was a man of vigorous intellect, incredible application, and unwearied activity. Immediately after the festival of the Vulcanalia (August 23d,) he used to begin to study in the dead of the night; in the winter at one o’clock in the morning, at the latest at two, often at midnight. No one ever slept so little—sometimes he would snatch a brief interval of sleep in the midst of his studies. Before dawn he would wait upon the Emperor, for he also used the night for transacting business. Thence he proceeded to the discharge of his official duties; and whatever time remained he devoted to study.
“After a light and frugal meal, which, according to the old fashion, he partook of by day, he would in summer, if he had any leisure time, recline in the sun whilst a book was read to him, from which he took notes and made extracts. In fact, he never read any book without making extracts; for he used to say that no book was so bad but that some profit could be derived from it. After sunset he generally took a cold bath, then a slight repast, and afterwards slept for a very short time. When he awoke, as if it were a new day, he studied till supper; during which a book was read, on which he made annotations as the reading proceeded. I remember that one of his friends interrupted the reader, because he had mispronounced a word, and compelled him to repeat it; upon which my uncle asked, ‘Did you understand him?’ and when he answered in the affirmative, he continued—‘Why did you interrupt him? we have lost more than ten lines;’—so frugal was he of his time. In summer he rose from the supper-table by daylight, in winter at nightfall; and this custom was a law to him.
“These were his habits amidst the toils and bustle of a town-life. In the retirement of the country the bath was the only interruption to his studies. But only the bath itself, for whilst he was rubbed and wiped dry, he either dictated to an amanuensis or had a book read to him. On journeys, as he was then relieved from all other cares, study was the only employment of his leisure. He had a precis-writer at his side, with books and tablets, who in the winter wore gloves, so that his master’s studies might not be interrupted by the severity of the cold. For the same reason, when at Rome, he always used a sedan. I remember once having been chid by him for walking: ‘You might,’ said he, ‘avoid wasting all this time.’ For he thought all time was lost which was not devoted to study. By this intense application he completed so many volumes, and bequeathed to me, besides, one hundred and sixty rolls of commentaries, written in the smallest possible hand and on both sides. He used to say that when he was procurator in Spain, he was offered for a portion of them 400,000 sesterces (about 3,200l.) by Lartius Licinius.... I cannot help laughing when people call me studious, for, compared with him, I am the idlest fellow in the world.”
Pliny perished a martyr to the cause of science, in the terrible eruption of Vesuvius, which took place in the first year of the reign of Titus.[1270] Had he been as ardent an original observer in all other respects, instead of a mere plodding student, and collector, and transcriber of other men’s observations, his works would have been less voluminous, but more valuable. The eruption in which he perished was the first of which there is any record in history. It is probable that none of any consequence had occurred before; and that the lava had never before devastated the smiling slopes and green vineyards which Martial has described.[1271] The circumstances of his death are thus described by his nephew[1272] in two letters to Tacitus:—“He was at Misenum, in command of the fleet. On the 24th of August, about one o’clock P. M., my mother pointed out to him a cloud of unusual size and appearance. He had lain in the sunshine, bathed, and taken refreshment, and was now studying. He forthwith asked for his shoes; and ascended an eminence from which he could best see the phenomenon. The distance was too great to know for certain from what mountain the cloud arose, but it was afterwards ascertained to be Vesuvius. Its form resembled that of a pine tree more than anything else. It rose into the air in the form of a tall trunk, and then diffused itself like spreading branches. The reason of this I take to be that it was at first carried upwards by a fresh current of air, which as it grew older and weaker was unable to support it, or perhaps its own gravity caused it to vanish in a horizontal direction. Sometimes it was white, sometimes solid and spotted, according to the quantity of earth and ashes which it threw up.
“The phenomenon appeared to him, as a learned man, deserving of closer investigation. He ordered a light galley to be fitted out, and gave me permission to accompany him. I replied that I preferred studying, and as it chanced he himself had given me something to write. Just as he was leaving the house with his note-book in his hand, the troops stationed at Retina, a village at the foot of the mountain, from which there was no escape except by sea, alarmed by the imminent peril they were in, sent to entreat him to rescue them. Notwithstanding this circumstance his determination was unaltered; but the task which he had commenced with earnestness he went through with the greatest resolution.
“He launched some quadriremes, and embarked for the purpose of assisting, not Retina only, but others; for the beauty of the coast had attracted a large population. He hastened to the spot whence others were flying, and steered a direct course to the point of danger, so fearlessly that he observed all the phases and forms of that sad calamity, and dictated his remarks on them to his secretary. Soon ashes fell on the decks, and the nearer he approached the hotter and thicker they became. With them were mingled scorched and blackened pumice-stones, and stones split by fire. Now the sudden reflux of the sea, and the fragments of the volcano which covered the coast, presented an obstacle to his progress, and he hesitated for awhile whether he should not return. At length, when his sailing-master recommended him to do so, he exclaimed, ‘Fortune favours the brave—steer for the villa of Pomponianus.’
“This was situated at Stabiæ, and was divided from the coast near Vesuvius by an inlet or gulf formed by the sea. His friend, although danger was not yet imminent, yet, as it was within sight, and would be very near if it increased, had put his baggage on board of a ship, and had determined on flight if the wind, which was then contrary, should lull. A fair wind carried my uncle thither. He embraced his trembling friend, consoled and encouraged him. In order to assuage his fears by showing his own unconcern, he caused himself to be carried to a bath: after bathing, he sat down to supper with cheerfulness, or, what is almost the same thing, with the appearance of it. Meanwhile from many parts of the volcano broad flames burst forth: the blaze was reflected from the sky, and the glare and brightness were enhanced by the darkness of the night. He, to soothe the alarm of Pomponianus, endeavoured to persuade him that what he saw was only the burning villages which the country people had deserted in their consternation. He then retired to rest and slept soundly; for his snoring, which on account of his broad chest was deep and resonant, was heard by those who were watching at the door.
“Soon the court through which there was access to his apartment was so choked with cinders and pumice that longer delay would have rendered escape impossible. He was awakened; and went to Pomponianus and the rest, who had sat up all night. They then held a consultation whether they should remain in the house or go into the open fields. For repeated shocks of an earthquake made the houses rock to and fro, and seemed to move them from their foundations; whilst in the air the fall of half-burnt pumice, though light, menaced danger. After balancing the two dangers, he chose the latter course: with him, however, it was a comparison of reasons, with others of fears. They tied cushions over their heads with towels, to protect them from the falling stones. Although it was now day elsewhere, the darkness here was denser than the darkest night, broken only by torches and lights of different kinds. They next walked out to the coast to see whether the sea was calm enough to venture upon it, but it was still a waste of stormy waters. Then he spread a linen cloth and lay down upon it, asked for two or three draughts of cold water; and, afterwards, flames, and that sulphureous smell which is the forerunner of them, put his companions to flight and aroused him.
“He arose by the assistance of two slaves, and immediately fell down dead, suffocated as I imagine by the dense vapour, and the functions of his stomach being disordered, which were naturally weak, and liable to obstructions and difficulty of digestion. On the morning of the third day after his body was found entire, uninjured, and in the clothes in which he died: its appearance was rather that of sleep than death.”
Pliny the Younger was left with his mother at Misenum; and in another letter he gives an account of the appearance of the eruption at that place:[1273]—
“After my uncle’s departure, I spent some time in study (for that was my object in remaining behind:) I then bathed and supped, and had some broken and restless sleep. For many days previously shocks of an earthquake had been felt; but they caused less alarm because they are usual in Campania; but on that night they were so violent that it was thought they would not only shake but overturn everything. My mother burst into my bed-chamber—I was just rising in order to arouse her, in case she should be asleep. We sat down in the court which divided the house from the sea. I know not whether to call this courage or imprudence, for I was only in my eighteenth year. I asked for a volume of Livy, and began to read it leisurely and to make extracts.
“Well! a friend of my uncle came in who had lately arrived from Spain, and when he saw us sitting together, and me reading, he rebuked his patience and my ‘insouciance.’ Still I was not the less for that absorbed in my book. It was now seven o’clock, and the dawn broke faintly and languidly. The surrounding buildings were tottering; and the space in which we were, being limited in extent, there was great reason to fear their fall. We then resolved to leave town. The populace followed in alarm.
“When at a sufficient distance from the buildings we halted, and witnessed many a wonderful and alarming phenomenon. The carriages which we had ordered to be brought out, although the ground was very level, rolled in different directions, and even stones placed under the wheels could not stop them. The sea ebbed and seemed to be repelled by the earthquake. The coast certainly had advanced, and detained many marine animals on dry land. On the other side of the heavens hung a dark and awful cloud, riven by wreathed and quivering lines of fiery vapour, in long flashes resembling lightning, but larger. Then our friend from Spain exclaimed, with eagerness and vehemence, ‘If your relative lives, he doubtless wishes your safety; if he has perished, he wished you to survive him. Why then do you delay to escape?’ Our answer was, ‘We will not think of our own safety so long as we are uncertain of his.’ Without any more delay he hurried off, and was soon beyond the reach of danger. Soon the cloud descended to the earth, and brooded over the sea; it shrouded Capreæ, and hid from our eyes the promontory of Misenum. My mother besought, entreated, nay, commanded me to fly by all means; she felt that, weighed down by years and infirmity, she should die contented if she had not been the cause of my death. I, on the other hand, persisted that I would not seek safety except with her. I took her by the hand and forced her to go forward. She obeyed reluctantly, and blamed herself for delaying me. Ashes now began to fall, though as yet in small quantities. I looked back; behind us was thick darkness, which poured over the earth like a torrent. ‘Let us turn aside from the road,’ said I, ‘whilst we can see, for fear we should be thrown down and trampled under foot by the crowd in the darkness.’ We had scarce time to [think about it] [sit down] when we were enveloped in darkness, not like that of a moonless night, or clouds, but like that of a room shut up when the lights are extinguished. Then were heard the shrieks of women, the wailings of infants, the shouts of men; some were calling for their parents, others for their children, others for their wives, whom they could only recognise by their voices. Some bewailed their own misfortune, others that of their family; some even from the fear of death prayed for death. Many lifted up their hands to the gods; still more believed that there were no gods, and that the last eternal night had overwhelmed the world. There were not wanting some to increase the real danger by fictitious and imaginary terrors; and some brought word that the conflagration was at Misenum: the false intelligence met with credence. By degrees the light returned; but it seemed to us not the return of day, but the indication that the fire was approaching. Its progress, however, was arrested at some distance: again darkness succeeded with showers of ashes. Every now and then we got up and shook them off from us, otherwise we should have been overwhelmed and bruised by their weight. I might boast that not a groan or unmanly expression escaped me in the midst of my dangers, were it not that my firmness was founded on the consolatory belief that all mankind was involved, together with myself, in one common ruin. At length the darkness cleared up, and dispersed like smoke or mist. Real daylight succeeded; even the sun shone forth, but with a lurid light as when eclipsed. The aspect of everything which met our astonished eyes was changed: ashes covered the ground like a deep snow. We returned to Misenum, and refreshed ourselves, and passed an anxious night in alternate hopes and fears: the latter, however, predominated. The earthquake still continued; and many, in a state of frenzy, made a mockery of their own and their neighbours’ misfortunes by terrific prophecies.” The above letters, though long, have been quoted because they detail, in the most interesting manner, the circumstances of the elder Pliny’s death, and at the same time illustrate the simple and graphic power of the nephew’s pen.
The Natural Philosophy of Pliny is, to say the least, an unequalled monument of studious diligence and persevering industry. It consists of thirty-seven books, and contains, according to his own account,[1274] 20,000 facts (as he believed them to be) connected with nature and art: the result, not of original research, but, as he honestly confessed, culled from the labours of other men. It must, however, be allowed that the confused arrangement is owing partly to the indefinite state of science, and the consequent mingling together of branches which are separate and distinct.[1275]
Owing to the extent and variety of his reading, his credulous love of the marvellous, and his want of judgment in comparing and selecting, he does not present us with a correct view of the degree of truth to which science had attained in his own age. He does not show how one age had corrected the errors of a preceding one; but reproduces errors, evidently obsolete and inconsistent with facts and theories which had grown up afterwards and replaced them.
With him mythological traditions appear to have almost the same authority as modern discoveries. The earth teems with monsters, not miracles, or exceptions to the regular order of nature, but specimens of her ingenuity. In his theory of the universe he assumes such causes and principles as lead him to admit, without question, the existence of prodigies, however impossible they may be. They are wonderful because unusual; but they are effects which might result from the natural causes which he believed to be in operation. His theory, that Nature acted not only by regular laws but often by actual interferences, (for this was the character of his pantheism, ii. 5, 7,)—his belief that the various germs of created things were scattered in profusion throughout the universe, and accidentally mingling in confusion produced monstrous forms, (3)—prepared him to consider nothing incredible (xi. 3;) and his temper inclined him to go further, and to admit almost every thing which was credible as true.[1276]
Deficient as the work is in scientific value and philosophical arrangement, the author evidently wished to stamp it with a character of practical utility. It is an encyclopædia of the knowledge which could be brought together from different sources; and for such a work there are two important requisites—facility of reference, and the citation of authorities. With this view the whole is preceded by a summary, and to each book is added a table of contents, together with the names of authors to whom he is indebted.
The work commences with the theory of the universe;[1277] the history and science of astronomy; meteorological phenomena; and the geological changes which have taken place on the earth by volcanic and aqueous action. Geography, both physical and political, occupy the four next books.[1278] Here truth and error are mingled in dire confusion. Accounts which are based solely on the traditions of remote antiquity are given side by side with the results of modern investigation, and yet no distinction is drawn as to authenticity; and, owing to his confusing together such different accounts, measurements and distances are generally wrong.
But in the zoological division of the work, which next follows,[1279] he gives unrestrained scope to his credulity and love of the marvellous. He tells of men whose feet were turned backwards; of others whose feet were so large as to shade them when they lay in the sun. He describes beings in whom both sexes were united; others in whom a change of sex had taken place; others without mouths, who fed on the fragrance of fruits and flowers.[1280] Such are some of the marvels of the human race recorded by him. Amongst the lower animals he enumerates horned horses furnished with wings;[1281] the Mantichora, with the face of a man, three rows of teeth, a lion’s body, and a scorpion’s tail;[1282] the unicorn with a stag’s head, a horse’s body, the feet of an elephant, and the tail of a boar;[1283] the basilisk, whose very glance is fatal. The seas are peopled not only with sea-goats and sea-elephants, but with real Nereids and Tritons.[1284] Mice, according to his account, produce their young by licking each other; and fire produces an insect (pyralis) which cannot live except in the midst of the flames.
Sixteen books[1285] are devoted to botany, both general and medical; and the medicinal properties of the human frame, and of other animal substances, as well as of different waters, are next discussed.[1286] An account of minerals and metals concludes the work; and this portion embraces an account of their various uses in the fine arts, intermingled with interesting anecdotes and histories of art and artists. This is the most valuable as well as the most pleasing section of the work.
He was pre-eminently a collector of stories and anecdotes and supposed facts, and he was only accidentally a naturalist, because natural history furnished the most extensive variety of marvellous and curious materials. The naturalist, Cuvier,[1287] observed his want of judgment, his credulity, his defective arrangement, and the inappropriate nature of his observations. Notwithstanding all these faults this elaborate work contains many valuable truths, much entertaining information, and the style in which it is written is, when not too florid, full of vigour and expression. The philosophical belief can scarcely be considered that of any particular school, although tinctured by the prevalent Stoicism of the day; but its pervading character is querulous and melancholy. Believing that nature is an all-powerful principle, and the world or universe itself, instinct with Deity, he saw more of evil than of good in the Divine dispensations; and the result was a gloomy and discontented pantheism.
C. Plinius Cæcilius Secundus was sister’s son to the elder Pliny. Most of the information which we possess respecting his life and character is derived from his letters. He was born at Novo-Comum, on the Lake Larius (Como;) and as he was in his eighteenth year[1288] at the time of the eruption of Vesuvius, which took place A. D. 79, the date of his birth must have been A. D. 61.
On the death of his father, C. Cæcilius, he was adopted by his uncle, and therefore took the name of Plinius. He was educated under the guardianship of Virginius Rufus, who felt for him the affection of a parent. The regard was evidently mutual. “I loved him,” writes Pliny to Voconius,[1289] with that tenderness which so frequently adorns his letters, especially those to his wife Calphurnia, “as much as I admired him;” and he thus concludes his letter: “I had wished to write to you on many other subjects, but my thoughts are fully occupied on this one subject of contemplation. I see, I think of no one but Virginius. In fancy I seem to hear his voice, to address him, to hold him in my arms. We may perhaps have, and shall continue to have, men equal to him in virtue, but no one equal to him in glory.” In belles-lettres and eloquence[1290] he attended constantly the lectures of Quintilian and Nicetes Sacerdos, of whom favourable mention is made by Seneca.[1291]
Under the care of such tutors and such an uncle, his literary tastes were cultivated early, and before he had completed his fifteenth year he gave proof of his love of poetry, by writing what he modestly says was called a Greek tragedy. This taste for poetry remained to him in after life: once when weather-bound at the island of Icaria, he celebrated the event in an elegiac poem. He wrote hexameters, of which he gives a short specimen, and also a birth-day ode in hendecasyllables, and he tells us he wrote with quickness and facility.[1292]
He was called to the bar in his nineteenth year, and attained great celebrity as a pleader.[1293] He stood high in favour with Trajan; and filled with distinction high offices, both military and civil. He was military tribune in Syria; and besides being prætor and consul at home, he served as procurator of the province of Bithynia abroad. He was gentle, liberal, refined, and benevolent; and his zeal for the interests of literature, and his wish that the youths of Como might not be forced to resort to Milan for education, but might owe that blessing to their native place,[1294] led him to offer help in founding a school, in forming a public library, and in establishing exhibitions for ingenuous students.[1295] He thought with justice, such acts of munificence nobler than gaudy spectacles and barbarous shows of gladiators.
His works consist of a Panegyric on Trajan and a collection of Letters in ten books. The Panegyric is a piece of courtly flattery, for the fulsomeness of which the only defence which can be made, is the cringing and fawning manners of his times. It was written and delivered in the year in which he was consul.[1296] The Letters are very valuable, not only for the insight which they give into his own character, but also into the manners and modes of thought of his illustrious contemporaries, as well as the politics of the day. Many of them bear evident marks of having been expressly intended for publication. This of course detracts from their value as fresh and truthful exponents of the writer’s thoughts, which all letters ought to be; but they are most delightful to read, and for liveliness, descriptive power, elegance and simplicity of style, are scarcely inferior to those of Cicero, whom he evidently took for his model.
The tenth book, which consists of his despatches to Trajan, together with the Emperor’s rescripts, will be read with the greatest interest; and the notices of public affairs contained in them are most valuable to the historian. The despatch respecting the Christians, written from Bithynia, A. D. 104, and the Emperor’s answer,[1297] are well worthy of transcription; both because reference is so often made to them, and because they throw light upon the marvellous and rapid propagation of the gospel; the manners of the early Christians; the treatment to which their constancy exposed them, even under favourable circumstances, and the severe jealousy with which even a governor of mild and gentle temper thought it his duty to regard them. “It is my constant practice, sire, to refer to you all subjects on which I entertain doubt. For who is better able to direct my hesitation or to instruct my ignorance? I have never been present at the trials of Christians, and therefore I do not know in what way, or to what extent, it is usual to question or to punish them. I have also felt no small difficulty in deciding whether age should make any difference, or whether those of the tenderest and those of mature years should be treated alike; whether pardon should be accorded to repentance, or whether, where a man has once been a Christian, recantation should profit him; whether, if the name of Christian does not imply criminality, still the crimes peculiarly belonging to the name should be punished. Meanwhile, in the case of those against whom informations have been laid before me, I have pursued the following line of conduct. I have put to them, personally, the question whether they were Christians. If they confessed, I interrogated them a second and third time, and threatened them with punishment. If they still persevered, I ordered their commitment; for I had no doubt whatever that, whatever they confessed, at any rate dogged and inflexible obstinacy deserved to be punished. There were others who displayed similar madness; but, as they were Roman citizens, I ordered them to be sent back to the city. Soon persecution itself, as is generally the case, caused the crime to spread, and it appeared in new forms. An anonymous information was laid against a large number of persons, but they deny that they are, or ever have been, Christians. As they invoked the gods, repeating the form after me, and offered prayers, together with incense and wine, to your image, which I had ordered to be brought, together with those of the deities, and besides cursed Christ, whilst those who are true Christians, it is said, cannot be compelled to do any one of these things, I thought it right to set them at liberty. Others, when accused by an informer, confessed that they were Christians, and soon after denied the fact; they said they had been, but had ceased to be, some three, some more, not a few even twenty years previously. All these worshipped your image and those of the gods, and cursed Christ. But they affirmed that the sum total of their fault or their error was, that they were accustomed to assemble on a fixed day before dawn, and sing an antiphonal hymn to Christ as God: that they bound themselves by an oath, not to the commission of any wickedness, but to abstain from theft, robbery, and adultery; never to break a promise, or to deny a deposit when it was demanded back. When these ceremonies were concluded, it was their custom to depart, and again assemble together to take food harmlessly and in common. That after my proclamation, in which, in obedience to your command, I had forbidden associations, they had desisted from this practice. For these reasons I the more thought it necessary to investigate the real truth, by putting to the torture two maidens, who were called deaconesses; but I discovered nothing but a perverse and excessive superstition. I have therefore deferred taking cognizance of the matter until I had consulted you. For it seemed to me a case requiring advice, especially on account of the number of those in peril. For many of every age, sex, and rank, are and will continue to be called in question. The infection, in fact, has spread not only through the cities, but also through the villages and open country; but it seems that its progress can be arrested. At any rate, it is clear that the temples which were almost deserted begin to be frequented; and solemn sacrifices, which had been long intermitted, are again performed, and victims are being sold everywhere, for which up to this time a purchaser could rarely be found. It is therefore easy to conceive that crowds might be reclaimed if an opportunity for repentance were given.”
“In sifting the cases of those who have been indicted on the charge of Christianity, you have adopted, my dear Secundus, the right course of proceeding; for no certain rule can be laid down which will meet all cases. They must not be sought after, but if they are informed against and convicted, they must be punished; with this proviso, however, that if any one denies that he is a Christian, and proves the point by offering prayers to our deities, notwithstanding the suspicions under which he has laboured, he shall be pardoned on his repentance. On no account should any anonymous charge be attended to, for it would be the worst possible precedent, and is inconsistent with the habits of our times.”
Pliny’s accurate and judicious mind, his political and administrative prudence, his taste for the beautiful, his power of description, his unrivalled neatness, his skill in investing with a peculiar interest every subject he takes in hand, may be amply proved by a perusal of his Letters. His touches are neither too many nor too few. A mere note of thanks for a present of thrushes[1298] shows as much skill, in its way, as his numerous elaborate despatches to the Emperor.[1299] His brief biographical notice of Silius Italicus contains, in a few short sentences, all that can be said favourably of the life and character of his correspondent. The sympathy which he felt for his friends, as well as the delicacy of his panegyric, are exhibited in the few lines which he penned to Germinius on the death of the wife of Macrinus;[1300] his honesty in the case of the inheritance of Pomponia;[1301] his legal skill in passages too numerous to specify; his descriptive power in the narrative of the eruption of Vesuvius,[1302] in which his uncle perished; and in the full and minute description of his villa, its rooms, furniture, works of art, garden, and surrounding scenery.