Pliny 6.20: A Prosaic Analysis

Two weeks ago, we read the first letter of Pliny the Younger's two-part series detailing his first-hand (and, at times, second-hand) account of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. This first letter functioned one part as history, attempting to crystallize the image of Pompeii's eruption to an audience who had not been present, and another part as a memorialization of the heroism of Pliny the Younger's uncle, Pliny the Elder. Having literally ran into the fire to save and comfort wide swaths of a terrified population, Pliny the Elder reads as a strong, rational, and courageous man whom Pliny the Younger and the people of Pompeii were sure to miss greatly. Indeed, it is Pliny the Younger's mission to cement his uncle's legacy into history -- that is, after all, why he wrote the first letter. Yet this second letter, which we are about to read together, has a different protagonist (hint: same name, different age). If you guessed Pliny the Younger, you'd be correct. Pliny's second letter details his own experience, having chosen not to accompany his uncle. In a (likely false) display of humility, Pliny the Younger asserts that his story isn't worthy of the same memorialization as his uncle's. I'll let you be the judge of that. As always, after reading through the original Latin, attempting your own translation, and reading mine (which is a fairly literal interpretation), investigate similarities and differences between your translation and mine, and leave any comments you have down below. Without further ado, I'll let Pliny the Younger once again take it from here.

The Original Latin

C. Plīnius Tacitō suō s. Ais tē adductum litterīs quās exigentī tibi dē morte avunculī meī scrīpsī, cupere cognōscere, quōs ego Mīsēnī relictus—id enim ingressus abrūperam— nōn sōlum metūs vērum etiam cāsūs pertulerim. ‘Quamquam animus meminisse horret, ... incipiam.’ 2. Profectō avunculō ipse reliquum tempus studiīs—ideō enim remānseram— impendī; mox balineum cēna somnus inquiētus et brevis. 3. Praecesserat per multōs diēs tremor terrae, minus formīdolōsus quia Campāniae solitus; illā vērō nocte ita invaluit, ut nōn movērī omnia sed vertī crēderentur.

4. Irrūpit cubiculum meum māter; surgēbam invicem, sī quiēsceret excitātūrus. Resēdimus in āreā domūs, quae mare ā tēctīs modicō spatiō dīvidēbat. 5. Dubitō cōnstantiam vocāre an imprūdentiam dēbeam—agēbam enim duodevīcēnsimum annum—poscō librum Titī Līvī, et quasi per ōtium legō atque etiam ut coeperam excerpō. Ecce amīcus avunculī quī nūper ad eum ex Hispāniā vēnerat, ut mē et mātrem sedentēs, mē vērō etiam legentem videt, illīus patientiam sēcūritātem meam corripit. Nihilō sēgnius ego intentus in librum.

6. Iam hōrā diēī prīmā, et adhūc dubius et quasi languidus diēs. Iam quassātīs circumiacentibus tēctīs, quamquam in apertō locō, angustō tamen, magnus et certus ruīnae metus. 7. Tum dēmum excēdere oppidō vīsum; sequitur vulgus attonitum, quodque in pavōre simile prūdentiae, aliēnum cōnsilium suō praefert, ingentīque agmine abeuntēs premit et impellit. 8. Ēgressī tēcta cōnsistimus. Multa ibi mīranda, multās formīdinēs patimur. Nam vehicula quae prōdūcī iusserāmus, quamquam in plānissimō campō, in contrāriās partēs agēbantur, ac nē lapidibus quidem fulta in eōdem vestīgiō quiēscēbant.

9. Praetereā mare in sē resorbērī et tremōre terrae quasi repellī vidēbāmus. Certē prōcesserat lītus, multaque animālia maris siccīs harēnīs dētinēbat. Ab alterō latere nūbēs ātra et horrenda, igneī spīritūs tortīs vibrātīsque discursibus rupta, in longās flammārum figūrās dehīscēbat; fulguribus illae et similēs et maiōrēs erant. 10. Tum vērō īdem ille ex Hispāniā amīcus ācrius et īnstantius ‘Sī frāter’ inquit ‘tuus, tuus avunculus vīvit, vult esse vōs salvōs; sī periit, superstitēs voluit. Proinde quid cessātīs ēvādere?’ Respondimus nōn commissūrōs nōs ut dē salūte illīus incertī nostrae cōnsulerēmus.

11. Nōn morātus ultrā prōripit sē effūsōque cursū perīculō aufertur. Nec multō post illa nūbēs dēscendere in terrās, operīre maria; cīnxerat Capreās et absconderat, Mīsēnī quod prōcurrit abstulerat. 12. Tum māter ōrāre hortārī iubēre, quōquō modō fugerem; posse enim iuvenem, sē et annīs et corpore gravem bene moritūram, sī mihi causa mortis nōn fuisset. Ego contrā salvum mē nisi ūnā nōn futūrum; dein manum eius amplexus addere gradum cōgō. Pāret aegrē incūsatque sē, quod mē morētur. 13. Iam cinis, adhūc tamen rārus. Respiciō: dēnsa cālīgō tergīs imminēbat, quae nōs torrentis modō īnfūsa terrae sequēbātur. ‘Dēflectāmus,’ inquam ‘dum vidēmus, nē in viā strātī comitantium turbā in tenebrīs obterāmur.’

14. Vix cōnsīderāmus, et nox—nōn quālis illūnis aut nūbila, sed quālis in locīs clausīs lūmine exstīnctō. Audīrēs ululātūs fēminārum, infantum quirītātūs, clāmōrēs virōrum; aliī parentēs aliī līberōs aliī coniugēs vōcibus requīrēbant, vōcibus nōscitābant; hī suum cāsum, illī suōrum miserābantur; erant quī metū mortis mortem precārentur; 15. multī ad deōs manūs tollere, plūrēs nusquam iam deōs ūllōs aeternamque illam et novissimam noctem mundō interpretābantur. Nec dēfuērunt quī fictīs mentītīsque terrōribus vēra perīcula augērent. Aderant quī Mīsēnī illud ruisse illud ārdēre falsō sed crēdentibus nūntiābant.

16. Paulum relūxit, quod nōn diēs nōbīs, sed adventantis ignis indicium vidēbātur. Et ignis quidem longius substitit; tenebrae rūrsus cinis rūrsus, multus et gravis. Hunc identidem assurgentēs excutiēbāmus; opertī aliōquī atque etiam oblīsī pondere essēmus. 17. Possem glōriārī nōn gemitum mihi, nōn vōcem parum fortem in tantīs perīculīs excidisse, nisi mē cum omnibus, omnia mēcum perīre—miserō, magnō tamen mortālitātis sōlāciō— crēdidissem. 18. Tandem illa cālīgo tenuāta quasi in fūmum nebulamve discessit; mox diēs vērus; sōl etiam effulsit, lūridus tamen quālis esse cum dēficit solet. Occursābant trepidantibus adhūc oculīs mūtāta omnia altōque cinere tamquam nive obducta.

19. Regressī Mīsēnum cūrātis utcumque corporibus suspēnsam dubiamque noctem spē ac metū exēgimus. Metus praevalēbat; nam et tremor terrae persevērābat, et plērīque lymphātī terrificīs vāticinātiōnibus et sua et aliēna mala lūdificābantur. 20. Nōbīs tamen nē tunc quidem, quamquam et expertīs perīculum et exspectantibus, abeundī cōnsilium, dōnec dē avunculō nūntius. Haec nēquāquam historiā digna nōn scrīptūrus legēs et tibi scīlicet quī requīsīstī imputābis, sī digna nē epistulā quidem vidēbuntur. Valē.

An English Translation

*Translated by yours truly

You say that you, drawn by the letter which I wrote for you, urging me about the death of my uncle, desire to know what not only fears but also misfortunes I endured, left behind at Misenum, for I had broken off having begun it. ‘Although the mind shudders to recall, I shall begin.' With my uncle having left, I myself spent the remaining time with studies—for this reason, I’d stayed behind. Soon bath, dinner, restless, and brief sleep. Trembling of the earth had preceded for many days, less formidable because it is customary in Campania; on that night, in truth, it grew strong in such a way that all things were believed not to be moved but to be overturned.

My mother burst into the bedroom; I was getting up in turn, intending to wake her if she were resting. We sat down in the courtyard of the home, which was separated from the sea by a moderate space between the roofs. I doubt whether I ought to call it constancy or imprudence, for I was turning 18. I demanded the book of Titus Livius, both as if I read at leisure and also as I am excerpting, I had begun. Behold my uncle’s friend who had recently come to him from Hispania; as he sees me and my mother sitting, also me in fact writing, the patience of his mother and my carelessness he scolds. No less actively, I was focused on the book. 

Now it was the first hour of the day, the day both still dubious and as if weak. Now, the lying about houses having been shaken, although in an open location, nevertheless, narrow, the fear of ruin is great and certain. Then it seemed best, finally, to leave the town; the astonished crowd follows, and what, in fear, is similar to prudence, it (the crowd) prefers another plan to its own, and, with incredible drive, they press and drive on those going away. Having left the house, we stopped. There, we endured many amazing things and many fears. For the carriages which we had ordered to be brought forth, although on a flat field, were being driven in contrary directions, and not even having been propped up with stones in the same step, would they rest.

Moreover, we saw that the sea was sucking back into itself and repelled as if by the tremor of the ground. Indeed, the shore had proceeded; it was holding back many animals of the sea on dry land. On the other side, a black and frightening cloud, ruptured, vibrated, and twisted by a zig-zagging, fiery spirit, was split open into long figures of flame; they were both similar and larger than lightning. Then, in truth, the same friend from Hispania rather swiftly and insistently said, “If your brother, your uncle, lives, he wants you all to be safe; if he has died, he wanted you all to survive. So then why are you doing nothing to escape?” We responded that we would not commit that we consult, uncertain about that one’s safety. 

Having not delayed further, he rushed out and, with effusive running, was carried away from the danger of the course. Not much later, that cloud descended onto the grounds, it covered the sea; it had equipped and had hidden away at Capri, and at Misenum what runs forth had carried off. Then mother kept pleading, kept ordering, kept urging that in whatever way, I flee; for a young man is able; that she’d die well, heavy both in years and body, if she were not the cause of my death. I, in reply, say that I would not survive unless together; thereafter, her hand having embraced, I compel her to add a step. She reluctantly obeys and blames herself for delaying me. There was already ash; however, so far it was scattered. I look back: dense vapor towered over our backs, which, in the manner of a torrent, followed us, having been spread on the ground. ‘Let us turn aside, I said, ‘while we see, so that we may not, laid low in the street, be trampled in the dark by the crowd of those accompanying.’

We had barely sat down, and it was not like moonless or cloudy, but like a closed place with a lamp put out. You might hear the wailing of women, the screams of babies, and the shouts of men; some were searching with voices for parents, others for children, and still others for spouses, and they recognized by their voices; these were pitying their misfortune, others of their own people; there were those who prayed, because of the fear of death, for death. Many were raising their hands to the gods, even more were interpreting that nowhere now were there any gods, and that that night was most new and unending. And not absent were those who, with lies and false terrors, were increasing the true dangers. There were present those who falsely announced that part of Misenum had fallen or that part of Misenum was burning, to those who believed. 

It shone again for a little while, which seemed to us not to be day but evidence of the approaching fire. And indeed, the fire remained farther away; there was again darkness and much heavy ash. We, rising, shook off this ash again and again; otherwise, we would have been covered and also squeezed by its weight. I would be able to boast that no groan, no voice not brave enough fell from me in such great perils if I had not believed that I, with everyone and everyone with me, was perishing in misery, however great solace for my mortality. At last, that mist having been made thin as if it departed into smoke or a cloud, soon true daylight; the sun even gleamed, nevertheless, yellow just as it is accustomed to be when it fails. Everything having been altered and with high ash—just as with snow—having been covered, was meeting fearful eyes.

Having returned to Misenum and with our bodies cared for, we spent the night in suspense and doubt with hope and fear. Fear was prevailing; for both the tremor of the ground was persisting, and very many were hysterical with terrifying predictions; they were making a mockery of their own and other misfortunes. There was to us not even then, although both having experienced danger and expecting it, a plan of going away, until there was a messenger from my uncle. These things are by no means worthy of history, that you read not intending to write them, and of course, those who requested this letter will take blame, if they seem not even worthy of a letter. Farwell.

A Not-so-final Farewell

Last letter: it was Pliny's love for his uncle, which radiated off the page as he depicted his courageous spirit, rational nature, and generosity, allowing the letter to resonate universally even in the modern day. This letter, it is something far darker that achieves that same end: Pliny's fear. Pliny the Younger does not shy away from depicting his terror that the world was ending in excruciating detail, lamenting the torture he, his mother, and those surrounding them underwent on those fateful nights post eruption. It is impossible not to feel for him or sympathize with his plight. Thankfully, none of us (I hope) has had to struggle to survive after being in such close proximity to a major volcanic eruption. But we have all been, at some point or another, petrified of something, whether it be physical or metaphorical, ceasing to exist. It is this universal fear that renders this story, and Pliny the Younger himself, a necessary read.

We hope you enjoyed this prosaic analysis of Pliny 6.20. Please leave any comments, questions, or concerns below, and be sure to recommend future prose or poems for us to dive into!