Pliny the Younger (A.D. 62?–c.A.D.
113). Letters.
The Harvard
Classics. 1909–14. |
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| LXVI. To Cornelius
Tacitus |
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THE LETTER which, in compliance with your
request, I wrote to you concerning the death of my uncle has raised,
it seems, your curiosity to know what terrors and dangers attended
me while I continued at Misenum; for there, I think, my account
broke off:
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“Though my shock’d soul recoils, my tongue shall
tell.” | My uncle having left us, I spent
such time as was left on my studies (it was on their account indeed
that I had stopped behind), till it was time for my bath. After
which I went to supper, and then fell into a short and uneasy sleep.
There had been noticed for many days before a trembling of the
earth, which did not alarm us much, as this is quite an ordinary
occurrence in Campania; but it was so particularly violent that
night that it not only shook but actually overturned, as it would
seem, everything about us. My mother rushed into my chamber, where
she found me rising, in order to awaken her. We sat down in the open
court of the house, which occupied a small space between the
buildings and the sea. As I was at that time but eighteen years of
age, I know not whether I should call my behaviour, in this
dangerous juncture, courage or folly; but I took up Livy, and amused
myself with turning over that author, and even making extracts from
him, as if I had been perfectly at my leisure. Just then, a friend
of my uncle’s, who had lately come to him from Spain, joined us, and
observing me sitting by my mother with a book in my hand, reproved
her for her calmness, and me at the same time for my careless
security: nevertheless I went on with my author. Though it was now
morning, the light was still exceedingly faint and doubtful; the
buildings all around us tottered, and though we stood upon open
ground, yet as the place was narrow and confined, there was no
remaining without imminent danger: we therefore resolved to quit the
town. A panic-stricken crowd followed us, and (as to a mind
distracted with terror every suggestion seems more prudent than its
own) pressed on us in dense array to drive us forward as we came
out. Being at a convenient distance from the houses, we stood still,
in the midst of a most dangerous and dreadful scene. The chariots,
which we had ordered to be drawn out, were so agitated backwards and
forwards, though upon the most level ground, that we could not keep
them steady, even by supporting them with large stones. The sea
seemed to roll back upon itself, and to be driven from its banks by
the convulsive motion of the earth; it is certain at least the shore
was considerably enlarged, and several sea animals were left upon
it. On the other side, a black and dreadful cloud, broken with
rapid, zigzag flashes, revealed behind it variously shaped masses of
flame: these last were like sheet-lightning, but much larger. Upon
this our Spanish friend, whom I mentioned above, addressing himself
to my mother and me with great energy and urgency: “If your
brother,” he said, “if your uncle be safe, he certainly wishes you
may be so too; but if he perished, it was his desire, no doubt, that
you might both survive him: why therefore do you delay your escape a
moment?” We could never think of our own safety, we said, while we
were uncertain of his. Upon this our friend left us, and withdrew
from the danger with the utmost precipitation. Soon afterwards, the
cloud began to descend, and cover the sea. It had already surrounded
and concealed the island of Capreć and the promontory of Misenum. My
mother now besought, urged, even commanded me to make my escape at
any rate, which, as I was young, I might easily do; as for herself,
she said, her age and corpulency rendered all attempts of that sort
impossible; however, she would willingly meet death if she could
have the satisfaction of seeing that she was not the occasion of
mine. But I absolutely refused to leave her, and, taking her by the
hand, compelled her to go with me. She complied with great
reluctance, and not without many reproaches to herself for retarding
my flight. The ashes now began to fall upon us, though in no great
quantity. I looked back; a dense, dark mist seemed to be following
us, spreading itself over the country like a cloud. “Let us turn out
of the high-road,” I said, “while we can still see, for fear that,
should we fall in the road, we should be pressed to death in the
dark, by the crowds that are following us.” We had scarcely sat down
when night came upon us, not such as we have when the sky is cloudy,
or when there is no moon, but that of a room when it is shut up, and
all the lights put out. You might hear the shrieks of women, the
screams of children, and the shouts of men; some calling for their
children, others for their parents, others for their husbands, and
seeking to recognize each other by the voices that replied; one
lamenting his own fate, another that of his family; some wishing to
die, from the very fear of dying; some lifting their hands to the
gods; but the greater part convinced that there were now no gods at
all, and that the final endless night of which we have heard had
come upon the world. 1 Among
these there were some who augmented the real terrors by others
imaginary or wilfully invented. I remember some who declared that
one part of Misenum had fallen, that another was on fire; it was
false, but they found people to believe them. It now grew rather
lighter, which we imagined to be rather the forerunner of an
approaching burst of flames (as in truth it was) than the return of
day: however, the fire fell at a distance from us: then again we
were immersed in thick darkness, and a heavy shower of ashes rained
upon us, which we were obliged every now and then to stand up to
shake off, otherwise we should have been crushed and buried in the
heap. I might boast that, during all this scene of horror, not a
sigh, or expression of fear, escaped me, had not my support been
grounded in that miserable, though mighty, consolation, that all
mankind were involved in the same calamity, and that I was perishing
with the world itself. At last this dreadful darkness was dissipated
by degrees, like a cloud or smoke; the real day returned, and even
the sun shone out, though with a lurid light, as when an eclipse is
coming on. Every object that presented itself to our eyes (which
were extremely weakened) seemed changed, being covered deep with
ashes as if with snow. We returned to Misenum, where we refreshed
ourselves as well as we could, and passed an anxious night between
hope and fear; though, indeed, with a much larger share of the
latter: for the earthquake still continued, while many frenzied
persons ran up and down heightening their own and their friends’
calamities by terrible predictions. However, my mother and I,
notwithstanding the danger we had passed, and that which still
threatened us, had no thoughts of leaving the place, till we could
receive some news of my uncle. |
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| And now, you will read this narrative without any
view of inserting it in your history, of which it is not in the
least worthy; and, indeed, you must put it down to your own request
if it should appear not worth even the trouble of a letter.
Farewell. |
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| Note 1. The Stoic and Epicurean
philosophers held that the world was to be destroyed by fire, and
all things fall again into original chaos; not excepting even the
national gods themselves from the destruction of this general
conflagration. M. [back] |
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