In “Latin Letters” by Cecilia A E Luschnig which I have been dabbling in throughout all of summer, I stumbled across a very, very interesting letter written by Pliny (the younger one, not his uncle, Pliny the Elder, whom he writes about) to the well-known historian Cornelius Tacitus following up on one of his early letters concerning the death of his uncle at the eruption of Vesuvius near Pompei. For the curious, the letter is Epistulae VI.20.
Pliny begins the letter, fittingly where he left off his previous one:
“Ais te adductum litteris quas exigenti tibi de morte avunculi mei scripsi cupere cognoscere quos ego Miseni relictus (id enim ingressus abruperam) non solum metus verum etiam casus pertulerim. 'Quamquam animus meminisse horret, incipiam.'
You say that you have been compelled by the letters which I wrote at your bidding having left Misenum (for it was there that my letters broke off) about the death of my uncle, to desire to learn not only the terrors but also the misfortunes I endured. 'Although my mind is won't to remember, I will begin.' ”
The end quote Pliny includes is from Virgil's Aeneid II.12. This passage is a telling sign of the friendship of Tacitus and Pliny. Having previously requested only the account of Pliny's uncle's death, Tacitus again writes Pliny seeking to know what he had to endure during the chaos surrounding the eruption of Vesuvius. The historian side of Tacitus may also be showing through, as he may want doubly to know of Pliny's experience for personal as well as professional interest. What better thing to include in a history (the text of which I would so lovingly wish to consult right now!) than an eyewitness account of one of the most important natural disasters in history.
Pliny begins his story with how he survived this eruption, by choosing to spend what time he had (relinquum tempus) engaged in his studies, instead of joining his uncle (who had invited him to come along) to investigate the clouds of smoke pouring from the volcano. The time passed quickly for him and soon he was off to a short and unpleasant sleep. The reason for this, was the strong earthquake that shook the town. Pliny notes that:
“tremor terrae minus formidulosus quia Campania solitus. Illa vero invaluit ut non moveri omnia sed verti crederentur.
An earthquake was not a cause for fear in Campania, as it was a common occurrence. That earthquake though grew strong that everything was not only moved but overturned.”
His mother bursts in at this point, whereupon they move into an open area of the house away from falling objects and are frightened and unsure of what to do. Being only eighteen he is unsure of how to look back at his behavior. He says that in his frightened state he took up a book of Livy and read from it as he did in his leisure time, and even jotted notes from it. A friend of his uncle appears and they decide to leave the town for fear of being crushed by the tottering buildings (quassatis circumiacentibus tectis) surrounding them.
They arrive to the chariots they had ordered to be drawn up for them, but are amazed to see them rocking back and forth violently even though they are on level ground. Then the group catches sight of something even more ominous:
“Praeterea mare in se resorberi et tremore terrae quasi repelli videbamus. Certe processerat litus multaque animalia maris siccis harenis detinebat. Ab altero latere nubes atra et horrenda ignei spiritus tortis vibratisque discursibus rupta in longas flammarum figuras dehiscebat: fulguribus illae et similes et maiores erant.
Meanwhile we saw the sea seem to swallow itself, as if were being moved by the earthquake. Certainly the shore had advanced and held many sea-animals on its dry sands. On the other side, a black cloud bristling with twisted suffocating flame and broken by agitated lightning was gaping among the many figures of flames: these were similar to sheet lightning but greater.”
They debate about whether to leave with the safety of Pliny's uncle being uncertain, but are eventually urge on to go as they flee the rushing black cloud of ash behind them. They make it off the main road to avoid being crushed by the mob as the cloud overtakes them in darkness. Pliny's description of this is stunning:
“Vix consideramus, et nox, non qualis inlunis aut nubila, sed qualis in locis clausis lumine extincto.
We had hardly decided this when night appeared, not the moonless and cloudly kind, but the kind like being in an enclosed space with the lights cut off.”
In this blanket of darkness they hear the screams of women and children, the shouting of men, the voices of families calling to one another and searching for their children. The sound of people praying for death can also be heard in the darkness. Panic quickly spreads with false tales springing up and portents of the end of the world seemingly being fulfilled. Pliny (in a fit of ego-grooming) says his only solace was that he never called out in fear since he felt he was perishing with all the world. The smoke lightens up and all fear that fire is approaching, which is what was happening in truth, but the fire lands far off in the distance. At last the sun begins to shine through as Pliny says:
“sol etiam effulsit, luridus tamen, qualis esse, cum deficit, solet.
the Sun also shined through, although murkily, as it is accustomed to do during an eclipse.”
He and his mother return to Misenum and weather out the remaining earthquakes to await news of his uncle. He ends the letter telling Tacitus that the account is unfit for something as glorious as his histories and that he will understand if Tacitus deems the letter unfit to respond to.
A strangely humble ending to such a landmark letter, and it is unclear if Tacitus did respond to the letter. The true moving experience of this letter though is not valuing in literary worth, but understanding the emotions and experiences of a man who survived the eruption of Vesuvius. It is simply awe-inspiring that any such account exists.
No comments:
Post a Comment