The Natural History of Pliny, Volume 3 (of 6) — A Closer Reading

Bees as a Political Commonwealth

Pliny devotes more than twenty chapters to bees, treating them not merely as producers of honey but as subjects of a structured society. He describes their mode of government, the meaning of terms like commosis and propolis, and the flowers they prefer. The language is precise: bees are said to display order in their works, and Pliny notes that happy omens are sometimes afforded by a swarm. He does not anthropomorphize carelessly; rather, he catalogues their behaviors as if decoding a foreign constitution. The translator’s notes add botanical identifications and correct Pliny’s occasional confusions, such as the distinction between erithace and sandara.

Silk, Spiders, and the Art of Weaving

In chapters on the bombyx of Assyria and the silk-worm of Cos, Pliny traces the origin of silk cloths to larval threads. He names the inventors of silk garments and describes how Coan vestments are made. The account is economical but evocative: the silk-worm’s work is compared to that of spiders, which he treats in a separate chapter on their webs and materials. Pliny notes that spiders generate from themselves, and he details the kinds of webs they produce. The juxtaposition of insect industry with human craft is characteristic of his method—he moves from natural fact to cultural artifact without moralizing.

Trees, Pitch, and Poisonous Woods

Later in the volume, Pliny turns to trees and their products. He describes the yew as sombre and ominous, noting that its berries contain a deadly poison in Spain and that vessels made of yew wood have caused death. He reports that the poison called toxica was formerly named taxica from this tree. The account of tar-making is equally practical: he explains how pitch is extracted from the torch-tree, how cedrium is used in Egypt to preserve bodies, and how Bruttian pitch is prepared by boiling with vinegar. These passages show Pliny’s interest in technology and material culture, grounded in firsthand reports and earlier authorities.

The Translator’s Role: Annotations and Corrections

The Bostock and Riley translation is accompanied by extensive footnotes that often correct or expand Pliny’s statements. For instance, when Pliny claims that the yew’s poison can be neutralized by driving a copper nail into the wood, the translators add a note citing Sextius and other authors. Similarly, the description of cedrium as a preservative for dead bodies is glossed with references to Egyptian mummification practices. These annotations create a dialogue between ancient and modern knowledge, making the volume as much a record of nineteenth-century classical scholarship as of Roman natural history. Readers should attend to the footnotes as integral to the text.

This volume rewards a selective reading: one may dip into the chapters on bees or trees without needing the whole. Pliny’s voice is direct, his curiosity omnivorous, and the translators’ notes provide a running commentary that both clarifies and complicates. For those interested in the history of science or classical natural philosophy, the work offers a vivid window into how the natural world was ordered before modern taxonomy.

For years I’ve kept Pliny’s volume close, smiling at his wonder over bees and the slow drips of pitch. His patient rummaging through the world’s small oddities feels like an old friend’s habit. I found that same unhurried gaze in Outlines of Creation — Inside the Classic, where the quiet assembling of nature’s orders whispers of a kindred, careful hand.