Dialogues of the DeadLyttelton, George Lyttelton, Baron
Philosophy
Dialogues of the Dead
Lyttelton, George Lyttelton, Baron
Dialogues, English -- Early works to 1800; Imaginary conversations
our heads, and we were stopped by the obstacles which the ruins of the
volcano had suddenly formed, by falling into the sea and almost filling
it up, on that part of the coast. I then commanded my pilot to steer to
the villa of my friend Pomponianus, which, you know, was situated in the
inmost recess of the bay. The wind was very favourable to carry me
thither, but would not allow him to put off from the shore, as he was
desirous to have done. We were, therefore, constrained to pass the night
in his house. The family watched, and I slept till the heaps of pumice
stones, which incessantly fell from the clouds that had by this time been
impelled to that side of the bay, rose so high in the area of the
apartment I lay in, that if I had stayed any longer I could not have got
out; and the earthquakes were so violent as to threaten every moment the
fall of the house. We, therefore, thought it more safe to go into the
open air, guarding our heads as well as we were able with pillows tied
upon them. The wind continuing contrary, and the sea very rough, we all
remained on the shore, till the descent of a sulphurous and fiery vapour
suddenly oppressed my weak lungs and put an end to my life. In all this
I hope that I acted as the duty of my station required, and with true
magnanimity. But on this occasion, and in many other parts of your
conduct, I must say, my dear nephew, there was a mixture of vanity
blended with your virtue which impaired and disgraced it. Without that
you would have been one of the worthiest men whom Rome has over produced,
for none excelled you in sincere integrity of heart and greatness of
sentiments. Why would you lose the substance of glory by seeking the
shadow? Your eloquence had, I think, the same fault as your manners; it
was generally too affected. You professed to make Cicero your guide and
pattern; but when one reads his Panegyric upon Julius Caesar, in his
Oration for Marcellus, and yours upon Trajan, the first seems the genuine
language of truth and Nature, raised and dignified with all the majesty
of the most sublime oratory; the latter appears the harangue of a florid
rhetorician, more desirous to shine and to set off his own wit than to
extol the great man whose virtues he was praising.
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