Here’s what we know. A Big Data approach to the Plinian manuscript tradition yields significant results. The contributions of Valla and θ can be distinguished. This means a new critical edition of the entire Epistulae is necessary; the stemma in Fig. 2.2 and the collation spreadsheets in Online Resources can guide its sources. Regarding AD 79—on current evidence—the eruption happened on 24-25 August. The locations of Pliny’s and Pomponianus’ villas have been narrowed down. It is likely that the Elder saw the first PDC to hit Herculaneum, and some of his naval detachments may have been victims. Our GIS for the pre-eruption Bay of Naples can be a cartographic foundation for future projects.
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Younger Pliny wrote two small masterpieces disguised as casually melodramatic biographic correspondence. The first is a defense of his uncle’s stoic–heroic conduct and character during the eruption. It purports to show how one should comport oneself in an impossible situation, while revealing that no one really knew (or could have known) what was happening or what to do about it. As hagiography, it is deliberately flawed.
The second story is a self-portrait made vivid and emotionally rich by the author’s responses to other characters: elders, acquaintances, townsfolk, and the eruption itself. Pliny dutifully emphasizes the individuality and value of his family members, even when they fall short in discharging responsibilities to their communities.
Moments of grace appear in both letters: a man lies to his friends to make them feel better at a bad time; the same man is rescued from his room after failing to rescue anyone himself; a foreign guest tries hard to help his hosts despite their blockheadedness; a mother asks to be abandoned, and her son rightfully refuses. The fineness, genuineness (though not always truthfulness), fragility, futility, and stupidity of humanity are fully on display.
If the people are problematic, the detail is magnificent. The scientific eye shared by the Plinys shines in describing an arboreal eruption cloud, a tsunami sucking water from shore, or the churning appetite of a pyroclastic density current. The Younger’s emotional sensitivity picks up a panicked plea from a friend, stages a weird dinner against a mountain on fire, and curls up in dark despair, listening to the world end.
Younger’s use of literary license to color his characters has long been recognized. But his factual account holds up increasingly well, thanks to a revolution in understanding Vesuvius’ eruptive sequence and dynamics. The Plinys’ keen observations tend to be confirmed. And why not? They were there. Moreover, the Elder had—and the Younger inherited—the greatest database of information known to have been privately assembled in the ancient world. Despite scholars’ understandable eagerness to be suspicious of what Pliny does or doesn’t say, little suggests that he makes up facts out of whole cloth.
The Younger read widely, alluding to historians, philosophers, and poets. His method of inquiry, and often his vocabulary and phrasing, however, owe more to his uncle than has been (except by R. Gibson) generally admitted (this book could be entitled The Plinys and the Eruption of Vesuvius). When it comes to investigation, the Plinys offer some sound principles: comprehensive attention to detail, careful data management, methodical patience, reflexivity, and interdisciplinarity.
Their works also reveal a fascinating inter-generational dialectic about objectivity vs. subjectivity when recording the world, events, and people. That dialectic is played out through Pliny’s multiple thespian and authorial personae: callow young student / seasoned career man; sympathetic victim of outrageous circumstance / aspiring hero of the hour; frank expressionist / polished stylist; emotion-manipulator / analytic logician; truth-teller / yarn-spinner. Much was taken from his life and much was given; we can’t fault him for using his ample box of tools and tricks to inform and enthrall us.
Though he pretends not to care, Pliny keenly desires his version to appear in Tacitus’ Histories. He doesn’t want to work at the scale of an actual history, requiring research at the level of the Elder’s publications, or the forthcoming works of Tacitus and Suetonius. But his legacy matters, because (sore spot) he knows only his legacy will survive him. His Letters are the antidote to an acute awareness of mortality. Fortunately, Younger’s skill and artifice have made his narratives endure.
And so, Epistulae 6.16 and 6.20 have become cultural monuments. In this volume, I have attempted to understand the context and identity of their writer; establish in the fullest detail currently possible the journey of the text from his pen to our desks; sift, sort, and study the mountains of scholarship that have resulted; lay out the events of those two days (both on the ground and in the Latin lines); and provide evidence and pathways for further investigation. I have not solved all the problems, read everything with perfect care, or imagined all the ways to interpret these accounts. Scientific research will improve, excavations will reveal, and perhaps a manuscript will resurface. I hope so—these letters deserve ongoing consideration. If this book assists both beginners and veterans, it will serve. Opus est utilitate.