Letters of Pliny the Younger | Page 9

(as many do) envy
others the happiness I cannot share with them myself: on the contrary,
it is a very sensible pleasure to me when I find my friends in possession
of an enjoyment from which I have the misfortune to be excluded.
Farewell.
VII
To FABIUS JUSTUS
IT is a long time since I have had a letter from you, "There is nothing to
write about," you say: well then write and let me know just this, that
"there is nothing to write about," or tell me in the good old style, If you
are well that's right, I am quite well. This will do for me, for it implies
everything. You think I am joking? Let me assure you I am in sober
earnest. Do let me know how you are; for I cannot remain ignorant any
longer without growing exceedingly anxious about you. Farewell.
VIII
To CALESTRIUS TIRO
I HAVE suffered the heaviest loss; if that word be sufficiently strong to
express the misfortune which has deprived me of so excellent a man.
Corellius Rufus is dead; and dead, too, by his own act! A circumstance
of great aggravation to my affliction: as that sort of death which we
cannot impute either to the course of nature, or the hand of Providence,
is, of all others, the most to be lamented. It affords some consolation in
the loss of those friends whom disease snatches from us that they fall
by the general destiny of mankind; but those who destroy themselves
leave us under the inconsolable reflection, that they had it in their

power to have lived longer. It is true, Corellius had many inducements
to be fond of life; a blameless conscience, high reputation, and great
dignity of character, besides a daughter, a wife, a grandson, and sisters;
and, amidst these numerous pledges of happiness, faithful friends. Still,
it must be owned he had the highest motive (which to a wise man will
always have the force of destiny), urging him to this resolution. He had
long been tortured by so tedious and painful a complaint that even these
inducements to living on, considerable as they are, were over-balanced
by the reasons on the other side. In his thirty-third year (as I have
frequently heard him say) he was seized with the gout in his feet. This
was hereditary; for diseases, as well as possessions, are sometimes
handed down by a sort of inheritance. A life of sobriety and continence
had enabled him to conquer and keep down the disease while he was
still young, latterly as it grew upon him with advancing years, he had to
manfully bear it, suffering meanwhile the most incredible and
undeserved agonies; for the gout was now not only in his feet, but had
spread itself over his whole body. I remember, in Domitian's reign,
paying him a visit at his villa, near Rome. As soon as I entered his
chamber, his servants went out: for it was his rule, never to allow them
to be in the room when any intimate friend was with him; nay, even his
own wife, though she could have kept any secret, used to go too.
Casting his eyes round the room, "Why," he exclaimed, "do you
suppose I endure life so long under these cruel agonies? It is with the
hope that I may outlive, at least for one day, that villain." Had his
bodily strength been equal to his resolution, he would have carried his
desire into practical effect. God heard and answered his prayer; and
when he felt that he should now die a free, un-enslaved, Roman, he
broke through those other great, but now less forcible, attachments to
the world. His malady increased; arid, as it now grew too violent to
admit of any relief from temperance, he resolutely determined to put an
end to its uninterrupted attacks, by an effort of heroism. He had refused
all sustenance during four days when his wife Hispulla sent our
common friend Geminius to me, with the melancholy news, that
Corellius was resolved to die; and that neither her own entreaties nor
her daughter's could move him from his purpose; I was the only person
left who could reconcile him to life. I ran to his house with the utmost
precipitation. As I approached it, I met a second messenger from

Hispulla, Julius Atticus, who informed me there was nothing to be
hoped for now, even from me, as he seemed more hardened than ever
in his purpose. He had said, indeed to his physician, who pressed him
to take some nourishment, "'Tis resolved": an expression which, as it
raised my admiration of the greatness of his soul, so it does my grief
for the loss of him. I keep thinking what a friend, what a