Pliny 7.27: A Prosaic Analysis

Today, I am going to tell you a story. Although Halloween was a few months ago, for many, the countdown to spooky season has begun again. And even for the rest of us not as invested in the October 31st festivities, we are entering the season of ghosts as well. As we venture into 2026, we will make many resolutions: eat better, save more money, give more compliments, and other variations on the theme of self-improvement. Will we succeed in those resolutions? Maybe for a month or two, or maybe not at all, but regardless, the point of these affirmations is to make them. We yearn to at least posit that becoming a better version of ourselves is possible. We yearn to entertain, shedding the dead skin of a year prior. We yearn to render the prior, flawed version of ourselves a ghost. But unfortunately for all of us, ghosts enjoy traipsing through the world of the living. And they have ever since the time of the Ancient Romans. Here is a letter from one esteemed government official to another concerning some interesting physical and metaphorical undead. I hope you enjoy.

The Latin Itself

C. Plīnius Surae suō s.

Et mihi discendī et tibi docendī facultātem ōtium praebet. Igitur perquam velim scīre, esse phantasmata et habēre propriam figūram nūmenque aliquod putēs an inānia et vāna ex metū nostrō imāginem accipere.

Ego ut esse crēdam in prīmīs eō dūcor, quod audiō accidisse Curtiō Rūfō. Tenuis adhūc et obscūrus, obtinentī Āfricam comes haeserat. Inclīnātō diē spatiābātur in porticū; offertur eī mulieris figūra hūmānā grandior pulchriorque. Perterritō Āfricam sē futūrōrum praenūntiam dīxit: itūrum enim Rōmam honōrēsque gestūrum, atque etiam cum summō imperiō in eandem prōvinciam reversūrum, ibique moritūrum.

Facta sunt omnia. Praetereā accēdentī Carthāginem ēgredientīque nāve eadem figūra in lītore occurrisse narrātur. Ipse certē implicitus morbō, futūra praeteritīs adversa secundīs augurātus, spem salūtis nūllō suōrum dēspērante prōiēcit.

Iam illud nōnne et magis terribile et nōn minus mīrum est quod expōnam ut accēpī? 

Erat Athēnīs spatiōsa et capāx domus sed īnfāmis et pestilēns. Per silentium noctis sonus ferrī, et sī attenderēs ācrius, strepitus vinculōrum longius prīmō, deinde ē proximō reddēbātur: mox appārēbat īdōlon, senex maciē et squālōre cōnfectus, prōmissā barbā horrentī capillō; crūribus compedēs, manibus catēnās gerēbat quatiēbatque.

Inde inhabitantibus trīstēs dīraeque noctēs per metum vigilābantur;

vigiliam morbus, et crēscente formīdine mors sequēbātur. Nam interdiū quoque, quamquam abscesserat imāgō, memoria imāginis oculīs inerrābat, longiorque causīs timōris timor erat. Dēserta inde et damnāta sōlitūdine domus tōtaque illī mōnstrō relicta; prōscrībēbātur tamen, seu quis emere seu quis condūcere ignārus tantī malī vellet. 

Venit Athēnās philosophus Athēnodōrus, legit titulum audītōque pretiō, quia suspecta vīlitās, percunctātus omnia docētur ac nihilō minus, immō tantō magis condūcit. Ubi coepit advesperāscere, iubet sternī sibi in prīmā domūs parte, poscit pugillārēs stilum lūmen, suōs omnēs in interiōra dīmittit; ipse ad scrībendum animum oculōs manum intendit, nē vacua mēns audīta simulācra et inānēs sibi

metūs fingeret.

Initiō, quāle ubīque, silentium noctis; dein concutī ferrum,

vincula movērī. Ille nōn tollere oculōs, nōn remittere stilum, sed offirmāre animum auribusque praetendere. Tum crēbrēscere fragor, adventāre et iam ut in līmine, iam ut intrā līmen audīrī. Respicit, videt agnōscitque narrātam sibi effigiem.

Stābat innuēbatque digitō similis vocantī. Hic contrā ut paulum

exspectāret manū significat rūrsusque cērīs et stilō incumbit. Illa scrībentis capitī catēnīs īnsonābat. Respicit rūrsus idem quod prius innuentem, nec morātus tollit lūmen et sequitur.

Ībat illa lentō gradū quasi gravis vinculīs. Postquam dēflexit in āream domūs, repente dīlāpsa dēserit comitem. Dēsertus herbās et folia concerpta signum locō pōnit. 

Posterō diē adit magistrātūs, monet ut illum locum effodī iubeant. Inveniuntur ossa īnserta catēnīs et implicita, quae corpus aevō terrāque putrefactum nūda et exēsa relīquerat vinculīs; collēcta pūblicē sepeliuntur. Domus posteā rīte conditīs mānibus caruit.

Et haec quidem affirmantibus crēdō; illud affirmāre aliīs possum. Est

lībertus mihi nōn illitterātus. Cum hōc minor frāter eōdem lectō quiēscēbat. Is vīsus est sibi cernere quendam in torō residentem, admoventemque capitī suō cultrōs, atque etiam ex ipsō vertice amputantem capillōs. Ubi illūxit, ipse circā verticem tōnsus, capillī iacentēs reperiuntur.

Exiguum temporis medium, et rūrsus simile aliud priōrī fidem fēcit. Puer in paedagōgiō mixtus plūribus dormiēbat. Vēnērunt per fenestrās—ita narrat—in tunicīs albīs duo cubantemque dētondērunt et quā vēnerant recessērunt. Hunc quoque tōnsum sparsōsque circā capillōs diēs ostendit.

Nihil notābile secūtum, nisi forte quod nōn fuī reus, futūrus, sī Domitiānus sub quō haec accidērunt diūtius vīxisset. Nam in scrīniō eius datus ā Cārō dē mē libellus inventus est; ex quō coniectārī potest, quia reīs mōris est submittere capillum, recīsōs meōrum capillōs dēpulsī quod imminēbat perīculī signum fuisse.

Proinde rogō, ērudītiōnem tuam intendās. Digna rēs est quam diū

multumque cōnsīderēs; nē ego quidem indignus, cui cōpiam scientiae tuae faciās.

Licet etiam utramque in partem—ut solēs—disputēs, ex alterā

tamen fortius, nē mē suspēnsum incertumque dīmittās, cum mihi cōnsulendī causa fuerit, ut dubitāre dēsinerem. Valē.

An English Translation

*Translated by yours truly

The leisure we are both enjoying gives you an opportunity to impart information, and me an opportunity to receive it. Therefore, I should very much like to know whether, in your opinion, there are such things as ghosts, whether you think they possess a shape of their own and something divine, or whether you consider them to be vain and empty shadows and created out of our fears and fantasies.

In my opinion, I feel led to believe they do exist, mainly because of what I hear about what happened to Curtius Rufus. Back then, he, poor and obscure, had attached himself to the governor ruling Africa. At sundown one day, he was walking on the promenade; a woman, taller and more beautiful than any woman, presented herself to him and, terrified, told Rufus that she was Africa and could foretell future events. She foretold that he would travel to Rome and hold prestigious offices, and foretold that he would also return as governor to this same province, and there die.

All these events happened. In addition, when Rufus was entering Carthage and departing from his ship, the exact figure is said to have approached him on the beach. Therefore, it is certain that when he was infected by illness, he predicted the future by the past, and his coming struggles by his present status, and, though not one of his people was worrying about his recovery, he cast aside all hope of regaining health.

Now I want you to consider if the following story, which I shall tell you as I heard it, is not even more terrifying and no less wonderful than the other.

Once, in Athens, stood a spacious, roomy house, but one with an evil and infamous reputation. In the silent night, the sound of iron and, if you listened more closely, the rattle of chains were heard, the sound coming first from a distance and then from far closer. Then appeared a ghostly form of an old man, starved, filthy, downtrodden, with a flowing beard and fetters chained to his legs and chains on his hands, which he kept shaking.

The saddened tenants endured sleepless nights because of fearful terror, and, following upon their sleeplessness, came disease and then death as their terror increased. Even in the daytime, though the ghost had vanished, their memory conjured it up before their eyes, and their fright lasted longer than the apparition that had caused it. Then the house was deserted and condemned to stand empty, wholly abandoned to the spectator, while the authorities forbade that it should be sold or lent to anyone wishing to take it, not knowing under what a curse it lay.

The philosopher Athenodorus came to Athens, read the notice board, and, upon hearing the price, hesitated because the low rent made him suspicious. Then he was told the whole story, and rather than being deterred, he became even more eager to rent the house. When it was early evening, he ordered his people to make him up a bed in the front area of the house and asked for his tablets, a pen, and a lamp. Dismissing all his servants to the interior of the house, he applied his mind, eyes, and hand to writing, lest he have nothing to think about and therefore might begin to conjure up the ghost of which he had been told and other idle fears.

At first, the night was just as motionless there as elsewhere, but then the iron was shaken, and the chains clanked. Athenodorus did not lift his eyes or stop writing, but instead strengthened his decision and closed his ears. The sound grew louder and came closer, until it was heard at the doorway and then inside the room itself. He turned his head and saw and recognised the ghost described to him.

It stood and pointed with its finger, as if calling him, but Athenodorus only signaled with his hand, as if to tell it to wait a moment, and once again bent over his tablets and kept writing. As he wrote, the spirit shook its chains over his head, and, looking around, he saw that it was pointing as before, so, without any further delay, he picked up the lamp and followed. The ghost walked slowly, as if weighed down by chains, then entered the house's courtyard and suddenly disappeared, leaving its companion alone, who then picked some grass and leaves to mark the place.

The following day, he went to the officials and advised them to issue orders to have the place dug up. Bones were found with chains wrapped around them. Time and the action of the earth had made the flesh rot, and left the bones bare and worn away by the chains, but the remains were gathered and given a public burial.

After that, the house was free of the ghost that had thus been laid to rest with proper ceremony.

I truly believe those who confirm these details, but the following story is one I can personally confirm to others. I have a freedman who is a man of some education. A younger brother of his was sleeping with him in the same bed, and he thought he saw someone sitting on the bed, using a pair of scissors to cut his hair on the top of his head. When morning came, his hair truly was cut at the crown, and the locks were found lying close by.

A short time passed, and a similar event occurred, leading people to believe the earlier story was true. A young slave of mine was sleeping with several others in the sleeping room when, according to his story, two men dressed in white clothing entered through the window and cut his hair as he slept, leaving by the same way they came. Daylight showed that his hair had been cut, and the locks lay scattered around.

Nothing else of importance happened, except that I escaped being charged, as I would not have done if Domitian, who was ruling when these events took place, had lived any longer. On his desk, there was a document sent in by Carus that accused me. This leads to the belief that, since it is the custom for accused people to let their hair grow uncut, the fact that the hair of my slaves was trimmed was a sign that the danger hanging over me had passed.

I ask that you apply your learning to these stories. The subject is one that is worth long and careful thought, and I am not entirely unworthy of your sharing with me your great knowledge.

I will let you follow your usual habit of arguing on both sides of the matter, but make sure that you support one side more strongly than the other, so that I do not leave in doubt and uncertainty, when the very reason I asked your advice was simply this — that you should end my doubts. Farewell.

A Spooky Send Off

If you couldn't tell, there are many more ghosts than just the few named in these stories. In fact, lying sinisterly underneath these ghosts is a hidden ulterior motive for Pliny: to make it look like he was next on the hated and now dead Emperor Domitian's chopping block. Domitian was a vicious emperor who constantly assassinated political enemies, and even friends, yet not Pliny; Pliny actually rose through the ranks under his rule. But after Domitian's death, public sentiment shifted against those in Domitian's favor. Using ghosts as a clever and engaging disguise for the true subject of his letter, Pliny tries to remain in the good graces of the higher powers of Ancient Rome. Will it work? I guess we'll just have to wait for next Halloween to see...

We hope you enjoyed this prosaic analysis of Pliny 7.27. Please leave any comments, questions, or concerns below, and be sure to recommend future prose or poems for us to dive into!