No More Learning

Regulus
-


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is a case in point: he has a weak voice, an awkward delivery,
an indistinct utterance, a slow imagination, and no memory; in a
word, he possesses nothing but a sort of frantic energy; and yet,
by the assistance of a flighty turn and much impudence, he passes
as an orator. Herennius Senecio admirably reversed Cato's defi-
nition of an orator, and applied it to Regulus: "An orator,"
he said, "is a bad man, unskilled in the art of speaking. " And
really Cato's definition is not a more exact description of a true
orator than Senecio's is of the character of this man.
Would you
make me a suitable return for this letter? Let me know if you,
or any of my friends in your town, have, like a stroller in the
market-place, read this doleful production of Regulus's, "raising,"
as Demosthenes says, "your voice most merrily, and straining
every muscle in your throat. " For so absurd a performance must
excite laughter rather than compassion; and indeed the composi-
tion is as puerile as the subject. Farewell.
TO MINUTIUS FUNDANUS: HOW TIME PASSES AT ROME
From the Letters'
WHE
HEN one considers how the time passes at Rome, one can-
not be surprised that, take any single day, and it either
is, or at least seems to be, spent reasonably enough; and
yet, upon casting up the whole sum, the amount will appear quite
otherwise. Ask any one, "What have you been doing to-day? "
He will tell you perhaps, "I have been at the ceremony of put-
ting on the toga virilis; I attended a wedding; one man begged
me to be witness to his will; another to attend the hearing of
his case; a third called me in to a consultation. " These things
seem important enough, whilst one is about them; yet, when you
reflect at your leisure that every day has been thus employed,
they seem mere trifles. At such a time one is apt to think to
oneself, "How much of my life I have frittered away in dull,
useless, routine sort of work. " At least it is a reflection which
frequently comes across me at Laurentum, after I have been
doing a little reading and writing, and taking care of the ani-
mal machine (for the body must be supported if we would keep
the mind alert and vigorous). There I neither hear nor speak
anything I have occasion to be sorry for. No one talks scandal
to me, and I find fault with nobody,-unless myself, when I am


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dissatisfied with my compositions. There I live undisturbed by
rumor, and free from the anxious solicitudes of hope and fear,
conversing only with myself and my books. True and genuine
life! Sweet and honorable repose! More, perhaps, to be desired
than employments of any kind! Thou solemn sea and solitary
shore, true and most retired school of art and poetry, with how
many noble thoughts do you inspire me! Snatch then, my friend,
as I have, the first opportunity of leaving the town with its din,
its empty bustle and laborious trifles, and devote your days to
study or to repose; for as Attilius happily observed, "It is bet-
ter to have nothing to do than to be doing nothing. " Farewell.
TO SOCIUS SENECIO: THE LAST CROP OF POETS
From the 'Letters'
THIS
HIS year has produced a plentiful crop of poets: during the
whole month of April, scarcely a day has passed on which
we have not been entertained with the recital of some poem.
It is a pleasure to me to find that a taste for polite literature
still exists, and that men of genius do come forward and make
themselves known, notwithstanding the lazy attendance they get
for their pains. The greater part of the audience sit in the
lounging-places, gossip away their time there, and are perpetually
sending to inquire whether the author has made his entrance
yet, whether he has got through the preface, or whether he has
almost finished the piece. Then at length they saunter in with
an air of the greatest indifference; nor do they condescend to
stay through the recital, but go out before it is over, some slyly
and stealthily, others again with perfect freedom and unconcern.
And yet our fathers can remember how Claudius Cæsar walking
one day in the palace, and hearing a great shouting, inquired the
cause; and being informed that Nonianus was reciting a com-
position of his, went immediately to the place, and agreeably
surprised the author with his presence. But now, were one to
bespeak the attendance of the idlest man living, and remind him
of the appointment ever so often, or ever so long beforehand,
either he would not come at all, or if he did, would grumble
about having "lost a day! " for no other reason but because he
had not lost it. So much the more do those authors deserve our
encouragement and applause who have resolution to persevere in


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their studies, and to read out their compositions in spite of this
apathy or arrogance on the part of their audience. Myself indeed,
I scarcely ever miss being present upon any occasion; though, to
tell the truth, the authors have generally been friends of mine,
as indeed there are few men of literary tastes who are not. It
is this which has kept me in town longer than I had intended.
I am now, however, at liberty to go back into the country and
write something myself: which I do not intend reciting, lest I
should seem rather to have lent than given my attendance to
these recitations of my friends; for in these, as in all other good
offices, the obligation ceases the moment you seem to expect a
return. Farewell.
TO NEPOS: OF ARRIA
From the Letters'
I
HAVE Constantly observed that amongst the deeds and sayings
of illustrious persons of either sex, some have made more
noise in the world, whilst others have been really greater,
although less talked about; and I am confirmed in this opinion.
by a conversation I had yesterday with Fannia. This lady is
granddaughter to that celebrated Arria, who animated her hus-
band to meet death by her own glorious example. She informed
me of several particulars relating to Arria, no less heroic than
this applauded action of hers, though taken less notice of; and I
think you will be as surprised to read the account of them as
I was to hear it. Her husband Cæcinna Pætus, and her son, were
both attacked at the same time with a fatal illness, as was sup-
posed; of which the son died,—a youth of remarkable beauty,
and as modest as he was comely, endeared indeed to his parents
no less by his many graces than from the fact of his being their
son. His mother prepared his funeral and conducted the usual
ceremonies so privately that Pætus did not know of his death.
Whenever she came into his room, she pretended her son was
alive and actually better; and as often as he inquired after his
health, would answer, "He has had a good rest, and eaten his
food with quite an appetite. " Then when she found the tears
she had so long kept back gushing forth in spite of herself, she
would leave the room, and having given vent to her grief, return
with dry eyes and a serene countenance, as though she had


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dismissed every feeling of bereavement at the door of her hus-
band's chamber. I must confess it was a brave action in her to
draw the steel, plunge it into her breast, pluck out the dagger
and present it to her husband with that ever memorable, I had
almost said that divine, expression, "Pætus, it is not painful. "
But when she spoke and acted thus, she had the prospect of glory
and immortality before her; how far greater, without the support
of any such animating motives, to hide her tears, to conceal her
grief, and cheerfully to act the mother when a mother no more!
Scribonianus had taken up arms against Claudius in Illyria,
where he lost his life; and Pætus, who was of his party, was
brought prisoner to Rome. When they were going to put him
on board ship, Arria besought the soldiers that she might be per-
mitted to attend him: "For surely," she urged, "you will allow
a man of consular rank some servants to dress him, attend on
him at meals, and put his shoes on for him; but if you will
take me, I alone will perform all these offices. " Her request was
refused; upon which she hired a fishing-boat, and in that small
vessel followed the ship. On her return to Rome, meeting the
wife of Scribonianus in the emperor's palace, at the time when
this woman voluntarily gave evidence against the conspirators,—
«< What," she exclaimed, "shall I hear you even speak to me?
you, on whose bosom your husband Scribonianus was murdered,
and yet you survive him! "-an expression which plainly shows
that the noble manner in which she put an end to her life was no
unpremeditated effect of sudden passion. Moreover, when Thrasea,
her son-in-law, was endeavoring to dissuade her from her purpose
of destroying herself, and amongst other arguments which he
used, said to her, "Would you then advise your daughter to die
with me if my life were to be taken from me? " "Most certainly
I would," she replied, "if she had lived as long and in as much
harmony with you, as I have with my Pætus. " This answer
greatly increased the alarm of her family, and made them watch
her for the future more narrowly; which when she perceived,
"It is of no use," she said: "you may oblige me to effect my
death in a more painful way, but it is impossible you should
prevent it. " Saying this, she sprang from her chair, and running
her head with the utmost violence against the wall, fell down, to
all appearance dead; but being brought to herself again, "I told
you," she said, "if you would not suffer me to take an easy path
to death, I should find a way to it, however hard. " Now, is there


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not, my friend, something much greater in all this than in the
so-much-talked-of "Pætus, it is not painful," to which these led
the way? And yet this last is the favorite topic of fame, while
all the former are passed over in silence. Whence I cannot but
infer, what I observed at the beginning of my letter, that some
actions are more celebrated, whilst others are really greater.
TO MARCELLINUS: DEATH OF FUNDANUS'S DAUGHTER
From the Letters'
I
WRITE this to you in the deepest sorrow: the youngest daughter
of my friend Fundanus is dead! I have never seen a more
cheerful and more lovable girl, or one who better deserved
to have enjoyed a long-I had almost said an immortal-life!
She was scarcely fourteen, and yet there was in her a wisdom far
beyond her years, a matronly gravity united with girlish sweet-
ness and virgin bashfulness. With what an endearing fondness
did she hang on her father's neck! How affectionately and mod-
estly she used to greet us his friends! With what a tender and
deferential regard she used to treat her nurses, tutors, teach-
ers, each in their respective offices! What an eager, industrious,
intelligent reader she was! She took few amusements, and those
with caution. How self-controlled, how patient, how brave she
was, under her last illness! She complied with all the directions
of her physicians; she spoke cheerful, comforting words to her
sister and her father; and when all her bodily strength was
exhausted, the vigor of her mind sustained her. That indeed.
continued even to her last moments, unbroken by the pain of a
long illness, or the terrors of approaching death; and it is a
reflection which makes us miss her, and grieve that she has gone
from us, the more. Oh, melancholy, untimely loss, too truly!
She was engaged to an excellent young man; the wedding day
was fixed, and we were all invited. How our joy has been turned
into sorrow! I cannot express in words the inward pain I felt
when I heard Fundanus himself (as grief is ever finding out
fresh circumstances to aggravate its affliction) ordering the money
he had intended laying out upon clothes, pearls, and jewels for
her marriage, to be employed in frankincense, ointments, and per-
fumes for her funeral. He is a man of great learning and good
sense, who has applied himself from his earliest youth to the


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PLINY THE YOUNGER
deeper studies and the fine arts; but all the maxims of fortitude
which he has received from books, or advanced himself, he now
absolutely rejects, and every other virtue of his heart gives place
to all a parent's tenderness. You will excuse, you will even
approve, his grief, when you consider what he has lost. He has
lost a daughter who resembled him in his manners, as well as his
person, and exactly copied out all her father. So, if you should
think proper to write to him upon the subject of so reasonable
a grief, let me remind you not to use the rougher arguments of
consolation, and such as seem to carry a sort of reproof with
them, but those of kind and sympathizing humanity. Time will
render him more open to the dictates of reason; for as a fresh
wound shrinks back from the hand of the surgeon, but by degrees
submits to, and even seeks of its own accord, the means of its
cure, so a mind under the first impression of a misfortune shuns
and rejects all consolations, but at length desires and is lulled by
their gentle application. Farewell.
TO CALPURNIA
From the Letters'
EVER was business more disagreeable to me than when it
Ne prevented me not only from accompanying you when you
went into Campania for your health, but from following
you there soon after; for I want particularly to be with you now,
that I may learn from my own eyes whether you are growing
stronger and stouter, and whether the tranquillity, the amusements,
and the plenty of that charming country really agree with you.
Were you in perfect health, yet I could ill support your absence;
for even
a moment's uncertainty of the welfare of those we
tenderly love causes a feeling of suspense and anxiety: but now
your sickness conspires with your absence to trouble me griev-
ously with vague and various anxieties. I dread everything,
fancy everything, and as is natural to those who fear, conjure up
the very things that I most dread. Let me the more earnestly
entreat you then to think of my anxiety, and write to me every
day, and even twice a day: I shall be more easy, at least while I
am reading your letters, though when I have read them, I shall
immediately feel my fears again. Farewell.


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11593
TO TACITUS: THE ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS
From the 'Letters'
YOUR
OUR request that I would send you an account of my uncle's
death, in order to transmit a more exact relation of it to
posterity, deserves my acknowledgments; for if this acci-
dent shall be celebrated by your pen, the glory of it, I am well
assured, will be rendered for ever illustrious. And notwithstand-
ing he perished by a misfortune which, as it involved at the
same time a most beautiful country in ruins, and destroyed so
nany populous cities, seems to promise him an everlasting remem-
brance; notwithstanding he has himself composed many and last-
ing works: yet I am persuaded the mentioning of him in your
immortal writings will greatly contribute to render his name.
immortal. Happy I esteem those to be to whom by provision
of the gods has been granted the ability either to do such actions
as are worthy of being related or to relate them in a manner
worthy of being read: but peculiarly happy are they who are
blessed with both these uncommon talents; in the number of
which my uncle, as his own writings and your history will evi-
dently prove, may justly be ranked. It is with extreme willing-
ness, therefore, that I execute your commands; and should indeed
have claimed the task if you had not enjoined it.
that time with the fleet under his command at Misenum. On the
24th of August, about one in the afternoon, my mother desired
him to observe a cloud which appeared of a very unusual size
and shape. He had just taken a turn in the sun, and after
bathing himself in cold water, and making a light luncheon, gone
back to his books: he immediately arose and went out upon a
rising ground, from whence he might get a better sight of this
very uncommon appearance. A cloud, from which mountain was
uncertain at this distance (but it was found afterwards to come
from Mount Vesuvius), was ascending, the appearance of which I
cannot give you a more exact description of than by likening it
to that of a pine-tree; for it shot up to a great height in the
form of a very tall trunk, which spread itself out at the top into
a sort of branches,― occasioned, I imagine, either by a sudden
gust of air that impelled it, the force of which decreased as it
advanced upwards, or the cloud itself being pressed back again
by its own weight, expanded in the manner I have mentioned;
it appeared sometimes bright and sometimes dark and spotted,


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PLINY THE YOUNGER
according as it was either more or less impregnated with earth
and cinders. This phenomenon seemed, to a man of such learn-
ing and research as my uncle, extraordinary and worth further
looking into.
He ordered a light vessel to be got ready, and
gave me leave, if I liked, to accompany him. I said I had
rather go on with my work; and it so happened he had himself
given me something to write out. As he was coming out of the
house he received a note from Rectina, the wife of Bassus, who
was in the utmost alarm at the imminent danger which threatened
her; for, her villa lying at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, there was
no way of escape but by sea; she earnestly entreated him there-
fore to come to her assistance. He accordingly changed his first
intention, and what he had begun from a philosophical, he now
carried out in a noble and generous spirit. He ordered the gal-
leys to put to sea, and went himself on board with an intention
of assisting not only Rectina, but the several other towns which
lay thickly strewn along that beautiful coast. Hastening then
to the place from whence others fled with the utmost terror, he
steered his course direct to the point of danger, and with so much
calmness and presence of mind as to be able to make and dictate
his observations upon the motion and all the phenomena of that
dreadful scene. He was now so close to the mountain that the
cinders, which grew thicker and hotter the nearer he approached,
fell into the ships, together with pumice-stones and black pieces
of burning rock; they were in danger too not only of being
aground by the sudden retreat of the sea, but also from the vast
fragments which rolled down from the mountain and obstructed
all the shore. Here he stopped to consider whether he should
turn back again; to which the pilot advising him, "Fortune,"
said he, "favors the brave: steer to where Pomponianus is. "
Pomponianus was then at Stabiæ, separated by a bay which the
sea, after several insensible windings, forms with the shore.
He had already sent his baggage on board; for though he was
not at that time in actual danger, yet being within sight of it, and
indeed extremely near if it should in the least increase, he was
determined to put to sea as soon as the wind, which was blowing
dead in-shore, should go down. It was favorable, however, for
carrying my uncle to Pomponianus, whom he found in the greatest
consternation: he embraced him tenderly, encouraging and urging
him to keep up his spirits; and the more effectually to soothe his
fears by seeming unconcerned himself, ordered a bath to be got


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ready, and then, after having bathed, sat down to supper with
great cheerfulness, or at least (what is just as heroic) with every
appearance of it. Meanwhile broad flames shone out in several
places from Mount Vesuvius, which the darkness of the night
contributed to render still brighter and clearer. But my uncle,
in order to soothe the apprehensions of his friend, assured him it
was only the burning of the villages, which the country people
had abandoned to the flames: after this he retired to rest, and it
is most certain he was so little disquieted as to fall into a sound
sleep; for his breathing, which on account of his corpulence was
rather heavy and sonorous, was heard by the attendants outside.
The court which led to his apartment being now almost filled
with stones and ashes, if he had continued there any time longer
it would have been impossible for him to make his way out.
So he was awoke and got up, and went to Pomponianus and the
rest of his company, who were feeling too anxious to think of
going to bed. They consulted together whether it would be most
prudent to trust to the houses-which now rocked from side to
side with frequent and violent concussions, as though shaken
from their very foundations-or fly to the open fields, where the
calcined stones and cinders, though light indeed, yet fell in large
showers and threatened destruction. In this choice of dangers
they resolved for the fields; a resolution which, while the rest of
the company were hurried into it by their fears, my uncle em-
braced upon cool and deliberate consideration. They went out
then, having pillows tied upon their heads with napkins; and this
was their whole defense against the storm of stones that fell round
them. It was now day everywhere else, but there a deeper dark-
ness prevailed than in the thickest night; which however was
in some degree alleviated by torches and other lights of various
kinds. They thought proper to go farther down upon the shore
to see if they might safely put out to sea, but found the waves
still running extremely high and boisterous. There my uncle,
laying himself down upon a sail-cloth, which was spread for him,
called twice for some cold water, which he drank; when immedi-
ately the flames, preceded by a strong whiff of sulphur, dispersed
the rest of the party and obliged him to rise. He raised him-
self up with the assistance of two of his servants, and instantly
fell down dead; suffocated, as I conjecture, by some gross and
noxious vapor; having always had a weak throat, which was often
inflamed. As soon as it was light again, which was not till the


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PLINY THE YOUNGER
third day after this melancholy accident, his body was found
entire, and without any marks of violence upon it, in the dress in
which he fell, and looking more like a man asleep than dead.
. Farewell.
TO CALPURNIA
From the 'Letters'
You
ou will not believe what a longing for you possesses me. The
chief cause of this is my love; and then we have not grown
used to be apart. So it comes to pass that I lie awake a
great part of the night, thinking of you; and that by day, when
the hours return at which I was wont to visit you, my feet take
me, as it is so truly said, to your chamber; but not finding you
there, I return, sick and sad at heart, like an excluded lover.
The only time that is free from these torments is when I am
being worn out at the bar, and in the suits of my friends. Judge
you what must be my life when I find my repose in toil, my sol-
ace in wretchedness and anxiety. Farewell.
TO MAXIMUS: PLINY'S SUCCESS AS AN AUTHOR
From the Letters'
IT
HAS frequently happened, as I have been pleading before
the Court of the Hundred, that those venerable judges, after
having preserved for a long period the gravity and solemnity
suitable to their character, have suddenly, as though urged by
irresistible impulse, risen up to a man and applauded me. I have
often likewise gained as much glory in the Senate as my utmost
wishes could desire; but I never felt a more sensible pleasure
than by an account which I lately received from Cornelius Taci-
tus. He informed me that at the last Circensian games he sat
next to a Roman knight, who, after conversation had passed be-
tween them upon various points of learning, asked him, “Are you
an Italian or a provincial? " Tacitus replied, "Your acquaint-
ance with literature must surely have informed you who I am. "
"Pray, then, is it Tacitus or Pliny I am talking with? " I cannot
express how highly I am pleased to find that our names are not
so much the proper appellatives of men as a kind of distinction


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11597
for learning herself; and that eloquence renders us known to
those who would otherwise be ignorant of us. An accident of the
same kind happened to me a few days ago. Fabius Rufinus, a
person of distinguished merit, was placed next to me at table;
and below him a countryman of his, who had just then come to
Rome for the first time. Rufinus, calling his friend's attention.
to me, said to him, "You see this man? " and entered into a con-
versation upon the subject of my pursuits; to whom the other
immediately replied, "This must undoubtedly be Pliny. " To
confess the truth, I look upon these instances as a very consid-
erable recompense of my labors. If Demosthenes had reason to
be pleased with the old woman of Athens crying out, "This is
Demosthenes! " may not I, then, be allowed to congratulate myself
upon the celebrity my name has acquired? Yes, my friend, I
will rejoice in it, and without scruple admit that I do.
As I only
mention the judgment of others, not my own, I am not afraid of
incurring the censure of vanity; especially from you, who, whilst
envying no man's reputation, are particularly zealous for mine.
Farewell.
TO FUSCUS: A DAY IN THE COUNTRY
From the Letters'
You
want to know how I portion out my day in my summer
villa at Tuscum? I get up just when I please; generally
about sunrise, often earlier, but seldom later than this. I
keep the shutters closed, as darkness and silence wonderfully pro-
mote meditation. Thus free and abstracted from those outward
objects which dissipate attention, I am left to my own thoughts;
nor suffer my mind to wander with my eyes, but keep my eyes
in subjection to my mind, which, when they are not distracted by
a multiplicity of external objects, see nothing but what the imagi-
nation represents to them. If I have any work in hand, this is
the time I choose for thinking it out, word for word, even to the
minutest accuracy of expression. In this way I compose more or
less, according as the subject is more or less difficult and I find
myself able to retain it. I then call my secretary, and opening
the shutters, dictate to him what I have put into shape; after
which I dismiss him, then call him in again and again dismiss
him. About ten or eleven o'clock (for I do not observe one fixed


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PLINY THE YOUNGER
hour), according to the weather, I either walk upon my terrace or
in the covered portico, and there I continue to meditate or dictate
what remains upon the subject in which I am engaged. This
completed, I get into my chariot, where I employ myself as before,
when I was walking or in my study; and find this change of
scene refreshes and keeps up my attention. On my return home
I take a little nap, then a walk, and after that repeat out loud
and distinctly some Greck or Latin speech, not so much for the
sake of strengthening my voice as my digestion; though indeed
the voice at the same time is strengthened by this practice. I
then take another walk, am anointed, do my exercises, and go
into the bath. At supper, if I have only my wife or a few
friends with me, some author is read to us; and after supper
we are entertained either with music or an interlude. When that
is finished I take my walk with my family, among whom I am
not without some scholars. Thus we pass our evenings in varied
conversation; and the day, even when at the longest, steals im-
perceptibly away. Upon some occasions I change the order in
certain of the articles above mentioned. For instance, if I have
studied longer or walked more than usual, after my second sleep
and reading a speech or two aloud, instead of using my chariot
I get on horseback; by which means I insure as much exercise
and lose less time. The visits of my friends from the neighbor-
ing villages claim some part of the day; and sometimes, by an
agreeable interruption, they come in very seasonably to relieve
me when I am feeling tired. I now and then amuse myself with
hunting; but always take my tablets into the field, that if I
should meet with no game, I may at least bring home something.
Part of my time, too (though not so much as they desire), is
allotted to my tenants; whose rustic complaints, along with these
city occupations, make my literary studies still more delightful to
me. Farewell.
TO THE EMPEROR TRAJAN: OF THE CHRISTIANS
From the 'Letters'
IT
Is my invariable rule, sir, to refer to you in all matters
where I feel doubtful; for who is more capable of removing
my scruples, or informing my ignorance? Having never been
present at any trials concerning those who profess Christianity, I
am unacquainted not only with the nature of their crimes, or the


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11599
measure of their punishment, but how far it is proper to enter
into an examination concerning them. Whether, therefore, any
difference is usually made with respect to ages, or no distinc-
tion is to be observed between the young and the adult; whether
repentance entitles them to a pardon, or if a man has been once
a Christian it avails nothing to desist from his error; whether the
very profession of Christianity, unattended with any criminal act,
or only the crimes themselves inherent in the profession, are pun-
ishable, on all these points I am in great doubt. In the mean
while, the method I have observed towards those who have been
brought before me as Christians is this: I asked them whether
they were Christians: if they admitted it, I repeated the question
twice and threatened them with punishment; if they persisted, I
ordered them to be at once punished,- for I was persuaded,
whatever the nature of their opinions might be, a contumacious
and inflexible obstinacy certainly deserved correction. There were
others also brought before me possessed with the same infatua-
tion; but being Roman citizens, I directed them to be sent to
Rome. But this crime spreading (as is usually the case), while
it was actually under prosecution several instances of the same
nature occurred. An anonymous information was laid before
me, containing a charge against several persons, who upon exam-
ination denied they were Christians, or had ever been so.
They
repeated after me an invocation to the gods, and offered religious
rites with wine and incense before your statue (which for that
purpose I had ordered to be brought, together with those of the
gods), and even reviled the name of Christ; whereas there is no
forcing, it is said, those who are really Christians into any of
these compliances: I thought it proper, therefore, to discharge
them. Some among those who were accused by a witness in
person at first confessed themselves Christians, but immediately
after denied it; the rest owned indeed that they had been of that
number formerly, but had now (some above three, others more,
and a few above twenty years ago) renounced that error. They
all worshiped your statue and the images of the gods, uttering
imprecations at the same time against the name of Christ. They
affirmed that the whole of their guilt, or their error, was, that
they met on a stated day before it was light, and addressed a
form of prayer to Christ as to a divinity, binding themselves by a
solemn oath, not for the purpose of any wicked design, but never
to commit any fraud, theft, or adultery, never to falsify their
―


## p. 11600 (#214) ##########################################

11600
PLINY THE YOUNGER
word, nor deny a trust when they should be called on to deliver
it up; after which it was their custom to separate, and then re-
assemble, to eat in common a harmless meal. From this custom,
however, they desisted after the publication of my edict, by which,
according to your commands, I forbade the meeting of any assem-
blies. After receiving this account I judged it so much the more
necessary to endeavor to extort the real truth, by putting two
female slaves to the torture, who were said to officiate in their
religious rites; but all I could discover was evidence of an absurd
and extravagant superstition. I deemed it expedient therefore
to adjourn all further proceedings, in order to consult you. For
it appears to be a matter highly deserving your consideration,
more especially as great numbers must be involved in the danger
of these prosecutions, which have already extended, and are still
likely to extend, to persons of all ranks and ages, and even of
both sexes. In fact, this contagious superstition is not confined
to the cities only, but has spread its infection among the neigh-
boring villages and country. Nevertheless, it still seems possible
to restrain its progress. The temples, at least, which were once
almost deserted, begin now to be frequented; and the sacred
rites, after a long intermission, are again revived; while there is
a general demand for the victims, which till lately found very
few purchasers. From all this it is easy to conjecture what
numbers might be reclaimed if a general pardon were granted to
those who shall repent of their error.
[The answer of the Emperor to Pliny was as follows: -]
You have adopted the right course, my dearest Secundus, in
investigating the charges against the Christians who were brought
before you.
It is not possible to lay down any general rule.
for all such cases. Do not go out of your way to look for them.
If indeed they should be brought before you, and the crime
is proved, they must be punished; with the restriction, however,
that where the party denies he is a Christian, and shall make it
evident that he is not, by invoking our gods, let him (notwith-
standing any former suspicion) be pardoned upon his repentance.
Anonymous informations ought not to be received in any sort of
prosecution. It is introducing a very dangerous precedent, and
is quite foreign to the spirit of our age.


## p. 11601 (#215) ##########################################

11601
PLUTARCH
(ABOUT 50-120 A. D. )
BY EDWARD BULL CLAPP
TUDY your Plutarch, and paint," said the great French classi-
cist to his pupil. The advice was sound; for though the
unequaled literature of Greece boasts of many names more
illustrious than Plutarch's for original genius and power, yet the
world in general has drawn from him, more than from any other
source, its conception of the heroic men of Greece and Rome.
"He
was one of Plutarch's men," is the eulogy often spoken over the
grave of some statesman or general whose rugged grandeur of char-
acter seems to harmonize with the splendid portraits drawn for us
by the old Greek biographer. And so, although this author does not
occupy the very highest place either as philosopher or historian, yet
there are few ancient writers who are more interesting or important
than he.
We know but little of his life. He was born about half a century
after the beginning of our era, at Chæronea in Boeotia; a portion
of Hellas popularly credited with intellectual dullness, though the
names of Pindar and Epaminondas go far to vindicate its fame. He
seems to have spent some time at Rome, and in other parts of Italy;
but he returned to Greece in his later years, closing his life about
the year 120. He thus lived under the Roman emperors from Nero
to Trajan, and was contemporary with Tacitus and the Plinys. It
is remarkable, however, that he does not quote from any of the great
Romans of his time; nor do they, in turn, make any mention of him.
Greece had at this time long since lost her political independence.
Even in literature her creative genius had spent itself, and in its
place had come the period of elegant finish and laborious scholar-
ship. Alexandria, which had supplanted Athens as the intellectual
centre of the world, was now herself beginning to yield precedence
to all-conquering Rome. Theocritus, the last Greek poet of the
highest rank, had died nearly three centuries before, while Lucian,
the gifted reviver of Attic prose, was yet to come. The only other
Greek writer of this period whose works have been widely popular
was the Hebrew Josephus, who was a few years older than Plutarch.
Born of a wealthy and respected family, and living the peaceful
and happy life of the scholar and writer, Plutarch was the faithful
XX-726


## p. 11602 (#216) ##########################################

11602
PLUTARCH
exponent of the literary tendencies in his time. His knowledge of
Greek literature was apparently boundless; and his writings are en-
riched by numerous quotations, many of which are from works which
are lost to us, so that these remnants are of the greatest value. In
all that he wrote we see the evidence of a mind well stocked with
the varied learning of his day, interested and curious about a great
variety of problems, fond of moral and philosophical reflections, but
not the originator of new views, nor even the advocate of any dis-
tinct system in philosophy. We admire his sweetness and purity of
character, his culture of mind and heart, and his wide knowledge
of men and life, rather than the depth of his thought or the soaring
height of his genius.
The writings of Plutarch fall naturally into two classes: the
historical and the ethical. The chief work in the first class is the
'Parallel Lives,' consisting of forty-six biographies arranged in pairs,
the life of a Greek being followed in each case by the life of a
Roman. Nineteen of these double biographies are accompanied in
our text by comparisons of the two characters depicted, though these
are probably spurious, and not the work of Plutarch. In this juxta-
position of the great men of the conquered and the conquering race
we recognize the patriotic pride of the Greek biographer. Living at
a time when his country was in servitude to Rome, he delighted in
showing that Greece too, in her palmy days, had produced warriors
and statesmen who were worthy to stand in company with the men
who had made Rome the mistress of the world. In the selection
of his pairs Plutarch was guided, to some extent at least, by a real
or fancied resemblance in the public careers of his heroes. Thus
he groups together Theseus and Romulus as legendary founders of
States, Lycurgus and Numa Pompilius as mythical legislators, Demos-
thenes and Cicero as orators and statesmen. But in many cases, it
must be confessed, the resemblance is slight or entirely wanting.
As a writer of biography the world has scarcely seen the superior
of Plutarch. To be sure, his methods of historical research were
not severely critical, and modern scholars are forced to use his state-
ments with some degree of caution. But it is biography that he
means to write, and not history; and his clear conception of the dif-
ference in spirit between the two forms of composition has done much
to give his 'Lives' their boundless popularity. His purpose was to
portray character rather than narrate events. For this purpose the
many personal touches which he introduces, the anecdotes which he
repeats without too close a scrutiny, are of more value than many
pages of meaningless events, however accurately told. He distinctly
states in his life of Nicias that he will pass over much that is told
by Thucydides, while he endeavors to "gather and propound things
not commonly marked and known, which will serve, I doubt not, to


## p. 11603 (#217) ##########################################

PLUTARCH
11603
decipher the man and his nature. " None of Plutarch's anecdotes
are empty or pointless. They always help to light up the character
which he is describing, and many of them are treasures which we
could ill afford to spare.
But besides these bits of personal character, Plutarch abounds in
grand historical pictures of a sober eloquence, which touches us all
the more because of the severe self-restraint which the writer never
lays aside. He never strives for pathos or dramatic effect; and when
he thrills his reader it is the result of a passionate earnestness, like
that of Thucydides, which cannot be concealed.
In the light of what has been said, it is easy to understand why
the 'Lives' has been perhaps the most widely beloved among all the
literary treasures of Greece. Statesmen and generals, poets and phi-
losophers, alike have expressed their admiration for this book, and the
traces of its influence are to be found everywhere in modern liter-
ature.
The English translation by Sir Thomas North, published in 1579,
though it was not made from the original Greek, but from the great
French version of Amyot, and though it abounds in errors, is yet a
work of the utmost importance, both as a specimen of vigorous and
racy English, and because it is the channel through which Plutarch
became known to the writers of the Elizabethan age, and especially
to Shakespeare. Shakespeare knew no Greek, and his acquaintance
with Plutarch, and through him with the spirit of ancient life, must
be due chiefly to Sir Thomas North. Three of his greatest plays,
'Coriolanus,' 'Julius Cæsar,' and 'Antony and Cleopatra,' are based
on the 'Lives' to such an extent that it is not too much to say
that they would not have been written had not Shakespeare made the
acquaintance of the old Greek biographer. This is especially true of
Julius Cæsar,' in which not merely are the incidents due to Plutarch,
but even much of the language is suggested by Sir Thomas North.
Many other English writers have given us pictures of ancient life,
whose inspiration is plainly drawn from the same abundant source.
As hinted above, Plutarch is not a critical historian according
to modern standards. He does not reach even the plane of histori-
cal accuracy attained by Thucydides or Polybius. But he evidently
consulted the best authorities accessible to him, and used them with
conscientious diligence. We must admit that numerous errors and
contradictions in details have been found in his biographies; and in
particular, his comprehension of Roman politics seems not always to
be clear. But in the portrayal of character he is always effective and
usually correct. Only in his attack upon Herodotus (in the 'Moralia')
for partiality in favor of Athens, he is influenced by his Boeotian
patriotism to do injustice to his great predecessor. (The authenticity
of this tract is much disputed. )


## p. 11604 (#218) ##########################################

11604
PLUTARCH
Of Plutarch's 'Moralia,' or moral essays, we must speak more
briefly. This vast collection, of more than sixty treatises upon a
great variety of subjects, has not received of late the attention
which it deserves. The subjects treated are ethical, literary, and
historical; and they are illustrated with a wealth of anecdote and
quotation unequaled even in the 'Lives. In these charming essays
the Greek author appears as the serene scholar, the experienced and
philosophic observer, throwing light on each subject he touches, and
delighting the reader with wise reflection and with quaint and un-
usual learning. Among the most interesting portions of the 'Morals,'
are the essays on the Late Vengeance of the Deity, the Education
of Children, the Right Way of Hearing Poetry, on Superstition, and
the so-called Consolation to Apollonius (on the death of his son).
But Plutarch treats also of more obscure and recondite subjects, such
as the Dæmon of Socrates, the Cessation of Oracles, Isis and Osiris,
and others. Indeed, it would be necessary to quote the whole list of
titles of the essays in order to give an adequate conception of their
diversity of subject, and the wide scope of knowledge which they
display. No ancient writer shows so complete a command of Greek
literature and history, combined with so rich a fund of information
bearing upon religion, philosophy, and social life. The style of these
essays is scarcely less admirable than their matter; for while some-
times rugged and involved, it is never marred by affectation or strain-
ing for effect.
It is inevitable to compare Plutarch, in the 'Morals,' with Seneca,
who was only fifty years his senior; but the Greek appears to the
better advantage in the comparison. While Seneca is often prosy and
tiresome, Plutarch is always genial and sympathetic; and his genu-
ine nobility of sentiment and moral feeling is far more attractive
than the somewhat formal sermonizing of the Roman Stoic. Nor can
we forget that Seneca was the supple minister of one of the worst of
the Roman emperors, while Plutarch's life is free from the smallest
taint of insincerity.
In many aspects Plutarch suggests Montaigne, who was one of his
most sympathetic readers. The witty Frenchman was perhaps his
superior in originality and point; but Plutarch far excels his modern.
admirer in elevation of thought and purity of tone. Yet no one has
praised Plutarch more worthily, or more sincerely, than Montaigne.
“We dunces had been lost," he says, "had not this book raised us
out of the dust. By this favor of his we dare now speak and write.
'Tis our breviary. ”
Елижан Виль сварр


## p. 11605 (#219) ##########################################

PLUTARCH
11605
PERICLES
From the Lives of Illustrious Men. Reprinted with the approval of Little,
Brown & Co. , publishers
P
ERICLES was of the tribe Acamantis and the township of
Cholargus, of the noblest birth both on his father's and
mother's side. Xanthippus, his father, who defeated the
King of Persia's generals in the battle at Mycale, took to wife
Agariste, the grandchild of Clisthenes,-who drove out the sons
of Pisistratus and nobly put an end to their tyrannical usurpa-
tion, and moreover, made a body of laws and settled a model of
government admirably tempered and suited for the harmony and
safety of the people.
His mother, being near her time, fancied in a dream that she
was brought to bed of a lion; and a few days after was deliv-
ered of Pericles, in other respects perfectly formed, only his head
was somewhat longish and out of proportion. For which reason
almost all the images and statues that were made of him have
the head covered with a helmet, the workmen apparently being
willing not to expose him. The poets of Athens called him
Schinocephalos, or squill-head, from schinos, a squill or sea-onion.
The master that taught him music, most authors are agreed,
was Damon (whose name, they say, ought to be pronounced
with the first syllable short). Though Aristotle tells us that he
was thoroughly practiced in all accomplishments of this kind by
Pythoclides, Damon, it is not unlikely, being a sophist, out of
policy sheltered himself under the profession of music to conceal
from people in general his skill in other things; and under this
pretense attended Pericles, the young athlete of politics, so to
say, as his training-master in these exercises. Damon's lyre,
however, did not prove altogether a successful blind; he was
banished the country by ostracism for ten years, as a dangerous
intermeddler and a favorer of arbitrary power; and by this means
gave the stage occasion to play upon him. As, for instance,
Plato the comic poet introduces a character, who questions him:
"Tell me, if you please,
Since you're the Chiron who taught Pericles. »
Pericles also was a hearer of Zeno the Eleatic, who treated
of natural philosophy in the same manner Parmenides did, but


## p. 11606 (#220) ##########################################

11606
PLUTARCH
had also perfected himself in an art of his own for refuting and
silencing opponents in argument; as Timon of Phlius describes
it,-
"Also the two-edged tongue of mighty Zeno, who,
Say what one would, could argue it untrue. "
But he that saw most of Pericles, and furnished him most
especially with a weight and grandeur of intellect superior to
all arts of popularity, and in general gave him his elevation
and sublimity of purpose and of character, was Anaxagoras of
Clazomenæ, whom the men of those times called by the name
of Nous, that is, mind or intelligence; - whether in admiration
of the great and extraordinary gift he displayed for the science of
nature, or because he was the first of the philosophers who did
not refer the first ordering of the world to fortune or chance,
nor to necessity or compulsion, but to a pure, unadulterated in-
telligence, which in all other existing mixed and compound things
acts as a principle of discrimination, and of combination of like
with like.
-
For this man, Pericles entertained an extraordinary esteem and
admiration; and filling himself with this lofty and-as they call
it-up-in-the-air sort of thought, derived hence not merely, as
was natural, elevation of purpose and dignity of language, raised
far above the base and dishonest buffooneries of mob eloquence,
but besides this, a composure of countenance and a serenity and
calmness in all his movements, which no occurrence whilst he
was speaking could disturb; with a sustained and even tone of
voice, and various other advantages of a similar kind, which pro-
duced the greatest effect on his hearers. Once, after being reviled
and ill-spoken of all day long in his own hearing by some vile
and abandoned fellow in the open market-place, where he was
engaged in the dispatch of some urgent affair, he continued his
business in perfect silence, and in the evening returned home.
composedly, the man still dogging him at the heels, and pelting.
him all the way with abuse and foul language; and stepping into
his house, it being by this time dark, he ordered one of his serv
ants to take a light and go along with the man and see him
safe home. Ion, it is true, the dramatic poet, says that Pericles's
manner in company was somewhat over-assuming and pomp-
ous; and that into his high bearing there entered a good deal of
slightingness and scorn of others; he reserves his commendation


## p. 11607 (#221) ##########################################

PLUTARCH
11607
for Cimon's ease and pliancy and natural grace in society. Ion,
however, who must needs make virtue, like a show of tragedies,
include some comic scenes, we shall not altogether rely upon:
Zeno used to bid those who called Pericles's gravity the affecta-
tion of a charlatan, to go and affect the like themselves; inas-
much as this mere counterfeiting might in time insensibly instill
into them a real love and knowledge of those noble qualities.
Nor were these the only advantages which Pericles derived.
from Anaxagoras's acquaintance; he seems also to have become,
by his instructions, superior to that superstition with which an
ignorant wonder at appearances in the heavens, for example, pos-
sesses the minds of people unacquainted with their causes, eager
for the supernatural, and excitable through an inexperience which
the knowledge of natural causes removes, replacing wild and
timid superstition by the good hope and assurance of an intelli-
gent piety.
Pericles, while yet but a young man, stood in considerable
apprehension of the people, as he was thought in face and figure
to be very like the tyrant Pisistratus; and those of great age
remarked upon the sweetness of his voice, and his volubility and
great rapidity in speaking, and were struck with amazement at
the resemblance. Reflecting, too, that he had a considerable
estate, and was descended of a noble family, and had friends of
great influence, he was fearful all this might bring him to be
banished as a dangerous person; and for this reason meddled
not at all with State affairs, but in military service showed him-
self of a brave and intrepid nature. But when Aristides was
now dead, and Themistocles driven out, and Cimon was for the
most part kept abroad by the expeditions he made in parts out
of Greece, Pericles seeing things in this posture, now advanced
and took sides not with the rich and few, but with the many
and poor; contrary to his natural bent, which was far from demo-
cratical, but most likely fearing he might fall under suspicion
of aiming at arbitrary power, and seeing Cimon on the side of
the aristocracy, and much beloved by the better and more distin-
guished people, he joined the part of the people, with a view at
once both to secure himself and procure means against Cimon.
He immediately entered also on quite a new course of life
and management of his time. For he was never seen to walk
in any street but that which led to the market-place and the
council hall: and he avoided invitations of friends to supper, and


## p. 11608 (#222) ##########################################

11608
PLUTARCH
all friendly visiting and intercourse whatever; in all the time he
had to do with the public, which was not a little, he was never
known to have gone to any of his friends to a supper, except
that once when his near kinsman Euryptolemus married, he
remained present till the ceremony of the drink-offering, and then
immediately rose from the table and went his way. For these
friendly meetings are very quick to defeat any assumed superior-
ity, and in intimate familiarity an exterior of gravity is hard to
maintain.
A saying also of Thucydides the son of Melesias stands on
record, spoken by him by way of pleasantry upon Pericles's dex-
terity. Thucydides was one of the noble and distinguished citi-
zens, and had been his greatest opponent; and when Archidamus,
the King of the Lacedæmonians, asked him whether he or Peri-
cles were the better wrestler, he made this answer: "When I,"
said he, "have thrown him and given him a fair fall, by persist-
ing that he had no fall he gets the better of me, and makes the
bystanders, in spite of their own eyes, believe him. " The truth
however is, that Pericles himself was very careful what and how
he was to speak; insomuch that whenever he went up to the
hustings, he prayed the gods that no one word might unawares
slip from him unsuitable to the matter and the occasion.
That which gave most pleasure and ornament to the city of
Athens, and the greatest admiration and even astonishment to all
strangers, and that which now is Greece's only evidence that the
power she boasts of and her ancient wealth are no romance or
idle story, was his construction of the public and sacred buildings.
Yet this was that of all his actions in the government which his
enemies most looked askance upon, and caviled at in the popular
assemblies: crying out how that the commonwealth of Athens had
lost its reputation, and was ill spoken of abroad for removing the
common treasure of the Greeks from the isle of Delos into their
own custody; and how that their fairest excuse for so doing,—
namely, that they took it away for fear the barbarians should
seize it, and on purpose to secure it in a safe place,—this Peri-
cles had made unavailable; and how that Greece cannot but
resent it as an insufferable affront, and consider herself to be
tyrannized over openly, when she sees the treasure which was
contributed by her upon a necessity for the war, wantonly lav-
ished out by us upon our city, to gild her all over, and to adorn
and set her forth, as it were some vain woman, hung round with
·


## p. 11609 (#223) ##########################################

PLUTARCH
11609
precious stones and figures and temples which cost a world of
money. »
Pericles, on the other hand, informed the people that they
were in no way obliged to give any account of those moneys to
their allies, so long as they maintained their defense, and kept
off the barbarians from attacking them: while in the mean time.
they did not so much as supply one horse or man or ship, but
only found money for the service; "which money," said he, “is
not theirs that give it, but theirs that receive it, if so be they
perform the conditions upon which they receive it. " And that it
was good reason that now the city was sufficiently provided and
stored with all things necessary for the war, they should con-
vert the overplus of its wealth to such undertakings as would
hereafter, when completed, give them eternal honor, and for the
present, while in process, freely supply all the inhabitants with
plenty. With their variety of workmanship, and of occasions for
service, which summon all arts and trades and require all hands
to be employed about them, they do actually put the whole city,
in a manner, into State pay; while at the same time she is both
beautified and maintained by herself. For as those who are of
age and strength for war are provided for and maintained in the
armaments abroad by their pay out of the public stock, so, it
being his desire and design that the undisciplined mechanic mul-
titude that stayed at home should not go without their share of
public salaries, and yet should not have them given them for
sitting still and doing nothing, to the end he thought fit to bring
in among them, with the approbation of the people, these vast
projects of buildings and designs of works, that would be of
some continuance before they were finished, and would give
employment to numerous arts, so that the part of the people
that stayed at home might, no less than those that were at sea
or in garrisons or on expeditions, have a fair and just occasion
of receiving the benefit and having their share of the public
moneys.
The materials were stone, brass, ivory, gold, ebony, cypress-
wood; and the arts or trades that wrought and fashioned them
were smiths and carpenters, molders, founders and braziers,
stone-cutters, dyers, goldsmiths, ivory-workers, painters, embroi-
derers, turners; those again that conveyed them to the town for
use were merchants and mariners and shipmasters by sea, and
by land, cartwrights, cattle-breeders, wagoners, rope-makers, flax-


## p. 11610 (#224) ##########################################

11610
PLUTARCH
workers, shoemakers and leather-dressers, road-makers, miners.
And every trade in the same nature, as a captain in an army
has his particular company of soldiers under him, had its own
hired company of journeymen and laborers belonging to it,
banded together as in array, to be as it were the instrument and
body for the performance of the service. Thus, to say all in a
word, the occasions and services of these public works distributed
plenty through every age and condition.
As then grew the works up, no less stately in size than exqui-
site in form, the workmen striving to outvie the material and
the design with the beauty of their workmanship, yet the most
wonderful thing of all was the rapidity of their execution. Un-
dertakings, any one of which singly might have required, they
thought, for their completion, several successions and ages of
men, were every one of them accomplished in the height and
prime of one man's political service. Although they say too that
Zeuxis once, having heard Agatharchus the painter boast of hav-
ing dispatched his work with speed and ease, replied, “I take
a long time. " For ease and speed in doing a thing do not give
the work lasting solidity or exactness of beauty; the expenditure
of time allowed to a man's pains beforehand for the production
of a thing is repaid, by way of interest, with a vital force for
its preservation when once produced. For which reason Pericles's
works are especially admired, as having been made quickly yet
to last long. For every particular piece of his work was imme-
diately, even at that time, for its beauty and elegance, antique;
and yet in its vigor and freshness looks to this day as if it were
just executed. There is a sort of bloom of newness upon those
works of his, preserving them from the touch of time, as if they
had some perennial spirit and undying vitality mingled in the
composition of them.
The Lacedæmonians beginning to show themselves troubled
at the growth of the Athenian power, Pericles, on the other
hand, to elevate the people's spirit yet more, and to raise them
to the thought of great actions, proposed a decree, to summon
all the Greeks in what part soever, whether of Europe or Asia,
every city, little as well as great, to send their deputies to
Athens to a general assembly or convention, there to consult
and advise concerning the Greek temples which the barbarians
had burnt down, and the sacrifices which were due from them
upon vows they had made to their gods for the safety of Greece


## p. 11611 (#225) ##########################################

PLUTARCH
11611
when they fought against the barbarians; and also concerning
the navigation of the sea, that they might henceforward all of
them pass to and fro and trade securely, and be at peace among
themselves.
Nothing was effected, nor did the cities meet by their depu-
ties, as was desired; the Lacedæmonians, as it is said, crossing
the design underhand, and the attempt being disappointed and
baffled first in Peloponnesus. I thought fit, however, to intro-
duce the mention of it, to show the spirit of the man and the
greatness of his thoughts.
After this, having made a truce between the Athenians and
Lacedæmonians for thirty years, he ordered by public decree the
expedition against the isle of Samos, on the ground that when
the Samians were bid to leave off their war with the Milesians,
they had not complied. And as these measures against them
are thought to have been taken to please Aspasia, this may be
a fit point for inquiry about the woman: what art or faculty of
charming she had that enabled her to captivate, as she did, the
greatest of statesmen, and to give the philosophers occasion to
speak so much about her, and that too not to her disparagement.
That she was a Milesian by birth, the daughter of Axiochus,
is a thing acknowledged. And they say it was in emulation of
Thargelia, a courtesan of the old Ionian times, that she made.
her addresses to men of great power. Thargelia was a great
beauty, extremely charming, and at the same time sagacious:
she had numerous suitors among the Greeks and brought all
who had to do with her over to the Persian interest; and by
their means, being men of the greatest power and station, sowed
the seeds of the Median faction up and down in several cities.
Some say that Aspasia was courted and caressed by Pericles on
account of her knowledge and skill in politics. Socrates himself
would sometimes go to visit her, and some of his acquaintance
with him; and those who frequented her company would carry
their wives with them to listen to her. Her occupation was any-
thing but creditable, her house being a home for young cour-
tesans. Æschines tells us also that Lysicles, a sheep-dealer, a
man of low birth and character, by keeping Aspasia company
after Pericles's death came to be chief man in Athens. And
in Plato's 'Menexenus,' though we do not take the introduction
as quite serious, still thus much seems to be historical: that she
had the repute of being resorted to by many of the Athenians for


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instruction in the art of speaking. Pericles's inclination for her
seems, however, to have rather proceeded from the passion of
love. He had a wife that was near of kin to him, who had been
married first to Hipponicus, by whom she had Callias, surnamed
the Rich; and also she bore to Pericles, while she lived with
him, two sons, Xanthippus and Paralus. Afterwards, when they
did not well agree nor like to live together, he parted with her,
with her own consent, to another man, and himself took Aspasia
and loved her with wonderful affection: every day, both as he
went out and as he came in from the market-place, he saluted
and kissed her.
Phidias the sculptor had, as has before been said, undertaken
to make the statute of Minerva. Now he, being admitted to
friendship with Pericles, and a great favorite of his, had many
enemies upon this account, who envied and maligned him; who
also, to make trial in a case of his what kind of judges the com-
mons would prove, should there be occasion to bring Pericles him-
self before them,- having tampered with Menon, one who had
been a workman with Phidias, stationed him in the market-place,
with a petition desiring public security upon his discovery and
impeachment of Phidias. The people admitting the man to tell
his story, and the prosecution proceeding in the assembly, there
was nothing of theft or cheat proved against him; for Phidias
from the very first beginning, by the advice of Pericles, had so
wrought and wrapt the gold that was used in the work about the
statue, that they might take it all off and make out the just
weight of it, which Pericles at that time bade the accusers do.
But the reputation of his works was what brought envy upon
Phidias; especially, that where he represents the flight of the
Amazons upon the goddess's shield, he had introduced a likeness.
of himself as a bald old man holding up a great stone with
both hands, and had put in a very fine representation of Pericles
fighting with an Amazon. And the position of the hand, which
holds out the spear in front of the face, was ingeniously con-
trived to conceal in some degree the likeness, which meantime
showed itself on either side.
Phidias then was carried away to prison, and there died of a
disease; but as some say, of poison administered by the enemies
of Pericles, to raise a slander, or a suspicion at least, as though
he had procured it. The informer Menon, upon Glycon's pro-
posal, the people made free from payment of taxes and customs,


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11613
and ordered the generals to take care that nobody should do him
any hurt. About the same time, Aspasia was indicted of impiety,
upon the complaint of Hermippus the comedian; who also laid
further to her charge that she received into her house freeborn
women for the uses of Pericles. And Diophites proposed a
decree, that public accusations should be laid against persons who
neglected religion, or taught new doctrines about things above;
directing suspicion, by means of Anaxagoras, against Pericles
himself. The people receiving and admitting these accusations
and complaints, at length by this means they came to enact a
decree, at the motion of Dracontides, that Pericles should bring
in the accounts of the moneys he had expended, and lodge them
with the Prytanes; and that the judges, carrying their suffrage
from the altar in the Acropolis, should examine and determine
the business in the city. This last clause Hagnon took out of
the decree, and moved that the causes should be tried before
fifteen hundred jurors, whether they should be styled prosecutions
for robbery, or bribery, or any kind of malversation. Pericles
begged off Aspasia; shedding, as Æschines says, many tears at
the trial, and personally entreating the jurors. But fearing how
it might go with Anaxagoras, he sent him out of the city. And
finding that in Phidias's case he had miscarried with the people,
being afraid of impeachment, he kindled the war, which hitherto
had lingered and smothered, and blew it up into a flame; hoping
by that means to disperse and scatter these complaints and
charges, and to allay their jealousy; the city usually throwing
herself upon him alone, and trusting to his sole conduct, upon
the urgency of great affairs and public dangers, by reason of his
authority and the sway he bore.
Pericles, however, was not at all moved by any attacks, but
took all patiently, and submitted in silence to the disgrace they
threw upon him and the ill-will they bore him; and sending out
a fleet of a hundred galleys to Peloponnesus, he did not go along
with it in person, but stayed behind, that he might watch at
home and keep the city under his own control, till the Pelopon-
nesians broke up their camp and were gone. Yet to soothe the
common people, jaded and distressed with the war, he relieved
them with distributions of public moneys, and ordained new divis-
ions of subject land. For having turned out all the people of
Ægina, he parted the island among the Athenians according to
lot. Some comfort, also, and ease in their miseries, they might


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receive from what their enemies endured. For the fleet, sailing
round the Peloponnesus, ravaged a great deal of the country,
and pillaged and plundered the towns and smaller cities; and by
land he himself entered with an army the Megarian country, and
made havoc of it all. Whence it is clear that the Peloponnesians,
though they did the Athenians much mischief by land, yet suffer-
ing as much themselves from them by sea, would not have pro-
tracted the war to such a length, but would quickly have given.
it over, as Pericles at first foretold they would, had not some
divine power crossed human purposes.
In the first place, the pestilential disease or plague seized
upon the city, and ate up all the flower and prime of their youth
and strength. Upon occasion of which, the people, distempered
and afflicted in their souls as well as in their bodies, were utterly
enraged like madmen against Pericles; and like patients grown
delirious, sought to lay violent hands on their physician, or as it
were, their father. They had been possessed, by his enemies,
with the belief that the occasion of the plague was the crowd-
ing of the country people together into the town, forced as they
were now, in the heat of the summer weather, to dwell many of
them together even as they could, in small tenements and sti-
fling hovels, and to be tied to a lazy course of life within doors,
whereas before they lived in a pure, open, and free air. The
cause and author of all this, said they, is he who on account of
the war has poured a multitude of people from the country in
upon us within the walls, and uses all these many men that
he has here upon no employ or service, but keeps them pent up
like cattle, to be overrun with infection from one another, afford-
ing them neither shift of quarters nor any refreshment.
With the design to remedy these evils, and to do the enemy
some inconvenience, Pericles got a hundred and fifty galleys
ready, and having embarked many tried soldiers, both foot and
horse, was about to sail out; giving great hope to his citizens,
and no less alarm to his enemies, upon the sight of so great a
force. And now the vessels having their complement of men,
and Pericles being gone aboard his own galley, it happened
that the sun was eclipsed, and it grew dark on a sudden, to the
affright of all,- for this was looked upon as extremely ominous.
Pericles, therefore, perceiving the steersman seized with fear and
at a loss what to do, took his cloak and held it up before the
man's face, and screening him with it so that he could not see,


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11615
asked him whether he imagined there was any great hurt or the
sign of any great hurt in this; and he answering No, "Why,"
said he, "and what does that differ from this, only that what
has caused that darkness there is something greater than a
cloak? " This is a story which philosophers tell their scholars.
His domestic concerns were in an unhappy condition, many
of his friends and acquaintance having died in the plague-time,
and those of his family having long since been in disorder and
in a kind of mutiny against him.
Xanthippus died in the plague-time, of that sickness. At
which time Pericles also lost his sister, and the greatest part of
his relations and friends, and those who had been most useful
and serviceable to him in managing the affairs of State. Yet
he did not shrink or give in upon these occasions, nor betray or
lower his high spirit and the greatness of his mind under all his
misfortunes; he was not even so much as seen to weep or to
mourn, or even attend the burial of any of his friends or rela-
tions, till at last he lost his only remaining legitimate son. Sub-
dued by this blow, and yet striving still as far as he could to
maintain his principle, and to preserve and keep up the great-
ness of his soul,- when he came, however, to perform the cere-
mony of putting a garland of flowers upon the head of the
corpse, he was vanquished by his passion at the sight, so that
he burst into exclamations, and shed copious tears, having never
done any such thing in all his life before.
The city having made trial of other generals for the conduct
of war, and orators for business of State, when they found there
was no one who was of weight enough for such a charge, or
of authority sufficient to be trusted with so great a command,
regretted the loss of him, and invited him again to address and
advise them and to reassume the office of general. He, how-
ever, lay at home in dejection and mourning: but was persuaded
by Alcibiades and others of his friends to come abroad and
show himself to the people; who having, upon his appearance,
made their acknowledgments, and apologized for their untowardly
treatment of him, he undertook the public affairs once more;
and being chosen general, requested that the statute concerning
base-born children, which he himself had formerly caused to be
made, might be suspended, that so the name and race of his
family might not, for absolute want of a lawful heir to succeed,
―


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be wholly lost and extinguished. The case of the statute was
thus: Pericles, when long ago at the height of his power in the
State, having then, as has been said, children lawfully begotten,
proposed a law that those only should be reputed true citizens
of Athens who were born of parents both Athenian. After
this, the King of Egypt having sent to the people, as a present,
forty thousand bushels of wheat, which were to be shared out
among the citizens, a great many actions and suits about legiti-
macy occurred by virtue of that edict,-cases which till that
time had either not been known or not been taken notice of;
and several persons suffered by false accusations. There were
little less than five thousand who were convicted and sold for
slaves; those who, enduring the test, remained in the govern-
ment and passed muster for true Athenians, were found upon
the poll to be fourteen thousand and forty persons in number.
It looked strange that a law which had been carried so far
against so many people, should be canceled again by the same
man that made it; yet the present calamity and distress which
Pericles labored under in his family broke through all objections,
and prevailed with the Athenians to pity him, as one whose
losses and misfortunes had sufficiently punished his former arro-
gance and haughtiness. His sufferings deserved, they thought,
their pity and even indignation, and his request was such as
became a man to ask and men to grant: they gave him permis-
sion to enroll his son in the register of his fraternity, giving
him his own name. This son afterward, after having defeated
the Peloponnesians at Arginusæ, was with his fellow-generals
put to death by the people.
About the time when his son was enrolled, it should seem,
the plague seized Pericles; not with sharp and violent fits, as it
did others that had it, but with a dull and lingering distemper,
attended with various changes and alterations, leisurely by little
and little wasting the strength of his body and undermining the
noble faculties of his soul. So that Theophrastus, in his 'Morals,'
- when discussing whether men's characters change with their
circumstances, and their moral habits, disturbed by the ailings of
their bodies, start aside from the rules of virtue,- has left it on
record that Pericles, when he was sick, showed one of his friends
that came to visit him an amulet or charm that the women had
hung about his neck, as much as to say that he was very sick
indeed when he would admit of such a foolery as that was.


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11617
When he was now near his end, the best of the citizens and
those of his friends who were left alive, sitting about him, were
speaking of the greatness of his merit, and his power, and reckon-
ing up his famous actions and the number of his victories; for
there were no less than nine trophies, which as their chief com-
mander and the conqueror of their enemies he had set up for the
honor of the city. They talked thus together among themselves,
as though he were unable to understand or mind what they said,
but had now lost his consciousness.