Marcus Fabius Quintilianus to his friend Trypho, greeting You have daily
 importuned me with the request that I should at length take steps to
 publish the book on the Education of an Orator which I dedicated to my
 friend Marcellus. For my own view was that it was not yet ripe for
 publication. As you know I have spent little more than two years on its
 composition, during which time moreover I have been distracted by a
 multitude of other affairs. These two years have been devoted not so
 much to actual writing as to the research demanded by a task to which
 practically no limits can be set and to the reading of innumerable
 authors.

Further, following the precept of Horace who in his Art of Poetry
 deprecates hasty publication and urges the would-be author 
 To withhold 
 His work
 till nine long years have passed away, 
 I proposed to
 give them time, in order that the ardour of creation might cool and that
 I might revise them with all the consideration of a dispassionate
 reader.

But if there is such a demand for their publication as you assert, why
 then let us spread our canvas to the gale and offer up a fervent prayer
 to heaven as we put out to sea. But remember I rely on your loyal care
 to see that they reach the public in as correct a form as possible.

Having at length, after twenty years devoted to the training of the
 young, obtained leisure for study, I was asked by certain of my friends
 to write something on the art of speaking. For a long time I resisted
 their entreaties, since I was well aware that some of the most
 distinguished Greek and Roman writers had bequeathed to posterity a
 number of works dealing with this subject, to the composition of which
 they had devoted the utmost care.

This seemed to me to be an admirable excuse for my refusal, but served
 merely to increase their enthusiasm. They urged that previous writers on
 the subject had expressed different and at times contradictory opinions,
 between which it was very difficult to choose. They thought therefore
 that they were justified in imposing on me the task, if not of
 discovering original views, at least of passing definite judgment on
 those expressed by my predecessors.

I was moved to comply not so much because I felt confidence that I was
 equal to the task, as because I had a certain
 compunction about refusing. The subject proved more extensive than I had
 first imagined; but finally I volunteered to shoulder a task which was
 on a far larger scale than that which I was originally asked to
 undertake. I wished on the one hand to oblige my very good friends
 beyond their requests, and on the other to avoid the beaten track and
 the necessity of treading where others had gone before.

For almost all others who have written on the art of oratory have
 started with the assumption that their readers were perfect in all other
 branches of education and that their own task was merely to put the
 finishing touches to their rhetorical training; this is due to the fact
 that they either despised the preliminary stages of education or thought
 that they were not their concern, since the duties of the different
 branches of education are distinct one from another, or else, and this
 is nearer the truth, because they had no hope of making a remunerative
 display of their talent in dealing with subjects, which, although
 necessary, are far from being showy: just as in architecture it is the
 superstructure and not the foundations which attracts the eye.

I on the other hand hold that the art of oratory includes all that is
 essential for the training of an orator, and that it is impossible to
 reach the summit in any subject unless we have first passed through all
 the elementary stages. I shall not therefore refuse to stoop to the
 consideration of those minor details, neglect of which may result in
 there being no opportunity for more important things, and propose to
 mould the studies of my orator from infancy, on the assumption that his
 whole education has been entrusted to my charge.

This work I dedicate to you, Marcellus Victorius. You
 have been the truest of friends to me and you have shown a passionate
 enthusiasm for literature. But good as these reasons are, they are not
 the only reasons that lead me to regard you as especially worthy of such
 a pledge of our mutual affection. There is also the consideration that
 this book should prove of service in the education of your son Geta,
 who, young though he is, already shows clear promise of real talent. It
 has been my design to lead my reader from the very cradle of speech
 through all the stages of education which can be of any service to our
 budding orator till we have reached the very summit of the art.

I have been all the more desirous of so doing because two books on the
 art of rhetoric are at present circulating under my name, although never
 published by me or composed for such a purpose. One is a two days'
 lecture which was taken down by the boys who were my audience. The other
 consists of such notes as my good pupils succeeded in taking down from a
 course of lectures on a somewhat more extensive scale: I appreciate
 their kindness, but they showed an excess of enthusiasm and a certain
 lack of discretion in doing my utterances the honour of publication.

Consequently in the present work although some passages remain the same,
 you will find many alterations and still more additions, while the whole
 theme will be treated with greater system and with as great perfection
 as lies within my power.

My aim, then, is the education of the perfect orator. The first
 essential for such an one is that he should be a good man, and
 consequently we demand of him not merely the possession of exceptional
 gifts of speech, but of all the excellences of
 character as well.

For I will not admit that the principles of upright and honourable
 living should, as some have held, be regarded as the peculiar concern of
 philosophy. The man who can really play his part as a citizen and is
 capable of meeting the demands both of public and private business, the
 man who can guide a state by his counsels, give it a firm basis by his
 legislation and purge its vices by his decisions as a judge, is
 assuredly no other than the orator of our quest.

Wherefore, although I admit I shall make use of certain of the
 principles laid down in philosophical textbooks, I would insist that
 such principles have a just claim to form part of the subject-matter of
 this work and do actually belong to the art of oratory.

I shall frequently be compelled to speak of such virtues as courage,
 justice, self-control; in fact scarcely a case comes up in which some
 one of these virtues is not involved; every one of them requires
 illustration and consequently makes a demand on the imagination and
 eloquence of the pleader. I ask you then, can there be any doubt that,
 wherever imaginative power and amplitude of diction are required, the
 orator has a specially important part to play?

These two branches of knowledge were, as Cicero has clearly shown, so closely united, not merely in theory but in
 practice, that the same men were regarded as uniting the qualifications
 of orator and philosopher. Subsequently this single branch of study
 split up into its component parts, and thanks to the indolence of its
 professors was regarded as consisting of several distinct subjects. As
 soon as speaking became a means of livelihood and the practice of making
 an evil use of the blessings of eloquence came into
 vogue, those who had a reputation for eloquence ceased to study moral
 philosophy, and ethics,

thus abandoned by the orators, became the prey of weaker intellects. As
 a consequence certain persons, disdaining the toil of learning to speak
 well, returned to the task of forming character and establishing rules
 of life and kept to themselves what is, if we must make a division, the better part of philosophy, but
 presumptuously laid claim to the sole possession of the title of
 philosopher, a distinction which neither the greatest generals nor the
 most famous statesmen and administrators have ever dared to claim for
 themselves. For they preferred the performance to the promise of great
 deeds.

I am ready to admit that many of the old philosophers inculcated the
 most excellent principles and practised what they preached. But in our
 own day the name of philosopher has too often been the mask for the
 worst vices. For their attempt has not been to win the name of
 philosopher by virtue and the earnest search for wisdom; instead they
 have sought to disguise the depravity of their characters by the
 assumption of a stern and austere mien accompanied by the wearing of a
 garb differing from that of their fellow men.

Now as a matter of fact we all of us frequently handle those themes
 which philosophy claims for its own. Who, short of being an utter
 villain, does not speak of justice, equity and virtue? Who (and even
 common country-folk are no exception) does not make some inquiry into
 the causes of natural phenomena? As for the special uses and
 distinctions of words, they should be a subject of study common to all
 who give any thought to the meaning of language.

But it is surely the orator who will have the greatest mastery of all
 such departments of knowledge and the greatest power to express it in
 words. And if ever he had reached perfection, there would be no need to
 go to the schools of philosophy for the precepts of virtue. As things
 stand, it is occasionally necessary to have recourse to those authors
 who have, as I said above, usurped the better part of the art of oratory
 after its desertion by the orators and to demand back what is ours by
 right, not with a view to appropriating their discoveries, but to show
 them that they have appropriated what in truth belonged to others.

Let our ideal orator then be such as to have a genuine title to the name
 of philosopher: it is not sufficient that he should be blameless in
 point of character (for I cannot agree with those who hold this
 opinion): he must also be a thorough master of the science and the art
 of speaking, to an extent that perhaps no orator has yet attained.

Still we must none the less follow the ideal, as was done by not a few
 of the ancients, who, though they refused to admit that the perfect sage
 had yet been found, none the less handed down precepts of wisdom for the
 use of posterity.

Perfect eloquence is assuredly a reality, which is not beyond the reach
 of human intellect. Even if we fail to reach it, those whose aspirations
 are highest, will attain to greater heights than those who abandon
 themselves to premature despair of ever reaching the goal and halt at
 the very foot of the ascent.

I have therefore all the juster claim to indulgence, if I refuse to pass
 by those minor details which are none the less essential to my task. My
 first book will be concerned with the education preliminary to the duties of the teacher of rhetoric. My second
 will deal with the rudiments of the schools of rhetoric and with
 problems connected with the essence of rhetoric itself.

The next five will be concerned with Invention, in which I include
 Arrangement. The four following will be assigned to Eloquence, under
 which head I include Memory and Delivery. Finally there will be one book
 in which our complete orator will be delineated; as far as my feeble
 powers permit, I shall discuss his character, the rules which should
 guide him in undertaking, studying and pleading cases, the style of his
 eloquence, the time at which he should cease to plead cases and the
 studies to which he should devote himself after such cessation.

In the course of these discussions I shall deal in its proper place with
 the method of teaching by which students will acquire not merely a
 knowledge of those things to which the name of art is restricted by
 certain theorists, and will not only come to understand the laws of
 rhetoric, but will acquire that which will increase their powers of
 speech and nourish their eloquence.

For as a rule the result of the dry textbooks on the art of rhetoric is
 that by straining after excessive subtlety they impair and cripple all
 the nobler elements of style, exhaust the lifeblood of the imagination
 and leave but the bare bones, which, while it is right and necessary
 that they should exist and be bound each to each by their respective
 ligaments, require a covering of flesh as well.

I shall therefore avoid the precedent set by the majority and shall not
 restrict myself to this narrow conception of my theme, but shall include
 in my twelve books a brief demonstration of everything which may seem likely to contribute to the education of an orator.
 For if I were to attempt to say all that might be said on each subject,
 the book would never be finished.

There is however one point which I must emphasise before I begin, which
 is this. Without natural gifts technical rules are useless. Consequently
 the student who is devoid of talent will derive no more profit from this
 work than barren soil from a treatise on agriculture.

There are, it is true, other natural aids, such as the possession of a
 good voice and robust lungs, sound health, powers of endurance and
 grace, and if these are possessed only to a moderate extent, they may be
 improved by methodical training. In some cases, however, these gifts are
 lacking to such an extent that their absence is fatal to all such
 advantages as talent and study can confer, while, similarly, they are of
 no profit in themselves unless cultivated by skilful teaching,
 persistent study and continuous and extensive practice in writing,
 reading and speaking.

I would, therefore, have a father conceive the highest hopes of his son
 from the moment of his birth. If he does so, he will be more careful
 about the groundwork of his education. For there is absolutely no
 foundation for the complaint that but few men have the power to take in
 the knowledge that is imparted to them, and that the majority are so
 slow of understanding that education is a waste of time and labour. On
 the contrary you will find that most are quick to reason and ready to
 learn. Reasoning comes as naturally to man as flying to birds, speed to
 horses and ferocity to beasts of prey: our minds are
 endowed by nature with such activity and sagacity that the soul is
 believed to proceed from heaven.

Those who are dull and unteachable are as abnormal as prodigious births
 and monstrosities, and are but few in number. A proof of what I say is
 to be found in the fact that boys commonly show promise of many
 accomplishments, and when such promise dies away as they grow up, this
 is plainly due not to the failure of natural gifts, but to lack of the
 requisite care. But, it will be urged, there are degrees of talent.

Undoubtedly, I reply, and there will be a corresponding variation in
 actual accomplishment: but that there are any who gain nothing from
 education, I absolutely deny. The man who shares this conviction, must,
 as soon as he becomes a father, devote the utmost care to fostering the
 promise shown by the son whom he destines to become an orator.

Above all see that the child's nurse speaks correctly. The ideal,
 according to Chrysippus, would be that she should be a philosopher:
 failing that he desired that the best should be chosen, as far as
 possible. No doubt the most important point is that they should be of
 good character: but they should speak correctly as well.

It is the nurse that the child first hears, and her words that he will
 first attempt to imitate. And we are by nature most tenacious of
 childish impressions, just as the flavour first absorbed by vessels when
 new persists, and the colour imparted by dyes to the primitive whiteness
 of wool is indelible. Further it is the worst impressions that are most
 durable. For, while what is good readily deteriorates, you will never
 turn vice into virtue. Do not therefore allow the
 boy to become accustomed even in infancy to a style of speech which he
 will subsequently have to unlearn.

As regards parents, I should like to see them as highly educated as
 possible, and I do not restrict this remark to fathers alone. We are
 told that the eloquence of the Gracchi owed much to their mother
 Cornelia, whose letters even to-day testify to the cultivation of her
 style. Laelia, the daughter of Gaius Laelius, is said to have reproduced
 the elegance of her father's language in her own speech, while the
 oration delivered before the triumvirs by Hortensia, the daughter of
 Quintus Hortensius, is still read and not merely as a compliment to her
 sex.

And even those who have not had the fortune to receive a good education
 should not for that reason devote less care to their son's education;
 but should on the contrary show all the greater diligence in other
 matters where they can be of service to their children.

As regards the boys in whose company our budding orator is to be brought
 up, I would repeat what I have said about nurses. As regards his paedagogi, 
 I would urge that they should have had a thorough
 education, or if they have not, that they should be aware of the fact.
 There are none worse than those, who as soon as they have progressed
 beyond a knowledge of the alphabet delude themselves into the belief
 that they are the possessors of real knowledge. For they disdain to
 stoop to the drudgery of teaching, and conceiving that they have
 acquired a certain title to authority—a frequent source of vanity in
 such persons—become imperious or even brutal in instilling a thorough
 dose of their own folly.

Their misconduct is no less prejudicial to morals. We are, for instance,
 told by Diogenes of Babylon, that Leonides, Alexander's paedagogus, infected his pupil with certain
 faults, which as a result of his education as a boy clung to him even in
 his maturer years when he had become the greatest of kings.

If any of my readers regards me as somewhat exacting in my demands, I
 would ask him to reflect that it is no easy task to create an orator,
 even though his education be carried out under the most favourable
 circumstances, and that further and greater difficulties are still
 before us. For continuous application, the very best of teachers and a
 variety of exercises are necessary.

Therefore the rules which we lay down for the education of our pupil
 must be of the best. If anyone refuses to be guided by them, the fault
 will lie not with the method, but with the individual. Still if it
 should prove impossible to secure the ideal nurse, the ideal companions,
 or the ideal paedagogus, I would insist that
 there should be one person at any rate attached to the boy who has some
 knowledge of speaking and who will, if any incorrect expression should
 be used by nurse or paedagogus in the presence of
 the child under their charge, at once correct the error and prevent its
 becoming a habit. But it must be clearly understood that this is only a
 remedy, and that the ideal course is that indicated above.

I prefer that a boy should begin with Greek, because Latin, being in
 general use, will be picked up by him whether we will or no; while the
 fact that Latin learning is derived from Greek is a further reason for
 his being first instructed in the latter.

I do not however desire that this principle should be so superstitiously
 observed that he should for long speak and learn only Greek, as is done
 in the majority of cases. Such a course gives rise to many faults of
 language and accent; the latter tends to acquire a foreign intonation,
 while the former through force of habit becomes impregnated with Greek
 idioms, which persist with extreme obstinacy even when we are speaking
 another tongue.

The study of Latin ought therefore to follow at no great distance and in
 a short time proceed side by side with Greek. The result will be that,
 as soon as we begin to give equal attention to both languages, neither
 will prove a hindrance to the other.

Some hold that boys should not be taught to read till they are seven
 years old, that being the earliest age at which they can derive profit
 from instruction and endure the strain of learning. Most of them
 attribute this view to Hesiod, at least such as lived before the time of
 Aristophanes the grammarian, who was the first to deny that the Hypothecae, 
 in which this opinion is expressed, was
 the work of that poet.

But other authorities, among them Eratosthenes, give the same advice.
 Those however who hold that a child's mind should not be allowed to lie
 fallow for a moment are wiser. Chrysippus, for instance, though he gives
 the nurses a three years' reign, still holds the formation of the
 child's mind on the best principles to be a part of their duties.

Why, again, since children are capable of moral training, should they
 not be capable of literary education? I am well aware that during the
 whole period of which I am speaking we can expect scarcely the same
 amount of progress that one year will effect
 afterwards. Still those who disagree with me seem in taking this line to
 spare the teacher rather than the pupil.

What better occupation can a child have so soon as he is able to speak?
 And he must be kept occupied somehow or other. Or why should we despise
 the profit to be derived before the age of seven, small though it be?
 For though the knowledge absorbed in the previous years may be but
 little, yet the boy will be learning something more advanced during that
 year, in which he would otherwise have been occupied with something more
 elementary.

Such progress each successive year increases the total, and the time
 gained during childhood is clear profit to the period of youth. Further
 as regards the years which follow I must emphasise the importance of
 learning what has to be learnt in good time. Let us not therefore waste
 the earliest years: there is all the less excuse for this, since the
 elements of literary training are solely a question of memory, which not
 only exists even in small children, but is specially retentive at that
 age.

I am not however so blind to differences of age as to think that the
 very young should be forced on prematurely or given real work to do.
 Above all things we must take care that the child, who is not yet old
 enough to love his studies, does not come to hate them and dread the
 bitterness which he has once tasted, even when the years of infancy are
 left behind. His studies must be made an amusement: he must be
 questioned and praised and taught to rejoice when he has done well;
 sometimes too, when he refuses instruction, it should be given to some
 other to excite his envy, at times also he must be
 engaged in competition and should be allowed to believe himself
 successful more often than not, while he should be encouraged to do his
 best by such rewards as may appeal to his tender years.

These instructions may seem but trivialities in view of the fact that I
 am professing to describe the education of an orator. But studies, like
 men, have their infancy, and as the training of the body which is
 destined to grow to the fulness of strength begins while the child is in
 his cradle and at his mother's breast, so even the man who is destined
 to rise to the heights of eloquence was once a squalling babe, tried to
 speak in stammering accents and was puzzled by the shapes of letters.
 Nor does the fact that capacity for learning is inadequate, prove that
 it is not necessary to learn anything.

No one blames a father because he thinks that such details should on no
 account be neglected in the case of his own son. Why then should he be
 criticised who sets down for the benefit of the public what he would be
 right to put into practice in his own house? There is this further
 reason why he should not be blamed. Small children are better adapted
 for taking in small things, and just as the body can only be trained to
 certain flexions of the limbs while it is young and supple, so the
 acquisition of strength makes the mind offer greater resistance to the
 acquisition of most subjects of knowledge.

Would Philip of Macedon have wished that his son Alexander should be
 taught the rudiments of letters by Aristotle, the greatest philosopher
 of that age, or would the latter have undertaken the task, if he had not
 thought that even the earliest instruction is best given by the most
 perfect teacher and has real reference to the whole
 of education?

Let us assume therefore that Alexander has been confided to our charge
 and that the infant placed in our lap deserves no less attention than
 he—though for that matter every man's child deserves equal attention.
 Would you be ashamed even in teaching him the alphabet to point out some
 brief rules for his education? At any rate I am not satisfied with the
 course (which I note is usually adopted) of teaching small children the
 names and order of the letters before their shapes.

Such a practice makes them slow to recognise the letters, since they do
 not pay attention to their actual shape, preferring to be guided by what
 they have already learned by rote. It is for this reason that teachers,
 when they think they have sufficiently familiarised their young pupils
 with the letters written in their usual order, reverse that order or
 rearrange it in every kind of combination, until they learn to know the
 letters from their appearance and not from the order in which they
 occur. It will be best therefore for children to begin by learning their
 appearance and names just as they do with men.

The method, however, to which we have objected in teaching the alphabet,
 is unobjectionable when applied to syllables. I quite approve on the
 other hand of a practice which has been devised to stimulate children to
 learn by giving them ivory letters to play with, as I do of anything
 else that may be discovered to delight the very young, the sight,
 handling and naming of which is a pleasure.

As soon as the child has begun to know the shapes of the various
 letters, it will be no bad thing to have them cut as accurately as
 possible upon a board, so that the pen may be guided
 along the grooves. Thus mistakes such as occur with wax tablets will be
 rendered impossible; for the pen will be confined between the edges of
 the letters and will be prevented from going astray. Further by
 increasing the frequency and speed with which they follow these fixed
 outlines we shall give steadiness to the fingers, and there will be no
 need to guide the child's hand with our own.

The art of writing well and quickly is not unimportant for our purpose,
 though it is generally disregarded by persons of quality. Writing is of
 the utmost importance in the study which we have under consideration and
 by its means alone can true and deeply rooted proficiency be obtained.
 But a sluggish pen delays our thoughts, while an unformed and illiterate
 hand cannot be deciphered, a circumstance which necessitates another
 wearisome task, namely the dictation of what we have written to a
 copyist.

We shall therefore at all times and in all places, and above all when we
 are writing private letters to our friends, find a gratification in the
 thought that we have not neglected even this accomplishment.

As regards syllables, no short cut is possible: they must all be learnt,
 and there is no good in putting off learning the most difficult; this is
 the general practice, but the sole result is bad spelling.

Further we must beware of placing a blind confidence in a child's
 memory. It is better to repeat syllables and impress them on the memory
 and, when he is reading, not to press him to read continuously or with
 greater speed, unless indeed the clear and obvious sequence of letters
 can suggest itself without its being necessary for the child to stop to
 think. The syllables once learnt, let him begin to
 construct words with them and sentences with the words.

You will hardly believe how much reading is delayed by undue haste. If
 the child attempts more than his powers allow, the inevitable result is
 hesitation, interruption and repetition, and the mistakes which he makes
 merely lead him to lose confidence in what he already knows.

Reading must therefore first be sure, then connected, while it must be
 kept slow for a considerable time, until practice brings speed
 unaccompanied by error.

For to look to the right, which is regularly taught, and to look ahead
 depends not so much on precept as on practice; since it is necessary to
 keep the eyes on what follows while reading out what precedes, with the
 resulting difficulty that the attention of the mind must be divided, the
 eyes and voice being differently engaged. It will be found worth while,
 when the boy begins to write out words in accordance with the usual
 practice, to see that he does not waste his labour in writing out common
 words of everyday occurrence.

He can readily learn the explanations or glosses, 
 as the Greeks call them, of the more obscure words by the way and, while
 he is still engaged on the first rudiments, acquire what would otherwise
 demand special time to be devoted to it. And as we are still discussing
 minor details, I would urge that the lines, which he is set to copy,
 should not express thoughts of no significance, but convey some sound
 moral lesson.

He will remember such aphorisms even when he is an old man, and the
 impression made upon his unformed mind will contribute to the formation
 of his character. He may also be entertained by learning the sayings of
 famous men and above all selections from the poets,
 poetry being more attractive to children. For memory is most necessary
 to an orator, as I shall point out in its proper place, and there is
 nothing like practice for strengthening and developing it. And at the
 tender age of which we are now speaking, when originality is impossible,
 memory is almost the only faculty which can be developed by the teacher.

It will be worth while, by way of improving the child's pronunciation
 and distinctness of utterance, to make him rattle off a selection of
 names and lines of studied difficulty: they should be formed of a number
 of syllables which go ill together and should be harsh and rugged in
 sound: the Greeks call them gags. This sounds a trifling
 matter, but its omission will result in numerous faults of
 pronunciation, which, unless removed in early years, will become a
 perverse and incurable habit and persist through life.

But the time has come for the boy to grow up little by little, to leave
 the nursery and tackle his studies in good earnest. This therefore is
 the place to discuss the question as to whether it is better to have him
 educated privately at home or hand him over to some large school and
 those whom I may call public instructors.

The latter course has, I know, won the approval of most eminent
 authorities and of those who have formed the national character of the
 most famous states. It would, however, be folly to shut our eyes to the
 fact that there are some who disagree with this preference for public
 education owing to a certain prejudice in favour of private tuition.
 These persons seem to be guided in the main by two principles. In the
 interests of morality they would avoid the society of a number of human
 beings at an age that is specially liable to
 acquire serious faults: I only wish I could deny the truth of the view
 that such education has often been the cause of the most discreditable
 actions. Secondly they hold that whoever is to be the boy's teacher, he
 will devote his time more generously to one pupil than if he has to
 divide it among several.

The first reason certainly deserves serious consideration. If it were
 proved that schools, while advantageous to study, are prejudicial to
 morality, I should give my vote for virtuous living in preference to
 even supreme excellence of speaking. But in my opinion the two are
 inseparable. I hold that no one can be a true orator unless he is also a
 good man and, even if he could be, I would not have it so. I will
 therefore deal with this point first. It is held that schools corrupt
 the morals.

It is true that this is sometimes the case. But morals may be corrupted
 at home as well. There are numerous instances of both, as there are also
 of the preservation of a good reputation under either circumstance. The
 nature of the individual boy and the care devoted to his education make
 all the difference. Given a natural bent toward evil or negligence in
 developing and watching over modest behaviour in early years, privacy
 will provide equal opportunity for sin. The teacher employed at home may
 be of bad character, and there is just as much danger in associating
 with bad slaves as there is with immodest companions of good birth.

On the other hand if the natural bent be towards virtue, and parents are
 not afflicted with a blind and torpid indifference, it is possible to
 choose a teacher of the highest character (and those who are wise will
 make this their first object), to adopt a method of
 education of the strictest kind and at the same time to attach some
 respectable man or faithful freedman to their son as his friend and
 guardian, that his unfailing companionship may improve the character
 even of those who gave rise to apprehension.

Yet how easy were the remedy for such fears. Would that we did not too
 often ruin our children's character ourselves! We spoil them from the
 cradle. That soft upbringing, which we call kindness, saps all the
 sinews both of mind and body. If the child crawls on purple, what will
 he not desire when he comes to manhood? Before he can talk he can
 distinguish scarlet and cries for the very best brand of purple. We
 train their palates before we teach their lips to speak.

They grow up in litters: if they set foot to earth, they are supported
 by the hands of attendants on either side. We rejoice if they say
 something over-free, and words which we should not tolerate from the
 lips even of an Alexandrian page are greeted with laughter and a kiss.
 We have no right to be surprised. It was we that taught them:

they hear us use such words, they see our mistresses and minions; every
 dinner party is loud with foul songs, and things are presented to their
 eyes of which we should blush to speak. Hence springs habit, and habit
 in time becomes second nature. The poor children learn these things
 before they know them to be wrong. They become luxurious and effeminate,
 and far from acquiring such vices at schools, introduce them themselves.

I now turn to the objection that one master can live more attention to
 one pupil. In the first place there is nothing to prevent the principle
 of one teacher, one boy being
 combined with school education. And even if such a combination should
 prove impossible, I should still prefer the broad daylight of a
 respectable school to the solitude and obscurity of a private education.
 For all the best teachers pride themselves on having a large number of
 pupils and think themselves worthy of a bigger audience.

On the other hand in the case of inferior teachers a consciousness of
 their own defects not seldom reconciles them to being attached to a
 single pupil and playing the part—for it amounts to little more—of a
 mere paedagogus.

But let us assume that influence, money or friendship succeed in
 securing a paragon of learning to teach the boy at home. Will he be able
 to devote the whole day to one pupil? Or can we demand such continuous
 attention on the part of the learner? The mind is as easily tired as the
 eye, if given no relaxation. Moreover by far the larger proportion of
 the learner's time ought to be devoted to private study.

The teacher does not stand over him while he is writing or thinking or
 learning by heart. While he is so occupied the intervention of anyone,
 be he who he may, is a hindrance. Further, not all reading requires to
 be first read aloud or interpreted by a master. If it did, how would the
 boy ever become acquainted with all the authors required of him? A small
 time only is required to give purpose and direction to the day's work,
 and consequently individual instruction can be given to more than one
 pupil.

There are moreover a large number of subjects in which it is desirable
 that instruction should be given to all the pupils simultaneously. I say
 nothing of the analyses and declamations of the
 professors of rhetoric: in such cases there is no limit to the number of
 the audience, as each individual pupil will in any case receive full
 value.

The voice of a lecturer is not like a dinner which will only suffice for
 a limited number; it is like the sun which distributes the same quantity
 of light and heat to all of us. So too with the teacher of literature.
 Whether he speak of style or expound disputed passages, explain stories
 or paraphrase poems, everyone who hears him will profit by his teaching.

But, it will be urged, a large class is unsuitable for the correction of
 faults or for explanation. It may be inconvenient: one cannot hope for
 absolute perfection; but I shall shortly contrast the inconvenience with
 the obvious advantages. Still I do not wish a boy to be sent where he
 will be neglected. But a good teacher will not burden himself with a
 larger number of pupils than he can manage, and it is further of the
 very first importance that he should be on friendly and intimate terms
 with us and make his teaching not a duty but a labour of love. Then
 there will never be any question of being swamped by the number of our
 fellow-learners.

Moreover any teacher who has the least tincture of literary culture will
 devote special attention to any boy who shows signs of industry and
 talent; for such a pupil will redound to his own credit. But even if
 large schools are to be avoided, a proposition from which I must dissent
 if the size be due to the excellence of the teacher, it does not follow
 that all schools are to be avoided. It is one thing to avoid them,
 another to select the best.

Having refuted these objections, let me now explain
 my own views.

It is above all things necessary that our future orator, who will have
 to live in the utmost publicity and in the broad daylight of public
 life, should become accustomed from his childhood to move in society
 without fear and habituated to a life far removed from that of the pale
 student, the solitary and recluse. His mind requires constant stimulus
 and excitement, whereas retirement such as has just been mentioned
 induces languor and the mind becomes mildewed like things that are left
 in the dark, or else flies to the opposite extreme and becomes puffed up
 with empty conceit; for he who has no standard of comparison by which to
 judge his own powers will necessarily rate them too high.

Again when the fruits of his study have to be displayed to the public
 gaze, our recluse is blinded by the sun's glare, and finds everything
 new and unfamiliar, for though he has learnt what is required to be done
 in public, his learning is but the theory of a hermit.

I say nothing of friendships which endure unbroken to old age having
 acquired the binding force of a sacred duty: for initiation in the same
 studies has all the sanctity of initiation in the same mysteries of
 religion. And where shall he acquire that instinct which we call common
 feeling, if he secludes himself from that intercourse which is natural
 not merely to mankind but even to dumb animals?

Further, at home he can only learn what is taught to himself, while at
 school he will learn what is taught others as well. He will hear many
 merits praised and many faults corrected every day: he will derive equal
 profit from hearing the indolence of a comrade rebuked or his industry
 commended.

Such praise will incite him to emulation, he will
 think it a disgrace to be outdone by his contemporaries and a
 distinction to surpass his seniors. All such incentives provide a
 valuable stimulus, and though ambition may be a fault in itself, it is
 often the mother of virtues.

I remember that my own masters had a practice which was not without
 advantages. Having distributed the boys in classes, they made the order
 in which they were to speak depend on their ability, so that the boy who
 had made most progress in his studies had the privilege of declaiming
 first.

The performances on these occasions were criticised. To win commendation
 was a tremendous honour, but the prize most eagerly coveted was to be
 the leader of the class. Such a position was not permanent. Once a month
 the defeated competitors were given a fresh opportunity of competing for
 the prize. Consequently success did not lead the victor to relax his
 efforts, while the vexation caused by defeat served as an incentive to
 wipe out the disgrace.

I will venture to assert that to the best of my memory this practice did
 more to kindle our oratorical ambitions than all the exhortations of our
 instructors, the watchfulness of our paedagogi 
 and the prayers of our parents.

Further while emulation promotes progress in the more advanced pupils,
 beginners who are still of tender years derive greater pleasure from
 imitating their comrades than their masters, just because it is easier.
 For children still in the elementary stages of education can scarce dare
 hope to reach that complete eloquence which they understand to be their
 goal: their ambition will not soar so high, but they will imitate the
 vine which has to grasp the lower branches of the tree on which it is
 trained before it can reach the topmost boughs.

So true is this that it is the master's duty as well, if he is engaged
 on the task of training unformed minds and prefers practical utility to
 a more ambitious programme, not to burden his pupils at once with tasks
 to which their strength is unequal, but to curb his energies and refrain
 from talking over the heads of his audience.

Vessels with narrow mouths will not receive liquids if too much be
 poured into them at a time, but are easily filled if the liquid is
 admitted in a gentle stream or, it may be, drop by drop; similarly you
 must consider how much a child's mind is capable of receiving: the
 things which are beyond their grasp will not enter their minds, which
 have not opened out sufficiently to take them in.

It is a good thing therefore that a boy should have companions whom he
 will desire first to imitate and then to surpass: thus he will be led to
 aspire to higher achievement. I would add that the instructors
 themselves cannot develop the same intelligence and energy before a
 single listener as they can when inspired by the presence of a numerous
 audience.

For eloquence depends in the main on the state of the mind, which must
 be moved, conceive images and adapt itself to suit the nature of the
 subject which is the theme of speech. Further the loftier and the more
 elevated the mind, the more powerful will be the forces which move it:
 consequently praise gives it growth and effort increase, and the thought
 that it is doing something great fills it with joy.

The duty of stooping to expend that power of speaking which has been
 acquired at the cost of such effort upon an audience of one gives rise
 to a silent feeling of disdain, and the teacher is
 ashamed to raise his voice above the ordinary conversational level.
 Imagine the air of a declaimer, or the voice of an orator, his gait, his
 delivery, the movements of his body, the emotions of his mind, and, to
 go no further, the fatigue of his exertions, all for the sake of one
 listener! Would he not seem little less than a lunatic? No, there would
 be no such thing as eloquence, if we spoke only with one person at a
 time.

The skilful teacher will make it his first care, as soon as a boy is
 entrusted to him, to ascertain his ability and character. The surest
 indication in a child is his power of memory. The characteristics of a
 good memory are twofold: it must be quick to take in and faithful to
 retain impressions of what it receives. The indication of next
 importance is the power of imitation: for this is a sign that the child
 is teachable: but he must imitate merely what he is taught, and must
 not, for example, mimic someone's gait or bearing or defects.

For I have no hope that a child will turn out well who loves imitation
 merely for the purpose of raising a laugh. He who is really gifted will
 also above all else be good. For the rest, I regard slowness of
 intellect as preferable to actual badness. But a good boy will be quite
 unlike the dullard and the sloth.

My ideal pupil will absorb instruction with ease and will even ask some
 questions; but he will follow rather than anticipate his teacher.
 Precocious intellects rarely produce sound fruit.

By the precocious I mean those who perform small tasks with ease and,
 thus emboldened, proceed to display all their little accomplishments without being asked: but their accomplishments are
 only of the most obvious kind: they string words together and trot them
 out boldly and undeterred by the slightest sense of modesty. Their
 actual achievement is small, but what they can do they perform with
 ease.

They have no real power and what they have is but of shallow growth: it
 is as when we cast seed on the surface of the soil: it springs up too
 rapidly, the blade apes the loaded ear, and yellows ere harvest time,
 but bears no grain. Such tricks please us when we contrast them with the
 performer's age, but progress soon stops and our admiration withers
 away.

Such indications once noted, the teacher must next consider what
 treatment is to be applied to the mind of his pupil. There are some boys
 who are slack, unless pressed on; others again are impatient of control:
 some are amenable to fear, while others are paralysed by it: in some
 cases the mind requires continued application to form it, in others this
 result is best obtained by rapid concentration. Give me the boy who is
 spurred on by praise, delighted by success and ready to weep over
 failure.

Such an one must be encouraged by appeals to his ambition; rebuke will
 bite him to the quick; honour will be a spur, and there is no fear of
 his proving indolent.

Still, all our pupils will require some relaxation, not merely because
 there is nothing in this world that can stand continued strain and even
 unthinking and inanimate objects are unable to maintain their strength,
 unless given intervals of rest, but because study depends on the good
 will of the student, a quality that cannot be secured by compulsion.

Consequently if restored and refreshed by a holiday 
 they will bring greater energy to their learning and approach their work
 with greater spirit of a kind that will not submit to be driven.

I approve of play in the young; it is a sign of a lively disposition;
 nor will you ever lead me to believe that a boy who is gloomy and in a
 continual state of depression is ever likely to show alertness of mind
 in his work, lacking as he does the impulse most natural to boys of his
 age.

Such relaxation must not however be unlimited: otherwise the refusal to
 give a holiday will make boys hate their work, while excessive
 indulgence will accustom them to idleness. There are moreover certain
 games which have an educational value for boys, as for instance when
 they compete in posing each other with all kinds of questions which they
 ask turn and turn about.

Games too reveal character in the most natural way, at least that is so
 if the teacher will bear in mind that there is no child so young as to
 be unable to learn to distinguish between right and wrong, and that the
 character is best moulded, when it is still guiltless of deceit and most
 susceptible to instruction: for once a bad habit has become engrained,
 it is easier to break than bend.

There must be no delay, then, in warning a boy that his actions must be
 unselfish, honest, self-controlled, and we must never forget the words
 of Virgil, 
 
 
 So strong is custom formed in early
 years. 
 
 Georg. ii. 272. 
 
 I disapprove of flogging, although it is the regular
 custom and meets with the acquiescence of Chrysippus, because in the
 first place it is a disgraceful form of punishment and fit only for
 slaves,

and is in any case an insult, as you will realise if
 you imagine its infliction at a later age. Secondly if a boy is so
 insensible to instruction that reproof is useless, he will, like the
 worst type of slave, merely become hardened to blows. Finally there will
 be absolutely no need of such punishment if the master is a thorough
 disciplinarian.

As it is, we try to make amends for the negligence of the boy's paedagogus, not by forcing him to do what is
 right, but by punishing him for not doing what is right. And though you
 may compel a child with blows, what are you to do with him when he is a
 young man no longer amenable to such threats and confronted with tasks
 of far greater difficulty?

Moreover when children are beaten, pain or fear frequently have results
 of which it is not pleasant to speak and which are likely subsequently
 to be a source of shame, a shame which unnerves and depresses the mind
 and leads the child to shun and loathe the light.

Further if inadequate care is taken in the choices of respectable
 governors and instructors, I blush to mention the shameful abuse which
 scoundrels sometimes make of their right to administer corporal
 punishment or the opportunity not infrequently offered to others by the
 fear thus caused in the victims. I will not linger on this subject; it
 is more than enough if I have made my meaning clear. I will content
 myself with saying that children are helpless and easily victimised, and
 that therefore no one should be given unlimited power over them.

I will now proceed to describe the subjects in which the boy must be
 trained, if he is to become an orator, and to indicate the age at which
 each should be commenced.

As soon as the boy has learned to read and write
 without difficulty, it is the turn for the teacher of
 literature. My words apply equally to Greek and Latin masters, though I
 prefer that a start should be made with a Greek:

in either case the method is the same. This profession may be most
 briefly considered under two heads, the art of speaking correctly and
 the interpretation of the poets; but there is more beneath the surface
 than meets the eye.

For the art of writing is combined with that of speaking, and correct
 reading precedes interpretation, while in each of these cases criticism
 has its work to perform. The old school of teachers indeed carried their
 criticism so far that they were not content with obelising lines or
 rejecting books whose titles they regarded as spurious, as though they
 were expelling a supposititious child from the family circle, but also
 drew up a canon of authors, from which some were omitted altogether.

Nor is it sufficient to have read the poets only; every kind of writer
 must be carefully studied, not merely for the subject matter, but for
 the vocabulary; for words often acquire authority from their use by a
 particular author. Nor can such training be regarded as complete if it
 stop short of music, for the teacher of literature has to speak of metre
 and rhythm: nor again if he be ignorant of astronomy, can he understand
 the poets; for they, to mention no further points, frequently give their
 indications of time by reference to the rising and setting of the stars.
 Ignorance of philosophy is an equal drawback, since there are numerous
 passages in almost every poem based on the most intricate questions of
 natural philosophy, while among the Greeks we have Empedocles and among
 our own poets Varro and Lucretius, all of whom have
 expounded their philosophies in verse.

No small powers of eloquence also are required to enable the teacher to
 speak appropriately and fluently on the various points which have just
 been mentioned. For this reason those who criticise the art of teaching
 literature as trivial and lacking in substance put themselves out of
 court. Unless the foundations of oratory are well and truly laid by the
 teaching of literature, the superstructure will collapse. The study of
 literature is a necessity for boys and the delight of old age, the sweet
 companion of our privacy and the sole branch of study which has more
 solid substance than display.

The elementary stages of the teaching of literature must not therefore
 be despised as trivial. It is of course an easy task to point out the
 difference between vowels and consonants, and to subdivide the latter
 into semivowels and mutes. But as the pupil gradually approaches the
 inner shrine of the sacred place, he will come to realise the intricacy
 of the subject, an intricacy calculated not merely to sharpen the wits
 of a boy, but to exercise even the most profound knowledge and
 erudition.

It is not every ear that can appreciate the correct sound of the
 different letters. It is fully as hard as to distinguish the different
 notes in music. But all teachers of literature will condescend to such
 minutiae: they will discuss for instance whether certain necessary
 letters are absent from the alphabet, not indeed when we are writing
 Greek words (for then we borrow two letters from them), but in the case of
 genuine Latin words:

for example in words such as seruus and uulgus we feel the lack of the Aeolic digamma;
 there is also a sound intermediate between 
 u and i, for we do not
 pronounce optimum as we do opimum, while in here the sound is
 neither exactly e or i.

Again there is the question whether certain letters are not superfluous,
 not to mention the mark of the aspirate, to which, if it is required at
 all, there should be a corresponding symbol to indicate the opposite:
 for instance k, which is also used as an
 abbreviation for certain nouns, and q, which,
 though slanted slightly more by us, resembles both in sound and shape
 the Greek koppa, now used by the Greeks solely as
 a numerical sign 
 : there is also x, the last letter of our own
 alphabet, which we could dispense with as easily as with psi.

Again the teacher of literature will have to determine whether certain
 vowels have not been consonantalised. For instance iam and etiam are both spelt with an
 i, uos and tuos both
 with a u. Vowels, however, when joined as vowels,
 either make one long vowel (compare the obsolete method of indicating a
 long vowel by doubling it as the equivalent of the circumflex), or a
 diphthong, though some hold that even three vowels can form a single
 syllable; this however is only possible if one or more assume the role
 of consonants.

He will also inquire why it is that there are two vowels which may be
 repeated, while a consonant can only be followed and modified by a
 different consonant. But i can follow i (for coniicit is derived from iacit 
 ): so too does u, 
 witness the modern spelling of seruus and uulgus. He should also know that Cicero preferred
 to write aiio and Maaiiam 
 with a double i; in that case one of them is consonantalised.

A boy therefore must learn both the peculiarities and the common
 characteristics of letters and must know how they are related to each
 other. Nor must he be surprised that scabillum is
 formed from scamnus or that a double-edged axe
 should be called bipennis from pinnus, 
 sharp : for I would not have him fall
 into the same error as those who, supposing this word to be derived from
 his and pennae, think
 that it is a metaphor from the wings of birds.

He must not be content with knowing only those changes introduced by
 conjugation and prefixes, such as secat secuit, cadit
 excidit, caedit excīdit, calcat exculcat, to which might be
 added lotus from lauare 
 and again inlotus with a thousand others. He must
 learn as well the changes that time has brought about even in
 nominatives. For just as names like Valesius and
 Fusius have become Valerius and Furius, so arbos, labos, vapos and even clamos and lases 
 
 were the original forms.

And this same letter s, which has disappeared
 from these words, has itself in some cases taken the place of another
 letter. For our ancestors used to say mertare and
 pultare. 
 They also said fordeum and faedi, using
 f instead of the aspirate as being a kindred
 letter. For the Greeks unlike us aspirate f like
 their own phi, as Cicero bears witness in the pro Fundanio, where he laughs at a witness who is
 unable to pronounce the first letter of that name.

In some cases again we have substituted b for
 other letters, as with Burrus, Bruges, and Belena. 
 
 The same letter too has turned duellum into bellum, and as a result some have ventured to
 call the Duelii Belii.

What of stlocus and stlites? What of the connexion between t and d, a connexion which makes it less surprising that on some of the older buildings of
 Rome and certain famous temples we should find the names Alexanter and Cassantra? 
 What again of the interchange of o and u, of which examples may be found in Hecoba, notrix, Culcides and Pulixena, or to take purely Latin words dederont and probaueront? So too Odysseus, which the Aeolian dialect turned into
 Ulysseus, has been transformed by us into Ulixes.

Similarly e in certain cases held the place that
 is now occupied by i, as in Menerua, leber, magester, and Dioue
 victore in place of Dioui victori. It is
 sufficient for me to give a mere indication as regards these points, for
 I am not teaching, but merely advising those who have got to teach. The
 next subject to which attention must be given is that of syllables, of
 which I will speak briefly, when I come to deal with orthography.
 Following this the teacher concerned will note the number and nature of
 the parts of speech, although there is some dispute as to their number.

Earlier writers, among them Aristotle himself and Theodectes, hold that
 there are but three, verbs, nouns and convictions. Their view was that the force of
 language resided in the verbs, and the matter in the nouns (for the one
 is what we speak, the other that which we speak about), while the duty
 of the convinctions was to provide a link between the nouns and the
 verbs. I know that conjunction is the term in
 general use. But conviction seems to me to be the
 more accurate translation of the Greek .

Gradually the number was increased by the philosophers, more especially
 by the Stoics: articles were first added to the
 convinctions, then prepositions: to nouns appellations 
 were added, then the pronoun 
 and finally the participle, which holds a middle
 position between the verb and the noun. To the verb itself was added the
 adverb. Our own language dispenses with the
 articles, which are therefore distributed among the other parts of
 speech.

But interjections must be added to those already
 mentioned. Others however follow good authority in asserting that there
 are eight parts of speech. Among these I may mention Aristarchus and in
 our own day Palaemon, who classified the vocable 
 or appellation as a species of the genus noun.
 Those on the other hand who distinguish between the noun and the
 vocable, make nine parts of speech. But yet again there are some who
 differentiate between the vocable and the appellation, saying that the
 vocable indicates concrete objects which can
 be seen and touched, such as a house or
 bed, while an appellation is
 something imperceptible either to sight or touch or to both, such as the
 wind, 
 heaven, or virtue. 
 They added also the asseveration, such as
 alas and the derivative 
 such as fasciatim. But of these
 classifications I do not approve.

Whether we should translate προσηγορία 
 by vocable or appellation, 
 and whether it should be regarded as a species of noun, I leave to the
 decision of such as desire to express their opinion: it is a matter of
 no importance.

Boys should begin by learning to decline nouns and conjugate verbs:
 otherwise they will never be able to understand the next subject of
 study. This admonition would be superfluous but for the fact that most
 teachers, misled by a desire to show rapid progress, begin with what
 should really come at the end: their passion for displaying their
 pupils' talents in connexion with the more imposing
 aspects of their work serves but to delay progress and their short cut
 to knowledge merely lengthens the journey.

And yet a teacher who has acquired sufficient knowledge himself and is
 ready to teach what he has learned—and such readiness is all too
 rare—will not be content with stating that nouns have three genders or
 with mentioning those which are common to two or all three together.

Nor again shall I be in a hurry to regard it as a proof of real
 diligence, if he points out that there are irregular nouns of the kind
 called epicene by the Greeks, in which one gender
 implies both, or which in spite of being feminine or neuter in form
 indicate males or females respectively, as for instance Muraena and Glycerium.

A really keen and intelligent teacher will inquire into the origin of
 names derived from physical characteristics, such as Rufus or Longus, whenever their meaning
 is obscure, as in the case of Sulla, Burrus, Galba,
 Plautus, Pansa, Scaurus and the like; of names derived from
 accidents of birth such as Agrippa, Opiter,
 Cordus and Postumus, and again of names
 given after birth such as Vopiscus. Then there
 are names such as Cotta, Scipio, Laenas or Seranus, 
 which originated in various ways.

It will also be found that names are frequently derived from races,
 places and many other causes. Further there are obsolete slave-names
 such as Marcipor or Publipor 
 derived
 from the names of their owners. The teacher must also inquire whether
 there is not room for a sixth case in Greek and a
 seventh in Latin. For when I say wounded by a spear, the
 case is not a true ablative in Latin nor a true dative in Greek.

Again if we turn to verbs, who is so ill-educated as not to be familiar
 with their various kinds and qualities, their different persons and
 numbers. Such subjects belong to the elementary school and the rudiments
 of knowledge. Some, however, will find points undetermined by inflexion
 somewhat perplexing. For there are certain participles, about which
 there may be doubts as to whether they are really nouns or verbs, since
 their meaning varies with their use, as for example lectum and sapiens,

while there are other verbs which resemble nouns, such as fraudator and nutritor. 
 
 Again itur in antiquam silvam 
 is a
 peculiar usage. For there is no subject to serve as a starting point:
 fletur is a similar example. The passive may
 be used in different ways as for instance in 
 
 
 panditur interea domus omnipotentis
 Olympi 
 
 Aen. x. 1 
 
 
 Meanwhile the house of
 almighty Olympus is opened. and in 
 
 
 totis usque adeo turbatur agris. 
 
 Ecl. i. 11 
 
 
 
 There is such
 confusion in all the fields. 
 Yet a third usage is
 found in urbs habitatur, whence we get phrases
 such as campus curritur and 
 mare navigatur. Pransus and
 potus 
 have a
 meaning which does not correspond to their form. And what of those verbs
 which are only partially conjugated? Some (as for instance fero ) even suffer an entire change in the
 perfect. Others are used only in the third person,
 such as licet and piget, 
 while some resemble nouns tending to acquire an adverbial meaning; for
 we say dictu and factu 
 
 as we say noctu and diu, 
 since these words are participial though quite different from dicto and facto.

Style has three kinds of excellence, correctness, lucidity and elegance
 (for many include the all-important quality of appropriateness under the
 heading of elegance). Its faults are likewise threefold, namely the
 opposites of these excellences. The teacher of literature therefore must
 study the rules for correctness of speech, these constituting the first
 part of his art.

The observance of these rules is concerned with either one or more
 words. I must now be understood to use verbum in
 its most general sense. It has of course two meanings; the one covers
 all the parts of which language is composed, as in the line of Horace:
 
 
 
 Once supply the thought, 
 And
 words will follow swift as soon as sought 
 
 Ars Poetica, 311. 
 
 the other restricts it to a part of speech such as
 lego and scribo. To
 avoid this ambiguity, some authorities prefer the terms voces, locutiones, dictiones.

Individual words will either be native or imported, simple or compound,
 literal or metaphorical, in current use or newly-coined. A single word
 is more likely to be faulty than to possess any intrinsic merit. For
 though we may speak of a word as appropriate, distinguished or sublime,
 it can possess none of these properties save in relation to connected
 and consecutive speech; since when we praise words, we do so because
 they suit the matter.

There is only one excellence that can be isolated
 for consideration, namely euphony, the Greek term for our uocalitas: that is to say that, when we are
 confronted with making a choice between two exact synonyms, we must
 select that which sounds best.

In the first place barbarisms and solecisms must not be allowed to intrude their
 offensive presence. These blemishes are however pardoned at times,
 because we have become accustomed to them or because they have age or
 authority in their favour or are near akin to positive excellences,
 since it is often difficult to distinguish such blemishes from figures
 of speech.1 The teacher therefore, that such slippery customers may not
 elude detection, must seek to acquire a delicate discrimination; but of
 this I will speak later when I come to discuss figures of speech.

For the present I will define barbarism as an
 offence occurring in connexion with single words. Some of my readers may
 object that such a topic is beneath the dignity of so ambitious a work.
 But who does not know that some barbarisms occur
 in writing, others in speaking? For although what is incorrect in
 writing will also be incorrect in speech, the converse is not
 necessarily true, inasmuch as mistakes in writing are caused by addition
 or omission, substitution or transposition, while mistakes in speaking
 are due to separation or combination of syllables, to aspiration or
 other errors of sound.

Trivial as these points may seem, our boys are still at school and I am
 reminding their instructors of their duty. And if one of our teachers is
 lacking in education and has done no more than set foot in the outer
 courts of his art, he will have to confine himself to the rules
 published in the elementary text-books: the more
 learned teacher on the other hand will be in a position to go much
 further: first of all, for example, he will point out that there are
 many different kinds of barbarism.

One kind is due to race, such as the insertion of a Spanish or African
 term; for instance the iron tire of a wheel is called cantus, 
 though Persius uses it as established in the
 Latin language; Catullus picked up ploxenum 
 (a box) in
 the valley of the Po, while the author of the in
 Pollionem, be he Labienus or Cornelius Gallus, imported casamo from Gaul in the sense of
 follower. As for mastruca, 
 which is Sardinian for
 a rough coat, it is introduced by Cicero merely as an
 object of derision.

Another kind of barbarism proceeds from the speaker's temper: for
 instance, we regard it as barbarous if a speaker use cruel or brutal
 language.

A third and very common kind, of which anyone may fashion examples for
 himself, consists in the addition or omission of a letter or syllable,
 or in the substitution of one for another or in placing one where it has
 no right to be.

Some teachers however, to display their learning, are in the habit of
 picking out examples of barbarism from the poets
 and attacking the authors whom they are expounding for using such words.
 A boy should however realize that in poets such peculiarities are
 pardonable or even praiseworthy, and should therefore be taught less
 common instances.

For Tinga of Placentia, if we may believe Hortensius who takes him to
 task for it, committed two barbarisms in one word
 by saying precula for pergula: that is to say he substituted c for g, and transposed r and e. On the other
 hand when Ennius writes Mettocoque
 Fufetioeo, 
 where the barbarism is
 twice repeated, he is defended on the plea of poetic licence.

Substitution is however sometimes admitted even in prose, as for
 instance when Cicero speaks of the army of Canopus
 which is locally styled Canobus, while
 the number of authors who have been guilty of transposition in writing
 Trasumennus for Tarsumennus has succeeded in standardising the error. Similar
 instances may be quoted. If adsentior be regarded
 as the correct form, we must remember that Sisenna said adsentio, and that many have followed him on the
 ground of analogy: on the other hand, if adsentio 
 is the correct form, we must remember that adsentior has the support of current usage.

And yet our fat fool, the fashionable schoolmaster, will regard one of
 these forms as an example of omission or the other as an instance of
 addition. Again there are words which when used separately are
 undoubtedly incorrect, but when used in conjunction excite no
 unfavourable comment.

For instance dua and tre 
 are barbarisms and differ in gender, but the
 words duapondo and trepondo 
 have persisted in common parlance
 down to our own day, and Messala shows that the practice is correct.

It may perhaps seem absurd to say that a barbarism, which is an error in a single word, may be made,
 like a solecism, by errors in connexion with
 number or gender. But take on the one hand scala 
 (stairs) and scopa (which literally means a twig,
 but is used in the sense of broom) and on the other hand hordea (barley) and mulsa 
 (mead): here we have substitution, omission and addition of letters, but
 the blemish consists in the former case merely in the use of singular
 for plural, in the latter of plural for singular.
 Those on the other hand who have used the word gladia are guilty of a mistake in gender.

I merely mention these as instances: I do not wish anyone to think that
 I have added a fresh problem to a subject into which the obstinacy of
 pedants has already introduced confusion. The faults which arise in the
 course of actual speaking require greater penetration on the part of the
 critic, since it is impossible to cite examples from writing, except in
 cases where they occur in poetry, as when the diphthong is divided into
 two syllables in Europai and Asiai 
 ; or when the opposite fault
 occurs, called synaeresis or synaloephe by the Greeks and complexio 
 by ourselves: as an example I may quote the line of Publius Varro:
 
 turn te flagranti deiectum
 fulmine Plaethon.

If this were prose, it would be possible to give the letters their true
 syllabic value. I may mention as further anomalies peculiar to poetry
 the lengthening of a short syllable as in Italiam fato
 profugus, 
 or the shortening of a
 long such as unĭius ob noxam et furias; 
 but in poetry we cannot label these as actual faults.

Errors in sound on the other hand can be detected by the ear alone;
 although in Latin, as regards the addition or omission of the aspirate,
 the question may be raised whether this is an error when it occurs in
 writing; for there is some doubt whether h is a
 letter or merely a breathing, practice having frequently varied in
 different ages.

Older authors used it but rarely even before vowels, saying aedus or ircus, while its
 conjunction with consonants was for a long time avoided, as in words
 such as 
 Graccus or triumpus. Then for a short time it broke out into
 excessive use, witness such spelling as chorona,
 chenturia or 
 praecho, which may still be
 read in certain inscriptions: the well-known epigram of Catullus will be
 remembered in this connexion.

The spellings vehementer, comprehendere and mihi have lasted to our own
 day: and among early writers, especially of tragedy, we actually find
 mehe for me in the
 older MSS.

It is still more difficult to detect errors of tenor or tone (I note that old writers spell the word tonor, as derived from the Greek τόνος ), or of accent, styled prosody by
 the Greeks, such as the substitution of the acute accent for the grave
 or the grave for the acute: such an example would be the placing of the
 acute accent on the first syllable of Camillus,

or the substitution of the grave for the circumflex in Cethegus, an error which results in the alteration of the
 quantity of the middle syllable, since it means making the first
 syllable acute; or again the substitution of the circumflex for the
 grave on the second syllable of Appi, where the
 contraction of two syllables into one circumflexed syllable involves a
 double error.

This, however, occurs far more frequently in Greek words such as Atrei, which in our young days was pronounced by
 the most learned of our elders with an acute accent on the first
 syllable, necessitating a grave accent on the second; the same remark
 applies to Nerei and Terei. Such has been the tradition as regards accents.

Still I am well aware that certain learned men and some professed
 teachers of literature, to ensure that certain words may be kept
 distinct, sometimes place an acute accent on the last syllable, both
 when they are teaching and in ordinary speech: as, for instance, in the
 following passage: 
 
 
 quae circus litora, circum piscosos
 scopulos, 
 
 Aen. iv. 254.

where they make the last syllable of circum acute
 on the ground that, if that syllable were given the grave accent, it
 might be thought that they meant circus not circuitus. 
 
 Similarly when quale is interrogative, they give
 the final syllable a grave accent, but when using it in a comparison,
 make it acute. This practice, however, they restrict almost entirely to
 adverbs and pronouns; in other cases they follow the old usage.

Personally I think that in such phrases as these the circumstances are
 almost entirely altered by the fact that we join two words together. For
 when I say circum litora I pronounce the phrase
 as one word, concealing the fact that it is composed of two,
 consequently it contains but one acute accent, as though it were a
 single word. The same thing occurs in the phrase Troiae qui primus ab oris.

It sometimes happens that the accent is altered by the metre as in
 pecudes pictaeque volucres ; for I shall read
 volucres with the acute on the middle
 syllable, because, although that syllable is short by nature, it is long
 by position: else the last two syllables would form an iambus, which its
 position in the hexameter does not allow.

But these same words, if separated, will form no exception to the rule:
 or if the custom under discussion prevails, the old law of the language will disappear. (This law is more
 difficult for the Greeks to observe, because they have several dialects,
 as they call them, and what is wrong in one may be right in another.)
 But with us the rule is simplicity itself.

For in every word the acute accent is restricted to three syllables,
 whether these be the only syllables in the word or the three last, and
 will fall either on the penultimate or the antepenultimate. The middle
 of the three syllables of which I speak will be acute or circumflexed,
 if long, while if it be short, it will have a grave accent and the acute
 will be thrown back to the preceding syllable, that is to say the
 antepenultimate.

Every word has an acute accent, but never more than one. Further the
 acute never falls on the last syllable and therefore in dissyllabic
 words marks the first syllable. Moreover the acute accent and the
 circumflex are never found in one and the same word, since the
 circumflex itself contains an acute accent. Neither the circumflex nor
 the acute, therefore, will ever be found in the last syllable of a Latin
 word, with this exception, that monosyllables must either be acute or
 circumflexed; otherwise we should find words without an acute accent at
 all.

There are also faults of sound, which we cannot reproduce in writing, as
 they spring from defects of the voice and tongue. The Greeks who are
 happier in inventing names than we are call them iotacisms, lambdacisms,
 
 ἰσχνότητες (attenuations) and πλατειασμοί (broadenings); they also use
 the term κοιλοστομία, when the voice
 seems to proceed from the depths of the mouth.

There are also certain peculiar and indescribable sounds for which we
 sometimes take whole nations to fault. To sum up then, if all the faults
 of which we have just spoken be avoided, we shall be
 in possession of the Greek ὀρθοέπεια, 
 that is to say, an exact and pleasing articulation; for that is what we
 mean when we speak of correct pronunciation.

All other faults in speaking are concerned with more words than one;
 among this class of faults is the solecism, 
 although there have been controversies about this as well. For even
 those who acknowledge that it occurs in connected speech, argue that,
 since it can be corrected by the alteration of one word, the fault lies
 in the word and not in the phrase or sentence.

For example whether amarae corticis 
 or medio cortice 
 contains a solecism in gender (and personally I
 object to neither, as Vergil is the author of both; however, for the
 sake of argument let us assume that one of the two is incorrect), still
 whichever phrase is incorrect, it can be set right by the alteration of
 the word in which the fault lies: that is to say we can emend either to
 amari corticis or media
 cortice. But it is obvious that these critics misrepresent the
 case. For neither word is faulty in itself; the error arises from its
 association with another word. The fault therefore lies in the phrase.

Those who raise the question as to whether a solecism can arise in a single word show greater intelligence.
 Is it for instance a solecism if a man when
 calling a single person to him says uenite, or in
 dismissing several persons says abi or discede? Or again if the answer does not
 correspond to the question: suppose, for example, when someone said to
 you Whom do I see? , you were to reply I. 
 Some too think it a solecism if the spoken word
 is contradicted by the motion of hand or head.

I do not entirely concur with this view nor yet do I 
 wholly dissent. I admit that a solecism may occur
 in a single word, but with this proviso: there must be something else
 equivalent to another word, to which the word, in which the error lies,
 can be referred, so that the solecism arises from
 the faulty connexion of those symbols by which facts are expressed and
 purpose indicated.

To avoid all suspicion of quibbling, I will say that a solecism may occur in one word, but never in a word in
 isolation. There is, however, some controversy as to the number and
 nature of the different kinds of solecism. Those
 who have dealt with the subject most fully make a fourfold division,
 identical with that which is made in the case of barbarisms: solecisms are brought about by addition, for
 instance in phrases such as nam enim, de susum, in
 Alexandriam;

by omission, in phrases such as ambulo viam, Aegypto
 venio, or ne hoc fecit: and by
 transposition as in quoque ego, enim hoc voluit, aulem
 non habuit. 
 Under this last
 head comes the question whether igitur can be
 placed first in a sentence: for I note that authors of the first rank
 disagree on this point, some of them frequently placing it in that
 position, others never.

Some distinguish these three classes of error from the solecism, styling addition a pleonasm, 
 omission an ellipse, and transposition anastrophe: and they assert that if anastrophe is a solecism, hyperbaton might also be so called.

About substitution, that is when one word is used instead of another,
 there is no dispute. It is an error which we may detect in connexion
 with all the parts of speech, but most frequently in the verb, because
 it has greater variety than any other: consequently
 in connexion with the verb we get solecisms of
 gender, tense, person and mood (or states or
 qualities if you prefer either of these terms), be
 these types of error six in number, as some assert, or eight as is
 insisted by others (for the number of the forms of solecism will depend
 on the number of subdivisions which you assign to the parts of speech of
 which we have just spoken). Further there are solecisms of number;

now Latin has two numbers, singular and plural, while Greek possesses a
 third, namely the dual. There have however been some who have given us a
 dual as well in words such as scripsere and legere, in which as a matter of fact the final
 syllable has been softened to avoid harshness, just as in old writers we
 find male merere for male
 mereris. Consequently what they assert to be a dual is
 concerned solely with this one class of termination, whereas in Greek it
 is found throughout the whole structure of the verb and in nouns as
 well, though even then it is but rarely used.

But we find not a trace of such a usage in any Latin author. On the
 contrary phrases such as devenere locos, 
 
 conticuere omnes 
 and consedere
 duces 
 clearly prove that they have nothing to do
 with the dual. Moreover dixere, 
 although Antonius
 Rufus cites it as proof to the contrary, is often used by the usher in
 the courts to denote more than two advocates.

Again, does not Livy near the beginning of his first book write tenuere arcem Sabini 
 and later in adversum
 Romani subiere? But I can produce still better authority. For
 Cicero in his Orator says, I have no
 objection to the form scripsere, though I regard scripserunt as the more correct.

Similarly in vocables and nouns solecisms occur
 in connexion with gender, number and more especially case, by
 substitution of one for another. To these may be added solecisms in the use of comparatives and superlatives, or the
 employment of patronymics instead of possessives and vice versa.

As for solecisms connected with expressions of
 quantity, there are some who will regard phrases such as magnum peculiolum 
 as a solecism, because the diminutive is
 used instead of the ordinary noun, which implies no diminution. I think
 I should call it a misuse of the diminutive rather than a solecism; for it is an error of sense, whereas
 solecisms are not errors of sense, but rather faulty combinations of
 words.

As regards participles, solecisms occur in case
 and gender as with nouns, in tense as with verbs, and in number as in
 both. The pronoun admits of solecisms in gender,
 number and case.

Solecisms also occur with great frequency in
 connexion with parts of speech: but a bare statement on this point is
 not sufficient, as it may lead a boy to think that such error consists
 only in the substitution of one part of speech for another, as for
 instance if a verb is placed where we require a noun, or an adverb takes
 the place of a pronoun and so on.

For there are some nouns which are cognate, that is to say of the same
 genus, and he who uses the wrong species 
 in connexion with one of these will be guilty of the
 same offence as if he were to change the genus. 
 Thus an and aut are
 conjunctions, but it would be bad Latin to say in a question hic and ille sit 
 ;

ne and 
 non are adverbs: but he who says non
 feceris in lieu of ne feceris, is guilty
 of a similar mistake, since one negative denies, while the other
 forbids. Further intro and intus are adverbs of place, but eo
 intus and intro sum are solecisms.

Similar errors may be committed in connexion with the various kinds of
 pronouns, interjections and prepositions. It is also a solecism 
 if there is a disagreement between
 what precedes and what follows within the limits of a single clause.

Some phrases have all the appearance of a solecism and yet cannot be called faulty; take for instance
 phrases such as tragoedia Thyestes or ludi Floralia and Megalensia 
 
 : although these are never found in later times, they are the rule in
 ancient writers. We will therefore style them figures and, though their use is more frequent in poets, will
 not deny their employment even to orators.

Figures however will generally have some justification, as I shall show
 in a later portion of this work, which I promised you a little while
 back. I must however point out that a
 figure, if used unwittingly, will be a solecism.

In the same class, though they cannot be called figures, come errors
 such as the use of masculine names with a female termination and
 feminine names with a neuter termination. I have said enough about solecisms; for I did not set out to write a
 treatise on grammar, but was unwilling to slight the science by passing
 it by without salutation, when it met me in the course of my journey.

I therefore resume the path which I prescribed for myself and point out
 that words are either native or foreign. Foreign
 words, like our population and our institutions, have come to us from
 practically every nation upon earth.

I pass by words of Tuscan, Sabine and Praenestine origin; for though
 Lucilius attacks Vettius for using them, and Pollio reproves Livy for
 his lapses into the dialect of Padua, I may be allowed to regard all
 such words as of native origin. Many Gallic words have become current
 coin,

such as raeda (chariot) and petorritim (four-wheeled wagon) of which Cicero uses the
 former and Horace the latter. Mappa (napkin)
 again, a word familiar in connexion with the circus, is claimed by the
 Carthaginians, while I have heard that gurdus, 
 which is colloquially used in the sense of stupid, is
 derived from Spain.

But this distinction between native and foreign words has reference
 chiefly to Greek. For Latin is largely derived from that language, and
 we use words which are admittedly Greek to express things for which we
 have no Latin equivalent. Similiarly they at tines borrow words from us.
 In this connexion the problem arises whether foreign words should be
 declined according to their language or our own.

If you come across an archaistic grammarian, he will insist on absolute
 conformity to Latin practice, because, since we have an ablative and the
 Greeks have not, it would be absurd in declining a word to use five
 Greek cases and one Latin.

He will also praise the patriotism of those who aimed at strengthening
 the Latin language and asserted that we had no need of foreign
 practices. They, therefore, pronounced Castorem 
 with the second syllable long to bring it into conformity with all those
 Latin nouns which have the same termination in the nominative as 
 Castor. They also insisted on
 the forms Palaemo, Telamo, and Plato (the last being adopted by Cicero), because they could
 not find any Latin nouns ending in -on.

They were reluctant even to permit masculine Greek nouns to end in -as in the nominative case, and consequently in
 Caelius we find Pelia cincinnatus and in Messala
 bene fecit Euthia, and in Cicero Hermagora. 
 So we need not be surprised that the
 majority of early writers said Aenea and Anchisa.

For, it was urged, if such words are spelt like Maecenas, Sufenas and Asprenas, the
 genitive should terminate in -is not in -e. On the same principle they placed an acute
 accent on the middle syllable of Olympus and tyrannus, because Latin does not allow an acute
 accent on the first syllable if it is short and is followed by two long
 syllables.

So too we get the Latinised genitives Ulixi and
 Achilli together with many other analogous
 forms. More recent scholars have instituted the practice of giving Greek
 nouns their Greek declension, although this is not always possible.
 Personally I prefer to follow the Latin method, so far as grace of
 diction will permit. For I should not like to say Calypsonem on the analogy of Iunonem, 
 although Gaius Caesar in deference to antiquity does adopt this way of
 declining it. Current practice has however prevailed over his authority.

In other words which can be declined in either way without impropriety,
 those who prefer it can employ the Greek form: they will not be speaking
 Latin, but will not on the other hand deserve censure. Simple words are
 what they are in the nominative, that is, their essential nature.

Compound words are formed by the prefix of a
 preposition as in innocens, though care must be
 taken that two conflicting prepositions are not prefixed as in imperterritus: 
 if this be avoided
 they may in certain cases have a double prefix as in incompositus or reconditus or the
 Ciceronian subabsurdtim. They may also be formed
 by what I might term the combination of two independent units, as in maleficus.

For I will not admit that the combination of three is possible at any
 rate in Latin, although Cicero asserts that capsis 
 is compounded of cape si vis, and there are to be found scholars
 who contend that Lupercalia likewise is a
 compound of three parts of speech, namely luere per
 caprum.

As for Solitaurilia it is by now universally
 believed to stand for Suovelaurilia, a derivation
 which corresponds to the actual sacrifice, which has its counterpart in
 Homer as well. But these compounds are formed not so much
 from three words as from the fragments of three. On the other hand
 Pacuvius seems to have formed compounds of a preposition and two
 vocables ( i.e. nouns) as in 
 Nerei repandirostrum incurvticervicum
 pecs: 
 
 
 The
 flock 
 Of Nereus snout-uplifted,
 neck-inarched 
 the effect is unpleasing.

Compounds are however formed from two complete Latin words, as for
 instance supefui and subterfui; though in this case there is some question as to
 whether the words from which they are formed are complete. They may also be formed of one complete and one
 incomplete word, as in the case of malevolus, or of one incomplete and one complete,
 such as noctivagus, or of two incomplete words as
 in pedisecus (footman), or from one Latin and one
 foreign word as in biclinium (a dining-couch for
 two), or in the reverse order as in epitogium (an
 upper garment) or Anticato, and sometimes even
 from two foreign words as in epiraedium (a thong
 attaching the horse to the raeda). For in this last case the preposition
 is Greek, while raeda is Gallic, while the
 compound is employed neither by Greek nor Gaul, but has been
 appropriated by Rome from the two foreign tongues.

In the case of prepositions they are frequently changed by the act of
 compounding: as a result we get abstulit, aufugit,
 amisit, though the preposition is ab, 
 and coil, though the preposition is con. The same is true of ignauus and erepublica. 
 But compounds are better suited to Greek than to Latin,

though I do not think that this is due to the nature of our language:
 the reason rather is that we have a preference for foreign goods, and
 therefore receive κυρταύχην with
 applause, whereas we can scarce defend incurvicervicus from derisive laughter. Words are proper when they bear their original meaning;

metaphorical, when they are used in a sense
 different from their natural meaning. Current 
 words are safest to use: there is a spice of danger in coining new. For if they are adopted, our style wins but
 small glory from them; while if they are rejected, they become a subject
 for jest.

Still we must make the venture; for as Cicero says, use softens even these words which at first seemed
 harsh. On the other hand the power of
 onomatopoeia is denied us. Who would tolerate an attempt to
 imitate phrases like the much praised λίγξε βιός, 
 
 the bow twanged, and σῖζεν ὀφθαλμός 
 
 the eye
 hissed ? We should even feel some qualms about using balare 
 to baa, and hinntre, 
 to whinny, if we had not
 the sanction of antiquity to support us.

There are special rules which must be observed both by speakers and
 writers. Language is based on reason, antiquity, authority and usage.
 Reason finds its chief support in analogy and sometimes in etymology. As
 for antiquity, it is commended to us by the possession of a certain
 majesty, I might almost say sanctity.

Authority as a rule we derive from orators and historians. For poets,
 owing to the necessities of metre, are allowed a certain licence except
 in cases where they deliberately choose one of two expressions, when
 both are metrically possible, as for instance in imo
 de stirpe recisum and aeriae quo congessere
 palumbes or silice in nuda 
 and
 the like. The judgment of a supreme orator is placed on the same level
 as reason, and even error brings no disgrace, if it result from treading
 in the footsteps of such distinguished guides.

Usage however is the surest pilot in speaking, and we should treat
 language as currency minted with the public stamp. But in all these
 cases we have need of a critical judgment, especially as regards analogy (a Greek term for which a Latin
 equivalent has been found in proportion).

The essence of analogy is the testing of all
 subjects of doubt by the application of some standard of comparison
 about which there is no question, the proof that is to say of the
 uncertain by reference to the certain. This can be done in two different
 ways: by comparing similar words, paying special attention to their
 final syllables (hence monosyllables are asserted
 to lie outside the domain of analogy 
 ) and
 by the study of diminutives.

Comparison of nouns will reveal either their gender or their declension:
 in the first case, supposing the question is raised as to whether junis be masculine or feminine, panis will supply a standard of comparison: in the second
 case, supposing we are in doubt as to whether we should say hac domu or hac domo,
 domuum or domorum, the standard of
 comparison will be found in words such as anus or
 manus.

Diminutives merely reveal the gender: for instance, to return to a word
 previously used as an illustration, funiculus 
 proves that funis is masculine.

The same standard may be applied in the case of verbs. For instance if
 it should be asserted that the middle syllable of fervere is short, we can prove this to be an error, because
 all verbs which in the indicative terminate in -eo, make the middle syllable of the infinitive long, if that
 syllable contain an e: take as examples such
 verbs as prandeo, pendeo, spondeo with
 infinitives prandēre, pendēre, spondēre.

Those verbs, however, which terminate in -o 
 alone, if they form the infinitive in e, have the
 e short; compare lego,
 dico, curro, with the infinitives, legĕre,
 dicĕre, currĕre. I admit that in Lucilius we find— 
 fervit aqua et fervet: firvit nunc ferverit ad annum.
 
 
 
 The water boils
 and boil it will; it boils and for a year will boil. But
 with all due respect to so learned a man, if he regards fervit as on the same footing as currit and legit, we shall
 say fervo as we say lego 
 and curro: but such a form has never yet come to
 my ears.

But this is not a true comparison: for fervit 
 resembles servit, and on
 this analogy we should say fervire like servire.

It is also possible in certain cases to discover the present indicative
 of a verb from the study of its other tenses. I remember, for instance,
 refuting certain scholars who criticised me for using the word pepigi: for, although they admitted that it had
 been used by some of the best authors, they asserted that it was an
 irrational form because the present indicative paciscor, being passive in form, made pactus
 sum as its perfect.

I in addition to quoting the authority of orators and historians
 maintained that I was also supported by analogy. For when I found ni ita pacunt in the Twelve Tables, I noted that
 cadunt provided a parallel: it was clear
 therefore that the present indicative, though now obsolete, was paco on the analogy of cado, and it was further obvious that we say pepigi for just the same reason that we say cecidi.

But we must remember that analogy cannot be
 universally applied, as it is often inconsistent with itself. It is true
 indeed that scholars have attempted to justify certain apparent
 anomalies: for example, when it is noted to what an extent lepus and lupus, which
 resemble each other closely in the nominative, differ in the plural and
 in the other cases, they reply that they are not true parallels, since
 lepus is epicene, 
 while lupus is masculine, although Varro in the
 book in which he narrates the origins of Rome, writes lupus femina, following the precedent of Ennius and Fabius
 Pictor.

The same scholars, however, when asked why aper 
 became apri in the genitive, but pater patris, asserted that aper was an absolute, pater a relative
 noun. Further since both words derive from the Greek, they took refuge
 in the fact that πατρός provides a parallel to patris and κάπρου to apri.

But how will they evade the difficulty that feminine nouns whose
 nominative singular ends in -us never make the
 genitive end in -ris, and yet the genitive of Venus is Veneris: again
 nouns ending in -es have various genitive
 terminations, but never end in -ris, but yet we
 have no choice but to make the genitive of Ceres
 Cereris?

Again what of those words which, although identical in the form of the
 nominative or present indicative, develop the utmost variety in their
 inflections. Thus from Alba we get both Albanus and Albensis, from volo both volui and volavi. Analogy itself admits that verbs whose present
 indicative ends in -o have a great variety of perfect formations, as for
 instance cado cecidi, spondeo spopondi, pingo pinxi,
 lego legi, pono posui, fiango fregi, laudo laudavi.

For analogy was not sent down from heaven at the
 creation of mankind to frame the rules of language, but was discovered
 after they began to speak and to note the terminations of words used in
 speech. It is therefore based not on reason but on example, nor is it a
 law of language, but rather a practice which is observed, being in fact
 the offspring of usage.

Some scholars, however, are so perverse and obstinate in their passion
 for analogy, that they say audaciter in
 preference to audacter, the form preferred by all
 orators, and emicavit for emicuit, and conire for coire. We may permit them to say audivisse, scivisse, tribunale and faciliter, nor will we deprive them of frugalis as an alternative for frugi:

for from what else can frugalitas be formed? They
 may also be allowed to point out that phrases such as centum milia nummum and fidem deum 
 involve a 
 double solecism, since they change both case and number. Of course we
 were in blank ignorance of the fact and were not simply conforming to
 usage and the demands of elegance, as in the numerous cases, with which
 Cicero deals magnificently, as always, in his Orator.

Augustus again in his letters to Gaius Caesar corrects him for
 preferring calidus to caldus, not on the ground that the former is not Latin, but
 because it is unpleasing and as he himself puts it in Greek περίεργον (affected).

Some hold that this is just a question of ὀρθοέπεια or correctness of speech, a subject to which I
 am far from being indifferent. For what can be more necessary than that
 we should speak correctly? Nay, I even think that, as far as possible,
 we should cling to correct forms and resist all tendencies to change.
 But to attempt to retain forms long obsolete and extinct is sheer
 impertinence and ostentatious pedantry.

I would suggest that the ripe scholar, who says 
 ave 
 without the aspirate and with a long e (for it
 comes from avēre and uses calefacere and conservavisse in
 preference to the usual forms, 
 should also add face, dice and the like to his
 vocabulary.

His way is the right way. Who doubts it? But there is an easier and more
 frequented path close by. There is, however, nothing which annoys me
 more than their habit not merely of inferring the nominative from the
 oblique cases, but of actually altering it. For instance in ebur and robur, the forms
 regularly used both in writing and speech by the best authors, these
 gentlemen change their second syllable to o, because their genitives are
 roboris and eboris, 
 and because sulpur and guttur keep the u in the genitive. So too femur and iecur give rise to similar
 controversy.

Their proceedings are just as arbitrary as if they were to substitute an
 o in the genitives of sulpur and guttur on the analogy of eboris and roboris. Thus
 Antonius Gnipho while admitting robur, ebur and
 even marmur to be correct, would have their
 plurals to be ebura, robura and marnura.

If they would only pay attention to the affinities existing between
 letters, they would realize that robur makes its
 genitive roboris in precisely the same way that
 limes, miles, iudex and uindex make their genitives militis,
 limitis, iudicis and uindicis, not to mention other words to
 which I have already referred.

Do not nouns which are similar in the nominative show, as I have already
 observed, quite different terminations in the oblique eases? Compare uirgo and Iuno, lusus and
 fusus, caspis and puppis and a thousand others. Again some nouns are not used in
 the plural, while others are not used in the singular, some are
 indeclinable, while others, like Jupiter, in the
 oblique cases entirely abandon the form of the nominative.

The same is true of verbs: for instance fero 
 disappears in the perfect and subsequent tenses. Nor does it matter
 greatly whether such forms are nonexistent or too harsh to use. For what
 is the genitive singular of progenies or the
 genitive plural of spes? Or how will quire and ruere form a
 perfect passive or passive participles.

Why should I mention other words when it is even doubtful whether the
 genitive of senatus is senati or senatus? In view of what I
 have said, it seems to me that the remark, that it is one thing to speak
 Latin and another to speak grammar, was far from unhappy. So much for
 analogy, of which I have said more than
 enough.

Etymology inquires into the origin of words, and
 was called notation by
 Cicero, on the ground that the term used by
 Aristotle is σύμβολον, which may be translated by nota. A literal rendering of ἐτυμολογία would be ueriloquium, a form which even Cicero, its inventor, shrinks
 from using. Some again, with an eye to the meaning of the word, call it
 origination. Etymology is sometimes of the
 utmost use, whenever the word under discussion needs interpretation.

For instance Marcus Caelius wishes to prove that he is homo frugi, not because he is abstemious (for he could not
 even pretend to be that), but because he is useful to many, that is fructuosus, from which frugalitas is derived. Consequently we find room for etymology
 when we are concerned with definitions.

Sometimes again this science attempts to distinguish between correct
 forms and barbarisms, as for instance when we are
 discussing whether we should call Sicily Triquetra or Triquedra, or say meridies or medidies, not
 to mention other words which depend on current usage.

Such a science demands profound erudition, whether we are dealing with
 the large number of words which are derived from the Greek, more
 especially those inflected according to the practice of the Aeolic
 dialect, the form of Greek which most nearly resembles Latin; or are
 using ancient historians as a basis for inquiry into the origin of names
 of men, places, nations and cities. For instance what is the origin of
 names such as Brutus, Publicola, or Pythicus? Why do we speak of Latium, Italia or Beneventum? What is
 the reason for employing such names as Capitolium,
 collis Quirinalis or Argietum?

I now turn to minor points concerning which enthusiasts for etymology
 give themselves an infinity of trouble, restoring
 to their true form words which have become slightly altered: the methods
 which they employ are varied and manifold: they shorten them or lengthen
 them, add, remove, or interchange letters and syllables as the case may
 be. As a result perverseness of judgment leads to the most hideous
 absurdities. I am ready to admit that consul may
 be derived from consulere in the sense of
 consulting or judging; for the ancients used consulere in the latter sense, and it still survives in the
 phrase rogat boni consulas, that is bonum iudices, 
 judge fit.

Again senatus may well be derived from old age
 (for the senators are called the fathers ): I concur in
 the derivations assigned to rex rector to say
 nothing of many other words where there can be no doubt, and do not
 refuse to accept those suggested for tegula,
 regula and the like: let classis be from
 calare (call out, summon), lepus be a contraction of levipes and
 vulpes of volipes.

But are we also to admit the derivation of certain words from their
 opposites, and accept lucus a non lucendo, since
 a grove is dark with shade, ludus in the sense of
 school as being so called because it is quite the reverse of
 play and Dis, Ditis from diues, because Pluto is far from being rich? Are
 we to assent to the view that homo is derived
 from humus, because man sprang from the earth, as
 though all other living things had not the same origin or as if
 primitive man gave the earth a name before giving one to himself? Or
 again can verbum be derived from aer verheratus, 
 beaten air ?

Let us go a little further and we shall find that stella is believed to be still
 luminis 
 a drop of light, a derivation whose
 author is so famous in literature that it would be
 unkind to mention his name in connexion with a point where he comes in
 for censure.

But those who collected such derivations in book form, put their names
 on the title page; and Gavius thought himself a perfect genius when he
 identified caelibes, 
 bachelors, 
 with caelites, 
 gods, on the ground
 that they are free from a heavy load of care, and supported this opinion
 by a Greek analogy: for he asserted that ἠΐθεοι 
 young men, had a precisely similar
 origin. Modestus is not his inferior in inventive power: for he asserts
 that caelibes, that is to say unmarried men, are
 so called because Saturn cut off the genital organs of Caelus. Aelius asserts that pituita, 
 phlegm, is so called quia petat uitam, because it attacks life.

But we may pardon anyone after the example set by Varro. For he tried to persuade Cicero,
 to whom he dedicated his work, that a field was called eager because something is done in it ( agitur ), and jackdaws graculos because
 they fly in flocks (gregatim ), in spite of the
 obvious fact that the first word is derived from the Greek, the latter
 from the cry of the bird in question.

But Varro had such a passion for derivations that he derived the name
 merula 
 a blackbird from mera uolans on the ground that it flies alone!
 Some scholars do not hesitate to have recourse to etymology for the origin of every word, deriving names such as
 Rufus or Longus from
 the appearance of their possessor, verbs such as strepere or murmurare from the sounds
 which they represent, and even extending this practice to certain
 derivatives, making uelox for instance find its
 origin in uelocitas, 
 as well as to
 compounds and the like: now although such words doubtless have an
 origin, no special science is required to detect
 it, since it is only doubtful cases that demand the intervention of the
 etymologist.

Archaic words not only enjoy the patronage of distinguished authors, but
 also give style a certain majesty and charm. For they have the authority
 of age behind them, and for the very reason that they have fallen into
 desuetude, produce an attractive effect not unlike that of novelty.

But such words must be used sparingly and must not thrust themselves
 upon our notice, since there is nothing more tiresome than affectation,
 nor above all must they be drawn from remote and forgotten ages: I refer
 to words such as topper, 
 quite, 
 antegerio, 
 exceedingly, 
 exanclare, 
 to exhaust, 
 prosapia, 
 a race and the language
 of the Salian Hymns now scarcely understood by its own priests.

Religion, it is true, forbids us to alter the words of these hymns and
 we must treat them as sacred things. But what a faulty thing is speech,
 whose prime virtue is clearness, if it requires an interpreter to make
 its meaning plain! Consequently in the case of old words the best will
 be those that are newest, just as in the case of new words the best will
 be the oldest.

The same arguments apply to authority. For although the use of words
 transmitted to us by the best authors may seem to preclude the
 possibility of error, it is important to notice not merely what they
 said, but what words they succeeded in sanctioning. For no one to-day
 would introduce words such as tuburchinabunidus, 
 voracious, or lurchinabundus, 
 guzzling, although
 they have the authority of Cato; nor make lodices, 
 blankets, masculine, though Pollio
 preferred that gender; nor say gladiola, 
 small swords, though Messala used this
 plural, nor parricidatus for
 parricide, a form which can scarcely be tolerated even in Caelius, nor
 will Calvus persuade me to speak of collos, 
 necks. Indeed, were these authors alive
 to-day, they would never use such words. Usage remains to be discussed.

For it would be almost laughable to prefer the language of the past to
 that of the present day, and what is ancient speech but ancient usage of
 speaking? But even here the critical faculty is necessary, and we must
 make up our minds what we mean by usage.

If it be defined merely as the practice of the majority, we shall have a
 very dangerous rule affecting not merely style but life as well, a far
 more serious matter. For where is so much good to be found that what is
 right should please the majority? The practices of depilation, of
 dressing the hair in tiers, or of drinking to excess at the baths,
 although they may have thrust their way into society, cannot claim the
 support of usage, since there is something to blame in all of them
 (although we have usage on our side when we bathe or have our hair cut
 or take our meals together). So too in speech we must not accept as a
 rule of language words and phrases that have become a vicious habit with
 a number of persons.

To say nothing of the language of the uneducated, we are all of us well
 aware that whole theatres and the entire crowd of spectators will often
 commit barbarisms in the cries which they utter
 as one man. I will therefore define usage in speech as the agreed
 practice of educated men, just as where our way of life is concerned I
 should define it as the agreed practice of all good men.

Having stated the rules which we must follow in speaking, I will now
 proceed to lay down the rules which must be observed when we write. Such
 rules are called orthography by the Greeks; let
 us style it the science of writing correctly. This science does not
 consist merely in the knowledge of the letters composing each syllable
 (such a study is beneath the dignity of a teacher of grammar), but, in
 my opinion, develops all its subtlety in connexion with doubtful points.

For instance, while it is absurd to place a circumflex over all long
 syllables since the quantity of most syllables is obvious from the very
 nature of the word which is written, it is all the same occasionally
 necessary, since the same letter involves a different meaning according
 as it is long or short. For example we determine whether mains is to mean an apple tree or
 a bad man by the use of the circumflex;

palus means a stake, if the first
 syllable is long, a marsh, if it be short; again when the
 same letter is short in the nominative and long in the ablative, we
 generally require the circumflex to make it clear which quantity to
 understand.

Similarly it has been held that we should observe distinctions such as
 the following: if the preposition ex is
 compounded with specto, there will be an s in the second syllable, while there will be no
 s if it is compounded with pecto.

Again the following distinction has frequently been observed: ad is spelt with a d when
 it is a preposition, but with a t when it is a
 conjunction, while cum is spelt quum when it denotes time, but cum when
 it denotes accompaniment.

Still more pedantic are the practices of making the fourth letter of quidquid a c to avoid the
 appearance of repeating a question, and of writing 
 quotidie instead of colidie to show that it stands for quot
 diebus. But such practices have disappeared into the limbo of
 absurdities.

It is often debated whether in our spelling of prepositions we should be
 guided by their sound when compounded, or separate. For instance when I
 say optinuit, logic demands that the second
 letter should be a b, while to the ear the sound
 is rather that of p: or again take the case of
 immunis:

the letter n, which is required by strict
 adherence to fact, is forced by the sound of the m. which follows to change into another m.

We must also note when analysing compound words, whether the middle
 consonant adheres to the preceding syllable or to that which follows.
 For example since the latter part of haruspex is
 from spectare, the s must
 be assigned to the third syllable. In abstemius 
 on the other hand it will go with the first syllable since the word is
 derived from abstinentia temeti, 
 abstention
 from wine.

As for k my view is that it should not be used at
 all except in such words as may be indicated by the letter standing
 alone as an abbreviation. I mention the fact
 because some hold that k should be used whenever
 the next letter is an a, despite the existence of the letter c which
 maintains its force in conjunction with all the vowels. Orthography, however,

is also the servant of usage and therefore undergoes frequent change. I
 make no mention of the earliest times when our alphabet contained fewer
 letters and their shapes differed from those which we
 now use, while their values also were different. For instance in Greek
 the letter o was sometimes long and short, as it is with us, and again
 was sometimes used to express the syllable which is
 identical with its name.

And in Latin ancient writers ended a number of words with d, as may be seen on the column adorned with the
 beaks of ships, which was set up in the forum in honour of Duilius.
 Sometimes again they gave words a final g, as we may still see
 in the shrine of the Sun, close to the temple of Quirinus, where we find
 the word uesperug, which we write uesperugo (evening star).

I have already spoken of the interchange of letters and need
 not repeat my remarks here: perhaps their pronunciation corresponded
 with their spelling.

For a long time the doubling of semivowels was avoided, while down to
 the time of Accius and beyond, long syllables were indicated by
 repetition of the vowel.

The practice of joining e and i as in the Greek diphthong ει lasted longer: it served to distinguish cases and
 numbers, for which we may compare the instructions of Lucilius: 
 The boys are come: why then, their
 names must end 
 With e and
 i to make them more than one; and
 later— 
 
 
 If to a
 thief and liar ( mendaci furique ) you
 would give, 
 In e and i your thief must terminate. 
 
 But this addition of e is quite superfluous,
 since t can be long no less than short:

it is also at times inconvenient. For in those words which end in i and
 have e as their last letter but one, we shall on
 this principle have to write e twice: I refer to words such as aurei or argentei and the
 like.

Now such a practice will be an actual hindrance to those who are
 learning to read. This difficulty occurs in Greek as well in connexion with the addition of an iota, which is employed not merely in the termination of the
 dative, but is sometimes found in the middle of words as in λῄστης, for the reason that the analysis
 applied by etymology shows the word to be a trisyllable and requires the addition of that
 letter. The diphthong ae now written with an e, was pronounced in old days as ai;

some wrote ai in all cases, as in Greek, others
 confined its use to the dative and genitive singular; whence it comes
 that Vergil, always a passionate
 lover of antiquity, inserted pictai uestis and
 aquai in his poems.

But in the plural they used e and wrote Syllae,
 Galbae. Lucilius has given instructions on this point also; his
 instructions occupy quite a number of verses, for which the incredulous
 may consult his ninth book.

Again in Cicero's days and a little later, it was the almost universal
 practice to write a double s , whenever that
 letter occurred between two long vowels or after a long vowel, as for
 example in caussae, cassus, diuissiones. That he
 and Vergil both used this spelling is shown by their own autograph
 manuscripts.

And yet at a slightly earlier date iussi which we
 write with a double s was spelt with only one.
 Further optimnus maximus, which older writers
 spelt with a u, appear for the first time with an
 i (such at any rate is the tradition) in an inscription of Gaius Caesar.

We now write here, but I still find in
 manuscripts of the old comic poets phrases such as heri ad me uenit, 
 and the same spelling
 is found in letters of Augustus written or corrected by his own hand.

Again did not Cato the censor spell dicam and faciam as dicem 
 and faciem and observe the
 same practice in words of similar termination? This is clear from old
 manuscripts of his works and is recorded by Messala in his treatise on
 the letter s. Sibe and quase are found in many books, but I cannot say whether the
 authors wished them to be spelt thus:

I learn from Pedianus that Livy, whose precedent he himself adopted,
 used this spelling: to-day we make these words end with an i.

What shall I say of uorlices, uorsus and the
 like, which Scipio Africanus is said to have been the first to spell
 with an e?

My own teachers spelt seruus and ceruus with a uo, in order
 that the repetition of the vowel might not lead to the coalescence and
 confusion of the two sounds: to-day however we write these words with a
 double u on the principle which I have already
 stated: neither spelling however exactly expresses the pronunciation. It
 was not without reason that Claudius introduced the Aeolic digamma to represent this sound. It is a
 distinct improvement that to-day we spell cui as
 I have written it:

when I was a boy it used to be spelt quoi, giving
 it a very full sound, merely to distinguish it from qui.

Again, what of words whose spelling is at variance with their
 pronunciation? For instance C is used as an
 abbreviation for Gaius, and when inverted stands for a woman, for as we
 know from the words of the marriage service women used to be called Gaiae, just as men were called Gaii. 
 
 Gnaeus

too in the abbreviation indicating the praenomen 
 is spelt in a manner which does not agree with its pronunciation. We
 also find columnas 
 
 and consul spelt without an n, 
 while Subura 
 when indicated by three letters is spelt Suc. 
 I could quote many
 other examples of this, but I fear that I have already said too much on
 so trivial a theme.

On all such subjects the teacher must use his own judgment; for in such
 matters it should be the supreme authority. For my own part, I think
 that, within the limits prescribed by usage, words should be spelt as
 they are pronounced.

For the use of letters is to preserve the sound of words and to deliver
 them to readers as a sacred trust: consequently they ought to represent
 the pronunciation which we are to use.

These are the more important points in connexion with writing and
 speaking correctly. I do not go so far as to deny to the teacher of
 literature all part in the two remaining departments of speaking and
 writing with elegance and significance, but I reserve these for a more
 important portion of this work, as I have still to deal with the duties
 of the teacher of rhetoric.

I am however haunted by the thought that some readers will regard what I
 have said as trivial details which are only likely to prove a hindrance
 to those who are intent upon a greater task; and I myself do not think
 that we should go so far as to lose our sleep of nights or quibble like
 fools over such minutiae; for such studies make mincemeat of the mind.
 But it is only the superfluities of grammar that do any harm.

I ask you, is Cicero a less great orator for having given this science
 his diligent attention or for having, as his letters show, demanded
 rigid correctness of speech from his son? Or was the vigour of Gaius
 Caesar's eloquence impaired by the publication of a treatise on Analogy?

Or the polish of Messala dimmed by the fact that he
 devoted whole books to the discussion not merely of single words, but of
 single letters? Such studies do no harm to those who but pass through
 them: it is only the pedantic stickler who suffers.

Reading remains for consideration. In this connexion there is much that
 can only be taught in actual practice, as for instance when the boy
 should take breath, at what point he should introduce a pause into a
 line, where the sense ends or begins, when the voice should be raised or
 lowered, what modulation should be given to each phrase, and when he
 should increase or slacken speed, or speak with greater or less energy.

In this portion of my work I will give but one golden rule: to do all
 these things, he must understand what he reads. But above all his
 reading must be manly, combining dignity and charm; it must be different
 from the reading of prose, for poetry is song and poets claim to be
 singers. But this fact does not justify degeneration into sing-song or
 the effeminate modulations now in vogue: there is an excellent saying on
 this point attributed to Gaius Caesar while he was still a boy:
 If you are singing, you sing badly: if you are reading, you
 sing.

Again I do not, like some teachers, wish character as revealed by
 speeches to be indicated as it is by the comic actor, though I think
 that there should be some modulation of the voice to distinguish such
 passages from those where the poet is speaking in person.

There are other points where there is much need of instruction: above
 all, unformed minds which are liable to be all the more deeply impressed
 by what they learn in their days of childish 
 ignorance, must learn not merely what is eloquent; it is even more
 important that they should study what is morally excellent.

It is therefore an admirable practice which now prevails, to begin by
 reading Homer and Vergil, although the intelligence needs to be further
 developed for the full appreciation of their merits: but there is plenty
 of time for that since the boy will read them more than once. In the
 meantime let his mind be lifted by the sublimity of heroic verse,
 inspired by the greatness of its theme and imbued with the loftiest
 sentiments.

The reading of tragedy also is useful, and lyric poets will provide
 nourishment for the mind, provided not merely the authors be carefully
 selected, but also the passages from their works which are to be read.
 For the Greek lyric poets are often licentious and even in Horace there
 are passages which I should be unwilling to explain to a class.
 Elegiacs, however, more especially erotic elegy, and hendecasyllables,
 which are merely sections of Sotadean verse (concerning which latter I need give no admonitions), should be
 entirely banished, if possible; if not absolutely banished, they should
 be reserved for pupils of a less impressionable age. As to comedy, whose
 contribution to eloquence may be of no small importance,

since it is concerned with every kind of character and emotion, I will
 shortly point out in its due places what use can in my opinion be made
 of it in the education of boys. As soon as we have no fear of
 contaminating their morals, it should take its place among the subjects
 which it is specially desirable to read. I speak of Menander, though I
 would not exclude others. For Latin authors will also be of some
 service.

But the subjects selected for lectures to boys
 should be those which will enlarge the mind and provide the greatest
 nourishment to the intellect. Life is quite long enough for the
 subsequent study of those other subjects which are concerned with
 matters of interest solely to learned men. But even the old Latin poets
 may be of great value, in spite of the fact that their strength lies in
 their natural talent rather than in their art: above all they will
 contribute richness of vocabulary: for the vocabulary of the tragedians
 is full of dignity, while in that of the comedians there is a certain
 elegance and Attic grace.

They are, too, more careful about dramatic structure than the majority
 of moderns, who regard epigram as the sole merit of every kind of
 literary work. For purity at any rate and manliness, if I may say so, we
 must certainly go to these writers, since to-day even our style of
 speaking is infected with all the faults of modern decadence.

Finally we may derive confidence from the practice of the greatest
 orators of drawing upon the early poets to support their arguments or
 adorn their eloquence.

For we find, more especially in the pages of Cicero, but frequently in
 Asinius and other orators of that period, quotations from Ennius,
 Accius, Pacuvius, Lucilius, Terence, Caecilius and others, inserted not
 merely to show the speaker's learning, but to please his hearers as
 well, since the charms of poetry provide a pleasant relief from the
 severity of forensic eloquence.

Such quotations have the additional advantage of helping the speaker's
 case, for the orator makes use of the sentiments expressed by the poet
 as evidence in support of his own statements. But while my earlier
 remarks have special application to the education of boys, those which I
 have just made apply rather to persons of riper
 years; for the love of letters and the value of reading are not confined
 to one's schooldays, but end only with life.

In lecturing the teacher of literature must give attention to minor
 points as well: he will ask his class after analysing a verse to give
 him the parts of speech and the peculiar features of the feet which it
 contains: these latter should be so familiar in poetry as to make their
 presence desired even in the prose of oratory. He will point out what
 words are barbarous, what improperly used, and what are contrary to the
 laws of language.

He will not do this by way of censuring the poets for such
 peculiarities, for poets are usually the servants of their metres and
 are allowed such licence that faults are given other names when they
 occur in poetry: for we style them metaplasms, 
 
 schematisms and schemata, 
 as I have said, and make a virtue of
 necessity. Their aim will rather be to familiarise the pupil with the
 artifices of style and to stimulate his memory.

Further in the elementary stages of such instruction it will not be
 unprofitable to show the different meanings which may be given to each
 word. With regard to glossemala, that is to say
 words not in common use, the teacher must exercise no ordinary
 diligence,

while still greater care is required in teaching all the tropes 
 which are employed for the adornment more especially of poetry, but of
 oratory as well, and in making his class acquainted with the two sorts
 of schemata or figures known as figures of speech and figures of
 thought. 
 I shall
 however postpone discussion of tropes and figures till I come to deal
 with the various ornaments of style.

Above all he will impress upon their minds the value of proper
 arrangement, and of graceful treatment of the matter in hand: he will
 show what is appropriate to the various characters, what is praiseworthy
 in the thoughts or words, where copious diction is to be commended and
 where restraint.

In addition to this he will explain the various stories that occur: this
 must be done with care, but should not be encumbered with superfluous
 detail. For it is sufficient to set forth the version which is generally
 received or at any rate rests upon good authority. But to ferret out
 everything that has ever been said on the subject even by the most
 worthless of writers is a sign of tiresome pedantry or empty
 ostentation, and results in delaying and swamping the mind when it would
 be better employed on other themes.

The man who pores over every page even though it be wholly unworthy of
 reading, is capable of devoting his attention to the investigation of
 old wives' tales. And yet the commentaries of teachers of literature are
 full of such encumbrances to learning and strangely unfamiliar to their
 own authors.

It is, for instance, recorded that Didymus, who was unsurpassed for the
 number of books which he wrote, on one occasion objected to some story
 as being absurd, whereupon one of his own books was produced which
 contained the story in question.

Such abuses occur chiefly in connexion with fabulous stories and are
 sometimes carried to ludicrous or even scandalous extremes: for in such
 cases the more unscrupulous commentator has such full scope for
 invention, that he can tell lies to his heart's
 content about whole books and authors without fear of detection: for
 what never existed can obviously never be found, whereas if the subject
 is familiar the careful investigator will often detect the fraud.
 Consequently I shall count it a merit in a teacher of literature that
 there should be some things which he does not know.

IX. I have now
 finished with two of the departments, with which teachers of literature
 profess to deal, namely the art of speaking correctly and the
 interpretation of authors; the former they call nethodicē, the latter historiē We must
 however add to their activities instruction in certain rudiments of
 oratory for the benefit of those who are not yet ripe for the schools of
 rhetoric.

Their pupils should learn to paraphrase Aesop's fables, the natural
 successors of the fairy stories of the nursery, in simple and restrained
 language and subsequently to set down this paraphrase in writing with
 the same simplicity of style: they should begin by analysing each verse,
 then give its meaning in different language, and finally proceed to a
 freer paraphrase in which they will be permitted now to abridge and now
 to embellish the original, so far as this may be done without losing the
 poet's meaning.

This is no easy task even for the expert instructor, and the pupil who
 handles it successfully will be capable of learning everything. He
 should also be set to write aphorisms, moral essays
 (chriae ) and delineations of character
 (ethologiae ), 
 of which the teacher will first give the general scheme, since such
 themes will be drawn from their reading. In all of these exercises the
 general idea is the same, but the form differs: aphorisms are general propositions, while ethologiae 
 are concerned with persons

. Of moral essays there are various forms: some
 are akin to aphorisms and commence with a simple
 statement he said or he used to say :
 others give the answer to a question and begin on being
 asked or in answer to this he replied, while
 a third and not dissimilar type begins, when someone has said or
 done something. Some hold that a moral
 essay may take some action as its text;

take for example the statement Crates on seeing an ill-educated
 boy, beat his paedagogus, 
 or a very
 similar example which they do not venture actually to propose as a theme
 for a moral essay, but content themselves with
 saying that it is of the nature of such a theme, namely Milo,
 having accustomed himself to carrying a calf every day, ended by
 carrying it when grown to a bull. All these instances are
 couched in the same grammatical form and deeds no less than sayings may be presented for
 treatment.

Short stories from the poets should in my opinion be handled not with a
 view to style but as a means of increasing knowledge. Other more serious
 and ambitious tasks have been also imposed on teachers of literature by
 the fact that Latin rhetoricians will have nothing to do with them:
 Greek rhetoricians have a better comprehension of the extent and nature
 of the tasks placed on their shoulders.

I have made my remarks on this stage of education as brief as possible,
 making no attempt to say everything, (for the theme is infinite), but
 confining myself to the most necessary points. I will now proceed
 briefly to discuss the remaining arts in which I think boys ought to be
 instructed before being handed over to the teacher of rhetoric: for it
 is by such studies that the course of education
 described by the Greeks as ἐγκύκλικος
 παιδεία or general education will be brought to its full
 completion.

For there are other subjects of education which must be studied
 simultaneously with literature. These being independent studies are
 capable of completion without a knowledge of oratory, while on the other
 hand they cannot by themselves produce an orator. The question has
 consequently been raised as to whether they are necessary for this
 purpose.

What, say some, has the knowledge of the way to describe an equilateral
 triangle on a given straight line got to do with pleading in the
 law-courts or speaking in the senate? Will an acquaintance with the
 names and intervals of the notes of the lyre help an orator to defend a
 criminal or direct the policy of his country?

They will perhaps produce a long list of orators who are most effective
 in the courts but have never sat under a geometrician and whose
 understanding of music is confined to the pleasure which their ears,
 like those of other men, derive from it. To such critics I reply, and
 Cicero frequently makes the same remark in his Orator, that I am not
 describing any orator who actually exists or has existed, but have in my
 mind's eye an ideal orator, perfect down to the smallest detail.

For when the philosophers describe the ideal sage who is to be
 consummate in all knowledge and a very god incarnate, as they say, they
 would have him receive instruction not merely in the knowledge of things
 human and divine, but would also lead him through a course of subjects,
 which in themselves are comparatively trivial, as for instance the
 elaborate subtleties of formal logic: not that acquaintance with the so called horn 
 or
 crocodile 
 problems can make a man
 wise, but because it is important that he should never trip even in the
 smallest trifles.

So too the teacher of geometry, music or other subjects which I would
 class with these, will not be able to create the perfect orator (who
 like the philosopher ought to be a wise man), but none the less these
 arts will assist in his perfection. I may draw a parallel from the use
 of antidotes and other remedies applied to the eyes or to wounds. We
 know that these are composed of ingredients which produce many and
 sometimes contrary effects, but mixed together they make a single
 compound resembling no one of its component parts, but deriving its
 peculiar properties from all:

so too dumb insects produce honey, whose taste is beyond the skill of
 man to imitate, from different kinds of flowers and juices. Shall we
 marvel then, if oratory, the highest gift of providence to man, needs
 the assistance of many arts, which, although they do not reveal or
 intrude themselves in actual speaking, supply hidden forces and make
 their silent presence felt?

But it will be urged men have proved fluent without
 their aid. Granted, but I am in quest of an orator.
 Their contribution is but small. Yes, but we shall
 never attain completeness, if minor details be lacking. And it will be
 agreed that though our ideal of perfection may dwell on a height that is
 hard to gain, it is our duty to teach all we know, that achievement may
 at least come somewhat nearer the goal. But why should our courage fail?
 The perfect orator is not contrary to the laws of nature, and it is
 cowardly to despair of anything that is within the bounds of
 possibility. For myself I should be ready to accept
 the verdict of antiquity.

Who is ignorant of the fact that music, of which I will speak first, was
 in ancient times the object not merely of intense study but of
 veneration: in fact Orpheus and Linus, to mention no others, were
 regarded as uniting the roles of musician, poet and philosopher. Both
 were of divine origin, while the former, because by the marvel of his
 music he soothed the savage breast, is recorded to have drawn after him
 not merely beasts of the wild, but rocks and trees.

So too Timagenes asserts that music is the oldest of the arts related to
 literature, a statement which is confirmed by the testimony of the
 greatest of poets in whose songs we read that the praise of heroes and
 of gods were sung to the music of the lyre at the feasts of kings. Does
 not lopas, the Vergilian bard, sing 
 
 
 The wandering moon and labours of the
 Sun 
 
 Aen. i. 742. 
 
 and the like? whereby the supreme poet manifests most
 clearly that music is united with the knowledge even of things divine.

If this be admitted, music will be a necessity even for an orator, since
 those fields of knowledge, which were annexed by philosophy on their
 abandonment by oratory, once were ours and without the knowledge of all
 such things there can be no perfect eloquence.

There can in any case be no doubt that some of those men whose wisdom is
 a household word have been earnest students of music: Pythagoras for
 instance and his followers popularised the belief, which they no doubt
 had received from earlier teachers, that the universe is constructed on
 the same principles which were afterwards imitated in the construction of the lyre, and not content merely with emphasising
 that concord of discordant elements which they style harmony attributed
 a sound to the motions of the celestial bodies.

As for Plato, there are certain passages in his works, more especially
 in the Timaeus, 
 which
 are quite unintelligible to those who have not studied the theory of
 music. But why speak only of the philosophers, whose master, Socrates,
 did not blush to receive instruction in playing the lyre even when far
 advanced in years?

It is recorded that the greatest generals played on the lyre and the
 pipe, and that the armies of Sparta were fired to martial ardour by the
 strains of music. And what else is the function of the horns and
 trumpets attached to our legions? The louder the concert of their notes,
 the greater is the glorious supremacy of our arms over all the nations
 of the earth.

It was not therefore without reason that Plato regarded the knowledge of
 music as necessary to his ideal statesman or politician, as he calls
 him; while the leaders even of that school, which in other respects is
 the strictest and most severe of all schools of philosophy, held that
 the wise man might well devote some of his attention to such studies.
 Lycurgus himself, the founder of the stern laws of Sparta, approved of
 the training supplied by music.

Indeed nature itself seems to have given music as a boon to men to
 lighten the strain of labour: even the rower in the galleys is cheered
 to effort by song. Nor is this function of music confined to cases where
 the efforts of a number are given union by the sound of some sweet voice
 that sets the tune, but even solitary workers find solace at their toil
 in artless song.

So far I have attempted merely to sound the praises of the noblest of arts without bringing it into connexion with the
 education of an orator. I will therefore pass by the fact that the art
 of letters and that of music were once united: indeed Archytas and
 Euenus held that the former was subordinate to the latter, while we know
 that the same instructors were employed for the teaching of both from
 Sophron, a writer of farces, it is true, but so highly esteemed by
 Plato, that he is believed to have had Sophron's works under his pillow
 on his deathbed:

the same fact is proved by the case of Eupolis, who makes Prodamus teach
 both music and literature, and whose Maricas, who was none other than
 Hyperbolus in disguise, asserts that he knows nothing of music but
 letters. Aristophanes again in more than one
 of his plays shows that boys were trained in music from remote
 antiquity, while in the Hypobolimaeus of Menander
 an old man, when a father claims his son from him, gives an account of
 all expenses incurred on behalf of the boy's education and states that
 he has paid out large sums to musicians and geometricians.

From the importance thus given to music also originated the custom of
 taking a lyre round the company after dinner, and when on such an
 occasion Themistocles confessed that he could not play, his education
 was (to quote the words of Cicero) regarded as
 imperfect.

Even at the banquets of our own forefathers it was the custom to
 introduce the pipe and lyre, and even the hymn of the Salii has its
 tune. These practices were instituted by King Numa and clearly prove
 that not even those whom we regard as rude warriors, neglected the study
 of music, at least in so far as the resources of that age allowed.

Finally there was actually a proverb among the Greeks, that the uneducated were far from the company of
 the Muses and Graces.

But let us discuss the advantages which our future orator may reasonably
 expect to derive from the study of Music. Music has two modes of
 expression in the voice and in the body; for both voice
 and body require to be controlled by appropriate rules. Aristoxenus
 divides music, in so far as it concerns the voice, into rhythm and melody, the one
 consisting in measure, the latter in sound and song. Now I ask you
 whether it is not absolutely necessary for the orator to be acquainted
 with all these methods of expression which are concerned firstly with
 gesture, secondly with the arrangement of words and thirdly with the
 inflexions of the voice, of which a great variety are required in
 pleading.

Otherwise we must assume that structure and the euphonious combination
 of sounds are necessary only for poetry, lyric and otherwise, but
 superfluous in pleading, or that unlike music, oratory has no interest
 in the variation of arrangement and sound to suit the demands of the
 case.

But eloquence does vary both tone and rhythm, expressing sublime
 thoughts with elevation, pleasing thoughts with sweetness, and ordinary
 with gentle utterance, and in every expression of its art is in sympathy
 with the emotions of which it is the mouthpiece.

It is by the raising, lowering or inflexion of the voice that the orator
 stirs the emotions of his hearers, and the measure, if I may repeat the
 term, of voice or phrase differs according as we wish to rouse the
 indignation or the pity of the judge. For, as we know, different
 emotions are roused even by the various musical instruments, which are
 incapable of reproducing speech.

Further the motion of the body must be suitable and
 becoming, or as the Greeks call it eurythmic, and
 this can only be secured by the study of music. This is a most important
 department of eloquence, and will receive separate treatment in this
 work.

To proceed, an orator will assuredly pay special attention to his voice,
 and what is so specially the concern of music as this? Here too I must
 not anticipate a later section of this work, and will content myself by
 citing the example of Gaius Gracchus, the leading orator of his age, who
 during his speeches had a musician standing behind him with a pitchpipe,
 or tonarion as the Greeks call it, whose duty it
 was to give him the tones in which his voice was to be pitched.

Such was the attention which he paid to this point even in the midst of
 his most turbulent speeches, when he was terrifying the patrician party
 and even when he had begun to fear their power. I should like for the
 benefit of the uninstructed, those creatures of the heavier
 Muse, as the saying is, to remove all doubts as to the value
 of music.

They will at any rate admit that the poets should be read by our future
 orator. But can they be read without some knowledge of music? Or if any
 of my critics be so blind as to have some doubts about other forms of
 poetry, can the lyric poets at any rate be read without such knowledge?
 If there were anything novel in my insistence on the study of music, I
 should have to treat the matter at greater length.

But in view of the fact that the study of music has, from those remote
 times when Chiron taught Achilles down to our own day, continued to be
 studied by all except those who have a hatred for any regular course of
 study, it would be a mistake to seem to cast any
 doubt upon its value by showing an excessive zeal in its defence.

It will, however, I think be sufficiently clear from the examples I have
 already quoted, what I regard as the value and the sphere of music in
 the training of an orator. Still I think I ought to be more emphatic
 than I have been in stating that the music which I desire to see taught
 is not our modern music, which has been emasculated by the lascivious
 melodies of our effeminate stage and has to no small extent destroyed
 such manly vigour as we still possessed. No, I refer to the music of old
 which was employed to sing the praises of brave men and was sung by the
 brave themselves. I will have none of your psalteries and viols, that
 are unfit even for the use of a modest girl. Give me the knowledge of
 the principles of music, which have power to excite or assuage the
 emotions of mankind.

We are told that Pythagoras on one occasion, when some young men were
 led astray by their passions to commit an outrage on a respectable
 family, calmed them by ordering the piper to change her strain to a
 spondaic measure, while Chrysippus selects a special tune to be used by
 nurses to entice their little charges to sleep.

Further I may point out that among the fictitious themes employed in
 declamation is one, doing no little credit to its author's learning, in
 which it is supposed that a piper is accused of manslaughter because he
 had played a tune in the Phrygian mode as an accompaniment to a
 sacrifice, with the result that the person officiating went mad and
 flung himself over a precipice. If an orator is expected to declaim on
 such a theme as this, which cannot possibly be handled without some
 knowledge of music, how can my critics for all
 their prejudice fail to agree that music is a necessary element in the
 education of an orator?

As regards geometry, it is granted that portions of
 this science are of value for the instruction of children: for
 admittedly it exercises their minds, sharpens their wits and generates
 quickness of perception. But it is considered that the value of geometry
 resides in the process of learning, and not as with other sciences in
 the knowledge thus acquired. Such is the general opinion.

But it is not without good reason that some of the greatest men have
 devoted special attention to this science. Geometry has two divisions;
 one is concerned with numbers, the other with figures. Now knowledge of
 the former is a necessity not merely to the orator, but to any one who
 has had even an elementary education. Such knowledge is frequently
 required in actual cases, in which a speaker is regarded as deficient in
 education, I will not say if he hesitates in making a calculation, but
 even if he contradicts the calculation which he states in words by
 making an uncertain or inappropriate gesture with his fingers. Again linear geometry is frequently required in cases, as in
 lawsuits about boundaries and measurements.

But geometry and oratory are related in a yet more important way than
 this.

In the first place logical development is one of the necessities of
 geometry. And is it not equally a necessity for oratory? Geometry
 arrives at its conclusions from definite premises, and by arguing from
 what is certain proves what was previously uncertain. Is not this just
 what we do in speaking? Again are not the problems of geometry almost
 entirely solved by the syllogistic method, a fact
 which makes the majority assert that geometry bears a closer resemblance
 to logic than to rhetoric? But even the orator will sometimes, though
 rarely, prove his point by formal logic.

For, if necessary, he will use the syllogism, and he will certainly make
 use of the enthymeme which is a rhetorical form of syllogism. Further the most
 absolute form of proof is that which is generally known as linear
 demonstration. And what is the aim of oratory if not proof?

Again oratory sometimes detects falsehoods closely resembling the truth
 by the use of geometrical methods. An example of this may be found in
 connexion with numbers in the so-called pseudographs, a favourite
 amusement in our boyhood. But there are more
 important points to be considered. Who is there who would not accept the
 following proposition? When the lines bounding two figures are
 equal in length, the areas contained within those lines are equal.
 But this is false, for everything depends on the shape of the
 figure formed by these lines,

and historians have been taken to task by geometricians for believing
 the time taken to circumnavigate an island to be a sufficient indication
 of its size. For the space enclosed is in proportion to the perfection
 of the figure.

Consequently if the bounding line to which we have referred form a
 circle, the most perfect of all plane figures, it will contain a greater
 space than if the same length of line took the form of a square, while a
 square contains a greater space than a triangle having the same total
 perimeter, and an equilateral triangle than a scalene triangle.

But there are other points which perhaps present greater difficulty. I will take an example which is easy
 even for those who have no knowledge of geometry. There is scarcely
 anyone who does not know that the Roman acre is 240 feet long and 120
 feet broad, and its total perimeter and the area enclosed can easily be
 calculated.

But a square of 180 feet gives the same perimeter, yet contains a much
 larger area within its four sides. If the calculation prove irksome to
 any of my readers, he can learn the same truth by employing smaller
 numbers. Take a ten foot square: its perimeter is forty feet and it
 contains 100 square feet. But if the dimensions be fifteen feet by five,
 while the perimeter is the same, the area enclosed is less by a quarter.

On the other hand if we draw a parallelogram measuring nineteen feet by
 one, the number of square feet enclosed will be no greater than the
 number of linear feet making the actual length of the parallelogram,
 though the perimeter will be exactly as that of the figure which
 encloses an area of 100 square feet. Consequently the area enclosed by
 four lines will decrease in proportion as we depart from the form of a
 square.

It further follows that it is perfectly possible for the space enclosed
 to be less, though the perimeter be greater. This applies to plane
 figures only: for even one who is no mathematician can see that, when we
 have to consider hills or valleys, the extent of ground enclosed is
 greater than the sky over it.

But geometry soars still higher to the consideration of the system of
 the universe: for by its calculations it demonstrates the fixed and
 ordained courses of the stars, and thereby we acquire the knowledge that
 all things are ruled by order and destiny, a consideration which may at
 times be of value to an orator.

When Pericles dispelled the panic caused at Athens
 by the eclipse of the sun by explaining the causes of the phenomenon, or
 Sulpicius Gallus discoursed on the eclipse of the moon to the army of
 Lucius Paulus to prevent the soldiers being seized with terror at what
 they regarded as a portent sent by heaven, did not they discharge the
 function of an orator?

If Nicias had known this when he commanded in Sicily, he would not have
 shared the terror of his men nor lost the finest army that Athens ever
 placed in the field. Dion for instance when he came to Syracuse to
 overthrow the tyranny of Dionysius, was not frightened away by the
 occurrence of a similar phenomenon. However we are not concerned with
 the uses of geometry in war and need not dwell upon the fact that
 Archimedes singlehanded succeeded in appreciably prolonging the
 resistance of Syracuse when it was besieged.

It will suffice for our purpose that there are a number of problems
 which it is difficult to solve in any other way, which are as a rule
 solved by these linear demonstrations, such as the method of division,
 section to infinity, and the
 ratio of increase in velocity. From this we may conclude that, if as we
 shall show in the next book an orator has to speak on every kind of
 subject, he can under no circumstances dispense with a knowledge of
 geometry.

XI. The comic actor will also claim a certain amount of our
 attention, but only in so far as our future orator must be a master of
 the art of delivery. For I do not of course wish the boy, whom we are
 training to this end, to talk with the shrillness of a woman or in the
 tremulous accents of old age.

Nor for that matter must he ape the vices of the 
 drunkard, or copy the cringing manners of a slave, or learn to express
 the emotions of love, avarice or fear. Such accomplishments are not
 necessary to an orator and corrupt the mind, especially while it is
 still pliable and unformed. For repeated imitation passes into habit.

Nor yet again must we adopt all the gestures and movements of the actor.
 Within certain limits the orator must be a master of both, but he must
 rigorously avoid staginess and all extravagance of facial expression,
 gesture and gait. For if an orator does command a certain art in such
 matters, its highest expression will be in the concealment of its
 existence. What then is the duty of the teacher whom we have borrowed
 from the stage?

In the first place he must correct all faults of pronunciation, and see
 that the utterance is distinct, and that each letter has its proper
 sound. There is an unfortunate tendency in the case of some letters to
 pronounce them either too thinly or too fully, while some we find too
 harsh and fail to pronounce sufficiently, substituting others whose
 sound is similar but somewhat duller.

For instance, lambda is substituted for rho, a letter which was always a stumbling-block
 to Demosthenes; our l and r have of course the
 same value. 
 Similarly when c and g are not given their full value, they are softened
 into t and d.

Again our teacher must not tolerate the affected pronunciation of s 
 with which we
 are painfully familiar, nor suffer words to be uttered from the depths
 of the throat or rolled out hollow-mouthed, or
 permit the natural sound of the voice to be over-laid with a fuller
 sound, a fault fatal to purity of speech; the Greeks give this
 peculiarity the name καταπεπλασμένον 
 (plastered over), a term applied to the tone produced by a pipe,

when the stops which produce the treble notes are closed, and a bass
 note is produced through the main aperture only.

He will also see that final syllables are not clipped, that the quality
 of speech is continuously maintained, that when the voice is raised, the
 strain falls upon the lungs and not the mouth, and that gesture and
 voice are mutually appropriate.

He will also insist that the speaker faces his audience, that the lips
 are not distorted nor the jaws parted to a grin, that the face is not
 thrown back, nor the eyes fixed on the ground, nor the neck slanted to
 left or right. For there are a variety of faults of facial expression. I
 have seen many, who raised their brows whenever the voice was called
 upon for an effort,

others who wore a perpetual frown, and yet others who could not keep
 their eyebrows level, but raised one towards the top of the head and
 depressed the other till it almost closed the eye.

These are details, but as I shall shortly show, they are of enormous
 importance, for nothing that is unbecoming can have a pleasing effect.

Our actor will also be required to show how a narrative should be
 delivered, and to indicate the authoritative tone that should be given
 to advice, the excitement which should mark the rise of anger, and the
 change of tone that is characteristic of pathos. The best method of so
 doing is to select special passages from comedy appropriate for the purpose, that is to say, resembling the speeches of
 a pleader.

These are not only most useful in training the delivery, but are
 admirably adapted to increase a speaker's eloquence.

These are the methods to be employed while the pupil is too young to
 take in more advanced instruction; but when the time has come for him to
 read speeches, and as soon as he begins to appreciate their merits, he
 should have a careful and efficient teacher at his side not merely to
 form his style of reading aloud, but to make him learn select passages
 by heart and declaim them standing in the manner which actual pleading
 would require: thus he will simultaneously train delivery, voice and
 memory.

I will not blame even those who give a certain amount of time to the
 teacher of gymnastics. I am not speaking of those, who spend part of
 their life in rubbing themselves with oil and part in winebibbing, and
 kill the mind by over-attention to the body: indeed, I would have such
 as these kept as far as possible from the boy whom we are training.

But we give the same name to those who form gesture and motion so that
 the arms may be extended in the proper manner, the management of the
 hands free from all trace of rusticity and inelegance, the attitude
 becoming, the movements of the feet appropriate and the motions of the
 head and eyes in keeping with the poise of the body.

No one will deny that such details form a part of the art of delivery,
 nor divorce delivery from oratory; and there can be no justification for
 disdaining to learn what has got to be done, especially as chironomy, which, as the name shows, is the law of gesture, originated in heroic times
 and met with the approval of the greatest Greeks,
 not excepting Socrates himself, while it was placed by Plato among the
 virtues of a citizen and included by Chrysippus in his instructions
 relative to the education of children.

We are told that the Spartans even regarded a certain form of dance as a
 useful element in military training. Nor again did the ancient Romans
 consider such a practice as disgraceful: this is clear from the fact
 that priestly and ritual dances have survived to the present day, while
 Cicero in the third book of his de Oratore 
 quotes the
 words of Crassus, in which he lays down the principle that the orator
 should learn to move his body in a bold and manly fashion
 derived not from actors or the stage, but from martial and even from
 gymnastic exercises. And such a method of training has
 persisted uncensured to our own time.

In my opinion, however, such training should not extend beyond the years
 of boyhood, and even boys should not devote too much time to it. For I
 do not wish the gestures of oratory to be modelled on those of the
 dance. But I do desire that such boyish exercises should continue to
 exert a certain influence, and that something of the grace which we
 acquired as learners should attend us in after life without our being
 conscious of the fact.

The question is not infrequently asked, as to whether, admitting that
 these things ought to be learned, it is possible for all of them to be
 taught and taken in simultaneously. There are some who say that this is
 impossible on the ground that the mind is confused and tired by
 application to so many studies of different
 tendencies: neither the intelligence nor the physique of our pupils, nor
 the time at our disposal are sufficient, they
 say, and even though older boys may be strong enough, it is a sin to put
 such a burden on the shoulders of childhood.

These critics show an insufficient appreciation of the capacities of the
 human mind, which is so swift and nimble and versatile, that it cannot
 be restricted to doing one thing only, but insists on devoting its
 attention to several different subjects not merely in one day, but
 actually at one and the same time.

Do not harpists simultaneously exert the memory and pay attention to the
 tone and inflexions of the voice, while the right hand runs over certain
 strings and the left plucks, stops or releases others, and even the foot
 is employed in beating time, all these actions being performed at the
 same moment?

Again, do not we ourselves, when unexpectedly called upon to plead,
 speak while we are thinking what we are to say next, invention of
 argument, choice of words, rhythm, gesture, delivery, facial expression
 and movement all being required simultaneously? If all these things can
 be done with one effort in spite of their diversity, why should we not
 divide our hours among different branches of study? We must remember
 that variety serves to refresh and restore the mind, and that it is
 really considerably harder to work at one subject without intermission.
 Consequently we should give the pen a rest by turning to read, and
 relieve the tedium of reading by changes of subject. However manifold
 our activities, in a certain sense we come fresh to each new subject.

Who can maintain his attention, if he has to listen for a whole day to
 one teacher harping on the same subject, be it what it may? Change of
 studies is like change of foods: the stomach is
 refreshed by their variety and derives greater nourishment from variety
 of viands.

If my critics disagree, let them provide me with an alternative method.
 Are we first to deliver ourselves up to the sole service of the teacher
 of literature, and then similarly to the teacher of geometry, neglecting
 under the latter what was taught us by the former? And then are we to go
 on to the musician, forgetting all that we learned before? And when we
 study Latin literature, are we to do so to the exclusion of Greek? In
 fine, to have done with the matter once and for all, are we to do
 nothing except that which last comes to our hand?

On this principle, why not advise farmers not to cultivate corn, vines,
 olives and orchard trees at the same time? or from devoting themselves
 simultaneously to pastures, cattle, gardens, bees and poultry? Why do we
 ourselves daily allot some of our time to the business of the courts,
 some to the demands of our friends, some to our domestic affairs, some
 to the exercise of the body, and some even to our pleasures? Any one of
 these occupations, if pursued without interruption, would fatigue us. So
 much easier is it to do many things than to do one thing for a long time
 continuously.

We need have no fear at any rate that boys will find their work too
 exhausting: there is no age more capable of enduring fatigue. The fact
 may be surprising, but it can be proved by experiment. For the mind is
 all the easier to teach before it is set.

This may be clearly proved by the fact that within two years after a
 child has begun to form words correctly, he can speak practically all
 without any pressure from outside. On the other hand how many years it takes for our newly-imported slaves to become
 familiar with the Latin language. Try to teach an adult to read and you
 will soon appreciate the force of the saying applied to those who do
 everything connected with their art with the utmost skill he
 started young! Moreover boys stand the strain of work better
 than young men.

Just as small children suffer less damage from their frequent falls,
 from their crawling on hands and knees and, a little later, from their
 incessant play and their running about from morn till eve, because they
 are so light in weight and have so little to carry, even so their minds
 are less susceptible of fatigue, because their activity calls for less
 effort and application to study demands no exertion of their own, since
 they are merely so much plastic material to be moulded by the teacher.

And further owing to the general pliability of childhood, they follow
 their instructors with greater simplicity and without attempting to
 measure their own progress: for as yet they do not even appreciate the
 nature of their work. Finally, as I have often noticed, the senses are
 less affected by mere hard work than they are by hard thinking.

Moreover there will never be more time for such studies, since at this
 age all progress is made through listening to the teacher. Later when
 the boy has to write by himself, or to produce and compose something out
 of his own head, he will neither have the time nor the inclination for
 the exercises which we have been discussing.

Since, then, the teacher of literature neither can nor ought to occupy
 the whole day, for fear of giving his pupil a distaste for work, what
 are the studies to which the spare time should preferably be devoted?

For I do not wish the student to wear himself out
 in such pursuits: I would not have him sing or learn to read music or
 dive deep into the minuter details of geometry, nor need he be a
 finished actor in his delivery or a dancer in his gesture: if I did
 demand all these accomplishments, there would yet be time for them; the
 period allotted to education is long, and I am not speaking of duller
 wits.

Why did Plato bear away the palm in all these branches of knowledge
 which in my opinion the future orator should learn? I answer, because he
 was not merely content with the teaching which Athens was able to
 provide or even with that of the Pythagoreans whom he visited in Italy,
 but even approached the priests of Egypt and made himself thoroughly
 acquainted with all their secret lore.

The plea of the difficulty of the subject is put forward merely to cloak
 our indolence, because we do not love the work that lies before us nor
 seek to win eloquence for our own because it is a noble art and the
 fairest thing in all the world, but gird up our loins for mercenary ends
 and for the winning of filthy lucre.

Without such accomplishments many may speak in the courts and make an
 income; but it is my prayer that every dealer in the vilest merchandise
 may be richer than they and that the public crier may find his voice a
 more lucrative possession. And I trust that there is not one even among
 my readers who would think of calculating the monetary value of such
 studies.

But he that has enough of the divine spark to conceive the ideal
 eloquence, he who, as the great tragic poet says, regards
 oratory as the queen of all the world 
 and seeks not the transitory gains of advocacy, but those stable and
 lasting rewards which his own soul and knowledge and contemplation can give, he will easily
 persuade himself to spend his time not, like so many, in the theatre or
 in the Campus Martius, in dicing or in idle talk, to say naught of the
 hours that are wasted in sleep or long drawn banqueting, but in
 listening rather to the geometrician and the teacher of music. For by
 this he will win a richer harvest of delight than can ever be gathered
 from the pleasures of the ignorant, since among the many gifts of
 providence to man not the least is this that the highest pleasure is the
 child of virtue.

But the attractions of my theme have led me to say overmuch. Enough of
 those studies in which a boy must be instructed, while he is yet too
 young to proceed to greater things! My next book will start afresh and
 will pass to the consideration of the duties of the teacher of rhetoric.

THE custom has prevailed and is daily growing commoner of sending boys
 to the schools of rhetoric much later than is reasonable: this is always
 the case as regards Latin rhetoric and occasionally applies to Greek as
 well. The reason for this is twofold: the rhetoricians, more especially
 our own, have abandoned certain of their duties and the teachers of
 literature have undertaken tasks which rightly belong to others.

For the rhetorician considers that his duty is merely to declaim and
 give instruction in the theory and practice of declamation and confines
 his activities to deliberative and judicial themes, regarding all others
 as beneath the dignity of his profession; while the teacher of
 literature is not satisfied to take what is left him (and we owe him a
 debt of gratitude for this), but even presumes to handle declamations in
 character and deliberative themes, tasks which impose the
 very heaviest burden on the speaker.

Consequently subjects which once formed the first stages of rhetoric
 have come to form the final stages of a literary education, and boys who
 are ripe for more advanced study are kept back in the inferior school
 and practise rhetoric under the direction of teachers of literature.
 Thus we get the absurd result that a boy is not regarded as fit to go on
 to the schools of declamation till he knows how to declaim. The two professions must each be assigned their
 proper sphere.

Grammatice, which we translate as the science of
 letters, must learn to know its own limits, especially as it has
 encroached so far beyond the boundaries to which its unpretentious name
 should restrict it and to which its earlier professors actually confined
 themselves. Springing from a tiny fountain-head, it has gathered
 strength from the historians and critics and has swollen to the
 dimensions of a brimming river, since, not content with the theory of
 correct speech, no inconsiderable subject, it has usurped the study of
 practically all the highest departments of knowledge.

On the other hand rhetoric, which derives its name from the power of
 eloquence, must not shirk its peculiar duties nor rejoice to see its own
 burdens shouldered by others. For the neglect of these is little less
 than a surrender of its birthright.

I will of course admit that there may be a few professors of literature
 who have acquired sufficient knowledge to be able to teach rhetoric as
 well; but when they do so, they are performing the duties of the
 rhetorician, not their own.

A further point into which we must enquire concerns the age at which a
 boy may be considered sufficiently advanced to profit by the
 instructions of the rhetorician. In this connexion we must consider not
 the boy's actual age, but the progress he has made in his studies. To
 put it briefly, I hold that the best answer to the question When
 should a boy be sent to the school of rhetoric?

is this, When he is fit. But this question is really
 dependent on that previously raised. For if the duties of the teacher of
 literature are prolonged to include instruction in deliberative
 declamation, this will postpone the need for the
 rhetorician. On the other hand if the rhetorician does not refuse to
 undertake the first duties of his task, his instruction will be required
 from the moment the boy begins to compose narratives and his first
 attempts at passages of praise or denunciation.

We know that the orators of earlier days improved their eloquence by
 declaiming themes and common-places and other forms of
 rhetorical exercises not involving particular circumstances or persons
 such as provide the material for real or imaginary causes. From this we can clearly see what a scandalous dereliction of
 duty it is for the schools of rhetoric to abandon this department of
 their work, which was not merely its first, but for a long time its sole
 task.

What is there in those exercises of which I have just spoken that does
 not involve matters which are the special concern of rhetoric and
 further are typical of actual legal cases? Have we not to narrate facts
 in the law-courts? Indeed I am not sure that this is not the most
 important department of rhetoric in actual practice.

Are not eulogy and denunciation frequently introduced in the course of
 the contests of the courts? Are not common-places frequently inserted in
 the very heart of lawsuits, whether, like those which we find in the
 works of Cicero, they are directed against vice, or, like those
 published by Quintus Hortensius, deal with questions of general interest
 such as whether small points of argument should carry
 weight, or are employed to defend or impugn the credibility
 of witnesses?

These are weapons which we should always have stored in our armoury
 ready for immediate use as occasion may demand. The critic who denies
 that such matters concern an orator is one who will
 refuse to believe that a statue is being begun when its limbs are
 actually being cast. Some will think that I am in too great a hurry, but
 let no one accuse me of thinking that the pupil who has been entrusted
 to the rhetorician should forthwith be withdrawn from the teacher of
 literature.

The latter will still have certain hours allotted him, and there is no
 reason to fear that a boy will be overloaded by receiving instruction
 from two different masters. It will not mean any increase of work, but
 merely the division among two masters of the studies which were
 previously indiscriminately combined under one: and the efficiency of
 either teacher will be increased. This method is still in vogue among
 the Greeks, but has been abandoned by us, not perhaps without some
 excuse, as there were others ready to step into the rhetorician's shoes.

II. As soon therefore as a boy has made sufficient progress in his
 studies to be able to follow what I have styled the first stage of
 instruction in rhetoric, he should be placed under a rhetorician. Our
 first task must be to enquire whether the teacher is of good character.

The reason which leads me to deal with this subject in this portion of
 my work is not that I regard character as a matter of indifference where
 other teachers are concerned, (I have already shown how important I
 think it in the preceding book), but that the age to which the pupil has
 now attained makes the mention of this point especially necessary.

For as a rule boys are on the verge of manhood when transferred to the
 teacher of rhetoric and continue with him even when they are young men:
 consequently we must spare no effort to secure that
 the purity of the teacher's character should preserve those of tenderer
 years from corruption, while its authority should keep the bolder
 spirits from breaking out into licence.

Nor is it sufficient that he should merely set an example of the highest
 personal self-control; he must also be able to govern the behaviour of
 his pupils by the strictness of his discipline.

Let him therefore adopt a parental attitude to his pupils, and regard
 himself as the representative of those who have committed their children
 to his charge. Let him be free from vice himself and refuse to tolerate
 it in others. Let him be strict but not austere, genial but not too
 familiar: for austerity will make him unpopular, while familiarity
 breeds contempt. Let his discourse continually turn on what is good and
 honourable; the more he admonishes, the less he will have to punish. He
 must control his temper without however shutting his eyes to faults
 requiring correction: his instruction must be free from affectation, his
 industry great, his demands on his class continuous, but not
 extravagant.

He must be ready to answer questions and to put them unasked to those
 who sit silent. In praising the recitations of his pupils he must be
 neither grudging nor over-generous: the former quality will give them a
 distaste for work, while the latter will produce a complacent
 self-satisfaction.

In correcting faults he must avoid sarcasm and above all abuse: for
 teachers whose rebukes seem to imply positive dislike discourage
 industry.

He should declaim daily himself and, what is more, without stint, that
 his class may take his utterances home with them. For however many
 models for imitation he may give them from the
 authors they are reading, it will still be found that fuller nourishment
 is provided by the living voice, as we call it, more especially when it
 proceeds from the teacher himself, who, if his pupils are rightly
 instructed, should be the object of their affection and respect. And it
 is scarcely possible to say how much more readily we imitate those whom
 we like.

I strongly disapprove of the prevailing practice of allowing boys to
 stand up or leap from the seats in the expression of their applause.
 Young men, even when they are listening to others, should be temperate
 in manifesting their approval. If this be insisted upon, the pupil will
 depend on his instructor's verdict and will take his approval as a
 guarantee that he has spoken well.

The worst form of politeness, as it has come to be called, is that of
 mutual and indiscriminate applause, a practice which is unseemly,
 theatrical and unworthy of a decently disciplined school, in addition to
 being the worst foe to genuine study. For if every effusion is greeted
 with a storm of ready-made applause, care and industry come to be
 regarded as superfluous.

The audience no less than the speaker should therefore keep their eyes
 fixed on their teacher's face, since thus they will learn to distinguish
 between what is praiseworthy and what is not: for just as writing gives
 facility, so listening begets the critical faculty.

But in the schools of to-day we see boys stooping forward ready to
 spring to their feet: at the close of each period they not merely rise,
 but rush forward with shouts of unseemly enthusiasm. Such compliments
 are mutual and the success of a declamation consists in this kind of
 applause. The result is vanity and empty
 self-sufficiency, carried to such an extent that, intoxicated by the
 wild enthusiasm of their fellow-pupils, they conceive a spite against
 their master, if his praise does not come up to their expectation.

But teachers must also insist on receiving an attentive and quiet
 hearing from the class when they themselves declaim. For the master
 should not speak to suit his pupil's standard, but they should speak to
 suit his. Further he should, if possible, keep his eyes open to note the
 points which each boy praises and observe the manner in which he
 expresses his approval, and should rejoice that his words give pleasure
 not only for his own sake, but for that of those who show sound judgment
 in their appreciation.

I do not approve of boys sitting mixed with young men. For even if the
 teacher be such an one as we should desire to see in charge of the
 morals and studies of the young, and can keep his youthful pupils under
 proper control, it is none the less desirable to keep the weaker members
 separate from the more mature, and to avoid not only the actual charge
 of corruption but the merest suspicion of it.

I have thought it worth while to put my views on this subject quite
 briefly. For I do not think it necessary even to warn the teacher that
 both he and his school must be free from the grosser vices. And should
 there be any father who does not trouble to choose a teacher for his son
 who is free from the obvious taint of immorality, he may rest assured
 that all the other precepts, which I am attempting to lay down for the
 benefit of our youth, will be absolutely useless to him, if he neglects
 this.

III. I do not think that I should pass by in silence even the opinion of those who, even when they
 regard boys as ripe for the rhetorician, still do not think that they
 should at once be placed under the most eminent teacher available, but
 prefer to keep them for a while under inferior masters, on the ground
 that in the elementary stages a mediocre instructor is easier to
 understand and to imitate, and less reluctant to undertake the tiresome
 task of teaching the rudiments as being beneath his notice.

I do not think that I need waste much time in pointing out how much
 better it is to absorb the best possible principles, or how hard it is
 to get rid of faults which have once become engrained; for it places a
 double burden on the shoulders of the later teacher and the preliminary
 task of unteaching is harder than that of teaching.

It is for this reason that the famous piper Timotheus is said to have
 demanded from those who had previously been under another master a fee
 double the amount which he charged for those who came to him untaught.
 The mistake to which I am referring is, however, twofold. First they
 regard these inferior teachers as adequate for the time being and are
 content with their instruction because they have a stomach that will
 swallow anything:

this indifference, though blameworthy in itself, would yet be tolerable,
 if the teaching provided by these persons were merely less in quantity
 and not inferior in quality as well. Secondly, and this is a still
 commoner delusion, they think that those who are blest with greater
 gifts of speaking will not condescend to the more elementary details,
 and that consequently they sometimes disdain to give attention to such
 inferior subjects of study and sometimes are incapable of so doing.

For my part I regard the teacher who is unwilling
 to attend to such details as being unworthy of the name of teacher: and
 as for the question of capacity, I maintain that it is the most capable
 man who, given the will, is able to do this with most efficiency. For in
 the first place it is a reasonable inference that a man blest with
 abnormal powers of eloquence will have made careful note of the various
 steps by which eloquence is attained, and in the second place the
 reasoning faculty,

which is specially developed in learned men, is all-important in
 teaching, while finally no one is eminent in the greater things of his
 art if he be lacking in the lesser. Unless indeed we are asked to
 believe that while Phidias modelled his Jupiter to perfection, the
 decorative details of the statue would have been better executed by
 another artist, or that an orator does not know how to speak, or a
 distinguished physician is incapable of treating minor ailments.

Yes it may be answered but surely you do not deny
 that there is a type of eloquence that is too great to be
 comprehended by undeveloped boys? Of course there is. But
 this eloquent teacher whom they fling in my face must be a sensible man
 with a good knowledge of teaching and must be prepared to stoop to his
 pupil's level, just as a rapid walker, if walking with a small child,
 will give him his hand and lessen his own speed and avoid advancing at a
 pace beyond the powers of his little companion.

Again it frequently happens that the more learned the teacher, the more
 lucid and intelligible is his instruction. For clearness is the first
 virtue of eloquence, and the less talented a man is, the more he will
 strive to exalt and dilate himself, just as short men tend to walk on
 tip-toe and weak men to use threats.

As for those whose style is inflated or vicious, and whose language
 reveals a passion for high-sounding words or labours under any other
 form of affectation, in my opinion they suffer not from excess of
 strength but of weakness, like bodies swollen not with the plumpness of
 health but with disease, or like men who weary of the direct road betake
 them to bypaths. Consequently the worse a teacher is, the harder he will
 be to understand.

I have not forgotten that I stated in the preceding book, when I urged
 that school was preferable to home education, that pupils at the
 commencement of their studies, when progress is as yet but in the bud,
 are more disposed to imitate their schoolfellows than their masters,
 since such imitation comes more easily to them. Some of my readers may
 think that the view which I am now maintaining is inconsistent with my
 previous statement.

But I am far from being inconsistent: for my previous assertion affords
 the strongest reason for selecting the very best teachers for our boys;
 since pupils of a first rate master, having received a better training,
 will when they speak say something that may be worthy of imitation,
 while if they commit some mistake, they will be promptly corrected. But
 the incompetent teacher on the other hand is quite likely to give his
 approval to faulty work and by the judgment which he expresses to force
 approval on the audience.

The teacher should therefore be as distinguished for his eloquence as
 for his good character, and like Phoenix in the Iliad be able to teach his pupil both how to behave and how to
 speak.

I shall now proceed to indicate what I think should be the first
 subjects in which the rhetorician should give instruction, and shall
 postpone for a time our consideration of the art of rhetoric in the
 narrow sense in which that term is popularly used. For in my opinion it
 is most desirable that we should commence with something resembling the
 subjects already acquired under the teacher of literature.

Now there are three forms of narrative, without counting the type used
 in actual legal cases. First there is the fictitious narrative as we get
 it in tragedies and poems, which is not merely not true but has little
 resemblance to truth. Secondly, there is the realistic narrative as presented by
 comedies, which, though not true, has yet a certain verisimilitude.
 Thirdly there is the historical narrative, which is an exposition of
 actual fact. Poetic narratives are the property of the teacher of
 literature. The rhetorician therefore should begin with the historical
 narrative, whose force is in proportion to its truth.

I will, however, postpone my demonstration of what I regard as the best
 method of narration till I come to deal with narration as required in
 the courts. In the meantime, it will be sufficient to urge that it
 should be neither dry nor jejune (for why spend so much labour over our
 studies if a bald and naked statement of fact is regarded as
 sufficiently expressive?); nor on the other hand must it be tortuous or
 revel in elaborate descriptions, such as those in which so many are led
 to indulge by a misguided imitation of poetic licence.

Both these extremes are faults; but that which springs from poverty of
 wit is worse than that which is due to imaginative
 excess. For we cannot demand or expect a perfect style from boys. But
 there is greater promise in a certain luxuriance of mind, in ambitious
 effort and an ardour that leads at times to ideas bordering on the
 extravagant.

I have no objection to a little exuberance in the young learner. Nay, I
 would urge teachers too like nurses to be careful to provide softer food
 for still undeveloped minds and to suffer them to take their fill of the
 milk of the more attractive studies. For the time being the body may be
 somewhat plump, but maturer years will reduce it to a sparer habit.

Such plumpness gives hope of strength; a child fully formed in every
 limb is likely to grow up a puny weakling. The young should be more
 daring and inventive and should rejoice in their inventions, even though
 correctness and severity are still to be acquired. Exuberance is easily
 remedied, but barrenness is incurable, be your efforts what they may.

To my mind the boy who gives least promise is one in whom the critical
 faculty develops in advance of the imagination. I like to see the first
 fruits of the mind copious to excess and almost extravagant in their
 profusion. The years as they pass will skim off much of the froth,
 reason will file away many excrescences, and something too will be
 removed by what I may perhaps call the wear and tear of life, so long as
 there is sufficient material to admit of cutting and chiselling away.
 And there will be sufficient, if only we do not draw the plate too thin
 to begin with, so that it runs the risk of being broken if the graver
 cut too deep.

Those of my readers who know their Cicero will not be surprised that I take this view: for does he not say I
 would have the youthful mind run riot in the luxuriance of its
 growth ? We must,
 therefore, take especial care, above all where boys are concerned, to
 avoid a dry teacher, even as we avoid a dry and arid soil for plants
 that are still young and tender.

For with such a teacher their growth is stunted and their eyes are
 turned earthwards, and they are afraid to rise above the level of daily
 speech. Their leanness is regarded as a sign of health and their
 weakness as a sign of sound judgment, and while they are content that
 their work should be devoid of faults they fall into the fault of being
 devoid of merit. So let not the ripeness of vintage come too soon nor
 the must turn harsh while yet in the vat; thus it will last for years
 and mellow with age.

It is worth while too to warn the teacher that undue severity in
 correcting faults is liable at times to discourage a boy's mind from
 effort. He loses hope and gives way to vexation, then last of all comes
 to hate his work and fearing everything attempts nothing.

This phenomenon is familiar to farmers, who hold that the pruning-hook
 should not be applied while the leaves are yet young, for they seem to
 shrink from the steel 
 and to be unable as yet to endure a scar.

The instructor therefore should be as kindly as possible at this stage;
 remedies, which are harsh by nature, must be applied with a gentle hand:
 some portions of the work must be praised, others tolerated and others
 altered: the reason for the alterations should however be given, and in
 some cases the master will illumine an obscure passage by inserting
 something of his own. Occasionally again the
 teacher will find it useful to dictate whole themes himself that the boy
 may imitate them and for the time being love them as if they were his
 own.

But if a boy's composition is so careless as not to admit of correction,
 I have found it useful to give a fresh exposition of the theme and to
 tell him to write it again, pointing out that he was capable of doing
 better: for there is nothing like hope for making study a pleasure.

Different ages however demand different methods: the task set and the
 standard of correction must be proportioned to the pupil's strength.
 When boys ventured on something that was too daring or exuberant, I used
 to say to them that I approved of it for the moment, but that the time
 would come when I should no longer tolerate such a style. The result was
 that the consciousness of ability filled them with pleasure, without
 blinding their judgment.

However, to return to the point from which I had digressed. Written
 narratives should be composed with the utmost care. It is useful at
 first, when a child has just begun to speak, to make him repeat what he
 has heard with a view to improving his powers of speech; and for the
 same purpose, and with good reason, I would make him tell his story from
 the end back to the beginning or start in the middle and go backwards or
 forwards, but only so long as he is at his teacher's knee and while he
 is incapable of greater effort and is beginning to connect words and
 things, thereby strengthening the memory. Even so when he is beginning
 to understand the nature of correct and accurate speech, extempore
 effusions, improvised without waiting for thought to supply the matter
 or a moment's hesitation before rising to the feet,
 must not be permitted: they proceed from a passion for display that
 would do credit to a common mountebank.

Such proceedings fill ignorant parents with senseless pride, while the
 boys themselves lose all respect for their work, adopt a conceited
 bearing, and acquire the habit of speaking in the worst style and
 actually practising their faults, while they develop an arrogant
 conviction of their own talents which often proves fatal even to the
 most genuine proficiency.

There will be a special time for acquiring fluency of speech and I shall
 not pass the subject by unnoticed. For the meantime it will suffice if a
 boy, by dint of taking pains and working as hard as his age will permit,
 manages to produce something worthy of approval. Let him get used to
 this until it becomes a second nature. It is only he who learns to speak
 correctly before he can speak with rapidity who will reach the heights
 that are our goal or the levels immediately below them.

To narratives is annexed the task of refuting and confirming them,
 styled anaskeue and kataskeue, from which no little advantage may be derived. This
 may be done not merely in connexion with fiction and stories transmitted
 by the poets, but with the actual records of history as well. For
 instance we may discuss the credibility of the story that a raven
 settled on the head of Valerius in the midst of a combat and with its
 wings and beak struck the eyes of the Gaul who was his adversary, and a
 quantity of arguments may be produced on either side:

or we may discuss the tradition that Scipio was begotten by a
 serpent, or that Romulus was suckled by the she-wolf, or the story of
 Numa and Egeria. As regards Greek history, it allows itself something
 very like poetic licence. Again the time and place
 of some particular occurrence and sometimes even the persons concerned
 often provide matter for discussion: Livy for instance is frequently in
 doubt as to what actually occurred and historians often disagree.

From this our pupil will begin to proceed to more important themes, such
 as the praise of famous men and the denunciation of the wicked. Such
 tasks are profitable in more than one respect. The mind is exercised by
 the variety and multiplicity of the subject matter, while the character
 is moulded by the contemplation of virtue and vice. Further wide
 knowledge of facts is thus acquired, from which examples may be drawn if
 circumstances so demand, such illustrations being of the utmost value in
 every kind of case.

It is but a step from this to practice in the comparison of the
 respective merits of two characters. This is of course a very similar
 theme to the preceding, but involves a duplication of the subject matter
 and deals not merely with the nature of virtues and vices, but with
 their degree as well. But the method to be followed in panegyric and
 invective will be dealt with in its proper place, as it forms the third
 department of rhetoric.

As to commonplaces (I refer to those in which we
 denounce vices themselves such as adultery, gambling or profligacy
 without attacking particular persons), they come straight from the
 courts and, if we add the name of the defendant, amount to actual
 accusations. As a rule, however, the general character of a commonplace
 is usually given a special turn: for instance we make our adulterer
 blind, our gambler poor and our profligate far advanced in years.
 Sometimes too they entail defence:

for we may speak on behalf of luxury or love, while a pimp or a parasite
 may be defended in such a way that we appeal as counsel not for the
 character itself, but to rebut some specific charge that is brought
 against him.

Theses on the other hand are concerned with the
 comparison of things and involve questions such as Which is
 preferable, town or country life? or Which deserves
 the greatest praise, the lawyer or the soldier? These
 provide the most attractive and copious practice in the art of speaking,
 and are most useful whether we have an eye to the duties of deliberative
 oratory or the arguments of the courts. For instance Cicero in his pro Murena 
 deals very fully with the second
 of the two problems mentioned above.

Other theses too belong entirely to the
 deliberative class of oratory, as for instance the questions as to
 Whether marriage is desirable or Whether a
 public career is a proper object of ambition. Put such
 discussions into the mouths of specific persons and they become
 deliberative declamations at once.

My own teachers used to prepare us for conjectural cases by a form of
 exercise which was at once useful and attractive: they made us discuss
 and develop questions such as Why in Sparta is Venus represented
 as wearing armour? 
 or Why is Cupid believed to be a
 winged boy armed with arrows and a torch? and the like. In
 these exercises our aim was to discover the intention implied, a
 question which frequently occurs in controversial declamations. Such
 themes may perhaps be regarded as a kind of chria 
 or moral essay.

That certain topics such as the question as to 
 whether we should always believe a witness or whether we should rely on
 circumstantial evidence, are part and parcel of actual forensic pleading
 is so obvious that certain speakers, men too who have held civil office
 with no small distinction, have written out passages dealing with such
 themes, committed them to memory and kept them ready for immediate use,
 with a view to employing them when occasion arose as a species of
 ornament to be inserted into their extempore speeches.

This practice— for I am not going to postpone expressing my judgment on
 it—I used to regard a confession of extreme weakness. For how can such
 men find appropriate arguments in the course of actual cases which
 continually present new and different features? How can they answer the
 points that their opponents may bring up? how deal a rapid counterstroke
 in debate or cross-examine a witness? if, even in those matters which
 are of common occurrence and crop up in the majority of cases, they
 cannot give expression to the most familiar thoughts except in words
 prepared so far in advance.

And when they produce the same passage in a number of different cases,
 they must come to loathe it like food that has grown cold or stale, and
 they can hardly avoid a feeling of shame at displaying this miserable
 piece of furniture to an audience whose memory must have detected it so
 many times already: like the furniture of the ostentatious poor, it is
 sure to shew signs of wear through being used for such a variety of
 different purposes.

Also it must be remembered that there is hardly a single commonplace of
 such universal application that it will fit any actual case, unless some
 special link is provided to connect it with the
 subject: otherwise it will seem to have been tacked on to the speech,
 not interwoven in its texture,

either because it is out of keeping with the circumstances or like most
 of its kind is inappropriately employed not because it is wanted, but
 because it is ready for use. Some speakers, for example, introduce the
 most long-winded commonplaces just for the sake of the sentiments they
 contain, whereas rightly the sentiments should spring from the context.

Such disquisitions are at once ornamental and useful, only if they arise
 from the nature of the case. But the most finished eloquence, unless it
 tend to the winning of the case, is to say the least superfluous and may
 even defeat its own purpose. However I must bring this digression to a
 close.

The praise or denunciation of laws requires greater powers; indeed they
 should almost be equal to the most serious tasks of rhetoric. The answer
 to the question as to whether this exercise is more nearly related to
 deliberative or controversial oratory depends on custom and law and
 consequently varies in different states. Among the Greeks the proposer
 of a law was called upon to set forth his case before a judge, 
 while in Rome it was the custom to urge the acceptance or rejection of a
 law before the public assembly. But in any case the arguments advanced
 in such cases are few in number and of a definite type. For there are
 only three kinds of law, sacred, public and private.

This division is of rhetorical value chiefly when a law is to be
 praised. For example the orator may advance from praise to praise by a
 series of gradations, praising an enactment first because it is law, secondly because it is public, and, finally, designed for the support of religion. As regards the questions which generally arise, they are common to all
 cases.

Doubts may be raised as to whether the mover is legally in a position to
 propose a law, as happened in the case of Publius Clodius, whose
 appointment as tribune of the plebs was alleged to be unconstitutional.
 Or the legality of the proposal itself may be impugned in
 various ways; it may for instance be urged that the law was not
 promulgated within seventeen days, or was
 proposed, or is being proposed on an improper day, or in defiance of the
 tribunicial veto or the auspices or any other legal obstacle, or again
 that it is contrary to some existing law.

But such points are not suitable to elementary rhetorical exercises,
 which are not concerned with persons, times or particular cases. Other
 subjects, whether the dispute be real or fictitious, are generally
 treated on the following lines.

The fault must lie either in the words or the matter. As regards the
 words, the question will be whether they are sufficiently clear or
 contain some ambiguity, and as regards the matter whether the law is
 consistent with itself or should be retrospective or apply to special
 individuals. The point however which is most commonly raised is the
 question whether the law is right or expedient.

I am well aware that many rhetoricians introduce a number of
 sub-divisions in connexion with this latter enquiry. I however include
 under the term right all such qualities as
 justice, piety and religion. Justice is however usually discussed under
 various aspects. A question may be raised about the acts with which the
 law is concerned, as to whether they deserve
 punishment or reward or as to the degree of punishment or reward that
 should be assigned, since excess in either direction is open to
 criticism.

Again expediency is sometimes determined by the nature of things,
 sometimes by the circumstances of the time. Another common subject of
 controversy is whether a law can be enforced, while one must not shut
 one's eyes to the fact that exception is sometimes taken to laws in
 their entirety, but sometimes only in part, examples of both forms of
 criticism being found in famous speeches.

I am well aware, too, that there are laws which are not proposed with a
 view to perpetuity, but are concerned with temporary honours or
 commands, such as the lex Manilia 
 which is the subject of one of Cicero's
 speeches. This however is not the place for instructions on this topic,
 since they depend on the special circumstances of the matters under
 discussion, not on their general characteristics.

Such were the subjects on which the ancients as a rule exercised their
 powers of speaking, though they called in the assistance of the
 logicians as well to teach them the theory of argument. For it is
 generally agreed that the declamation of fictitious themes in imitation
 of the questions that arise in the law courts or deliberative assemblies
 came into vogue among the Greeks about the time of Demetrius of
 Phalerum.

Whether this type of exercise was actually invented by him I have failed
 to discover, as I have acknowledged in another work. But
 not even those who most strongly assert his claim to be the inventor,
 can produce any adequate authority in support of their opinion. As
 regards Latin teachers of rhetoric, of whom Plotius was the most famous, Cicero informs us that they came into existence towards the end
 of the age of Crassus.

I will speak of the theory of declamation a little later. In the mean
 time, as we are discussing the elementary stages of a rhetorical
 education, I think I should not fail to point out how greatly the
 rhetorician will contribute to his pupils' progress, if he imitates the
 teacher of literature whose duty it is to expound the poets, and gives
 the pupils whom he has undertaken to train, instruction in the reading
 of history and still more of the orators. I myself have adopted this
 practice for the benefit of a few pupils of suitable age whose parents
 thought it would be useful.

But though my intentions were excellent, I found that there were two
 serious obstacles to success: long custom had established a different
 method of teaching, and my pupils were for the most part full-grown
 youths who did not require this form of teaching, but were taking my
 work as their model.

However, the fact that I have been somewhat late in making the discovery
 is not a reason why I should be ashamed to recommend it to those who
 come after me. I now know that this form of teaching is practised by the
 Greeks, but is generally entrusted to assistants, as the professors
 themselves consider that they have no time to give individual
 instruction to each pupil as he reads.

And I admit that the form of lecture which this requires, designed as it
 is to make boys follow the written word with ease and accuracy, and even
 that which aims at teaching the meaning of any rare words that may
 occur, are to be regarded as quite below the dignity of the teacher of
 rhetoric.

On the other hand it is emphatically part of his 
 prosession and the undertaking which he makes in offering himself as a
 teacher of eloquence, to point out the merits of authors or, for that
 matter, any faults that may occur: and this is all the more the case, as
 I am not asking teachers to undertake the task of recalling their pupils
 to standat their knee once more and of assisting them in the reading of
 whatever book they may select.

It seems to me at once an easier and more profitable method to call for
 silence and choose some one pupil—and it will be best to select them by
 turns—to read aloud, in order that they may at the same time learn the
 correct method of elocution.

The case with which the speech selected for reading is concerned should
 then be explained, for if this be done they will have a clearer
 understanding of what is to be read. When the reading is commenced, no
 important point should be allowed to pass unnoticed either as regards
 the resourcefulness or the style shown in the treatment of the subject:
 the teacher must point out how the orator seeks to win the favour of the
 judge in his exordium, what clearness, brevity
 and sincerity, and at times what shrewd design and well-concealed
 artifice is shown in the statement of facts.

For the only true art in pleading is that which can only be understood
 by one who is a master of the art himself. The teacher will proceed
 further to demonstrate what skill is shown in the division into heads,
 how subtle and frequent are the thrusts of argument, what vigour marks
 the stirring and what charm the soothing passage, how fierce is the
 invective and how full of wit the jests, and in conclusion how the
 orator establishes his sway over the emotions of his audience, forces
 his way into their very hearts and brings the
 feelings of the jury into perfect sympathy with all his words.

Finally as regards the style, he will emphasise the appropriateness,
 elegance or sublimity of particular words, will indicate where the
 amplification of the theme is deserving of praise and where there is
 virtue in a diminuendo; and will call attention to brilliant metaphors,
 figures of speech and passages combining smoothness and polish with a
 general impression of manly vigour.

It will even at times be of value to read speeches which are corrupt and
 faulty in style, but still meet with general admiration thanks to the
 perversity of modern tastes, and to point out how many expressions in
 them are inappropriate, obscure, high-flown, grovelling, mean,
 extravagant or effeminate, although they are not merely praised by the
 majority of critics, but, worse still, praised just because they are
 bad.

For we have come to regard direct and natural speech as incompatible
 with genius, while all that is in any way abnormal is admired as
 exquisite. Similarly we see that some people place a higher value on
 figures which are in any way monstrous or distorted than they do on
 those who have not lost any of the advantages of the normal form of man.

There are even some who are captivated by the shams of artifice and
 think that there is more beauty in those who pluck out superfluous hair
 or use depilatories, who dress their locks by scorching them with the
 curling iron and glow with a complexion that is not their own, than can
 ever be conferred by nature pure and simple, so that it really seems as
 if physical beauty depended entirely on moral hideousness.

It will, however, be the duty of the rhetorician 
 not merely to teach these things, but to ask frequent questions as well,
 and test the critical powers of his class. This will prevent his
 audience from becoming inattentive and will secure that his words do not
 fall on deaf ears. At the same time the class will be led to find out
 things for themselves and to use their intelligence, which is after all
 the chief aim of this method of training. For what else is our object in
 teaching, save that our pupils should not always require to be taught?

I will venture to say that this particular form of exercise, if
 diligently pursued, will teach learners more than all the text-books of
 all the rhetoricians: these are no doubt of very considerable use, but
 being somewhat general in their scope, it is quite impossible for them
 to deal with all the special cases that are of almost daily occurrence.

The art of war will provide a parallel: it is no doubt based on certain
 general principles, but it will none the less be far more useful to know
 the methods employed, whether wisely or the reverse, by individual
 generals under varying circumstances and conditions of time and place.
 For there are no subjects in which, as a rule, practice is not more
 valuable than precept.

Is a teacher to declaim to provide a model for his audience, and will
 not more profit be derived from the reading of Cicero or Demosthenes? Is
 a pupil to be publicly corrected if he makes a mistake in declaiming,
 and will it not be more useful, and more agreeable too, to correct some
 actual speech? For everyone has a preference for hearing the faults of
 others censured rather than his own. I might say more on the subject.

But every one can see the advantages of this method. Would that the
 reluctance to put it into practice were not as
 great as the pleasure that would undoubtedly be derived from so doing!

This method once adopted, we are faced by the comparatively easy
 question as to what authors should be selected for our reading. Some
 have recommended authors of inferior merit on the ground that they were
 easier to understand. Others on the contrary would select the more
 florid school of writers on the ground that they are likely to provide
 the nourishment best suited to the minds of the young.

For my part I would have them read the best authors from the very
 beginning and never leave them, choosing those, however, who are
 simplest and most intelligible. For instance, when prescribing for boys,
 I should give Livy the preference over Sallust; for, although the latter
 is the greater historian, one requires to be well-advanced in one's
 studies to appreciate him properly.

Cicero, in my opinion, provides pleasant reading for beginners and is
 sufficiently easy to understand: it is possible not only to learn much
 from him, but to come to love him. After Cicero I should, following the
 advice of Livy, place such authors as most nearly resemble him.

There are two faults of taste against which boys should be guarded with
 the utmost care. Firstly no teacher suffering from an excessive
 admiration of antiquity, should be allowed to cramp their minds by the
 study of Cato and the Gracchi and other similar authors. For such
 reading will give them a harsh and bloodless style, since they will as
 yet be unable to understand the force and vigour of these authors, and
 contenting themselves with a style which doubtless was admirable in its
 day, but is quite unsuitable to ours, will come to think (and nothing could be more fatal) that they really
 resemble great men.

Secondly the opposite extreme must be equally avoided: they must not be
 permitted to fall victims to the pernicious allurements of the precious
 blooms produced by our modern euphuists, thus acquiring a passion for
 the luscious sweetness of such authors, whose charm is all the more
 attractive to boyish intellects because it is so easy of achievement.

Once, however, the judgment is formed and out of danger of perversion, I
 should strongly recommend the reading of ancient authors, since if,
 after clearing away all the uncouthness of those rude ages, we succeed
 in absorbing the robust vigour and virility of their native genius, our
 more finished style will shine with an added grace: I also approve the
 study of the moderns at this stage, since even they have many merits.

For nature has not doomed us to be dullards, but we have altered our
 style of oratory and indulged our caprices over much. It is in their
 ideals rather than their talents that the ancients show themselves our
 superiors. It will therefore be possible to select much that is valuable
 from modern writers, but we must take care that the precious metal is
 not debased by the dross with which it is so closely intermingled.

Further I would not merely gladly admit, but would even contend that we
 have recently had and still have certain authors who deserve imitation
 in their entirety.

But it is not for everyone to decide who these writers are. Error in the
 choice of earlier authors is attended with less danger, and I have
 therefore postponed the study of the moderns, for fear that we should
 imitate them before we are qualified to judge of their merits.

I come now to another point in which the practice of teachers has
 differed. Some have not been content with giving directions as to the
 arrangement of the subjects set them as themes for declamation, but have
 developed them at some length themselves, supplying not merely the
 proofs, but the lines upon which the emotional passages should proceed.

Others have merely suggested a bare outline, and then when the
 declamations were over, have indicated the points missed by each speaker
 and worked up certain passages with no less care than they would have
 used, had they been going to stand up to speak themselves. Both
 practices have their advantages, and therefore I will not give either
 the pre-eminence. But if we must choose one of the two, it will be found
 more profitable to point out the right road at the outset, and not
 merely to recall the pupil from his error when he has already gone
 astray,

since in the first place the correction is only received by the ear,
 whereas when he is given a sketch of the various heads of the
 declamation, he has to take them down and think about them: secondly
 instruction is always more readily received than reproof. Indeed those
 of our pupils who have a lively disposition are liable in the present
 condition of manners to lose their temper when admonished and to offer
 silent resistance.

That, however, is no reason for refraining from the public correction of
 faults; for we must take the rest of the class into account, who will
 believe that whatever has not been corrected by the master is right. The
 two methods should be employed conjointly and in such a way as
 circumstances may demand.

Beginners must be given a subject sketched out
 ready for treatment and suitable to their respective powers. But when
 they show that they have formed themselves sufficiently closely on the
 models placed before them, it will be sufficient to give them a few
 brief hints for their guidance and to allow them to advance trusting in
 their own strength and without external support.

Sometimes they should be left entirely to their own devices, that they
 may not be spoilt by the bad habit of always relying on another's
 efforts, and so prove incapable of effort and originality. But as soon
 as they seem to have acquired a sound conception of what they ought to
 say, the teacher's work will be near completion: if they still make some
 mistakes, they must be brought back under his guidance.

We may draw a lesson from the birds of the air, whom we see distributing
 the food which they have collected in their bills among their weak and
 helpless nestlings; but as soon as they are fledged, we see them
 teaching their young to leave the nest and fly round about it,
 themselves leading the way; finally, when they have proved their
 strength, they are given the freedom of the open sky and left to trust
 in themselves.

There is one practice at present in vogue for boys of the age under
 discussion, which ought in my opinion undoubtedly to be changed. They
 should not be forced to commit all their own compositions to memory and
 to deliver them on an appointed day, as is at present the custom. This
 practice is especially popular with the boys' fathers, who think that
 their sons are not really studying unless they declaim on every possible
 occasion, although as a matter of fact progress depends mainly on industry.

For though I strongly approve of boys writing compositions and would
 have them spend as much time as possible over such tasks, I had much
 rather that for the purpose of learning by heart passages should be
 selected from the orators or historians or any other works that may be
 deserving of such attention.

For it is a better exercise for the memory to learn the words of others
 than it is to learn one's own, and those who have practised this far
 harder task will find no difficulty in committing to memory their own
 compositions with which they are already familiar. Further they will
 form an intimate acquaintance with the best writings, will carry their
 models with them and unconsciously reproduce the style of the speech
 which has been impressed upon the memory.

They will have a plentiful and choice vocabulary and a command of
 artistic structure and a supply of figures which will not have to be
 hunted for, but will offer themselves spontaneously from the
 treasure-house, if I may so call it, in which they are stored. In
 addition they will be in the agreeable position of being able to quote
 the happy sayings of the various authors, a power which they will find
 most useful in the courts. For phrases which have not been coined merely
 to suit the circumstances of the lawsuit of the moment carry greater
 weight and often win greater praise than if they were our own.

I would however allow boys occasionally to declaim their own
 compositions that they may reap the reward of their labours in the
 applause of a large audience, that most coveted of all prizes. But this
 should not be permitted until they have produced 
 something more finished than usual: they will thus be rewarded for their
 industry and rejoice in the thought that the privilege accorded them is
 the recompense of merit.

It is generally and not unreasonably regarded as the sign of a good
 teacher that he should be able to differentiate between the abilities of
 his respective pupils and to know their natural bent. The gifts of
 nature are infinite in their variety, and mind differs from mind almost
 as much as body from body.

This is clear from a consideration of the orators themselves, who differ
 in style to such an extent that no one is like another, in spite of the
 fact that numbers have modelled their style on that of their favorite
 authors.

Many again think it useful to direct their instruction to the fostering
 of natural advantages and to guide the talents of their pupils along the
 lines which they instinctively tend to follow. Just as an expert
 gymnast, when he enters a gymnasium full of boys, after testing body and
 mind in every way, is able to decide for what class of athletic contest
 they should be trained, even so, they say,

a teacher of oratory after careful observation of a boy's stylistic
 preferences, be they for terseness and polish, energy, dignity, charm,
 roughness, brilliance or wit, will so adapt his instructions to
 individual needs that each pupil will be pushed forward in the sphere
 for which his talents seem specially to design him;

for nature, when cultivated, goes from strength to strength, while he
 who runs counter to her bent is ineffective in those branches of the art
 for which he is less suited and weakens the talents which he seemed born
 to employ.

Now, since the critic who is guided by his reason is free to dissent
 even from received opinions, I must insist that to
 my thinking this view is only partially true. It is undoubtedly
 necessary to note the individual gifts of each boy,

and no one would ever convince me that it is not desirable to
 differentiate courses of study with this in view. One boy will be better
 adapted for the study of history, another for poetry, another for law,
 while some perhaps had better be packed off to the country. The teacher
 of rhetoric will distinguish such special aptitudes, just as our gymnast
 will turn one pupil into a runner, another into a boxer or wrestler or
 an expert at some other of the athletic accomplishments for which prizes
 are awarded at the sacred games.

But on the other hand, he who is destined for the bar must study not one
 department merely, but must perfect himself in all the accomplishments
 which his profession demands, even though some of them may seem too hard
 for him when he approaches them as a learner. For if natural talent
 alone were sufficient, education might be dispensed with.

Suppose we are given a pupil who, like so many, is of depraved tastes
 and swollen with his own conceit; shall we suffer him to go his own
 sweet way? If a boy's disposition is naturally dry and jejune, ought we
 not to feed it up or at any rate clothe it in fairer apparel? For, if in
 some cases it is necessary to remove certain qualities, surely there are
 others where we may be permitted to add what is lacking.

Not that I would set myself against the will of nature. No innate good
 quality should be neglected, but defects must be made good and
 weaknesses made strong.

When Isocrates, the prince of instructors, whose works proclaim his
 eloquence no less than his pupils testify to his excellence as a teacher, gave his opinion of Ephorus and Theopompus
 to the effect that the former needed the spur and the latter the curb,
 what was his meaning? Surely not that the sluggish temperament of the
 one and the headlong ardour of the other alike required modification by
 instruction, but rather that each would gain from an admixture of the
 qualities of the other.

In the case of weaker understandings however some concession must be
 made and they should be directed merely to follow the call of their
 nature, since thus they will be more effective in doing the only thing
 that lies in their power. But if we are fortunate enough to meet with
 richer material, such as justifies us in the hope of producing a real
 orator, we must leave no oratorical virtue uncared for.

For though he will necessarily have a natural bent for some special
 department of oratory, he will not feel repelled by the others, and by
 sheer application will develop his other qualities until they equal
 those in which he naturally excels. The skilled gymnast will once again
 provide us with a parallel: if he undertakes to train a pancratiast,
 
 he will not merely teach him how to use his fists or his heels, nor will
 he restrict his instructions to the holds in wrestling, giving special
 attention to certain tricks of this kind, but will train him in every
 department of the science. Some will no doubt be incapable of attaining
 proficiency in certain exercises; these must specialise on those which
 lie within their powers.

For there are two things which he must be most careful to avoid: first,
 he must not attempt the impossible, secondly he must not switch off his
 pupil from what he can do well to exercises for which he is less well
 suited. But if his pupil is like the famous 
 Nicostratus, whom we saw when he was old and we were boys, he will train
 him equally in every department of the science and will make him a
 champion both in boxing and wrestling, like Nicostratus himself who won
 the prize for both contests within a few days of each other.

And how much more important is the employment of such methods where our
 future orator is concerned! It is not enough to be able to speak with
 terseness, subtlety or vehemence, any more than it would be for a
 singing master to excel in the upper, middle or lower register only, or
 in particular sections of these registers alone. Eloquence is like a
 harp and will never reach perfection, unless all its strings be taut and
 in tune.

Though I have spoken in some detail of the duties of the teacher, I
 shall for the moment confine my advice to the learners to one solitary
 admonition, that they should love their masters not less than their
 studies, and should regard them as the parents not indeed of their
 bodies but of their minds.

Such attachments are of invaluable assistance to study. For under their
 influence they find it a pleasure to listen to their teachers, believe
 what they say and long to be like them, come cheerfully and gladly to
 school, are not angry when corrected, rejoice when praised, and seek to
 win their master's affection by the devotion with which they pursue
 their studies.

For as it is the duty of the master to teach, so it is the duty of the
 pupil to show himself teachable. The two obligations are mutually
 indispensable. And just as it takes two parents to produce a human
 being, and as the seed is scattered in vain, if the ground is hard and
 there is no furrow to receive it and bring it to growth, even so
 eloquence can never come to maturity, unless
 teacher and taught are in perfect sympathy.

These elementary stages are in themselves no small undertaking, but they
 are merely members and portions of the greater whole; when therefore the
 pupil has been thoroughly instructed and exercised in these departments,
 the time will as a rule have come for him to attempt deliberative and
 forensic themes. But before I begin to discuss these, I must say a few
 words on the theory of declamation, which is at once the most recent and
 most useful of rhetorical exercises.

For it includes practically all the exercises of which we have been
 speaking and is in close touch with reality. As a result it has acquired
 such a vogue that many think that it is the sole training necessary to
 the formation of an orator, since there is no excellence in a formal
 speech which is not also to be found in this type of rhetorical
 exercise.

On the other hand the actual practice of declamation has degenerated to
 such an extent owing to the fault of our teachers, that it has come to
 be one of the chief causes of the corruption of modern oratory; such is
 the extravagance and ignorance of our declaimers. But it is possible to
 make a sound use of anything that is naturally sound.

The subjects chosen for themes should, therefore, be as true to life as
 possible, and the actual declamation should, as far as may be, be
 modelled on the pleadings for which it was devised as a training.

For we shall hunt in vain among sponsions 
 and interdicts for magicians and plagues and oracles and
 stepmothers more cruel than any in tragedy, and other subjects still more unreal than these. What then? are we never to permit young men to handle unreal or,
 to be more accurate, poetic themes that they may run riot and exult in
 their strength and display their full stature?

It were best to prohibit them absolutely. But at any rate the themes,
 however swelling and magnificent, should not be such as to seem foolish
 and laughable to the eye of an intelligent observer. Consequently, if we
 must make some concession, let us allow the declaimer to gorge himself
 occasionally, as long as he realises that his case will be like that of
 cattle that have blown themselves out with a surfeit of green food: they
 are cured of their disorder by blood-letting and then put back to food
 such as will maintain their strength; similarly the declaimer must be
 rid of his superfluous fat, and his corrupt humours must be discharged,
 if he wants to be strong and healthy.

Otherwise, the first time he makes any serious effort, his swollen
 emptiness will stand revealed. Those, however, who hold that declamation
 has absolutely nothing in common with pleading in the courts, are
 clearly quite unaware of the reasons which gave rise to this type of
 exercise.

For if declamation is not a preparation for the actual work of the
 courts, it can only be compared to the rant of an actor or the raving of
 a lunatic. For what is the use of attempting to conciliate a
 non-existent judge, or of stating a case which all know to be false, or
 of trying to prove a point on which judgment will never be passed? Such
 waste of effort is, however, a comparative trifle. But what can be more
 ludicrous than to work oneself into a passion and to attempt to excite
 the anger or grief of our hearers, unless we are preparing ourselves by
 such mimic combats for the actual strife and
 the pitched battles of the law-courts?

Is there then no difference between our declamations and genuine
 forensic oratory? I can only reply, that if we speak with a desire for
 improvement, there will be no difference. [ wish indeed that certain
 additions could be made to the existing practice; that we made use of
 names, that our fictitious debates dealt with more complicated cases and
 sometimes took longer to deliver, that we were less afraid of words
 drawn from everyday speech and that we were in the habit of seasoning
 our words with jests. For as regards all these points, we are mere
 novices when we come to actual pleading, however elaborate the training
 that the schools have given us on other points.

And even if display is the object of declamation, surely we ought to
 unbend a little for the entertainment of our audience.

For even in those speeches which, although undoubtedly to some extent
 concerned with the truth, are designed to charm the multitude (such for
 instance as panegyrics and the oratory of display in all its branches),
 it is permissible to be more ornate and not merely to disclose all the
 resources of our art, which in cases of law should as a rule be
 concealed, but actually to flaunt them before those who have been
 summoned to hear us.

Declamation therefore should resemble the truth, since it is modelled on
 forensic and deliberative oratory. On the other hand it also involves an
 element of display, and should in consequence assume a certain air of
 elegance.

In this connexion I may cite the practice of comic actors, whose
 delivery is not exactly that of common speech, since that would be
 inartistic, but is on the other hand not far
 removed from the accents of nature, for, if it were, their mimicry would
 be a failure: what they do therefore is to exalt the simplicity of
 ordinary speech by a touch of stage decoration.

So too we shall have to put up with certain inconveniences arising from
 the nature of our fictitious themes; such drawbacks occur more
 especially in connexion with those numerous details which are left
 uncertain and which we presume to suit our purpose, such as the ages of
 our characters, their wealth, their families, or the strength, laws and
 manners of the cities where our scenes are laid, and the like.

Sometimes we even draw arguments from the actual flaws of the
 assumptions involved by the theme. But each of these points shall be
 dealt with in its proper place. For although the whole purpose of this
 work is the formation of an orator, I have no intention of passing over
 anything that has a genuine connexion with the practice of the schools,
 for fear that students may complain of the omission.

I have now arrived at the point when I must begin to deal with that
 portion of the art at which those who have omitted the preceding stages
 generally commence. I can see, however, that certain critics will
 attempt to obstruct my path at the very outset: for they will urge that
 eloquence can dispense with rules of this kind and, in smug satisfaction
 with themselves and the ordinary methods and exercises of the schools,
 will laugh at me for my pains; in which they will be only following the
 example of certain professors of no small reputation. One of these
 gentlemen, I believe, when asked to define a figure and a thought, replied that he
 did not know what they were, but that, if they had anything to do with the subject, they would be found in his
 declamation.

Another when asked whether he was a follower of Theodorus or
 Apollodorus, replied, Oh! as for me, I am all for the
 Thracians. 
 To do him justice, he
 could hardly have found a neater way to avoid confessing his ignorance.
 These persons, just because, thanks to their natural gifts, they are
 regarded as brilliant performers and have, as a matter of fact, uttered
 much that deserves to be remembered, think that, while most men share
 their careless habits, few come near them for talent.

Consequently they make it their boast that they speak on impulse and owe
 their success to their native powers; they further assert that there is
 no need of proof or careful marshalling of facts when we are speaking on
 fictitious themes, but only of some of those sounding epigrams, the
 expectation of which has filled the lecture-room; and these they say are
 best improvised on the spur of the moment.

Further, owing to their contempt for method, when they are meditating on
 some future effusion, they spend whole days looking at the ceiling in
 the hope that some magnificent inspiration may occur to them, or rock
 their bodies to and fro, booming inarticulately as if they had a trumpet
 inside them and adapting their agitated movements, not to the delivery
 of the words, but to their pursuit.

Some again settle on certain definite openings long before they have
 thought what they are going to say, with a view to using them as pegs
 for subsequent snatches of eloquence, and then after practising their
 delivery first in silent thought and then aloud for hours together, in
 utter desperation of providing any connecting links, abandon them and
 take refuge in one formula after another, each
 no less hackneyed and familiar than the last.

The least unreasonable of them devote their attention not to the actual
 cases, but to their purple patches, in the composition of which they pay
 no attention to the subject-matter, but fire off a series of isolated
 thoughts just as they happen to come to hand.

The result is a speech which, being composed of disconnected passages
 having nothing in common with each other, must necessarily lack cohesion
 and can only be compared to a schoolboy's notebook, in which he jots
 down any passages from the declamations of others that have come in for
 a word of praise. None the less they do occasionally strike out some
 good things and some fine epigrams, such as they make their boast. Why
 not? slaves and barbarians sometimes achieve the same effects, and if we
 are to be satisfied with this sort of thing, then good-bye to any theory
 of oratory.

I must, however, admit that the general opinion is that the untrained
 speaker is usually the more vigorous. This opinion is due primarily to
 the erroneous judgment of faulty critics, who think that true vigour is
 all the greater for its lack of art, regarding it as a special proof of
 strength to force what might be opened, to break what might be untied
 and to drag what might be led.

Even a gladiator who plunges into the fight with no skill at arms to
 help him, and a wrestler who puts forth the whole strength of his body
 the moment he has got a hold, is acclaimed by them for his outstanding
 vigour, although it is of frequent occurrence in such cases for the
 latter to be overthrown by his own strength and for the former to find
 the fury of his onslaught parried by his adversary
 with a supple turn of the wrist.

But there are many details in this department of our art which the
 unskilled critic will never notice. For instance, careful division under
 heads, although of the utmost importance in actual cases, makes the
 outward show of strength seem less than the reality; the unhewn block is
 larger than the polished marble, and things when scattered seem more
 numerous than when placed together.

There is moreover a sort of resemblance between certain merits and
 certain defects: abuse passes for freedom of speech, rashness for
 courage, prodigality for abundance. But the untrained advocate will
 abuse too openly and too often, even though by so doing he imperils the
 success of the case which he has undertaken and not seldom his own
 personal safety as well.

But even such violence will win men's good opinion, since they are only
 too pleased to hear another say things which nothing would have induced
 them to utter themselves. Such speakers are also less careful to avoid
 that other peril, the pitfall of style, and are so reckless in their
 efforts that sometimes in their passion for extravagance they light upon
 some really striking expression. But such success is rare and does not
 compensate for their other defects.

For the same reason the uninstructed sometimes appear to have a richer
 flow of language, because they say everything that can be said, while
 the learned exercise discrimination and self-restraint. To this must be
 added the fact that such persons take no trouble to prove their
 contentions, and consequently steer clear of the chilly reception given
 in our decadent law-courts to arguments and 
 questions and seek only for such themes as may beguile the ears of the
 public even at the cost of appealing to the most perverted tastes.

Again, their epigrams, the sole objects of their quest, seem all the
 more striking because of the dreariness and squalor of their context,
 since flashes are more clearly seen against a background, not of mere
 shade, as Cicero says, but of pitchy darkness. Well, let the world credit them
 with as much genius as it pleases, so long as it is admitted that such
 praise is an insult to any man of real eloquence.

None the less it must be confessed that learning does take something
 from oratory, just as the file takes something from rough surfaces or
 the whetstone from blunt edges or age from wine; it takes away defects,
 and if the results produced after subjection to the polish of literary
 study are less, they are less only because they are better.

But these creatures have another weapon in their armoury: they seek to
 obtain the reputation of speaking with greater vigour than the trained
 orator by means of their delivery. For they shout on all and every
 occasion and bellow their every utterance with uplifted
 hand, to use their own phrase, dashing this way and that,
 panting, gesticulating wildly and wagging their heads with all the
 frenzy of a lunatic.

Smite your hands together, stamp the ground, slap your thigh, your
 breast, your forehead, and you will go straight to the heart of the
 dingier members of your audience. But the educated speaker, just
 as he knows how to moderate his style, and to impart variety and
 artistic form to his speech, is an equal adept in the matter of delivery
 and will suit his action to the tone of each 
 portion of his utterances, while, if he has any one canon for universal
 observance, it is that he should both possess the reality and present
 the appearance of self-control.

But the ranters confer the title of force on that which is really
 violence. You may also occasionally find not merely pleaders, but, what
 is far more shameful, teachers as well, who, after a brief training in
 the art of speaking, throw method to the winds and, yielding to the
 impulse of the moment, run riot in every direction, abusing those who
 hold literature in higher respect as fools without life, courage or
 vigour, and calling them the first and worst name that occurs to them.

Still let me congratulate these gentlemen on attaining eloquence without
 industry, method or study. As for myself I have long since retired from
 the task of teaching in the schools and of speaking in the courts,
 thinking it the most honourable conclusion to retire while my services
 were still in request, and all I ask is to be allowed to console my
 leisure by making such researches and composing such instructions as
 will, I hope, prove useful to young men of ability, and are, at any
 rate, a pleasure to myself.

Let no one however demand from me a rigid code of rules such as most
 authors of textbooks have laid down, or ask me to impose on students of
 rhetoric a system of laws immutable as fate, a system in which
 injunctions as to the exordium and its nature
 lead the way; then come the statement of facts 
 and the laws to be observed in this connexion: next the proposition or, as some prefer, the digression, followed by prescriptions as to the
 order in which the various questions should be discussed, with all the
 other rules, which some speakers follow as though they had no choice but to regard them as orders and as if it
 were a crime to take any other line.

If the whole of rhetoric could be thus embodied in one compact code, it
 would be an easy task of little compass: but most rules are liable to be
 altered by the nature of the case, circumstances of time and place, and
 by hard necessity itself. Consequently the all-important gift for an
 orator is a wise adaptability since he is called upon to meet the most
 varied emergencies.

What if you should instruct a general, as often as he marshals his
 troops for battle, to draw up his front in line, advance his wings to
 left and right, and station his cavalry to protect his flank? This will
 perhaps be the best plan, if circumstances allow. But it may have to be
 modified owing to the nature of the ground, if, for instance, he is
 confronted by a mountain, if a river bars his advance, or his movements
 are hampered by hills, woods or broken country.

Or again it may be modified by the character of the enemy or the nature
 of the crisis by which he is faced. On one occasion he will fight in
 line, on another in column, on one he will use his auxiliary troops, on
 another his legionaries; while occasionally a feint of flight may win
 the day. So, too, with the rules of oratory.

Is the exordium necessary or superfluous? should
 it be long or short? addressed entirely to the judge or sometimes
 directed to some other quarter by the employment of some figure of
 speech? Should the
 statement of facts be concise or developed at some length? continuous or
 divided into sections? and should it follow the actual or an artificial
 order of events? The orator will find the answers to all these questions
 in the circumstances of the case. So, too, with the order in which
 questions should be discussed, since in any given
 debate it may often suit one party best that such and such a question
 come up first,

while their opponents would be best suited by another. For these rules
 have not the formal authority of laws or decrees of the plebs, but are,
 with all they contain, the children of expediency.

I will not deny that it is generally expedient to conform to such rules,
 otherwise I should not be writing now; but if our friend expediency
 suggests some other course to us, why, we shall disregard the authority
 of the professors and follow her.

For my part above all things 
 
 
 This I enjoin and urge and urge
 anew 
 
 Verg. Aen. iii. 436. 
 
 that in all his pleadings the orator should keep two
 things constantly in view, what is becoming and what is expedient. But
 it is often expedient and occasionally becoming to make some
 modification in the time-honoured order. We see the same thing in
 pictures and statues. Dress, expression and attitude are frequently
 varied.

The body when held bolt upright has but little grace, for the face looks
 straight forward, the arms hang by the side, the feet are joined and the
 whole figure is stiff from top to toe. But that curve, I might almost
 call it motion, with which we are so familiar, gives an impression of
 action and animation. So, too, the hands will not always be represented
 in the same position, and the variety given to the expression will be
 infinite.

Some figures are represented as running or rushing forward, others sit
 or recline, some are nude, others clothed, while some again are
 half-dressed, half-naked. Where can we find a more violent and elaborate
 attitude than that of the Discobolus of Myron? Yet the critic who disapproved of the figure because it was not
 upright, would merely show his utter failure to understand the
 sculptor's art, in which the very novelty and difficulty of execution is
 what most deserves our praise.

A similar impression of grace and charm is produced by rhetorical
 figures, whether they be figures of thought or
 figures of speech. For they involve a certain
 departure from the straight line and have the merit of variation from
 the ordinary usage.

In a picture the full face is most attractive. But Apelles painted
 Antigonus in profile, to conceal the blemish caused by the loss of one
 eye. So, too, in speaking, there are certain things which have to be
 concealed, either because they ought not to be disclosed or because they
 cannot be expressed as they deserve.

Timanthes, who was, I think, a native of Cythnus, provides an example of
 this in the picture with which he won the victory over Colotes of Teos.
 It represented the sacrifice of Iphigenia, and the artist had depicted
 an expression of grief on the face of Calchas and of still greater grief
 on that of Ulysses, while he had given Menelaus an agony of sorrow
 beyond which his art could not go. Having exhausted his powers of
 emotional expression he was at a loss to portray the father's face as it
 deserved, and solved the problem by veiling his head and leaving his
 sorrow to the imagination of the spectator.

Sallust did something similar when he wrote
 I think it better to say nothing of Carthage rather than say
 too little. It has always, therefore, been my custom not to
 tie myself down to universal or general rules (this being the nearest equivalent I can find
 for the Greek catholic rules ). For rules are
 rarely of such a kind that their validity cannot be shaken and
 overthrown in some particular or other.

But I must reserve each of these points for fuller treatment in its
 proper place. For the present I will only say that I do not want young
 men to think their education complete when they have mastered one of the
 small text-books of which so many are in circulation, or to ascribe a
 talismanic value to the arbitrary decrees of theorists. the art of
 speaking can only be attained by hard work and assiduity of study, by a
 variety of exercises and repeated trial, the highest prudence and
 unfailing quickness of judgement.

But rules are helpful all the same so long as they indicate the direct
 road and do not restrict us absolutely to the ruts made by others. For
 he who thinks it an unpardonable sin to leave the old, old track, must
 be content to move at much the same speed as a tight-rope walker. Thus,
 for example, we often leave a paved military road to take a short cut
 or, finding that the direct route is impossible owing to floods having
 broken down the bridges, are forced to make a circuit, while if our
 house is on fire and flames bar the way to the front door, we make our
 escape by breaking through a party wall.

The orator's task covers a large ground, is extremely varied and
 develops some new aspect almost every day, so that the last word on the
 subject will never have been said. I shall however try to set forth the
 traditional rules and to point out their best features, mentioning the
 changes, additions and subtractions which seem desirable.

Rhetoric is a Greek term which has been translated into Latin by oratoria or oratrix. I 
 would not for the world deprive the translators of the praise which is
 their due for attempting to increase the vocabulary of our native
 tongue; but translations from Greek into Latin are
 not always satisfactory, just as the attempt to represent Latin words in
 a Greek dress is sometimes equally unsuccessful.

And the translations in question are fully as harsh as the essentia and queentia 
 of Plautus, and have not even the merit of being exact. For oratoria is formed like elocutoria and oratrix like elocutrix, whereas the rhetoric with which we are
 concerned is rather to be identified with eloquentia, and the word is undoubtedly used in two senses by
 the Greeks.

In the one case it is an adjective i.e. ars
 rhetorica, the rhetorical art, like piratic in the phrase nauis piratica, in the other it is a noun like
 philosophy or friendship. It is as a substantive that we require it
 here; now the correct translation of the Greek grammatice is litteratura not litteratrix or litteratoria, which would be the
 forms analogous to oratrix and oratoria. But in the case of rhetoric there is
 no similar Latin equivalent.

It is best therefore not to quarrel about it, more especially as we have
 to use Greek terms in many other cases. For I may at least use the words
 philosophus, musicus and geometres without outraging them by changing them into clumsy
 Latin equivalents. Finally, since Cicero gave a Greek title 
 to the earlier works which he wrote on this subject, I may without fear
 of rashness accept the great orator as sufficient authority for the name
 of the art which he professed.

To resume, then, rhetoric (for I shall now use the name without fear of
 captious criticism) is in my opinion best treated under the three
 following heads, the art, the artist and the work. The art is that which
 we should acquire by study, and is the art of 
 speaking well. The artist is he who has acquired the art, that is to
 say, he is the orator whose task it is to speak well. The work is the
 achievement of the artist, namely good speaking. Each of these three general divisions is in its turn divided into species. Of the two latter divisions I shall
 speak in their proper place. For the present I shall proceed to a
 discussion of the first.

The first question which confronts us is What is
 rhetoric? Many definitions have been given; but the problem
 is really twofold. For the dispute turns either on the quality of the
 thing itself or on the meaning of the words in which it is defined. The
 first and chief disagreement on the subject is found in the fact that
 some think that even bad men may be called orators, while others, of
 whom I am one, restrict the name of orator and the art itself to those
 who are good.

Of those who divorce eloquence from that yet fairer and more desirable
 title to renown, a virtuous life, some call rhetoric merely a power,
 some a science, but not a virtue, some a practice, some an art, though
 they will not allow the art to have anything in common with science or
 virtue, while some again call it a perversion of art or κακοτεχνία.

These persons have as a rule held that the task of oratory lies in
 persuasion or speaking in a persuasive manner: for this is within the
 power of a bad man no less than a good. Hence we get the common
 definition of rhetoric as the power of persuading. What I call a power,
 many call a capacity, and some a faculty. In order therefore that there
 may be no misunderstanding I will say that by power I mean δύναμις.

This view is derived from Isocrates, if indeed the treatise on rhetoric which circulates under his name is really from
 his hand. He, although far from agreeing with those whose aim is to
 disparage the duties of an orator, somewhat rashly defined rhetoric as
 πειθοῦς δημιουργός, the
 worker of persuasion : for I cannot bring myself to
 use the peculiar derivative which Ennius applies to Marcus Cethegus in
 the phrase suadae medulla, the marrow of
 persuasion.

Again Gorgias, in the dialogue of Plato
 that takes its title from his name, says practically the same thing, but
 Plato intends it to be taken as the opinion of Gorgias, not as his own.
 Cicero in more than one passage defined the duty of an orator as
 speaking in a persuasive manner.

In his Rhelorica 
 
 too, a work which it is clear gave him no satisfaction, he makes the end
 to be persuasion. But many other things have the power of persuasion,
 such as money, influence, the authority and rank of the speaker, or even
 some sight unsupported by language, when for instance the place of words
 is supplied by the memory of some individual's great deeds, by his
 lamentable appearance or the beauty of his person.

Thus when Antonius in the course of his defence of Manius Aquilius tore
 open his client's robe and revealed the honourable scars which he had
 acquired while facing his country's foes, he relied no longer on the
 power of his eloquence, but appealed directly to the eyes of the Roman
 people. And it is believed that they were so profoundly moved by the
 sight as to acquit the accused.

Again there is a speech of Cato, to mention no other records, which
 informs us that Servius Galba escaped condemnation solely by the pity which he aroused not only by producing his
 own young children before the assembly, but by carrying round in his
 arms the son of Sulpicius Gallus.

So also according to general opinion Phryne was saved not by the
 eloquence of Hyperides, admirable as it was, but by the sight of her
 exquisite body, which she further revealed by drawing aside her tunic.
 And if all these have power to persuade, the end of oratory, which we
 are discussing, cannot adequately be defined as persuasion.

Consequently those who, although holding the same general view of
 rhetoric, have regarded it as the power of persuasion
 by speaking, pride themselves on their greater exactness of
 language. This definition is given by Gorgias, in the dialogue mentioned above, under compulsion from the inexorable
 logic of Socrates. Theodectes agrees with him, whether the treatise on
 rhetoric which has come down to us under his name is really by him or,
 as is generally believed, by Aristotle. In that work the end of rhetoric
 is defined as the leading of men by the power of
 speech to the conclusion desired by the orator.

But even this definition is not sufficiently comprehensive, since others
 besides orators persuade by speaking or lead others to the conclusion
 desired, as for example harlots, flatterers and seducers. On the other
 hand the orator is not always engaged on persuasion, so that sometimes
 persuasion is not his special object, while sometimes it is shared by
 others who are far removed from being orators.

And yet Apollodorus is not very far off this definition when he asserts
 that the first and all-important task of forensic oratory is to persuade the judge and lead his mind to the
 conclusions desired by the speaker. For 
 even Apollodorus makes the orator the sport of fortune by refusing him
 leave to retain his title if he fails to persuade.

Some on the other hand pay no attention to results, as for example
 Aristotle, who says 
 rhetoric is the power of discovering all means of persuading by
 speech. 
 This definition has not merely the fault
 already mentioned, but the additional defect of including merely the
 power of invention, which without style cannot possibly constitute
 oratory.

Hermagoras, who asserts that its end is to speak
 persuasively, and others who express the same opinion, though
 in different words, and inform us that the end is to say everything which ought to be said with a view to
 persuasion, have been sufficiently answered above, when I
 proved that persuasion was not the privilege of the orator alone.

Various additions have been made to these definitions. For some hold
 that rhetoric is concerned with everything, while some restrict its
 activity to politics. The question as to which of these views is the
 nearer to the truth shall be discussed later in its appropriate place.

Aristotle seems to have implied that the sphere of the orator was
 all-inclusive when he defined rhetoric as the power
 to detect every element in any given subject which might conduce to
 persuasion; so too does Patrocles who omits the words in any given subject, but since he excludes
 nothing, shows that his view is identical. For he defines rhetoric as
 the power to discover whatever is persuasive in
 speech. These definitions like that quoted above include no
 more than the power of invention alone. Theodorus
 avoids this fault and holds that it is the power to
 discover and to utter forth in elegant language whatever is credible
 in every subject of oratory.

But, while others besides orators may discover what
 is credible as well as persuasive, by adding the words in every subject he, to a greater extent than the others,
 concedes the fairest name in all the world to those who use their gifts
 as an incitement to crime

. Plato makes Gorgias say that he is a master
 of persuasion in the law-courts and other assemblies, and that his
 themes are justice and injustice, while in reply Socrates allows him the
 power of persuading, but not of teaching.

Those who refused to make the sphere of oratory allinclusive, have been
 obliged to make somewhat forced and long-winded distinctions: among
 these I may mention Ariston, the pupil of the Peripatetic Critolaus, who
 produced the following definition, 
 Rhetoric is
 the science of seeing and uttering what ought to be said on
 political questions in language that is likely to prove
 persuasive to the people.

Being a Peripatetic he regards it as a science, not, like the Stoics, as
 a virtue, while in adding the words 
 likely to
 prove persuasie to the people 
 he inflicts a
 positive insult on oratory, in implying that it is not likely to
 persuade the learned. The same criticism will apply to all those who
 restrict oratory to political questions, for they exclude thereby a
 large number of the duties of an orator, as for example panegyric, the
 third department of oratory, which is entirely ignored.

Turning to those who regard rhetoric as an art, but not as a virtue, we
 find that Theodorus of Gadara is more cautious. For he says (I quote the
 words of his translators), 
 rhetoric is the art
 which discovers and judges and expresses, mith an elegance duly
 proportioned to the importance of all such elements of
 persuasion as may exist in any subject in the field of politics.

Similarly Cornelius Celsus defines the end of rhetoric as 
 to speak persuasively on any
 doubtful subject within the field of politics. Similar
 definitions are given by others, such for instance as the following:—
 
 rhetoric is the power of judging and
 holding forth on such political subjects as come before it with
 a certain persuasiveness, a certain action of the body and
 delivery of the words.

There are countless other definitions, either identical with this or
 composed of the same elements, which I shall deal with when I come to
 the questions concerned with the subject matter of rhetoric. Some regard
 it as neither a power, a science or an art; Critolaus calls it the practice of speaking (for this is the meaning of
 τριβή ), Athenaeus styles it the
 art of deceiving,

while the majority, content with reading a few passages from the Gorgias
 of Plato, unskilfully excerpted by earlier writers, refrain from
 studying that dialogue and the remainder of Plato's writings, and
 thereby fall into serious error. For they believe that in Plato's view
 rhetoric was not an art, but a certain adroitness in
 the production of delight and gratification,

or with reference to another passage the shadow of a
 small part of politics 
 
 and the fourth department of flattery. For Plato
 assigns two departments of politics to the
 body, namely medicine and gymnastic, and two to the soul, namely law and
 justice, while he styles the art of cookery 
 a form of flattery of medicine, the art of the slave-dealer a flattery
 of gymnastic, for they produce a false complexion by the use of paint
 and a false robustness by puffing them out with fat: sophistry he calls
 a dishonest counterfeit of legal science, and rhetoric of justice.

All these statements occur in the Gorgias and are
 uttered by Socrates who appears to be the 
 mouthpiece of the views held by Plato. But some of his dialogues were
 composed merely to refute his opponents and are styled refutative, while others are for the purpose of teaching and
 are called doctrinal.

Now it is only rhetoric as practised in their own day that is condemned
 by Plato or Socrates, for he speaks of it as the manner in which
 you engage in public affairs 
 : rhetoric in itself he regards as
 a genuine and honourable thing, and consequently the controversy with
 Gorgias ends with the words, The rhetorician therefore must be
 just and the just man desirous to do what is just.

To this Gorgias makes no reply, but the argument is taken up by Polus, a
 hot-headed and headstrong young fellow, and it is to him that Socrates
 makes his remarks about shadows and forms of
 flattery. Then Callicles, who is even more hot-headed,
 intervenes, but is reduced to the conclusion that he who would
 truly be a rhetorician ought to be just and possess a knowledge of
 justice. It is clear therefore that Plato does not regard
 rhetoric as an evil, but holds that true rhetoric is impossible for any
 save a just and good man. In the Phaedrus

he makes it even clearer that the complete attainment of this art is
 impossible without the knowledge of justice, an opinion in which I
 heartily concur. Had this not been his view, would he have ever written
 the Apology of Socrates or the Funeral Oration in
 praise of those who had died in battle for their country, both of them
 works falling within the sphere of oratory.

It was against the class of men who employed their glibness of speech
 for evil purposes that he directed his denunciations. Similarly Socrates
 thought it incompatible with his honour to make use
 of the speech which Lysias composed for his defence, although it was the
 usual practice in those days to write speeches for the parties concerned
 to speak in the courts on their own behalf, a device designed to
 circumvent the law which forbade the employment of advocates.

Further the teachers of rhetoric were regarded by Plato as quite
 unsuited to their professed task. For they divorced rhetoric from
 justice and preferred plausibility to truth, as he states in the Phaedrus.

Cornelius Celsus seems to have agreed with these early rhetoricians, for
 he writes The orator only aims at the semblance of truth, 
 and again a little later The reward of the party to a suit is not
 a good conscience, but victory. If this were true, only the
 worst of men would place such dangerous weapons at the disposal of
 criminals or employ the precepts of their art for the assistance of
 wickedness. However I will leave those who maintain these views to
 consider what ground they have for so doing.

For my part, I have undertaken the task of moulding the ideal orator,
 and as my first desire is that he should be a good man, I will return to
 those who have sounder opinions on the subject. Some however identify
 rhetoric with politics, Cicero calls it a department of the science of politics (and
 science of politics and philosophy are identical terms), while others
 again call it a branch of philosophy, among them
 Isocrates.

The definition which best suits its real character is that which makes
 rhetoric the science of speaking well. For this
 definition includes all the virtues of oratory and the character of the
 orator as well, since no man can speak well who is not good himself.

The definition given by Chrysippus, who derived it
 from Cleanthes, to the effect that it is the science
 of speaking rightly, amounts to the same thing. The same
 philosopher also gives other definitions, but they concern problems of a
 different character from that on which we are now engaged. Another
 definition defines oratory as the power of persuading
 men to do what ought to be done, and yields practically the
 same sense save that it limits the art to the result which it produces.

Areus again defines it well as speaking according to
 the excellence of speech. Those who regard it as the science of
 political obligations, also exclude men of bad character from the title
 of orator, if by science they mean virtue, but restrict it overmuch by
 confining it to political problems. Albutius, a distinguished author and
 professor of rhetoric, agrees that rhetoric is the science of speaking
 well, but makes a mistake in imposing restrictions by the addition of
 the words on political questions and with credibility; with both of these restrictions
 I have already dealt.

Finally those critics who hold that the aim of rhetoric is to think and speak rightly, were on the correct
 track. These are practically all the most celebrated and most discussed
 definitions of rhetoric. It would be both irrelevant and beyond my power
 to deal with all. For I strongly disapprove of the custom which has come
 to prevail among writers of text-books of refusing to define anything in
 the same terms as have been employed by some previous writer. I will
 have nothing to do with such ostentation.

What I say will not necessarily be my own invention, but it will be what
 I believe to be the right view, as for instance that oratory is the
 science of speaking well. For when the most satisfactory definition has
 been found, he who seeks another, is merely looking
 for a worse one. Thus much being admitted we are now in a position to
 see clearly what is the end, the highest aim, the ultimate goal of
 rhetoric, that τέλος in fact which
 every art must possess. For if rhetoric is the science of speaking well,
 its end and highest aim is to speak well.

There follows the question as to whether rhetoric is useful. Some are in
 the habit of denouncing it most violently and of shamelessly employing
 the powers of oratory to accuse oratory itself.

It is eloquence they say that snatches criminals
 from the penalties of the law, eloquence that from time to time
 secures the condemnation of the innocent and leads deliberation
 astray, eloquence that stirs up not merely sedition and popular
 tumult, but wars beyond all expiation, and that is most effective
 when it makes falsehood prevail over the truth.

The comic poets even accuse Socrates of teaching how to make the worse
 cause seem the better, while Plato says that Gorgias and Tisias made
 similar professions.

And to these they add further examples drawn from the history of Rome
 and Greece, enumerating all those who used their pernicious eloquence
 not merely against individuals but against whole states and threw an
 ordered commonwealth into a state of turmoil or even brought it to utter
 ruin; and they point out that for this very reason rhetoric was banished
 from Sparta, while its powers were cut down at Athens itself by the fact
 that an orator was forbidden to stir the passions of his audience.

On the showing of these critics not only orators but generals,
 magistrates, medicine and philosophy itself will
 all be useless. For Flaminius was a general, while men such as the
 Gracchi, Saturninus and Glaucia were magistrates. Doctors have been
 caught using poisons, and those who falsely assume the name of
 philosopher have occasionally been detected in the gravest crimes.

Let us give up eating, it often makes us ill; let us never go inside
 houses, for sometimes they collapse on their occupants; let never a
 sword be forged for a soldier, since it might be used by a robber. And
 who does not realise that fire and water, both necessities of life, and,
 to leave mere earthly things, even the sun and moon, the greatest of the
 heavenly bodies, are occasionally capable of doing harm.

On the other hand will it be denied that it was by his gift of speech
 that Appius the Blind broke off the dishonourable peace which was on the
 point of being concluded with Pyrrhus? Did not the divine eloquence of
 Cicero win popular applause even when he denounced the Agrarian laws,
 did it not crush the audacious plots of Catiline
 and win, while he still wore the garb of civil life, the highest honour
 that can be conferred on a victorious general, a public thanksgiving to
 heaven?

Has not oratory often revived the courage of a panic-stricken army and
 persuaded the soldier faced by all the perils of war that glory is a
 fairer thing than life itself? Nor shall the history of Sparta and
 Athens move me more than that of the Roman people, who have always held
 the orator in highest honour.

Never in my opinion would the founders of cities have induced their
 unsettled multitudes to form communities had they not moved them by the
 magic of their eloquence: never without the highest gifts of oratory would the great legislators have constrained
 mankind to submit themselves to the yoke of law.

Nay, even the principles which should guide our life, however fair they
 may be by nature, yet have greater power to mould the mind to virtue,
 when the beauty of things is illumined by the splendour of eloquence.
 Wherefore, although the weapons of oratory may be used either for good
 or ill, it is unfair to regard that as an evil which can be employed for
 good.

These problems, however, may be left to those who hold that rhetoric is
 the power to persuade. If our definition of rhetoric as the science of
 speaking well implies that an orator must be a good man, there can be no
 doubt about its usefulness.

And in truth that god, who was in the beginning, the father of all
 things and the architect of the universe, distinguished man from all
 other living creatures that are subject to death, by nothing more than
 this, that he gave him the gift of speech.

For as regards physical bulk, strength, robustness, endurance or speed,
 man is surpassed in certain cases by dumb beasts, who also are far more
 independent of external assistance. They know by instinct without need
 of any teacher how to move rapidly, to feed themselves and swim.

Many too have their bodies clothed against cold, possess natural weapons
 and have not to search for their food, whereas in all these respects
 man's life is full of toil. Reason then was the greatest gift of the
 Almighty, who willed that we should share its possession with the
 immortal gods.

But reason by itself would help us but little and would be far less
 evident in us, had we not the power to express our thoughts in speech;
 for it is the lack of this power rather than thought and understanding, which they do to a certain extent possess, that is
 the great defect in other living things.

The construction of a soft lair, the weaving of nests, the hatching and
 rearing of their young, and even the storing up of food for the coming
 winter, together with certain other achievements which we cannot
 imitate, such as the making of honey and wax, all these perhaps indicate
 the possession of a certain degree of reason; but since the creatures
 that do these things lack the gift of speech they are called dumb and
 unreasoning beasts.

Finally, how little the heavenly boon of reason avails those who are
 born dumb. If therefore we have received no fairer gift from heaven than
 speech, what shall we regard as so worthy of laborious cultivation, or
 in what should we sooner desire to excel our fellow-men, than that in
 which mankind excels all other living things?

And we should be all the more eager to do so, since there is no art
 which yields a more grateful recompense for the labour bestowed upon it.
 This will be abundantly clear if we consider the origins of oratory and
 the progress it has made; and it is capable of advancing still further.

I will not stop to point out how useful and how becoming a task it is
 for a good man to defend his friends, to guide the senate by his
 counsels, and to lead peoples or armies to follow his bidding; I merely
 ask, is it not a noble thing, by employing the understanding which is
 common to mankind and the words that are used by all, to win such honour
 and glory that you seem not to speak or plead, but rather, as was said
 of Pericles, to thunder and lighten?

However, if I were to indulge my own inclinations in expatiating on this
 subject, I should go on for ever. Let us therefore
 pass to the next question and consider whether rhetoric is an art.

No one of those who have laid down rules for oratory has ever doubted
 that it is an art. It is clear even from the titles of their books that
 their theme is the art of rhetoric, while Cicero defines rhetoric as artistic eloquence. And it is not merely the
 orators who have claimed this distinction for their studies with a view
 to giving them an additional title to respect, but the Stoic and
 Peripatetic philosophers for the most part agree with them.

Indeed I will confess that I had doubts as to whether I should discuss
 this portion of my inquiry, for there is no one, I will not say so
 unlearned, but so devoid of ordinary sense, as to hold that building,
 weaving or moulding vessels from clay are arts, and at the same time to
 consider that rhetoric, which, as I have already said, is the noblest
 and most sublime of tasks, has reached such a lofty eminence without the
 assistance of art.

For my own part I think that those who have argued against this view did
 not realise what they were saying, but merely desired to exercise their
 wits by the selection of a difficult theme, like Polycrates, when he
 praised Busiris and Clytemnestra; I may add that he is credited with a
 not dissimilar performance, namely the composition of a speech which was
 delivered against Socrates.

Some would have it that rhetoric is a natural gift though they admit
 that it can be developed by practice. So Antonius in the de Oralore 
 of Cicero styles it a knack derived from experience, but denies that it
 is an art:

this statement is however not intended to be accepted by us as the
 actual truth, but is inserted to make Antonius
 speak in character, since he was in the habit of concealing his art.
 Still Lysias is said to have maintained this same view, which is
 defended on the ground that uneducated persons, barbarians and slaves,
 when speaking on their own behalf, say something that resembles an exordiam, state the facts of the case, prove,
 refute and plead for mercy just as an orator does in his peroration.

To this is added the quibble that nothing that is based on art can have
 existed before the art in question, whereas men have always from time
 immemorial spoken in their own defence or in denunciation of others: the
 teaching of rhetoric as an art was, they say, a later invention dating
 from about the time of Tisias and Corax: oratory therefore existed
 before art and consequently cannot be an art.

For my part I am not concerned with the date when oratory began to be
 taught. Even in Homer we find Phoenix as
 an instructor not only of conduct but of speaking, while a number of
 orators are mentioned, the various styles are represented by the
 speeches of three of the chiefs 
 and the young men are set to contend among themselves in contests of
 eloquence: moreover lawsuits and pleaders are
 represented in the engravings on the shield of Achilles.

It is sufficient to call attention to the fact that everything which art
 has brought to perfection originated in nature. Otherwise we might deny
 the title of art to medicine, which was discovered from the observation
 of sickness and health, and according to some is entirely based upon
 experiment: wounds were bound up long before medicine developed into an
 art, and fevers were reduced by rest and abstention from food, long
 before the reason for such treatment was known,
 simply because the state of the patient's health left no choice.

So too building should not be styled an art; for primitive man built
 himself a hut without the assistance of art. Music by the same reasoning
 is not an art; for every race indulges in some kind of singing and
 dancing. If therefore any kind of speech is to be called eloquence, I
 will admit that it existed before it was an art.

If on the other hand not every man that speaks is an orator and
 primitive man did not speak like an orator, my opponents must needs
 acknowledge that oratory is the product of art and did not exist before
 it. This conclusion also rules out their argument that men speak who
 have never learnt how to speak, and that which a man does untaught can
 have no connexion with art.

In support of this contention they adduce the fact that Demades was a
 waterman and Aeschines an actor, but both were orators. Their reasoning
 is false. For no man can be an orator untaught and it would be truer to
 say that these orators learned oratory late in life than that they never
 learned at all; although as a matter of fact Aeschines had an
 acquaintance with literature from childhood since his father was a
 teacher of literature, while as regards Demades, it is quite uncertain
 that he never studied rhetoric and in any case continuous practice in
 speaking was sufficient to bring him to such proficiency as he attained:
 for experience is the best of all schools.

On the other hand it may fairly be asserted that he would have achieved
 greater distinction, if he had received instruction: for although he
 delivered his speeches with great effect, he never ventured to write
 them for others.

Aristotle, it is true, in his Gryllus 
 produces some tentative
 arguments to the contrary, which are marked by
 characteristic ingenuity. On the other hand he also wrote three books on
 the art of rhetoric, in the first of which he not merely admits that
 rhetoric is an art, but treats it as a department of politics and also
 of logic.

Critolaus and Athenodorus of Rhodes have produced many arguments against
 this view, while Agnon renders himself suspect by the very title of his
 book in which he proclaims that he is going to indict rhetoric. As to
 the statements of Epicurus on this subject, they cause me no surprise,
 for he is the foe of all systematic training.

These gentlemen talk a great deal, but the arguments on which they base
 their statements are few. I will therefore select the most important of
 them and will deal with them briefly, to prevent the discussion lasting
 to all eternity.

Their first contention is based on the subject-matter; for they assert
 that all arts have their own subject-matter (which is true) and go on to
 say that rhetoric has none, which I shall show in what follows to be
 false.

Another slander is to the effect that no art will acquiesce in false
 opinions: since an art must be based on direct perception, which is
 always true: now, say they, rhetoric does give its assent to false
 conclusions and is therefore not an art.

I will admit that rhetoric sometimes substitutes falsehood for truth,
 but I will not allow that it does so because its opinions are false,
 since there is all the difference between holding a certain opinion
 oneself and persuading someone else to adopt an opinion. For instance a
 general frequently makes use of falsehood: Hannibal when hemmed in by
 Fabius persuaded his enemy that he was in retreat by tying brushwood to the horns of oxen, setting fire to them by night
 and driving the herds across the mountains opposite. But
 though he deceived Fabius, he himself was fully aware of the truth.

Again when the Spartan Theopompus changed clothes with his wife and
 escaped from custody disguised as a woman, he deceived his guards, but
 was not for a moment deceived as to his own identity. Similarly an orator, when he substitutes
 falsehood for the truth, is aware of the falsehood and of the fact that
 he is substituting it for the truth.

He therefore deceives others, but not himself. When Cicero boasted that
 he had thrown dust in the eyes of the jury in the case of Cluentius, he
 was far from being blinded himself. And when a painter by his artistic
 skill makes us believe that certain objects project from the picture,
 while others are withdrawn into the background, he knows perfectly well
 that they are really all in the same plane.

My opponents further assert that every art has some definite goal
 towards which it directs its efforts, but that rhetoric as a rule has no
 such goal, while at other times it professes to have an aim, but fails
 to perform its promise. They lie: I have already shown that rhetoric has
 a definite purpose and have explained what it is.

And, what is more, the orator will always make good his professions in
 this respect, for he will always speak well. On the other hand this
 criticism may perhaps hold good as against those who think persuasion
 the end of oratory. But our orator and his art, as we define it, are
 independent of results. The speaker aims at victory, it is true, but if
 he speaks well, he has lived up to the ideals of his art, even if he is
 defeated.

Similarly a pilot will desire to bring his ship
 safe to harbour; but if he is swept out of his course by a storm, he
 will not for that reason cease to be a pilot, but will say in the
 wellknown words of the old poet 
 Still let me steer straight on!

So too the doctor seeks to heal the sick; but if the violence of the
 disease or the refusal of the patient to obey his regimen or any other
 circumstance prevent his achieving his purpose, he will not have fallen
 short of the ideals of his art, provided he has done everything
 according to reason. So too the orator's purpose is fulfilled if he has
 spoken well. For the art of rhetoric, as I shall show later, is realised
 in action, not in the result obtained.

From this it follows that there is no truth in yet another argument
 which contends that arts know when they have attained their end, whereas
 rhetoric does not. For every speaker is aware when he is speaking well.
 These critics also charge rhetoric with doing what no art does, namely
 making use of vices to serve its ends, since it speaks the thing that is
 not and excites the passions.

But there is no disgrace in doing either of these things, as long as the
 motive be good: consequently there is nothing vicious in such action.
 Even a philosopher is at times permitted to tell a lie, while the orator
 must needs excite the passions, if that be the only way by which he can
 lead the judge to do justice.

For judges are not always enlightened and often have to be tricked to
 prevent them falling into error. Give me philosophers as judges, pack
 senates and assemblies with philosophers, and you will destroy the power
 of hatred, influence, prejudice and false witness; consequently there
 will be very little scope for eloquence whose value will lie almost
 entirely in its power to charm.

But if, as is the case, our hearers are fickle of
 mind, and truth is exposed to a host of perils, we must call in art to
 aid us in the fight and employ such means as will help our case. He who
 has been driven from the right road cannot be brought back to it save by
 a fresh detour.

The point, however, that gives rise to the greatest number of these
 captious accusations against rhetoric, is found in the allegation that
 orators speak indifferently on either side of a case. From which they
 draw the following arguments: no art is self-contradictory, but rhetoric
 does contradict itself; no art tries to demolish what itself has built,
 but this does happen in the operations of rhetoric; or again:— rhetoric
 teaches either what ought to be said or what ought not to be said;
 consequently it is not an art because it teaches what ought not to be
 said, or because, while it teaches what ought to be said, it also
 teaches precisely the opposite.

Now it is obvious that all such charges are brought against that type of
 rhetoric with which neither good men nor virtue herself will have
 anything to do; since if a case be based on injustice, rhetoric has no
 place therein and consequently it can scarcely happen even under the
 most exceptional circumstances that an orator, that is to say, a good
 man, will speak indifferently on either side.

Still it is in the nature of things conceivable that just causes may
 lead two wise men to take different sides, since it is held that wise
 men may fight among themselves, provided that they do so at the bidding
 of reason. I will therefore reply to their criticisms in such a way that
 it will be clear that these arguments have no force even against those
 who concede the name of orator to persons of bad character. For rhetoric
 is not self-contradictory.

The conflict is between case and case, not between
 rhetoric and itself. And even if persons who have learned the same thing
 fight one another, that does not prove that what they have learned is
 not an art. Were that so, there could be no art of arms, since
 gladiators trained under the same master are often matched against each
 other;

nor would the pilot's art exist, because in sea-fights pilots may be
 found on different sides; nor yet could there be an art of generalship,
 since general is pitted against general. In the same way rhetoric does
 not undo its own work. For the orator does not refute his own arguments,
 nor does rhetoric even do so, because those who regard persuasion as its
 end, or the two good men whom chance has matched against one another
 seek merely for probabilities: and the fact that one thing is more
 credible than another, does not involve contradiction between the two.

There is no absolute antagonism between the probable and the more
 probable, just as there is none between that which is white and that
 which is whiter, or between that which is sweet and that which is
 sweeter. Nor does rhetoric ever teach that which ought not to be said,
 or that which is contrary to what ought to be said, but solely what
 ought to be said in each individual case.

But though the orator will as a rule maintain what is true, this will
 not always be the case: there are occasions when the public interest
 demands that he should defend what is untrue. The following objections
 are also put forward in the second book of Cicero's de
 Oratore: 
 — Art deals with things that are known. But the
 pleading of an orator is based entirely on opinion, not on
 knowledge, because he speaks to an audience who do not know, and sometimes himself states things of which he
 has no actual knowledge.

Now one of these points, namely whether the judges have knowledge of
 what is being said to them, has nothing to do with the art of oratory.
 The other statement, that art is concerned with things that are known,
 does however require an answer. Rhetoric is the art of speaking well and
 the orator knows how to speak well.

But, it is urged, he does not know whether what he
 says is true. Neither do they, who assert that all things
 derive their origin from fire or water or the four elements or
 indivisible atoms; nor they who calculate the distances of the stars or
 the size of the earth and sun. And yet all these call the subject which
 they teach an art. But if reason makes them seem not merely to hold
 opinions but, thanks to the cogency of the proofs adduced, to have
 actual knowledge, reason will do the same service to the orator.

But, they say, he does not know whether the cause
 which he has undertaken is true. But not even a doctor can
 tell whether a patient who claims to be suffering from a headache,
 really is so suffering: but he will treat him on the assumption that his
 statement is true, and medicine will still be an art. Again what of the
 fact that rhetoric does not always aim at telling the truth, but always
 at stating what is probable? The answer is that the orator knows that
 what he states is no more than probable.

My opponents further object that advocates often defend in one case what
 they have attacked in another. This is not the fault of the art, but of
 the man. Such are the main points that are urged against rhetoric; there
 are others as well, but they are of minor importance and drawn from the
 same sources. That rhetoric is an art may, however,

be proved in a very few words. For if Cleanthes definition be accepted that
 Art is a power reaching its ends by a definite path, that is,
 by ordered methods, no one can doubt that there is such
 method and order in good speaking: while if, on the other hand, we
 accept the definition which meets with almost universal approval that
 art consists in perceptions agreeing and cooperating to the achievement
 of some useful end, we shall be able to show that rhetoric lacks none of
 these characteristics.

Again it is scarcely necessary for me to point out that like other arts
 it is based on examination and practice. And if logic is an art, as is
 generally agreed, rhetoric must also be an art, since it differs from
 logic in species rather than in genus. Nor must I omit to point out that where it is possible
 in any given subject for one man to act without art and another with
 art, there must necessarily be an art in connexion with that subject, as
 there must also be in any subject in which the man who has received
 instruction is the superior of him who has not.

But as regards the practice of rhetoric, it is not merely the case that
 the trained speaker will get the better of the untrained. For even the
 trained man will prove inferior to one who has received a better
 training. If this were not so, there would not be so many rhetorical
 rules, nor would so many great men have come forward to teach them. The
 truth of this must be acknowledged by everyone, but more especially by
 us, since we concede the possession of oratory to none save the good
 man.

Some arts, however, are based on examination, that is to say on the
 knowledge and proper appreciation of things, as for instance astronomy,
 which demands no action, but is content to
 understand the subject of its study: such arts are called theoretical. Others again are concerned with
 action: this is their end, which is realised in action, so that, the
 action once performed, nothing more remains to do: these arts we style
 practical, and dancing will provide us with
 an example.

Thirdly there are others which consist in producing a certain result and
 achieve their purpose in the completion of a visible task: such we style
 productive, and painting may be quoted as an illustration. In view of these
 facts we must come to the conclusion that, in the main, rhetoric is
 concerned with action; for in action it accomplishes that which it is
 its duty to do.

This view is universally accepted, although in my opinion rhetoric draws
 largely on the two other kinds of art. For it may on occasion be content
 with the mere examination of a thing. Rhetoric is still in the orator's
 possession even though he be silent, while if he gives up pleading
 either designedly or owing to circumstances over which he has no
 control, he does not therefore cease to be an orator, any more than a
 doctor ceases to be a doctor when he withdraws from practice.

Perhaps the highest of all pleasures is that which we derive from
 private study, and the only circumstances under which the delights of
 literature are unalloyed are when it withdraws from action, that is to
 say from toil, and can enjoy the pleasure of self-contemplation.

But in the results that the orator obtains by writing speeches or
 historical narratives, which we may reasonably count as part of the task
 of oratory, we shall recognise features resembling those of a productive
 art. Still, if rhetoric is to be regarded as one of these three classes
 of art, since it is with action that its practice
 is chiefly and most frequently concerned, let us call it an active or
 administrative art, the two terms being identical.

I quite realise that there is a further question as to whether eloquence
 derives most from nature or from education. This question really lies
 outside the scope of our inquiry, since the ideal orator must
 necessarily be the result of a blend of both. But I do regard it as of
 great importance that we should decide how far there is any real
 question on this point.

For if we make an absolute divorce between the two, nature will still be
 able to accomplish much without the aid of education, while the latter
 is valueless without the aid of nature. If, on the other hand, they are
 blended in equal proportions, I think we shall find that the average
 orator owes most to nature, while the perfect orator owes more to
 education. We may take a parallel from agriculture. A thoroughly barren
 soil will not be improved even by the best cultivation, while good land
 will yield some useful produce without any cultivation; but in the case
 of really rich land cultivation will do more for it than its own natural
 fertility.

Had Praxiteles attempted to carve a statue out of a millstone, I should
 have preferred a rough block of Parian marble to any such statue. On the
 other hand, if the same artist had produced a finished statue from such
 a block of Parian marble, its artistic value would owe more to his skill
 than to the material. To conclude, nature is the raw material for
 education: the one forms, the other is formed. Without material art can
 do nothing, material without art does possess a certain value, while the
 perfection of art is better than the best material.

More important is the question whether rhetoric is to be regarded as one
 of the indifferent arts, which in themselves deserve neither praise nor
 blame, but are useful or the reverse according to the character of the
 artist; or whether it should, as not a few even among philosophers hold,
 be considered as a virtue.

For my own part I regard the practice of rhetoric which so many have
 adopted in the past and still follow to-day, as either no art at all,
 or, as the Greeks call it, ἀτεχνία 
 (for I see numbers of speakers without the least pretension to method or
 literary training rushing headlong in the direction in which hunger or
 their natural shamelessness calls them); or else it is a bad art such as
 is styled κακοτεχνία. For there have,
 I think, been many persons and there are still some who have devoted
 their powers of speaking to the destruction of their fellow-men.

There is also an unprofitable imitation of art, a kind of ματαιοτεχνία which is neither good nor bad,
 but merely involves a useless expenditure of labour, reminding one of
 the man who shot a continuous stream of vetch-seeds from a distance
 through the eye of a needle, without ever missing his aim, and was
 rewarded by Alexander, who was a witness of the display, with the
 present of a bushel of vetch-seeds, a most appropriate reward.

It is to such men that I would compare those who spend their whole time
 at the expense of much study and energy in composing declamations, which
 they aim at making as unreal as possible. The rhetoric on the other
 hand, which I am endeavouring to establish and the ideal of which I have
 in my mind's eye, that rhetoric which befits a good man and is in a word
 the only true rhetoric, will be a virtue.

Philosophers arrive at this conclusion by a long
 chain of ingenious arguments; but it appears to me to be perfectly clear
 from the simpler proof of my own invention which I will now proceed to
 set forth. The philosophers state the case as follows. If
 self-consistency as to what should and should not be done is an element
 of virtue (and it is to this quality that we give the name of prudence),
 the same quality will be revealed as regards what should be said and
 what should not be said,

and if there are virtues, of which nature has given us some rudimentary
 sparks, even before we were taught anything about them, as for instance
 justice, of which there are some traces even among peasants and
 barbarians, it is clear that man has been so formed from the beginning
 as to be able to plead on his own behalf, not, it is true, with
 perfection, but yet sufficiently to show that there are certain sparks
 of eloquence implanted in us by nature.

The same nature, however, is not to be found in those arts which have no
 connexion with virtue. Consequently, since there are two kinds of
 speech, the continuous which is called rhetoric, and the concise which
 is called dialectic (the relation between which was regarded by Zeno as
 being so intimate that he compared the latter to the closed fist, the
 former to the open hand), even the art of disputation will be a virtue.
 Consequently there can be no doubt about oratory whose nature is so much
 fairer and franker.

I should like, however, to consider the point more fully and explicitly
 by appealing to the actual work of oratory. For how will the orator
 succeed in panegyric unless he can distinguish between what is
 honourable and the reverse? How can he urge a
 policy, unless he has a clear perception of what is expedient? How can
 he plead in the law-courts, if he is ignorant of the nature of justice?
 Again, does not oratory call for courage, since it is often directed
 against the threats of popular turbulence and frequently runs into peril
 through incurring the hatred of the great, while sometimes, as for
 instance in the trial of Milo, the orator may have to speak in the midst
 of a crowd of armed soldiers? Consequently, if oratory be not a virtue,
 perfection is beyond its grasp.

If, on the other hand, each living thing has its own peculiar virtue, in
 which it excels the rest or, at any rate, the majority (I may instance
 the courage of the lion and the swiftness of the horse), it may be
 regarded as certain that the qualities in which man excels the rest are,
 above all, reason and powers of speech. Why, therefore, should we not
 consider that the special virtue of man lies just as much in eloquence
 as in reason? It will be with justice then that Cicero makes Crassus say that eloquence is one
 of the highest virtues, and that Cicero himself calls it a
 virtue in his letters to Brutus and in other passages.

But, it may be urged, a bad man will at times
 produce an exordium or a statement of facts, and will argue a case in a manner that
 leaves nothing to be desired. No doubt; even a robber may
 fight bravely without courage ceasing to be a virtue; even a wicked
 slave may bear torture without a groan, and we may still continue to
 regard endurance of pain as worthy of praise. We can point to many acts
 which are identical with those of virtue, but spring from other sources.
 However, what I have said here must suffice, as I have already dealt
 with the question of the usefulness of oratory.

As to the material of oratory, some have asserted that it is speech, as
 for instance Gorgias in
 the dialogue of Plato. If this view be accepted in the sense that the
 word speech is used of a discourse composed on any
 subject, then it is not the material, but the work, just as a statue is
 the work of the sculptor. For speeches like statues require art for
 their production. If on the other hand we interpret
 speech as indicating the words themselves, they can
 do nothing unless they are related to facts. Some again hold that the
 material consists of persuasive arguments. But they form part of the
 work, are produced by art and require material themselves.

Some say that political questions provide the material. The mistake made
 by these lies not in the quality of their opinion but in its limitation.
 For political questions are material for eloquence but not the only
 material.

Some, on the ground that rhetoric is a virtue, make the material with
 which it deals to be the whole of life. Others, on the ground that life
 regarded as a whole does not provide material for every virtue, since
 most of them are concerned only with departments of life (justice,
 courage and self-control each having their own duties and their own
 end), would consequently restrict oratory to one particular department
 of life and place it in the practical or pragmatic department of ethics,
 that is to say the department of morals which deals with the business of
 life.

For my own part, and I have authority to support me, I hold that the
 material of rhetoric is composed of everything that may be placed before
 it as a subject for speech. Plato, if I read him aright, makes Socrates
 say to Gorgias that its material is
 to be found in things not words; while in the Phaedrus 
 he clearly proves
 that rhetoric is concerned not merely with law-courts and public
 assemblies, but with private and domestic affairs as well: from which it
 is obvious that this was the view of Plato himself.

Cicero also in a passage of one of his works,
 states that the material of rhetoric is composed of the things which are
 brought before it, but makes certain restrictions as to the nature of
 these things. In another passage, however, he expresses his opinion
 that the orator has to speak about all kinds of things; I will quote his
 actual words: although the very meaning of the name of orator
 and the fact that he professes to speak well seem to imply a promise
 and undertaking that the orator will speak with elegance and
 fullness on any subject that may be put before him.

And in another passage he says, It
 is the duty of the true orator to seek out, hear, read, discuss,
 handle and ponder everything that befalls in the life of man, since
 it is with this that the orator is concerned and this that forms the
 material with which he has to deal.

But this material, as we call it, that is to say the things brought
 before it, has been criticised by some, at times on the ground that it
 is limitless, and sometimes on the ground that it is not peculiar to
 oratory, which they have therefore dubbed a discursive art, because all is grist that comes to its mill.

I have no serious quarrel with these critics, for they acknowledge that
 rhetoric is concerned with every kind of material, though they deny that
 it has any peculiar material just because of that material's
 multiplicity. But in spite of this multiplicity, rhetoric is not
 unlimited in scope, and there are other minor arts
 whose material is characterised by the same multiplicity: such for
 instance is architecture, which deals with everything that is useful for
 the purpose of building: such too is the engraver's art which works on
 gold, silver, bronze, iron.

As for sculpture, its activity extends to wood, ivory, marble, glass and
 precious stones in addition to the materials already mentioned.

And things which form the material for other artists, do not for that
 reason cease forthwith to be material for rhetoric. For if I ask what is
 the material of the sculptor, I shall be told bronze; and if I ask what
 is the material of the maker of vessels (I refer to the craft styled
 χαλκευτική by the Greeks), the
 answer will again be bronze: and yet there is all the difference in the
 world between vessels and statues.

Similarly medicine will not cease to be an art, because, like the art of
 the gymnast, it prescribes rubbing with oil and exercise, or because it
 deals with diet like the art of cookery.

Again, the objection that to discourse of what is good, expedient or
 just is the duty of philosophy presents no difficulty. For when such
 critics speak of a philosopher, they mean a good man. Why then should I
 feel surprised to find that the orator whom I identify with the good man
 deals with the same material?

There is all the less reason, since I have already shown in the first
 book that philosophers only usurped
 this department of knowledge after it had been abandoned by the orators:
 it was always the peculiar property of rhetoric and the philosophers are
 really trespassers. Finally, since the discussion of whatever is brought
 before it is the task of dialectic, which is really a concise form of
 oratory, why should not this task be regarded as also being the
 appropriate material for continuous oratory? There
 is a further objection made by certain critics, who say Well
 then, if an orator has to speak
 on every subject, he must be the master of all the arts. I
 might answer this criticism in the words of Cicero, in whom I find the following passage:— In my
 opinion no one can be an absolutely perfect orator unless he has
 acquired a knowledge of all important subjects and arts. I
 however regard it as sufficient that an orator should not be actually
 ignorant of the subject on which he has to speak.

For he cannot have a knowledge of all causes, and yet he should be able
 to speak on all. On what then will he speak? On those which he has
 studied. Similarly as regards the arts, he will study those concerning
 which he has to speak, as occasion may demand, and will speak on those
 which he has studied.

What then?—I am asked—will not a builder speak better on the subject of
 building and a musician on music? Certainly, if the orator does not know
 what is the question at issue. Even an illiterate peasant who is a party
 to a suit will speak better on behalf of his case than an orator who
 does not know what the subject in dispute may be. But on the other hand
 if the orator receive instruction from the builder or the musician, he
 will put forward what he has thus learned better than either, just as he
 will plead a case better than his client, once he has been instructed in
 it.

The builder and the musician will, however, speak on the subject of
 their respective arts, if there should be any technical point which
 requires to be established. Neither will be an orator, but he will
 perform his task like an orator, just as when an untrained person binds
 up a wound, he will not be a physician, but he will
 be acting as one.

Is it suggested that such topics never crop up in panegyric,
 deliberative or forensic oratory? When the question of the construction
 of a port at Ostia came up for discussion, had not the orator to state
 his views? And yet it was a subject requiring the technical knowledge of
 the architect.

Does not the orator discuss the question whether livid spots and
 swellings on the body are symptomatic of ill-health or poison? And yet
 that is a question for the qualified physician. Will he not deal with
 measurements and figures? And yet we must admit that they form part of
 mathematics. For my part I hold that practically all subjects are under
 certain circumstances liable to come up for treatment by the orator. If
 the circumstances do not occur, the subjects will not concern him.

We were therefore right in asserting that the material of rhetoric is
 composed of everything that comes before the orator for treatment, an
 assertion which is confirmed by the practice of everyday speech. For
 when we have been given a subject on which to speak, we often preface
 our remarks by calling attention to the fact that the matter has been
 laid before us.

Gorgias indeed felt so strongly that it was the orator's duty to speak
 on every subject, that he used to allow those who attended his lectures
 to ask him questions on any subject they pleased. Hermagoras also
 asserted that the material of oratory lay in the cause and the questions
 it involved, thereby including every subject that can be brought before
 it.

If he denies that general questions are the concern of
 oratory, he disagrees with me: but if they do concern rhetoric, that supports my contention. For there is nothing which
 may not crop up in a cause or appear as a question for discussion.

Aristotle himself also by his tripartite
 division of oratory, into forensic, deliberative and demonstrative,
 practically brought everything into the orator's domain, since there is
 nothing that may not come up for treatment by one of these three kinds
 of rhetoric.

A very few critics have raised the question as to what may be the instrument of oratory. My definition of an
 instrument is that without which the material cannot
 be brought into the shape necessary for the effecting of our object.
 But it is not the art which requires an instrument, but the
 artist. Knowledge needs no instruments, for it may be complete although
 it produces nothing, but the artist must have them. The engraver cannot
 work without his chisel nor the painter without his brush. I shall
 therefore defer this question until I come to treat of the orator as
 distinct from his art.

IN the second book the subject of inquiry was the nature and the end of
 rhetoric, and I proved to the best of my ability that it was an art,
 that it was useful, that it was a virtue and that its material was all
 and every subject that might come up for treatment. I shall now discuss
 its origin, its component parts, and the method to be adopted in
 handling and forming our conception of each. For most authors of
 text-books have stopped short of this, indeed Apollodorus confines
 himself solely to forensic oratory.

I know that those who asked me to write this work were specially
 interested in that portion on which I am now entering, and which, owing
 to the necessity of examining a great diversity of opinions, at once
 forms by far the most difficult section of this work, and also, I fear,
 may be the least attractive to my readers, since it necessitates a dry
 exposition of rules.

In other portions of this work I have attempted to introduce a certain
 amount of ornateness, not, I may say, to advertise my style (if I had
 wished to do that, I could have chosen a more fertile theme), but in
 order that I might thus do something to lure our young men to make
 themselves acquainted with those principles which I regarded as
 necessary to the study of rhetoric: for I hoped that by giving them
 something which was not unpleasant to read I might induce a greater
 readiness to learn those rules which I feared 
 might, by the dryness and aridity which must necessarily characterise
 their exposition, revolt their minds and offend their ears which are
 nowadays grown somewhat over-sensitive.

Lucretilus has the same object in mind when he states that he has set
 forth his philosophical system in verse; for you will remember the well
 known simile which he uses :— 
 And as physicians when they seek to give 
 A
 draught of bitter wormwood to a child, 
 First
 smear along the edge that rims the cup 
 The liquid
 sweets of honey, golden-hued, 
 and the rest.

But I fear that this book will have too little honey and too much
 wormwood, and that though the student may find it a healthy draught, it
 will be far from agreeable. I am also haunted by the further fear that
 it will be all the less attractive from the fact that most of the
 precepts which it contains are not original, but derived from others,
 and because it is likely to rouse the opposition of certain persons who
 do not share my views. For there are a large number of writers, who
 though they are all moving toward the same goal, have constructed
 different roads to it and each drawn their followers into their own.

The latter, however, approve of the path on which they have been
 launched whatever its nature, and it is difficult to change the
 convictions implantted in boyhood, for the excellent reason that
 everybody prefers to have learned rather than to be in process of
 learning.

But, as will appear in the course of this book, there is an infinite
 diversity of opinions among writers on [his subject, since some have
 added their own discoveries to those portions of the art which were
 still shapeless and unformed, and subsequently have
 altered even what was perfectly sound in order to establish a claim to
 originality.

The first writer after those recorded by the poets who is said to have
 taken any steps in the direction of rhetoric is Empedocles. But the
 earliest writers of text-books are the Sicilians, Corax and Tisias, who
 were followed by another from the same island, namely Gorgias of
 Leontini, whom tradition asserts to have been the pupil of Empedocles.

He, thanks to his length of days, for he lived to a hundred and nine,
 flourished as the contemporary of many rhetoricians, was consequently
 the rival of those whom I have just mentioned, and lived on to survive
 Socrates.

In the same period flourished Thrasymachus of Chalcedon, Prodicus of
 Ceos, Protagoras of Abdera, for whose instructions, which he afterwards
 published in a text-book, Euathlus is said to have paid 10,000 denarii,
 Hippias of Elis and Alcidamas of Elaea whom Plato 
 calls Palamedes.

There was Antiphon also, who was the first to write speeches and who
 also wrote a text-book and is said to have spoken most eloquently in his
 own defence; Polycrates, who, as have already said, wrote a speech against Socrates, and Theodorus of
 Byzantium, who was one of those called word-artificers by
 Plato.

Of these Protagoras and Gorgias are said to have been the first to treat
 commonplaces, Prodicus, Hippias, Protagoras and Thrasymachus the first
 to handle emotional themes. Cicero in the Brutus 
 states that nothing in the ornate rhetorical style was
 ever committed to writing before Pericles, and that certain of his
 speeches are still extant. For my part I have been unable to discover
 anything in the least worthy of his great
 reputation for eloquence, 
 and am consequently the less surprised that there should be some who
 hold that he never committed anything to writing, and that the writings
 circulating under his name are the works of others.

These rhetoricias had many successors, but the most famous of (Gorgias'
 pupils was Isocrates, although our authorities are not agreed as to who
 was his teacher: I however accept the statement of Aristotle on the
 subject.

From this point the roads begin to part. The pupils of Isocrates were
 eminent in every branch of study, and when he was already advanced in
 years (and he lived to the age of ninety-eight), Aristotle began to
 teach the art of rhetoric in his afternoon lectures, in which he
 frequently quoted the wel-known line from the Philoctetes 
 in the form 
 Isocrates still speaks. 'Twere shame
 should I Sit silent. 
 Both Aristotle and Isocrates
 left text-books on rhetoric, but that by Aristotle is the larger and
 contains more books. Theodectes, whose work I mentioned above,

also lived about the same period: while Theophrastus, the pupil of
 Aristotle, produced some careful work on rhetoric. After him we may note
 that the philosophers, more especially the leaders of the Stoic and
 Peripatetic schools, surpassed even the rhetoricians in the zeal which
 they devoted to the subject.

Hermagoras next carved out a path of his own, which numbers have
 followed: of his rivals Athenaeus seems to have approached him most nearly. Later still much work was done by
 Apollonius Molon, Areus, Caecilius and Dionysius of Halicarnassus.

But the rhetoricians who attracted the most enthusiastic following were
 Apollodorus of Pergamus, who was the instructor of Augustus Caesar at
 Apollonia, and Theodorus of Gadara, who preferred to be called Theodorus
 of Rhodes: it is said that Tiberius Caesar during his retirement in that
 island was a constant attendant at his lectures.

These rhetoricians taught different systems, and two schools have arisen
 known as the Apollodoreans and the Theodoreans, these names being
 modelled on the fashion of nomenclature in vogue with certain schools of
 philosophy. The doctrines of Apollodorus are best learned from his
 pupils, among whom Cains Valgius was the best interpreter of his
 master's views in Latin, Atticus in Greek. The only text-book by
 Apollodorus himself seems to be that addressed to Matius, as his letter
 to Domitius does not acknowledge the other works attributed to him. The
 writings of Theodorus were more numerous, and there are some still
 living who have seen his pupil Herinagoras.

The first Roman to handle the subject was, to the best of my belief,
 Marcus Cato, the famous censor, while after him Marcus Antonius began a
 treatise on rhetoric: I say began, because only this one
 work of his survives, and that is incomplete. he was followed by others
 of less note, whose names I will not omit to mention, should occasion
 demand.

But it was Cicero who shed the greatest light not only on the practice
 but on the theory of oratory; for he stands alone among Romans as
 combining the gift of actual eloquence with that of teaching the art.
 With him for 
 predecessor it would be more modest to be silent,
 but for the fact that he himself describes his Rhetorica as a youthful
 indiscreition, while in his later works on oratory he deliberately
 omitted the discussion of certain minor points, on which instruction is
 generally desired.

Cornificius wrote a good deal, Stertinius something, and the elder
 Gallio a little on the same subject. But Gallio's predecessors, Celsus
 and Laenas, and in our own day Verginius, Pliny and Tutilius, have
 treated rhetoric with greater accuracy. Even to-day we have some
 distinguished writers on oratory who, if they had dealt with the subject
 more comprehensively, would have saved me the trouble of writing this
 book. But I will spare the names of the living. The time will come when
 they will reap their meed of praise; for their merits will endure to
 after generations, while the calunmies of envy will perish utterly.

Still, although so many writers have preceded me, I shall not shrink
 from expressing my own opinion on certain points. I am not a
 superstitious adherent of any school, and as this book will contain a
 collection of the opinions of many different authurs, it was desirable
 to leave it to my readers to selcet what they will. I shall be content
 if they praise me for my industry, wherever there is no scope for
 originality.

The question as to the origin of rhetoric need not keep us long. For who
 can doubt that mankind received the gift of speech from nature at its
 birth (for we can hardly go further back than that), while the
 usefulness of speech brought improvement and study, and finally method
 and exercise gave perfection?

I cannot understand why some hold that the elaboration of speech
 originated in the fact that those who were in peril
 owing to some accusation being made against them, set themselves to
 speak with studied care for the purpose of their own defence. This,
 however, though a more honourable origin, cannot possibly be the
 earlier, for accusation necessarily precedes defence. You might as well
 assert that the sword was invented for the purpose of self-defence and
 not for aggression.

It was, then, nature that created speech, and observation that
 originated the art of speaking. Just as men discovered the art of
 medicine by observing that some things were healthy and some the
 reverse, so they observed that some things were useful and some useless
 in speaking, and noted them for imitation or avoidance, while they added
 certain other precepts according as their nature suggested. These
 observations were confirmed by experience and each man proceeded to
 teach what he knew.

Cicero, it is true, attributes the origin of
 oratory to the founders of cities and the makers of laws, who must needs
 have possessed the gift of eloquence. But why he thinks this the actual
 origin, I cannot understand, since there still exist certain nomad
 peoples without cities or laws, and yet members of these peoples perform
 the duties of ambassadors, accuse and defend, and regard one man as a
 better speaker than another.

The art of oratory, as taught by most authorities, and those the best,
 consists of five parts:- invention, arrangement,
 expression, memory, and delivery or action (the two latter terms being used
 synonymously). But all speech expressive of purpose involves also a subject and words.

If such expression is brief and contained within
 the limits of one sentence, it may demand nothing more, but longer
 speeches require much more. For not only what we say and how we say it
 is of importance, but also the circumstances under which we say it. It
 is here that the need of arrangement comes in. But it will be impossible
 to say everything demanded by the subject, putting each thing in its
 proper place, without the aid of memory.

It is for this reason that memory forms the fourth department. But a
 delivery, which is rendered unbecoming cither by voice or gesture,
 spoils everything and almost entirely destroys the effect of what is
 said. Delivery therefore must be assigned the fifth place.

Those (and Albutins is among them), who maintain that there are only
 three departments on the ground that memory and delivery (for which I
 shall give instructions in their proper place ) are given
 us by nature not by art, may be disregarded, although Thrasymachus held
 the same views as regards delivery.

Some have added a sixth department, subjoining judgment to invention, on the ground
 that it is necessary first to invented and then
 to exercise our judgment. For my own part I do
 not believe that invention can exist apart from
 judgement, since we do not say that a speaker
 has invented incousistent, two-edged or foolish
 arguments, but merely that he has failed to avoid them. It is true that
 Cicero in his Rhetorica

includes judgment under mention; but in my opinion judgment is
 so inextricably mingled with the first three departments of rhetoric
 (for without judgment neither expression nor arrangement are
 possible), that I think that even delivery owes much to it. I say this
 with all the greater confidence because Cicero in 
 his Partitiones oratoriae 
 arrives at the same five-fold
 division of which I have just spoken. For after an initial division of
 oratory into invention and expression, he assigns matter and 
 arrangement to invention,
 words and delivery to expression, and makes memory a fifth
 department common to them all and acting as their guardian. Again in the
 Orator 
 he states that eloquence consists
 of five things, and in view of the fact that this is a later work we may
 accept this as his more settled opinion.

Others, who seem to me to have been no less desirous than those
 mentioned above to introduce some novelty, have added order, although they had already mentioned arrangement, as
 though arrangement was anything else than the
 marshalling of arguments in the best possible order. Dion taught that
 oratory consisted only of invention and arrangement, but added that each of these
 departments was twofold in nature, being concerned with words and
 things, so that expression comes under invention, and delivery 
 under arrangement, while memory must be added as a fifth department. The followers of
 Theodorus divide invention into two parts, the
 one concerned with matter and the other with expression, and then add the three remaining
 departments.

Hermagoras places judgment, division, order and
 everything relating to expression under the
 heading of economy, a Greek word meaning the
 management of domestic affairs which is applied metaphorically to
 oratory and has no Latin equivalent.

A further question arises at this point, since some make memory follow invention in
 the list of departments, while others make it follow arrangement. Personally I prefer to place it fourth. For we
 ought not merely to retain in our minds the fruits of our 
 invention, in order that we
 may be able to arrange them, or to remember our arraangement in order that we may express it, but we must also
 commit to memory the words which we propose to use, since memory embraces everything that goes to the
 compposition of a speech.

There are also not a few who have held that these are not parts of rhetoric, but rather duties to be observed by the orator. For it is his business to
 invent, arrange, express, etcetera. If, however, we accept this view, we
 leave nothing to art.

For although the orator's task is to speak well, rhetoric is the science
 of speaking well. Or if we adopt another view, the task of the artist is
 to persuade, while the power of persuasion resides in the art.
 Consequently, while it is the duty of the orator to invent and arrange,
 intention and arrangement may be regarded as belonging to rhetoric.

At this point there has been much disagreement, as to whether these are
 parts or duties of
 rhetoric, or, as Athenaeus believes, elements of
 rhetoric, which the Greeks call στοιχεῖα But they cannot correctly be called elements. For in that case we should have to
 regard them merely as first-principles, like the moisture, fire, matter
 or atoms of which the universe is said to be composed. Nor is it correct
 to call them duties, since they are not preformed by others, but perform
 something themselves. We must therefore conclude that they are parts.

For since rhetoric is composed of them, it follows that:, since a whole
 consists of parts, these must be parts of the whole which they compose.
 Those who have called them duties seem to me to
 have been further influenced by the fact that they wished to reserve the
 name of parts for another 
 division of rhetoric: for they asserted that the parts of rhetoric were, panegyric,
 deliberative and forensic oratory. But
 if these are parts, they are parts rather of the material than of the
 art.

For each of them contains the whole of rhetoric, since each of them
 requires invention, arrangement, expression,
 memory and delivery. Consequently some
 writers have thought it better to say that there are three kinds of oratory; those whom Cicero has
 followed seem to me to have taken the wisest course in terming them kinds of causes.

There is, however, a dispute as to whether there are three kinds or
 more. But it is quite certain that all the most eminent authorities
 among ancient writers, following Aristotle who merely substituted the
 term public for deliberative, have been content with the threefold division.

Still a feeble attempt has been made by certain Greeks and by Cicero in
 his de Oratore, 
 to prove that there are not merely
 more than three, but that the number of kinds is almost past
 calculation: and this view has almost been thrust down our throats by
 the greatest authority of our own times.

Indeed if we place the task of praise and denunciation in the third
 division, on what kind of oratory are we to consider ourselves to be
 employed, when we complain, console, pacify, excite, terrify, encourage,
 instruct, explain obscurities, narrate, plead for mercy, thank,
 congratulate, reproach, abuse, describe, command, retract, express our
 desires and opinions, to mention no other of the many possibilities?

As an adherent of the older view I must ask for indulgence and must
 enquire what was the reason that led earlier writers to restrict a
 subject of such variety to such narrow bounds.
 Those who think such authorities in error hold that they were influenced
 by the fact that these three subjects practically exhausted the range of
 ancient oratory.

For it was customary to write panegyrics and denunciations and to
 deliver funeral orations, while the greater part of their activities was
 devoted to the law-courts and deliberative assemblies; as a result, they
 say, the old writers of text-books only included those kinds of oratory
 which were most in vogue.

The defenders of antiquity point out that there are three kinds of
 audience: one which comes simply for the sake of getting pleasure, a
 second which meets to receive advice, a third to give judgement on
 causes. In the course of a thorough enquiry into the question it has
 occurred to me that the tasks of oratory must either be concerned with
 the law-courts or with themes lying outside the law-courts.

The nature of the questions into which enquiry is made in the courts is
 obvious. As regards those matters which do not come before a judge, they
 must necessarily be concerned either with the past or the future. We
 praise or denounce past actions, we deliberate about the future.

Again everything on which we have to speak must be either certain or
 doubtful. We praise or blame what is certain, as our inclination leads
 us: on the other hand where doubt exists, in some cases we are free to
 form our own views, and it is here that deliberation comes in, while in
 others, we leave the problem to the decision of others, and it is on
 these that litigation takes place.

Anaximenes regarded forensic and public oratory as genera but held that there were seven species :— exhortation, dissuasion, praise, denunciation, accusation, defence, inquiry, or as he called it
 ἐξεταστικόν. The first two,
 however, clearly belong to deliberative, the next to demonstrative, the
 three last to forensic oratory.

I say nothing of Protagoras, who held that oratory was to be divided
 only into the following heads: question and answer, command and
 entreaty, or as he calls it εὐχωλή. 
 Plato in his Sophist 
 in addition to public and forensic
 oratory introduces a third kind which he styles προσομιλητική, which I will permit myself to translate by
 conversational. This is distinct from forensic
 oratory and is adapted for private discussions, and we may regard it as
 identical with dialectic.

Isocrates held that praise and blame find a
 place in every kind of oratory.

The safest and most rational course seems to be to follow the authority
 of the majority. There is, then, as I have said, one kind concerned with
 praise and blame, which, however, derives its name from the better of
 its two functions and is called laudatory; others
 however call it demonstrative. Both names are
 believed to be derived from the Greek in which the corresponding terms
 are encomiastic, and epideictic.

The term epideictic seems to me however to imply
 display rather than demonstration, and to have a very different meaning
 from encomiastic. For although it includes
 laudatory oratory, it does not confine itself thereto.

Will any one deny the title of epideictic to panegyric? But yet panegyrics are advisory in form and frequently discuss the
 interests of Greece. We may therefore conclude that, while there are
 three kinds of oratory, all three devote themselves in part to the
 matter in land, and in part to display. But it may be that Romans are
 not borrowing from Greek when they apply the title
 demonstrative but are merely led to do so
 because praise and blame demonstrate the nature of the object with which
 they are concerned.

The second kind is deliberative, the third forensic oratory. All other
 species fall under these three genera: you will not find one in which we have
 not to praise or blame, to advise or dissuade, to drive home or refute a
 charge, while conciliation, narration, proof, exaggeration, extenuation
 and the moulding of the minds of the audience by exciting or allaying
 their passions, are common to all three kind of oratory.

I cannot even agree with those who hold that laudalory subjects are concerned with the question of what is
 honourable, deliberative with the question of what is expedient, and
 forensic with tie question of what is just: the division thus made is
 easy and neat rather than true: for all three kinds rely on the mutual
 assistance of the other. For we deal with justice and expediency in punegyric and with honour in (deliberations, while you will rarely find a forensic case, in part of which at any rate something of those
 questions just mentioned is not to be found.

Every speech however consists at once of that which is expressed and
 that which expresses, that is to say of matter and words. Skill in
 speaking is perfected by nature, art and practice, to which some add a
 fourth department, namely imitation, which I however prefer to include
 under art.

There are also three aims which the orator must always have in view; he
 must instruct, move and charm his hearers. This is a clearer division
 than that made by those who divide the task of oratory into that which
 relates to things and that which concerns the emotions, since both of these will not always be present in
 the subjects which we shall have to treat. For some themes are far from
 calling for any appeal to the emotions, which, although room cannot
 always be found for them, produce a most powerful effect wherever they
 do succeed in forcing their way.

The best authorities hold that there are some things in oratory which
 require proof and others which do not, a view with which I agree. Some
 on the other hand, as for instance Celsus, think that the orator will
 not speak on any subject unless there is some question involved in it;
 but the majority of writers on rhetoric are against him, as is also the
 threefold division of oratory, unless indeed to praise what is allowed
 to be honourable and to denounce what is admittedly disgraceful are no
 part of an orator's duty.

It is, however, universally agreed that all questions must be concerned
 either with something that is written or something that is not. Those
 concerned with what is written are questions of law, those which concern
 what is not written are questions of fact. Hermagoras calls the latter
 rational questions, the former legal questions, for so we may translate λογικόν and νομικόν.

Those who hold that every question concerns either things or words, mean
 much the same. It is also agreed that questions are either definite or indefinite.
 Indefinite questions are those which may be maintained or
 impugned without reference to persons, time or place and the like. The
 Greeks call them theses, Cicero 
 propositions, others general questions relating to civil life, others
 again questions suited for philosophical
 discussion, while Athenaeus calls them parts
 of a cause.

Cicero distinguishes two kinds, the one concerned with knowledge, the other with action. Thus Is the world governed by providence? is a question of
 knowledge, while Should we enter politics? is a question
 of action. The first involves three questions, whether a thing is, what
 it is, and of what nature: for all these things may be unknown: the
 second involves two, how to obtain power and how to use it.

Definite questions involve facts, persons, time
 and the like. The Greeks call them hypotheses, 
 while we call them causes. In these the whole
 question turns on persons and facts.

An indefinite question is always the more
 comprehensive, since it is from the indefinite 
 question that the definite is derived. I will
 illustrate what I mean by an example. The question Should a man
 marry? is indefinite; the question
 Should Cato marry? is definite, and consequently may be regarded as a subject for a
 deliberative theme. But even those which have
 no connexion with particular persons are generally given a specific
 reference. For instance the question Ought we to take a share in
 the government of our country? is abstract, whereas
 Ought we to take part in the government of our country under
 the sway of a tyrant? has a specific reference.

But in this latter case we may say that a person is tacitly implied. For
 the mention of a tyrant doubles the question, and there is an implicit
 admission of time and quality; but all the same you would scarcely be
 justified in calling it a cause or definite question. Those questions
 which I have styled indefinite are also called general: if this is correct, we shall have to call definite
 questions special questions. But in every special
 question the general question is implicit, since the genus is logically prior to the species.

And perhaps even in actual causes wherever the notion of quality comes
 into question, there is a certain intrusion of the
 abstract. Milo killed Clodius: he was justified in killing one
 who lay in wait for him. Does not this raise the general
 question as to whether we have the right to kill a man who lies in wait
 for us? What again of conjectures? May not they be of a general
 character, as for instance, What was the motive for the crime?
 hatred? covetousness? or Are we justified in
 believing confessions made under torture? or Which
 should carry greater weight, evidence or argument? As for
 definitions, everything that they contain is undoubtedly of a general
 nature.

There are some who hold that even those questions which have reference
 to persons and particular cases may at times be called theses, provided only they are put slightly differently: for
 instance, if Orestes be accused, we shall have a cause: whereas if it is put as question, namely Was
 Orestes rightly acquitted? it will be a thesis. To the same class as this last belongs the question
 Was Cato right in transferring Marcia to Hortensius? 
 These persons distinguish a thesis from a cause as follows: a thesis 
 is theoretical in character, while a cause has
 relation to actual facts, since in the former case we argue merely with
 a view to abstract truth, while in the latter we have to deal with some
 particular act.

Some, however, think that general questions are useless to an orator,
 since no profit is to be derived from proving that we ought to marry or
 to take part in politics, if we are prevented from so doing by age or
 ill health. But not all general questions are liable to this kind of
 objection. For instance questions such as Is virtue an end in
 itself? or Is the world governed by
 providence? cannot be countered in this way.

Further in questions which have reference to a
 particular person, although it is not sufficient merely to handle the
 general question, we cannot arrive at any conclusion on the special
 point until we have first discussed the general question. For how is
 Cato to deliberate whether he personally is to marry, 
 unless the general question whether marriage is desirable 
 is first settled? And how is he to deliberate whether he should
 marry Marcia, unless it is proved that it is the duty of
 Cato to marry?

There are, however, certain books attributed to Hermagoras which support
 this erroneous opinion, though whether the attribution is spurious or
 whether they were written by another Hermagoras is an open question. For
 they cannot possibly be by the famous Hermagoras, who wrote so much that
 was admirable on the art of rhetoric, since, as is clear from the first
 book of the Rhetorica of Cicero, he
 divided the material of rhetoric into theses and
 causes. Cicero objects to this division, contends that theses have nothing to do with an orator, and
 refers all this class of questions to the philosophers.

But Cicero has relieved me of any feeling of shame that I might have in
 controverting his opinion, since he has not only expressed his
 disapproval of his Rhetorica, but in the Orator, 
 the de Oratore and the Topica 
 instructs us to
 abstract such discussions from particular persons and occasions, 
 because we can speak more fully on general than on special themes,
 and because what is proved of the whole must also be proved of the
 part.

In all general questions, however, the essential basis is the same as in a cause or definite question. It is
 further pointed out that there are some questions which concern things in themselves, while
 others have a particular reference; an example of the former will be the
 question Should a man marry? of the latter Should
 an old man marry? ; or again the question whether a man is
 brave will illustrate the first, while the question whether he is braver
 than another will exemplify the second.

Apollodorus defines a cause in the following
 terms (I quote the translation of his pupil Valgius):— A cause is
 a matter which in all its parts bears on the question at
 issue, or again a cause is a matter of which the
 question in dispute is the object. He then defines a matter in the following terms:— " A matter is a
 combination of persons, circumstances of place and time, motives, means,
 incidents, acts, instruments, speeches, the letter and the spirit of the
 law.

Let us then understand a cause in the sense of
 the Greek hypothesis or subject, and a matter in the sense of the Greek peristasis or collection of circumstances. But
 some, however, have defined a cause in the same
 way that Apollodorus defines a matter. Isocrates
 on
 the other hand defines a cause as some definite question concerned with some point of
 civil affairs, or a dispute in which definite persons are involved;
 while Cicero uses the following
 words:— A cause may be known by its being
 concerned with certain definite persons, circumstances of time and
 place, actions, and business, and will relate either to all or at
 any rate to most of these.

VI. Since every cause, then, has a
 certain essential basis 
 on
 which it rests, before I proceed to set forth how each kind of cause
 should be handled, I think I should first examine a
 question that is common to all of them, namely, what is meant by basis, whence it is derived and how many and of
 what nature such bases may be. Some, it is true,
 have thought that they were peculiar merely to forensic themes, but
 their ignorance will stand revealed when I have treated of all three
 kinds of oratory.

That which I call the basis some style the constitution, others the question, and others again that which may be
 inferred from the question, while Theodorus calls it the most
 general head, 
 κεφάλαιον γενικώτατον, to which everything must be
 referred. These different names, however, all mean the same thing, nor
 is it of the least importance to students by what special name things
 are called, as long as the thing itself is perfectly clear.

The Greeks call this essential basis 
 στάσις, a name which they hold was not
 invented by Hermagoras, but according to some was introduced by
 Naucrates, the pupil of Isocrates, according to others by Zopyrus of
 Clazomenae, although Aeschines in his speech against Ctesiphon seems to employ
 the word, when he asks the jury not to allow Demosthenes to be
 irrelevant but to keep him to the stasis or basis of the case.

The term seems to be derived from the fact that it is on it that the
 first collision between the parties to the dispute takes place, or that
 it forms the basis or standing of the whole case.
 So much for the origin of the name. Now for its nature. Some have
 defined the basis as being the first conflict of the causes. The idea is correct, but the
 expression is faulty.

For the essential basis is not the first
 conflict, which we may represent by the clauses You did such and
 such a thing and I did not do it. It is
 rather the kind of question which arises from the first conflict, which we may represent as follows. You did
 it, 
 I did not, 
 Did he do it?, or
 You did this, 
 I did not do
 this, 
 What did he do? It is clear from these
 examples, that the first sort of question depends on conjecture, the second on definition, 
 and that the contending parties rest their respective cases on these
 points: the bases of these questions will
 therefore be of a conjectural or definitive character respectively.

Suppose it should be asserted that sound is the conflict between two
 bodies, the statement would in my opinion be erroneous. For sound is not
 the actual conflict, but a result of the conflict. The error is,
 however, of small importance: for the sense is clear, whatever the
 expression. But this trivial mistake has given rise to a very serious
 error in the minds of those who have not understood what was meant: for
 on reading that the essential basis was the first
 conflict, they immediately concluded that the basis was always to be taken from the first question, which is
 a grave mistake.

For every question has its basis, since every
 question is based on assertion by one party and denial by another. But
 there are some questions which form an essential part of causes, and it
 is on these that we have to express an opinion; while others are
 introduced from without and are, strictly speaking, irrelevant, although
 they may contribute something of a subsidiary nature to the general
 contention. It is for this reason that there are said to be several
 questions in one matter of dispute.

Of these questions it is often the most trivial which occupies the first
 place. For it is a frequent artifice to drop those points in which we
 place least confidence, as soon as we have dealt with them; sometimes we
 make a free gift of them to our opponents, while
 sometimes we are content to use them as a step to arguments which are of
 greater importance.

A simple cause, however, although it may be defended in various ways,
 cannot have more than one point on which a decision has to be given, and
 consequently the basis of the cause will be that
 point which the orator sees to be the most important for him to make and
 on which the judge sees that he must fix all his attention. For it is on
 this that the cause will stand or fall. On the other hand questions may
 have more bases than one.

A brief example will show what I mean. When the accused says
 Admitting that I did it, I was right to do it, he
 makes the basis one of quality; but when he adds but I did not do it, 
 he introduces an element of conjecture. 
 But denial of the facts is always the stronger
 line of defence, and therefore I conceive the basis to reside in that which I should say, if I were confined
 to one single line of argument.

We are right therefore in speaking of the first conflict of causes in contradistinction to the conflict of
 questions. For instance in the first portion
 of his speech on behalf of Rabirius Postumus Cicero contends that the
 action cannot lie against a Roman knight, while in the second he asserts
 that no money ever came into his client's hands. Still I should say that
 the basis was to be found in the latter as being
 the stronger of the two.

Again in the case of Milo I do not consider that the conflict is raised
 by the opening questions, but only when the orator devotes all his
 powers to prove that Clodius lay in wait for Milo and was therefore
 rightly killed. The point on which above all the orator must make up his
 mind, even although he may be going to take up
 various lines of argument in support of his case, is this: what is it
 that he wishes most to impress upon the mind of the judge? But although
 this should be the first point for his consideration, it does not follow
 that it should be the first that he will make in his actual speech.

Others have thought that the basis lay in the
 first point raised by the other side in its defence. Cicero expresses this view in the following words:— the
 argument on which the defence first takes its stand with a view to
 rebutting the charge. This involves a further question as
 to whether the basis can only be determined by
 the defence. Cornelius Celsus is strongly against this view, and asserts
 that the basis is derived not from the denial of
 the charge, but from him who affirms his proposition. Thus if the
 accused denies that anyone has been killed, the basis will originate with the accuser, because it is the
 latter who desires to prove: if on the other hand the accused asserts
 that the homicide was justifiable, the burden of proof has been
 transferred and the basis will proceed from the
 accused and be affirmed by him. I do not, however, agree.

For the contrary is nearer to the truth, that there is no point of
 dispute if the defendant makes no reply, and that consequently the basis originates with the defendant.

But in my opinion the origin of the basis varies
 and depends on the circumstances of the individual case. For instance in
 conjectural causes the affirmation may be regarded as determining the
 basis, since conjecture is employed by the plaintiff rather than the
 defendant, and consequently some have styled the basis originated by the latter negative. Again in any syllogism 
 the whole of the
 reasoning proceeds from him who affirms.

But on the other hand he who in such cases 
 denies appears to impose the burden of dealing with such bases upon his opponent. For if he says I
 did not do it, he will force his opponent to make use of
 con- jecture, and again, if he says The
 law is against you, he will force him to employ the syllogism. Therefore we must admit that a basis can originate in denial. All the same we
 are left with our previous conclusion that the basis is determined in some cases by the plaintiff, in some by
 the defendant.

Suppose the accuser to affirm that the accused is guilty of homicide: if
 the accused denies the charge, it is he who will determine the basis. Or again, if he admits that he has killed
 a man, but states that the victim was an adulterer and justifiably
 killed (and we know that the law permits homicide under these
 circumstances), there is no matter in dispute, unless the accuser has
 some answer to make. Suppose the accuser does answer however and deny
 that the victim was guilty of adultery, it will be the accuser that
 denies, and it is by him that the basis is
 determined. The basis, then, will originate in
 the first denial of facts, but that denial is made by the accuser and
 not the accused.

Again the same question may make the same person either accuser or
 accused. He who has exercised the profession of an actor, is
 under no circumstances to be allowed a seat in the first fourteen
 rows of the theatre. 
 An individual who had performed before the
 praetor in his private gardens, but had never been presented on the
 public stage, has taken his seat in one of the fourteen rows.

The accuser of course affirms that he has exercised the profession of an
 actor: the accused denies that he has exercised the profession. The
 question then arises as to the meaning of the
 exercise of the profession of actor. If he is accused
 under the law regarding the seats in the theatre, the denial will
 proceed from the accused; if on the other hand he is turned out of the
 theatre and demands compensation for assault, the denial will be made by
 the accuser.

The view of the majority of writers on this subject will, however, hold good
 in most cases. Some have evaded these problems by saying that a basis is that which emerges from affirmations and
 denials, such as You did it, 
 I did not do
 it, or I was justified in doing it.

But let us see whether this is the basis itself
 or rather that in which the basis is to be found.
 Hermagoras calls a basis that which enables the
 matter in question to be understood and to which the proofs of the
 parties concerned will also be directed. My own opinion has always been
 that, whereas there are frequently different bases of questions in connexion with a cause, the basis of the cause itself is its most important
 point on which the whole matter turns. If anyone prefers to call that
 the general question or general
 head of the cause, I shall not quarrel with him, any more than
 I have done hitherto if he produced a different technical term to
 express the same thing, although I know that whole volumes have been
 written on such disputes. I prefer however to call it the basis.

There is the greatest possible disagreement among writers about this as
 about everything else, but in this case as elsewhere they seem to me to
 have been misled by a passion for saying something different from their
 fellow-teachers. As a result there is still no agreement as to the
 number and names of bases, nor as to which are
 general and which special. To begin with Aristotle
 lays down that there are ten
 categories on which every question seems to turn.

First there is οὐσία which Plautus
 calls essence, the only available translation:
 under this category we inquire whether a thing
 is. Secondly there is quality, the
 meaning of which is self-evident. Third comes quantity, which was subdivided by later philosophers as
 dealing with two questions as to magnitude and
 number. Next relation, 
 involving questions of competence 
 and comparison. This is followed by when and where. Then come doing, suffering and possessing,

which for example are concerned with a person's being armed or clothed.
 Lastly comes κεῖσθαι or position, which means to be in a certain
 position, such for instance as being warm, standing or angry. Of these
 categories the first four concern bases, the
 remainder concern only certain topics for
 argument.

Others make the number of categories to be nine. Person, involving questions concerning the mind, body or
 external circumstances, which clearly has reference to the means by
 which we establish conjecture or quality. Time, or χρόνος, from which we get questions such as whether a
 child is born a slave, if his mother is delivered of him while assigned
 to her creditors.
 Place, from which we get such disputes as to
 whether it is permissible to kill a tyrant in a temple, or whether one
 who has hidden himself at home can be regarded as an exile.

Then comes time in another sense, called καιρός by the Greeks, by which they refer
 to a period of time, such as summer or winter; 
 under this heading come problems such as that about the man who held
 high revel in a time of pestilence. 
 Action or πρᾶξις, to which they refer questions as to
 whether an act was committed wittingly or unwittingly, by accident or
 under compulsion and the like. Number, which
 falls under the category of quantity, under which come questions such as
 whether the state owes Thrasybulus thirty talents for ridding it of the
 same number of tyrants.

Cause, under which heading come a large number of
 disputes, whenever a fact is not denied, but the defence pleads that the
 act was just and reasonable. τρόπος or
 manner, which is involved when a thing is
 said to have been done in one way when it might have been done in
 another: under this category come cases of such as that of the adulterer
 who is scourged with thongs or starved to death. 
 Opportunity for action, the meaning of which is
 too obvious to need explanation or illustration: the Greeks however call
 it ἔργων ἀφορμαί

These authorities like Aristotle hold that no question can arise which
 does not come under one of these heads. Some subtract two of them,
 namely number and opportunity, and substitute for what I have called action, things, or in Greek πράγματα. I have thought it sufficient to
 notice these doctrines, for fear someone might complain of their
 omission. Still I do not consider that bases are
 sufficiently determined by these categories, nor that the latter cover
 every possible kind of topic, as will be clear to any that read
 carefully what I have to say on both points. For there will be found to
 be many topics that are not covered by these categories.

I find it stated in many authors that some rhetoricians only recognise
 one kind of basis, the con- 
 
 jectural. But
 they have not mentioned who these rhetoricians are nor have I been able
 to discover. They are however stated to have taken this view on the
 ground that all our knowledge is a matter of inference from indications.
 On this line of reasoning they might regard all bases as qualitative, because we
 inquire into the nature of the subject in every case. But the adoption
 of either view leads to inextricable confusion.

Nor does it matter whether one recognises only one kind of basis or none at all, if all causes are of the
 same nature. Coniectura is derived from conicere 
 
 to throw
 together, because it implies the concentration of the
 reason on the truth. For this reason interpreters of dreams and all
 other phenomena are called coniectores 
 conjecturers. But the conjectural basis has received more names than
 one, as will appear in the sequel.

Some have recognised only two bases. Archedemus
 for
 instance admits only the conjectural and definitive and refuses to admit the qualitative, since he held that questions of quality take the form of What is unfair?
 what is unjust? what is disobedience? which he terms
 questions about identity and difference.

A different view was held by those who likewise only admitted two bases, but made them the negative and juridical. The negative basis is identical with that which we
 call the conjectural, to which some give the name
 of negative absolutely, others only in part,
 these latter holding that conjecture is employed
 by the accuser, denial only by the accused.

The juridical is that known in Greek as δικαιολογικός But just as Archedemus would
 not recognise the qualitative basis, so these
 reject the definitive which they include in the juridical, holding that
 in these questions we have to enquire whether it is just that the act
 with which the accused is charged should be called sacrilege or theft or
 madness.

Pamplihlus held this opinion but subdivided quality into several different species. The majority of later
 writers have classified bases as follows,
 involving however no more than a change of names:— those dealing with
 ascertained facts and those dealing with matters where there is a doubt.
 For a thing must either be certain or uncertain: if it is uncertain, the
 basis will be conjectural; if certain, it will be some one of the other bases.

Apollodorus says the same thing when he states that a question must
 either lie in things external, 
 which give play to conjecture, or in our own opinions: the former he calls πραγματικός the latter περὶ
 ἐννοίας The same is said by those who employ the terms
 ἀπροληπτὸς 
 and προληπτικός, that is to say doubtful and presumptive, by this
 latter term meaning those facts which are beyond a doubt.

Theodorus agrees with them, for he holds that the question is either as
 to whether such and such a thing is really so, or is concerned with the
 accidents of something which is an admitted
 fact: that is to say it is either περὶ
 οὐσίας or περὶ
 συμβεβηκότων For in all these cases the first basis is conjectural, 
 while the second belongs to one of the other classes. As for these other
 classes of basis, Apollodorus holds that there
 are two, one concerned with quality and the other
 with the names of things, that is to say a definitive basis. Theodorus makes them four,
 concerned with existence, quality, quantity and
 relation.

There are some too who make questions of identity 
 and difference come under the head of quality, others who place it under the head of definition. Posidonius
 
 divides them into two classes, those concerned with words and those concerned with things. 
 In the first case he thinks that the question is whether a word has any
 meaning; if so, what is its meaning, how many meanings has it, and how
 does it come to mean what it means? In the latter case, we employ conjecture, which he calls κατ᾽ αἴσθησιν, or inference from
 perception, quality, definition which he calls
 κατ᾽ ἔννοιαν, or rational
 inference, and relation. Hence also comes the
 division into things written and unwritten.

Even Cornelius Celsus stated that there were two general bases, one concerned with the question whether a thing is, the other with the question
 of what kind it is. He included definition under the first of these, because
 enquiry may equally be made as to whether sacrilege has been committed,
 when a man denies that he has stolen anything from a temple, and when he
 admits that he has stolen private money from a temple. He divides quality into fact and the letter of the law. Under the head of the letter of the law he places four classes, excluding questions
 of competence: 
 
 quantity and intention he
 places under the head of conjecture.

There is also another method of dividing bases 
 into two classes: according to this disputes are either about substance or quality, 
 while quality is treated either in its most
 general sense or in its special senses.

Substance is dealt with by conjecture: for in enquiring into anything, we ask whether it
 has been done, is being done, or is likely to be done, and sometimes
 also consider its intention: this method is
 preferable to that adopted by those who style the conjectural basis a basis of fact, as
 though we only enquired into the past and what has 
 actually been done.

The consideration of quality under its most
 general aspect rarely comes up in the courts; I refer to questions such
 as whether that is honourable which is generally praised. 
 With regard to the special aspects of quality, 
 questions sometimes occur about some common term, such as whether
 sacrilege has been committed when a man has stolen private money from a
 temple, or about some act with a definite name, when there is no doubt
 either as to the commission or the nature of the act. Under this heading
 come all questions about what is honourable, just or expedient.

These bases are said to contain others as well,
 because quantity is sometimes concerned with conjectural bases, as in the question whether the
 sun is bigger than the earth, and sometimes with qualitative bases, as in the question what reward or
 punishment it would be just to assign to some particular person, while
 questions of competence undoubtedly are concerned
 with quality, and definition with questions of competence.

ratiocinative basis or syllogism 
 and the majority of questions dealing with the letter of the law and intention are
 based on equity, with the exception that this last question sometimes
 admits of conjecture as, for instance, concerning
 the intentions of the legislator: ambiguity, however, must always be explained by
 conjecture, because as it is clear that the
 words admit of two interpretations the only question is as to the intention.

A large number of writers recognise general
 bases; Cicero adopts them in his Orator, 
 and holds that
 everything that can form the subject of dispute or discussion is covered
 by the three questions, whether 
 
 it is, what it is, and of
 what kind it is. The names of these three bases are too obvious for mention. 
 The same view is asserted by Patrocles.

Marcus Antonius stated that there were three bases in the following words:— The things which form
 the ground of every speech are few and are as follows:—' Was a thing
 done or not done? 'Was it just or unjust?' 'Was it good or bad?'
 But since, when we are said to have been justified in doing
 anything, this does not merely mean that our action was legal, but
 further implies that it was just, those who follow Antonius attempt to
 differentiate these bases with greater exactness.
 They therefore called them conjectural, legal and
 juridical, a division which meets with the
 approval of Verginius as well.

These they then subdivided into species, placing definition under the head of the legal
 basis, together with all others which are concerned with the
 letter of the law: such as that of contradictory
 laws, or ἀντινομία that which
 rests on the letter of the law and on meaning or intention 
 (which the Greeks call κατὰ ῥητὸν καὶ
 διάνοιαν and μετάληψις 
 to which latter we give various names, styling it the translative, transumptive or transpositive
 basis 
 ; the syllogism, which we call the ratiocinative or deductive basis; and
 those which turn on ambiguity or ἀμφιβολία. I mention these because they are
 called bases by most writers, though some prefer
 to call them legal questions.

Athenaeus laid down that there were four bases: 
 the προτρεπτικὴ or παρορμητική, that is, the hortative, which is peculiar to deliberative themes; the
 συντελική 
 which is shown to be the conjectural, not so much from the name itself, but from what
 follows; the ὑπαλλακτική or definitive, for it
 consists in a change of terms. ; and
 the juridical to which he gives the name employed
 by other Greek writers.

For, as I have said, there is a great variety in the names employed.
 There are some who, arguing from its meaning of change, hold that
 ὑπαλλακτική is the translative basis, which is concerned with competence. Others, Caecilius and
 Theon for instance, hold that there are the same number of bases, but make them of a different kind, namely,
 those covered by the questions whether a thing is, what it is, of what
 kind it is and how great it is.

Aristotle in his Rhetoric states that all enquiry turns on the questions whether a thing is, of what kind it is, how great it
 is, and of how many parts it consists. 
 In one place however he recognises the force of definition as well, saying that certain points are defended on
 the following lines:— I took it, but did not steal
 it. 
 I struck him, but did not commit an
 assault.

Cicero again in his Rhetorica makes the
 number of bases to be four, namely those
 concerned with fact, names, kinds, and legal action, that is to say conjecture is concerned with fact,
 definition with names, quality with kinds, and law with action: under this latter head of law he included questions of competence. But in another passage he treats legal questions as a species of action. Some writers have held that there are five bases:

the conjectural, definitive, qualitative,
 quantitative and relative. Theodorus,
 also, as I have said, adopts the same number of general heads, whether a thing is, what it is, of what kind it is,
 how great it is, and to what it refers. 
 The last he considers to be chiefly concerned with comparison, since better and worse, greater and less are meaningless terms unless referred to some
 standard.

But questions of relation, as I have already
 pointed out, enter also into translative 
 questions, that is, questions of competence, 
 since in cases such as Has this man a right to bring an
 action? or Is it fitting that he should do such and
 such a thing, or against this man, or at this time, or in this
 manner? For all these questions must be referred to a
 certain standard.

Others hold that there are six bases: conjecture 
 or γένεσις, 
 quality,
 particularity or ἰδιότης by
 which word they mean definition, quantity or
 ἀξία, 
 comparison and competence, for which a
 new term has been found in μετάστασις 
 I call it new when applied to a basis, for
 Hermagoras employs it to describe a species of juridical question.

Others think there are seven, while refusing to recognise competence, quantity or comparison, in place of which they substitute four legal bases, 
 completing the seven by the
 addition of those three which they call rational.

Others again make eight by the addition of competence to the above-mentioned seven. Some on the other
 hand have introduced a fresh method of division, reserving the name of
 bases for the rational, and giving the name of questions to the legal, as I mentioned
 above, since in
 the former the problem is concerned with facts, 
 in the latter with the letter of the law. Some on
 the contrary reverse this nomenclature calling the legal questions bases and the rational grounds questions.

But others have thought that there are only three rational bases, covered by the questions whether a thing is, what it is, and of what
 kind it is? Hermagoras is alone in thinking that there are
 four, namely conjecture, particularity,
 competence, and quality: to the latter
 he appends the phrase κατὰ
 συμβεβηκός 
 according to its accidents, 
 illustrating his meaning by putting a case where it is enquired whether
 a man happen to be good or bad. He then
 subdivides quality into four species: first that
 which is concerned with things to he sought or
 avoided, which belongs to deliberative 
 oratory:

secondly those concerned with persons, by which
 he indicates panegyric: thirdly the practical or pragmatic, which is concerned with things in general without reference to
 persons, and may be illustrated by questions such as whether he is free
 who is claimed as a slave and waiting the trial of his case, whether riches beget insolence, and
 whether a thing is just or good; lastly there is the juridical species, under which practically the same questions
 arise, but in relation to certain definite persons, as for instance when
 it is asked whether that particular man has done well or ill.

I am aware that another explanation is given by Cicero in the first book
 of his Rhetorica of the species
 known as practical, where he says that it is
 the department under which we consider what is right
 according to civil usage and equity: this department is regarded by
 us as the special sphere of the lawyer.

But I have already mentioned what his
 opinion was about this particular work. The Rhetorica are simply a
 collection of school-notes on rhetoric which he worked up into this
 treatise while quite a young man. Such faults as they possess are due to
 his instructor. In the present instance he may have been influenced by
 the fact that the first examples given by Hermagoras of this species are
 drawn from legal questions, or by the fact that the Greeks call
 interpreters of the law πραγματικοί.

But for these early efforts Cicero substituted his
 splendid de Oratore and therefore cannot be
 blamed for giving false instruction. I will now return to Hermagoras. He
 was the first rhetorician to teach that there was a basis concerned with competence, 
 although the elements of this doctrine are found in Aristotle, without however any mention of the name.

The legal questions were according to Hermagoras of five kinds. First
 the letter of the law and its intention; the names which he gives to
 these are κατὰ ῥητόν and ὑπεξαίρεσις, that is to say the letter of the law and the exceptions thereto: the first of these classes is found in all
 writers, but the term exception is less in use.
 The number is completed by the ratiocinative
 basis and those dealing with ambiguity 
 and contradictory laws.

Albutius adopts this classification, but eliminates competence, including it under the juridical basis. Further he holds that in legal questions there is no
 ratiocinative basis. I know that those who
 are prepared to read ancient writers on rhetoric more carefully than I
 have, will be able to discover yet more on this subject, but I fear that
 I may have been too lengthy even in saying what I have said.

I must admit that I am now inclined to take a different view from that
 which I once held. It would perhaps be safer for my reputation if I were
 to make no modification in views which I not only held for so many
 years, but of which I expressed my open approbation.

But I cannot bear to be thought guilty of concealment of the truth as
 regards any portion of my views, more especially in a work designed for
 the profit of young men of sound disposition. For Hippocrates, the great physician, in my opinion took the most
 honourable course in acknowledging some of his
 errors to prevent those who came after from being led astray, while
 Cicero had no hesitation about condemning some of his earlier works in
 books which he published later: I refer to his condemnation of his Lucullus and Catulus 
 and the
 books on rhetoric which I have already
 mentioned.

Indeed we should have no justification for protracting our studies if we
 were forbidden to improve upon our original views. Still none of my past
 teaching was superfluous: for the views which I am now going to produce
 will be found to be based on the same principles, and consequently no
 one need be sorry to have attended my lectures, since all that I am now
 attempting to do is to collect and rearrange my original views so that
 they may be somewhat more instructive. But I wish to satisfy everybody
 and not to lay myself open to the accusation that I have allowed a long
 time to elapse between the formation and publication of my views.

I used to follow the majority of authorities in adhering to three rational bases, the conjectural, qualitative and definitive, and to one legal
 basis. 
 These were my general bases. The
 legal basis I divided into five species, dealing with the letter of the law and intention, contradictory laws, the syllogism, ambiguity and competence.

It is now clear to me that the fourth of the general
 bases may be removed, since the original division which I made
 into rational and legal bases
 is sufficient. The fourth therefore will not be a basis, but a kind of question; if it were not, it would form one of the rational bases.

Further I have removed competence from those
 which I called species. For I often asserted, as
 all who have attended my lectures will remember, and even those
 discourses which were published against my will included the statement, that the basis 
 concerned with competence hardly ever occurs in any dispute under such
 circumstances that it cannot more correctly be given some other name,
 and that consequently some rhetoricians exclude it from their list of
 bases.

I am, however, well aware that the point of competence is raised in many cases, since in practically every
 case in which a party is said to have been ruled out of court through
 some error of form, questions such as the following arise: whether it
 was lawful for this person to bring an action, or to bring it against
 some particular person, or under a given law, or in such a court, or at
 such a time, and so on

But the question of competence as regards
 persons, times, legal actions and the rest originates in some
 pre-existent cause: the question turns therefore not on competence itself, but on the cause with which
 the point of competence originates. You
 ought to demand the return of a deposit not before the praetor but
 before the consuls, as the sum is too large to come under the
 praetor's jurisdiction. The question then arises whether
 the sum is too large, and the dispute is one

of fact. You have no right to bring an action against me, as it
 is impossible for you to have been appointed to represent the actual
 plaintiff. It then has to be decided whether he could have
 been so appointed. You ought not to have proceeded by interdict,
 but
 to have put in a plea for possession. The point in doubt is
 whether the interdict is legal. All these points fall under the head of
 legal questions.

not even those special pleas, in which questions of competence make themselves most evident, give rise to the same
 species of question as those laws under which the action is brought, so
 that the enquiry is really concerned with the name
 of a given act, with the letter of the law and its meaning, or with
 something that requires to be settled by argument? The basis originates from the question, and in cases of competence it is not the question concerning
 which the advocate argues that is involved, but the question on account
 of which he argues.

An example will make this clearer. You have killed a
 man. 
 I did not kill him. The question is whether he has killed him; the basis is the conjectural. But the
 following case is very different. I have the right to bring this
 action. 
 You have not the right. The question
 is whether he has the right, and it is from this that we derive the basis. For whether he is allowed the right or not
 depends on the event, not on the cause itself, and on the decision of
 the judge, not on that on account of which he gives such a decision.

The following is a similar example. You ought to be
 punished. 
 I ought not. The judge will decide
 whether he should be punished, but it is not with this that the question or the basis is
 concerned. Where then does the question lie?
 You ought to be punished, for you have killed a
 man. 
 I did not kill him. The question is whether he killed him. I ought to receive
 some honour. 
 You ought not. Does this involve
 a basis? I think not. I ought to receive
 some honour for killing a tyrant. 
 You did not kill
 him. Here there is a question and a
 basis 
 as well.

So, too, You are not entitled to bring this
 action, 
 I have, involves no basis. Where then is it to be found? You have no right
 to bring this action, because you have been deprived of civil
 rights. In this case the question is whether he has been so
 deprived, or whether loss of civil rights debars a person from bringing an action. Here on the other hand we find
 both questions and bases. 
 It is therefore to kinds of
 causes, not to bases that the term competence applies: other kinds
 of cause are the comparative and the recriminatory.

But, it is urged, the case 'I have a right,' 'You
 have not,' is similar to 'You have killed a man,' 'I was justified
 in so doing.' I do not deny it, but this does not make it a
 basis. For these statements are not
 propositions until the reasons for them are added. If they were
 propositions as they stand, the case could not proceed. Horatius
 has committed a crime, for he has killed his sister. 
 
 He has not committed a crime, since it was his duty to kill her for
 mourning the death of an enemy. The question is whether
 this was a justifiable reason, and the basis is
 one of quality. So too as regards competence.

You have no right to disinherit, since a person who has been
 deprived of civil rights is not allowed to take legal action.
 
 I have the right, since disinheriting is not legal
 action. 
 The
 question here is what is legal action. And we shall arrive at the
 conclusion that the son's disinheritance is unlawful, by use of the syllogism. 
 The case will be similar with
 all the rational and legal
 bases.

I am aware that there have been some who placed competence among rational bases, using
 as illustrations cases such as, I killed a man under orders from
 my general, 
 I gave the votive offerings in a temple to
 a tyrant under compulsion, 
 I deserted owing to the
 fact that storms or floods or ill health prevented me from
 rejoining. That is to say it was not due to me, but some
 external cause.

From these writers I differ even more widely: for it is not the nature
 of the legal action itself which is involved in
 the question of competence, but the cause of the
 act; and this is the case in almost every defence.
 Finally he who adopts this line of defence, does not thereby abandon the
 qualitative basis; for he states that he
 himself is free from blame, so that we really should differentiate
 between two kinds of quality 
 one of which comes into play when both the
 accused person and his act are defended, and the other when the accused
 person alone is defended.

We must therefore accept the view of the authorities followed by Cicero,
 to the
 effect that there are three things on which enquiry is made in every
 case: we ask whether a thing is, that it is, and of
 that kind it is. Nature herself imposes this upon us. For first
 of all there must be some subject for the question, since we cannot
 possibly determine what a thing is, or of what kind it is, until we have first
 ascertained whether it is, and therefore the
 first question raised is whether it is. But even
 when it is clear that a thing is,

it is not immediately obvious what it is. And
 when we have decided what it is, there remains the question of its quality. These three points once ascertained,
 there is no further question to ask. These heads cover both definite and indefinite
 questions. One or more of them is discussed in every
 demonstrative, deliberative or forensic theme.

These heads again cover all cases in the courts, whether we regard them
 from the point of view of rational or legal questions. For no legal problem can be
 settled save by the aid of definition, quality 
 and conjecture.

Those, however, who are engaged in instructing the ignorant will find it
 useful at first to adopt a slightly less rigid method: the road will not
 be absolutely straight to begin with, but it will be more open and will
 provide easier going. I would have them therefore learn above all things
 that there are four different methods which may
 be employed in every case, and he who is going to plead should study
 them as first essentials. For, to begin with the defendant, far the
 strongest method of self-defence is, if possible, to deny the charge.
 The second best is when it is possible to reply that the particular act
 with which you are charged was never committed. The third and most
 honourable is to maintain that the act was justifiable. If none of these
 lines of defence are feasible, there remains the last and only hope of
 safety: if it is impossible either to deny the charge or justify the
 act, we must evade the charge with the aid of some point of law, making
 it appear that the action has been brought against us illegally

Hence arise those questions of legal action or
 competence. For there are some things, which,
 although not laudable in themselves, are yet permitted by law; witness
 the passage in the Twelve Tables authorising creditors to divide up a
 debtor's body amongst themselves, a law which is repudiated by public
 custom. There are also certain things which although equitable are
 prohibited by law; witness the restrictions placed on testamentary
 disposition.

The accuser likewise has four things which he must keep in mind: he must
 prove that something was done, that a particular act was done, that it
 was wrongly done, and that he brings his charge according to law. Thus
 every cause will turn on the same sorts of questions, though the parts
 of plaintiff and defendant will sometimes be interchanged: for instance
 in the case of a claim for a reward, it will be the plaintiffs task to
 show that what was done was right.

These four schemes or forms of action which I then called general bases fall into two classes as I have shown, namely, the rational and the legal. 
 The rational is the simpler, as it involves
 nothing more than the consideration of the nature of things. In this
 connection, therefore, a mere mention of conjeclure,
 definition and quality will suffice.

Legal questions necessarily have a larger number
 of species, since there are many laws and a variety of forms. In the
 case of one law we rely on the letter, in others on the spirit. Some
 laws we force to serve our turn, when we can find no law to support our
 case, others we compare with one another, and on others we put some
 novel interpretation.

Thus from these three bases we get three
 resemblances of bases: sometimes simple,
 sometimes complex, but all having a character of their own, as, for
 instance, when questions of the letter of the law 
 and its intention are involved, for these clearly
 come under conjecture or quality; or again where the syllogism is involved, for this is
 specially connected with quality; or where
 contradictory laws are involved, for these are on the same footing as
 the letter of the law and intention; or yet again
 in cases of ambiguity, which is always resolved
 by conjecture.

Definition also belongs to both classes of
 question, namely those concerned with the consideration of facts and those concerned with the letter of the law. All these questions, although
 they come under the three bases, yet since, as I
 have mentioned, 
 they have certain characteristic features of their own, require to be
 pointed out to learners; and we must allow them to be called legal bases or questions 
 or minor heads, as long as it is clearly
 understood that none of them involve any other questions than the three I have mentioned.

As regards questions of quantity, number,
 relation, and, as some have thought, comparison, the case is different. For
 these have no connexion with the complexities of the law, but are
 concerned with reason only. Consequently they must always be regarded as
 coming under conjecture or quality, as, for instance, when we ask with what purpose, or
 at what time, or place something was done.

But I will speak of individual questions when I come to handle the rules
 for division. 
 This much is agreed to by all
 writers, that one cause possesses one basis, but that as regards secondary questions
 related to the main issue of the trial, there may frequently be a number
 in one single cause.

I also think there is at times some doubt as to which basis should be adopted, when many different lines of defence
 are brought to meet a single charge; and, just as in regard to the
 complexion to be given to the statement of the facts of the case, that
 complexion is said to be the best which the speaker can best maintain,
 so in the present connexion I may say that the best basis to choose is that which will permit the orator to
 develop a maximum of force.

It is for this reason that we find Cicero and Brutus taking up different
 lines in defence of Milo. Cicero says that Clodius was justifiably
 killed because he sought to waylay Milo, but that Milo had not designed
 to kill him; while Brutus, who wrote his speech merely as a rhetorical
 exercise, also exults that Milo has killed a bad citizen.

In complicated causes, however, two or three bases may be found, or different bases: 
 for instance a man may plead that he did not do one thing, and that he
 was justified in doing another, or to take another similar class of
 case, a man may deny two of the charges.

The same thing occurs when there is a question about some one thing
 which is claimed by a number of persons, who may
 all of them rely on the same kind of plea (for instance, on the right of
 the next of kin), or may put in different claims, one urging that the
 property was left him by will, another that he is next of kin. Now
 whenever a different defence has to be made against different claimants,
 there must be different bases, as for example the
 well-known controversial theme:

Wills that are made in accordance with law shall be valid. When
 parents die intestate, their children shall be the heirs. A
 disinherited son shall receive none of his father's property. A
 bastard, if born before a legitimate son, shall be treated as
 legitimate, but if born after a legitimate son shall be treated
 merely as a citizen. It shall be lawful to give a son in adoption.
 Every son given in adoption shall have the right to re-enter his own
 family if his natural father has died childless. A father of two legitimate sons gave one in
 adoption, disinherited the other, and acknowledged a bastard, who
 was born to him later. Finally after making the disinherited son his
 heir he died. All three sons lay claim to the property. 
 Nothbus is the Greek word for a bastard; Latin,
 as Cato emphasized in one of his speeches, has no word of its own and
 therefore borrows the foreign term. But I am straying from the point.

The son who was made heir by the will finds his way barred by the law
 A disinherited son shall receive none of his father's
 property. The basis is one resting on
 the letter of the law and intention, and the problem is whether he can inherit by any
 means at all? can he do so in accordance with the intention of his
 father? or in virtue of the fact that he was made heir by the will? The
 problem confronting the bastard is twofold, since he was born after the
 two legitimate sons and was not born before a
 legitimate son.

The first problem involves a syllogism: are those sons who have been
 cast out from their own family to be regarded as though they had never
 been born? The second is concerned with the letter of the law and
 intention. For it is admitted that he was not born before any legitimate
 son, but he will defend his claim by appealing to the intention of the
 law, which he will maintain to imply that the bastard, born when there
 was no legitimate son in the family, should rank as legitimate.

He will dismiss the letter of the law, pointing out that in any case the
 position of a bastard is not prejudiced by the fact that no legitimate
 son was born after him, and arguing as follows:— Suppose that
 the only son is a bastard, what will his position be? Merely that of
 a citizen? and yet he was not born after any legitimate son. Or will
 he rank as a son in all respects? But he was not born before the
 legitimate sons. As it is impossible to stand by the letter of the
 law we must stand by its intentions.

It need disturb no one that one law should originate two bases. The law is twofold, and therefore has the
 force of two laws. 
 To the son who desires to re-enter the family, the disinherited's first
 reply is, Even though you are allowed to re-enter the family, I
 am still the heir. The basis will be
 the same as in the claim put forward by the disinherited son, since the
 question at issue is whether a disinherited son can inherit.

Both the disinherited and the bastard will object, You cannot
 re-enter the family, for our father did not die childless. 
 But in this connexion each will rely on his own particular question. For
 the disinherited son will say that even a disinherited man does not
 cease to be a son, and will derive an argument from
 that very law which denies his claim to the inheritance; namely that it
 was unnecessary for a disinherited son to be excluded from possession of
 his father's property if he had ceased to be one of the family; but now,
 since in virtue of his rights as son he would have been his father's
 heir if he had died intestate, the law is brought to bar his claim; and
 yet the law does not deprive him of his position as son, but only of his
 position as heir. Here the basis is definitive, as turning on the definition of a
 son.

Again the bastard in his turn will urge that his father did not die
 childless, employing the same arguments that he had used in putting
 forward his claim that he ranked as a son; unless indeed he too has
 recourse to definition, and raises the question whether even bastards
 are not sons. Thus in one case we shall have either two special legal bases, namely the letter
 of the law and 
 intention, with the syllogism and also definition, or those three which are really the only bases strictly so called, conjecture as regards the letter of the law
 and intention, quality in the syllogism, 
 and definition, which needs no
 explanation.

Further every kind of case will contain a cause, 
 a point for the decision of the judge, and a central argument. 
 For nothing can be said which does not contain a
 reason, something to which the decision of the judge is directed, and
 finally something which, more than aught else, contains the substance of
 the matter at issue. But as these vary in different cases and are as a
 rule explained by writers on judicial causes, I will postpone them to
 the appropriate portion of my work. For the present I shall follow the
 order which I prescribed by my division of causes into three classes.

VII. I will
 begin with the class of causes which are
 concerned with praise and blame. This class appears to have been
 entirely divorced by Aristotle, 
 and following him by Theophrastus, from the practical side of oratory
 (which they call πραγματικῇ, ) and to
 have been reserved solely for the delectation of audiences, which indeed
 is shown to be its peculiar function by its name, which implies display.

Roman usage on the other hand has given it a place in the practical
 tasks of life. For funeral orations are often imposed as a duty on
 persons holding public office, or entrusted to magistrates by decree of
 the senate. Again the award of praise or blame to a witness may carry
 weight in the courts, while it is also a recognised practice to produce
 persons to praise the character of the accused. Further the published
 speeches of Cicero directed against his rivals in the election to the
 consulship, and against Lucius Piso, Clodius and Curio, are full of denunciation, and were notwithstanding delivered in
 the senate as formal expressions of opinion in the course of debate.

I do not deny that some compositions of this kind are composed solely
 with a view to display, as, for instance, panegyrics of gods and heroes
 of the past, a consideration which provides the solution of a question
 which I discussed a little while back, and proves that those are
 wrong who hold that an orator will never speak on a subject unless it
 involves some problem.

But what problem is involved by the praise of Jupiter Capitolinus, a
 stock theme of the sacred Capitoline contest, which is undoubtedly
 treated in regular rhetorical form? However, just
 as panegyric applied to practical matters requires proof, so too a
 certain semblance of proof is at times required by speeches composed
 entirely for display.

For instance, a speaker who tells how Romulus was the son of Mars and
 reared by the she-wolf, will offer as proofs of his divine origin the
 facts that when thrown into a running stream he escaped drowning, that
 all his achievements were such as to make it credible that he was the
 offspring of the god of battles, and that his contemporaries
 unquestionably believed that he was translated to heaven.

Some arguments will even wear a certain semblance of defence: for
 example, if the orator is speaking in praise of Hercules, he will find
 excuses for his hero having changed raiment with the Queen of Lydia and
 submitted to the tasks which legend tells us she imposed upon him. The
 proper function however of panegyric is to amplify and embellish its
 themes. This form of oratory is directed in the main to the praise of
 gods and men, but may occasionally be applied to the praise of animals
 or even of inanimate objects.

In praising the gods our first step will be to express our veneration of
 the majesty of their nature in general terms. next we shall proceed to
 praise the special power of the individual god and the discoveries
 whereby he has benefited the human race.

For example, in the case of Jupiter, we shall extol his power as
 manifested in the governance of all things, with Mars we shall praise
 his power in war, with Neptune his power over the sea; as regards
 inventions we shall celebrate Minerva's discovery of the arts, Mercury's
 discovery of letters, Apollo's of medicine, Ceres' of the fruits of the
 earth, Bacchus' of wine. Next we must record their
 exploits as handed down from antiquity. Even gods may derive honour from
 their descent, as for instance is the case with the sons of Jupiter, or
 from their antiquity, as in the case of the children of Chaos, or from
 their offspring, as in the case of Latona, the mother of Apollo and
 Diana.

Some again may be praised because they were born immortal, others
 because they won immortality by their valour, a theme which the piety of
 our sovereign has made the glory even of these present times.

There is greater variety required in the praise of men. In the first
 place there is a distinction to be made as regards time between the
 period in which the objects of our praise lived and the time preceding
 their birth; and further, in the case of the dead, we must also
 distinguish the period following their death. With regard to things
 preceding a man's birth, there are his country, his parents and his
 ancestors, a theme which may be handled in two ways. For either it will
 be creditable to the objects of our praise not to have fallen short of
 the fair fame of their country and of their sires or to have ennobled a
 humble origin by the glory of their achievements.

Other topics to be drawn from the period preceding their birth will have
 reference to omens or prophecies foretelling their future greatness,
 such as the oracle which is said to have foretold that the son of Thetis
 would be greater than his father.

of the individual himself will be based on his character, his physical
 endowments and external circumstances. Physical and accidental
 advantages provide a comparatively unimportant theme, which requires
 variety of treatment. At times for instance we
 extol beauty and strength in honorific terms, as Homer does in the case
 of Agamemnon and Achilles ;
 at times again weakness may contribute largely to our admiration, as
 when Homer says that Tydeus was small
 of stature but a good fighter.

Fortune too may confer dignity as in the case of kings and princes (for
 they have a fairer field for the display of their excellences) but on
 the other hand the glory of good deeds may be enhanced by the smallness
 of their resources. Moreover the praise awarded to external and
 accidental advantages is given, not to their possession, but to their
 honourable employment.

For wealth and power and influence, since they are the sources of
 strength, are the surest test of character for good or evil; they make
 us better or they make us worse.

Praise awarded to character is always just, but may be given in various
 ways. It has sometimes proved the more effective course to trace a man's
 life and deeds in due chronological order, praising his natural gifts as
 a child, then his progress at school, and finally the whole course of
 his life, including words as well as deeds. At times on the other hand
 it is well to divide our praises, dealing separately with the various
 virtues, fortitude, justice, self-control and the rest of them and to
 assign to each virtue the deeds performed under its influence.

We shall have to decide which of these two methods will be the more
 serviceable, according to the nature of the subject; but we must bear in
 mind the fact that what most pleases an audience is the celebration of
 deeds which our hero was the first or only man or at any rate one of the
 very few to perform: and to these we must add any other achievements
 which surpassed hope or expectation, emphasising
 what was done for the sake of others rather than what he performed on
 his own behalf.

It is not always possible to deal with the time subsequent to our hero's
 death: this is due not merely to the fact that we sometimes praise him,
 while still alive, but also that there are but few occasions when we
 have a chance to celebrate the award of divine honours, posthumous votes
 of thanks, or statues erected at the public expense.

Among such themes of panegyric I would mention monuments of genius that
 have stood the test of time. For some great men like Menander have
 received ampler justice from the verdict of posterity than from that of
 their own age. Children reflect glory on their parents, cities on their
 founders, laws on those who made them, arts on their inventors and
 institutions on those that first introduced them; for instance Numa
 first laid down rules for the worship of the gods, and Publicola first
 ordered that the lictors' rods should be lowered in salutation to the
 people.

The same method will be applied to denunciations as well, but with a
 view to opposite effects. For humble origin has been a reproach to many,
 while in some cases distinction has merely served to increase the
 notoriety and unpopularity of vices. In regard to some persons, as in
 the story of Paris, it has been predicted that they would be the cause
 of destruction to many, some like Thersites and Irus have been despised
 for their poverty and mean appearance, others have been loathed because
 their natural advantages were nullified by their vices: the poets for
 instance tell us that Nireus was a
 coward and Pleisthenes a debauchee.

The mind too has as many vices as virtues, and vice
 may be denounced, as virtue may be praised, in two different ways. Some
 have been branded with infamy after death like Maelius, whose house was
 levelled with the ground, or Marcus Manlius, whose first name was
 banished from his family for all generations to come.

The vices of the children bring hatred on their parents; founders of
 cities are detested for concentrating a race which is a curse to others,
 as for example the founder of the Jewish superstition; the laws of
 Gracchus are hated, and we abhor any loathsome example of vice that has
 been handed down to posterity, such as the criminal form of lust which a
 Persian is said to have been the first to practise on a woman of Samos.

And even in the case of the living the judgment of mankind serves as a
 proof of their character, and the fairness or foulness of their fame
 proves the orator's praise or blame to be true.

Aristotle however thinks that the place and
 subject of panegyrics or denunciations make a very considerable
 difference. For much depends on the character of the audience and the
 generally received opinion, if they are to believe that the virtues of
 which they approve are pre-eminently characteristic of the person
 praised and the vices which they hate of the person denounced. For there
 can be little doubt as to the attitude of the audience, if that attitude
 is already determined prior to the delivery of the speech.

It will be wise too for him to insert some words of praise for his
 audience, since this will secure their good will, and wherever it is
 possible this should be done in such a manner as to advance his case.
 Literature will win less praise at Sparta than at
 Athens, endurance and courage more. Among some races the life of a
 freebooter is accounted honourable, while others regard it as a duty to
 respect the laws. Frugality might perhaps be unpopular with the
 Sybarites, whilst luxury was regarded as a crime by the ancient Romans.

Similar differences of opinion are found in individuals. A judge is most
 favourable to the orator whose views he thinks identical with his own.
 Aristotle also urges a point, which at a later date Cornelius Celsus
 emphasised almost to excess, to the effect that, since the boundary
 between vice and virtue is often ill-defined, it is desirable to use
 words that swerve a little from the actual truth, calling a rash man
 brave, a prodigal generous, a mean man thrifty; or the process may, if
 necessary, be reversed. But this the ideal orator, that is to say a good
 man, will never do, unless perhaps he is led to do so by consideration
 for the public interest.

Cities are praised after the same fashion as men. The founder takes the
 place of the parent, and antiquity carries great authority, as for
 instance in the case of those whose inhabitants are said to be sprung
 from the soil. The virtues and vices revealed by their deeds are the
 same as in private individuals. The advantages arising from site or
 fortifications are however peculiar to cities. Their citizens enhance
 their fame just as children bring honour to their parents.

Praise too may be awarded to public works, in connexion with which their
 magnificence, utility, beauty and the architect or artist must be given
 due consideration. Temples for instance will be praised for their
 magnificence, walls for their utility, and both for
 their beauty or the skill of the architect. Places may also be praised,
 witness the praise of Sicily in Cicero. In such cases we
 consider their beauty and utility: beauty calls for notice in places by
 the sea, in open plains and pleasant situations, utility in healthy or
 fertile localities.

Again praise in general terms may be awarded to noble sayings or deeds.
 Finally things of every kind may be praised. Panegyrics have been
 composed on sleep and death, and physicians have written eulogies on
 certain kinds of food. While therefore I do not agree that panegyric
 concerns only questions regarding what is honourable, I do think that it
 comes as a rule under the heading of quality, 
 although all three bases 
 may he involved in Panegyric
 and it was observed by Cicero that all were
 actually used by Gaius Caesar in his denunciation of Cato. But panegyric is akin to deliberative oratory inasmuch as the same things are usually
 praised in the former as are advised in the latter.

VIII. I am surprised
 that deliberative oratory also has been
 restricted by some authorities to questions of expediency. If it should
 be necessary to assign one single aim to deliberative I should prefer
 Cicero's view that this kind of oratory
 is primarily concerned with what is honourable. I do not doubt that
 those who maintain the opinion first mentioned adopt the lofty view that
 nothing can be expedient which is not good.

That opinion is perfectly sound so long as we are fortunate enough to
 have wise and good men for counsellors. But as we most often express our
 views before an ignorant audience, and more especially before popular
 assemblies, of which the majority is usually
 uneducated, we must distinguish between what is honourable and what is
 expedient and conform our utterances to suit ordinary understandings.

For there are many who do not admit that what they really believe to be
 the honourable course is sufficiently advantageous, and are misled by
 the prospect of advantage into approving courses of the dishonourable
 nature of which there can be no question: witness the Numantine treaty
 and the surrender of the Caudine Forks.

Nor does it suffice to restrict deliberative oratory to the basis of quality which is
 concerned with questions of honour and expediency. For there is often
 room for conjecture as well. Sometimes again definition is necessary or legal 
 problems require handling; this is especially the case when advice has
 to be given on private matters, where there is some doubt of the
 legality of the course under consideration. Of conjecture'

I shall speak more fully a little later on. Returning to definition for the moment, we find it in the
 question raised by Demosthenes, whether Philip should give or
 restore Halonnesus, 
 and to that discussed by Cicero in
 the Philippics 
 as to the nature of a
 tumultus. Again does not the question raised
 in connection with the statue of Servius Sulpicius as
 to whether statues should be erected only in honour of those
 ambassadors who perish by the sword bear a strong
 resemblance to the questions that are raised in the law courts?

The deliberative department of oratory (also
 called the 
 advisory 
 department), while it deliberates about the future, also enquires about
 the past, while its functions are twofold and consist in advising and
 dissuading. Deliberative oratory does not always
 require an exordium, such as is necessary in
 forensic speeches, since he who asks an orator for his opinion is
 naturally well disposed to him. But the commencement, whatever be its
 nature, must have some resemblance to an exordium. For we must not begin abruptly or just at the point
 where the fancy takes us, since in every subject there is something
 which naturally comes first.

In addressing the senate or the people the same methods apply as in the
 law courts, and we must aim as a rule at acquiring the goodwill of our
 audience. This need cause no surprise, since even in panegyric we seek to win the favour of our hearers when our
 aim is praise pure and simple, and not the acquisition of any advantage.
 Aristotle,

it is true, holds, not without reason, that in deliberative speeches we may often begin with a reference
 either to ourselves or to our opponent, borrowing this practice from 
 forensic oratory, and
 sometimes producing the impression that the subject is of greater or
 less importance than it actually is. On the other hand he thinks that in
 demonstrative oratory the exordium may be treated with the utmost freedom,

since it is sometimes drawn from irrelevant material, as for example in
 Isocrates' Praise of Helen, or from something akin to the subject, as for
 instance in the Panegyricus of the same author,
 when he complains that more honour is given to physical than to moral
 excellence, or as Gorgias in his speech delivered at the Olympic games
 praises the founders of the great national games. Sallust seems to have imitated these authors in his Jugurthine War and in the introduction to his Catiline, which has no connection with his
 narrative.

But it is time for me to return to deliberative 
 oratory in which, even when we introduce an exordium, we must content ourselves with a brief prelude,
 which may amount to no more than a mere heading. As regards the statement of facts, this is never required in
 speeches on private subjects, at least as regards the subject on which
 an opinion has to be given, because everyone is acquainted with the
 question at issue.

Statements as to external matters which are relevant to the discussion
 may however frequently be introduced. In addressing public assemblies it
 will often be necessary to set forth the order of the points which have
 to be treated.

As regards appeals to the emotions, these are especially necessary in
 deliberative oratory. Anger has frequently to
 be excited or assuaged and the minds of the audience have to be swayed
 to fear, ambition, hatred, reconciliation. At times again it is
 necessary to awaken pity, whether it is required, for instance, to urge
 that relief should be sent to a besieged city, or we are engaged in
 deploring the overthrow of an allied state. But what really carries
 greatest weight in deliberative speeches is the
 authority of the speaker.

For he, who would have all men trust his judgment as to what is
 expedient and honourable, should both possess and be regarded as
 possessing genuine wisdom and excellence of character. In forensic speeches the orator may, according to
 the generally received opinion, indulge his passion to some extent. But
 all will agree that the advice given by a speaker should be in keeping
 with his moral character. The majority of Greek
 writers have held that this kind of oratory is entirely concerned with
 addressing public assemblies and have restricted it to politics.

Even Cicero himself deals chiefly with this
 department. Consequently those who propose to offer advice upon peace,
 war, troops, public works or revenue must thoroughly acquaint themselves
 with two things, the resources of the state and the character of its
 people, so that the method employed in tendering their advice may be
 based at once on political realities and the nature of their hearers.

This type of oratory seems to me to offer a more varied field for
 eloquence, since both those who ask for advice and the answers given to
 them may easily present the greatest diversity. Consequently there are
 three points which must be specially borne in mind in advice or
 dissuasion: first the nature of the subject under discussion, secondly
 the nature of those who are engaged in the discussion, and thirdly the
 nature of the speaker who offers them advice.

As to the subject under discussion its practicability is either certain
 or uncertain. In the latter case this will be the chief, if not the only
 point for consideration; for it will often happen that we shall assert
 first that something ought not to be done, even if it can be done, and
 secondly, that it cannot be done. Now when the question turns on such
 points as to whether the Isthmus can be cut through, the Pontine Marshes
 drained, or a harbour constructed at Ostia, or whether Alexander is
 likely to find land beyond the Ocean, we make use of conjecture.

But even in connection with things that are undoubtedly feasible, there
 may at times be room for conjecture, as for
 instance in questions such as whether Rome is ever likely to conquer Carthage, whether Hannibal will return to
 Africa if Scipio transports his army thither, or whether the Samnites
 are likely to keep faith if the Romans lay down their arms. There are some things too
 which we may believe to be both feasible and likely to be carried into
 effect, but at another time or place or in another way.

When there is no scope for conjecture, our attention will be fixed on
 other points. In the first place advice will be asked either on account
 of the actual thing on which the orator is required to express his
 views, or on account of other causes which affect it from without. It is
 on the actual thing that the senate for instance debates, when it
 discusses such questions as whether it is to vote pay for the troops. In
 this case the material is simple.

To this however may be added reasons for taking action or the reverse,
 as for example if the senate should discuss whether it should deliver
 the Fabii to the Gauls when the latter threaten war, or Gaius
 Caesar should deliberate whether he should persist in the invasion of
 Germany, when his soldiers on all sides are making their wills. These
 deliberative themes are of a twofold nature.

In the first case the reason for deliberation is the Gallic threat of
 war, but there may still be a further question as to whether even
 without such threat of war they should surrender those who, contrary to
 the law of nations, took part in a battle when they had been sent out as
 ambassadors and killed the king with whom they had received instructions
 to treat.

In the second case Caesar would doubtless never deliberate on the
 question at all, but for the perturbation shown by his soldiers; but
 there is still room for enquiry whether quite apart from this occurrence
 it would be wise to penetrate into Germany. But it
 must be remembered that we shall always speak first on that subject
 which is capable of discussion quite apart from the consequences.

Some have held that the three main considerations in an advisory speech
 are honour, expediency and necessity. I can find no place for the last.
 For however great the violence which may threaten us, it may be
 necessary for us to suffer something, but we are not compelled to do
 anything; whereas the subject of deliberation is primarily whether we
 shall do anything.

Or if by necessity they mean that into which we are driven by fear of
 worse things, the question will be one of expediency. For example, if a
 garrison is besieged by overwhelmingly superior forces and, owing to the
 failure of food and water supplies, discusses surrender to the enemy,
 and it is urged that it is a matter of necessity, the words
 otherwise we shall perish must needs be added:
 consequently there is no necessity arising out of the circumstances
 themselves, for death is a possible alternative. And as a matter of fact
 the Saguntines did not
 surrender, nor did those who were surrounded on the raft from
 Opitergium.

It follows that in such cases also the question will be either one of
 expediency alone or of a choice between expediency and honour.
 But, it will be urged, if a man would beget
 children, he is under the necessity of taking a wife. 
 Certainly. But he who wishes to become a father must needs be quite
 clear that he must take a wife.

It appears to me, therefore, that where necessity exists, there is no
 room for deliberation, any more than where it is clear that a thing is
 not feasible. For deliberation is always
 concerned with questions where some doubt exists. Those therefore are
 wiser who make the third consideration for deliberative oratory to be
 τὸ δυνατόν or
 possibility as we translate it; the translation may
 seem clumsy, but it is the only word available.

That all these considerations need not necessarily obtrude themselves in
 every case is too obvious to need explanation. Most writers, however,
 say that there are more than three. But the further considerations which
 they would add are really but species of the
 three general considerations just mentioned. For
 right, justice, piety, equity and mercy (for thus they translate
 τὸ 
 ἥμερον ), with any other virtues that anyone may be
 pleased to add, all come under the heading of that which is honourable.

On the other hand, if the question be whether a thing is easy, great,
 pleasant or free from danger, it comes under questions of expediency.
 Such topics arise from some contradiction; for example a thing is
 expedient, but difficult, or trivial, or unpleasant, or dangerous.

Some however hold that at times deliberation is concerned solely with
 the question whether a thing is pleasant, as for instance when
 discussion arises as to whether a theatre should be built or games
 instituted. But in my opinion you will never find any man such a slave
 to luxury as not to consider anything but pleasure when he delivers an
 advisory speech.

For there must needs be something on every occasion that takes
 precedence of pleasure: in proposing the institution of public games
 there is the honour due to the gods; in proposing the erection of a
 theatre the orator will consider the advantages to be derived from
 relaxation from toil, and the unbecoming and undesirable struggle for
 places which will arise if there is no proper
 accommodation; religion, too, has its place in the discussion, for we
 shall describe the theatre as a kind of temple for the solemnization of
 a sacred feast.

Often again we shall urge that honour must come before expediency; as
 for instance when we advise the men of Opitergium not to surrender to
 the enemy, even though refusal to do so means certain death. At times on
 the other hand we prefer expediency to honour, as when we advise the
 arming of slaves in the Punic War.

But even in this case we must not openly admit that such a course is
 dishonourable: we can point out that all men are free by nature and
 composed of the same elements, while the slaves in question may perhaps
 be sprung from some ancient and noble stock; and in the former case when
 the danger is so evident, we may add other arguments, such as that they
 would perish even more cruelly if they surrendered, should the enemy
 fail to keep faith, or Caesar (a more probable supposition) prove
 victorious.

But in such a conflict of principles it is usual to modify the names
 which we give them. For expediency is often ruled out by those who
 assert not merely that honour comes before expediency, but that nothing
 can be expedient that is not honourable, while others say that what we
 call honour is vanity, ambition and folly, as contemptible in substance
 as it is fair in sound.

Nor is expediency compared merely with inexpediency. At times we have to
 choose between two advantageous courses after comparison of their
 respective advantages. The problem may be still more complicated, as for
 instance when Pompey deliberated whether to go to Parthia, Africa or
 Egypt. In such a case the enquiry is not which of two courses is better or worse, but which of three
 or more.

On the other hand in deliberative oratory there
 will never be any doubt about circumstances wholly in our favour. For
 there can clearly be no doubt about points against which there is
 nothing to be said. Consequently as a rule all deliberative speeches are based simply on comparison, and we
 must consider what we shall gain and by what means, that it may be
 possible to form an estimate whether there is more advantage in the aims
 we pursue or greater disadvantage in the means we employ to that end.

A question of expediency may also be concerned with time (for example,
 it is expedient, but not now ) or with place (
 it is expedient, but not here ) or with particular
 persons ( it is expedient, but not for us or not
 as against these ) or with our method of action ( it
 is expedient, but not thus ) or with degree ( it is
 expedient, but not to this extent ). But we have still more
 often to consider personality with reference to what is becoming, and we
 must consider our own as well as that of those before whom the question
 is laid.

Consequently, though examples are of the greatest value in deliberative
 speeches, because reference to historical parallels is the quickest
 method of securing assent, it matters a great deal whose authority is
 adduced and to whom it is commended. For the minds of those who
 deliberate on any subject differ from one another and our audience may
 be of two kinds.

For those who ask us for advice are either single individuals or a
 number, and in both cases the factors may be different. For when advice
 is asked by a number of persons it makes a considerable difference
 whether they are the senate or the people, the
 citizens of Rome or Fidenae, Greeks or barbarians, and in the case of
 single individuals, whether we are urging Cato or Gaius Marius to stand
 for office, whether it is the elder Scipio or Fabius who is deliberating
 on his plan of campaign.

Further sex, rank, and age, must be taken into account, though it is
 character that will make the chief difference. It is an easy task to
 recommend an honourable course to honourable men, but if we are
 attempting to keep men of bad character to the paths of virtue, we must
 take care not to seem to upbraid a way of life unlike our own.

The minds of such an audience are not to be moved by discoursing on the
 nature of virtue, which they ignore, but by praise, by appeals to
 popular opinion, and if such vanities are of no avail, by demonstration
 of the advantage that will accrue from such a policy, or more
 effectively perhaps by pointing out the appalling consequences that will
 follow the opposite policy.

For quite apart from the fact that the minds of unprincipled men are
 easily swayed by terror, I am not sure that most men's minds are not
 more easily influenced by fear of evil than by hope of good, for they
 find it easier to understand what is evil than what is good.

Sometimes again we urge good men to adopt a somewhat unseemly course,
 while we advise men of poor character to take a course in which the
 object is the advantage of those who seek our advice. I realise the
 thought that will immediately occur to my reader: Do you then
 teach that this should be done or think it right? Cicero
 might clear me from blame in the matter; for
 he writes to Brutus in the following terms, after setting forth a number
 of things that might honourably be urged on Caesar:
 Should I be a good man to advise this? No. For the end of
 him who gives advice is the advantage of the man to whom he gives
 it. But, you say, your advice is right. Certainly, but there is not
 always room for what is right in giving advice. However,
 this is a somewhat abstruse question, and does not concern deliberative
 oratory alone. I shall therefore reserve it for my twelfth and
 concluding book.

For my part I would not have anything done dishonourably. But for the
 meantime let us regard these questions as at least belonging to the
 rhetorical exercises of the schools: for knowledge of evil is necessary
 to enable us the better to defend what is right.

For the present I will only say that if anyone is going to urge a
 dishonourable course on honourable man, he should remember not to urge
 it as being dishonourable, and should avoid the practice of certain
 declaimers who urge Sextus Pompeius to piracy just because it is
 dishonourable and cruel. Even when we address bad men, we should gloss
 over what is unsightly. For there is no man so evil as to wish to seem
 so.

Thus Sallust makes Catiline speak as one who is
 driven to crime not by wickedness but by indignation, and Varius makes
 Atreus say: 
 My wrongs are past all
 speech, 
 And such shall be the deeds they force me
 to. 
 How much more has this pretence of honour to be
 kept up by those who have a real regard for their own good name!

Therefore when we advise Cicero to beg Antonius for mercy or even to
 burn the Philippics if Antonius promises to spare
 him on that condition, we shall not empliasise the
 love of life in our advice (for if that passion has any force with him, it will have it none the less if we are
 silent), but we shall exhort him to save himself in the interest of the
 state.

For he needs some such reason as that to preserve him from feeling shame
 at entreating such a one as Antony. Again if we urge Gaius Caesar to accept
 the crown we shall assert that the state is doomed to destruction unless
 controlled by a monarchy. For the sole aim of the man who is
 deliberating about committing a criminal act is to make his act appear
 as little wicked as possible.

It also makes a great deal of difference who it is that is offering the
 advice: for if his past has been illustrious, or if his distinguished
 birth or age or fortune excite high expectations, care must be taken
 that his words are not unworthy of him. If on the other hand he has none
 of these advantages he will have to adopt a humbler tone. For what is
 regarded as liberty in some is called licence in others. Some receive
 sufficient support from their personal authority, while others find that
 the force of reason itself is scarce sufficient to enable them to
 maintain their position.

Consequently I regard impersonation as the most
 difficult of tasks, imposed as it is in addition to the other work
 involved by a deliberative theme. For the same speaker has on one
 occasion to impersonate Caesar, on another Cicero or Cato. But it is a
 most useful exercise because it demands a double effort and is also of
 the greatest use to future poets and historians, while for orators of
 course it is absolutely necessary.

For there are many speeches composed by Greek and Latin orators for
 others to deliver, the words of which had to be adapted to suit the
 position and character of those for whom they were 
 written. Do you suppose that Cicero thought in the same way or assumed
 the same character when he wrote for Gnaeus Pompeius and when he wrote
 for Titus Ampius and the rest? 
 Did he not rather bear in mind the fortune, rank and achievements of
 each single individual and represent the character of all to whom he
 gave a voice so that though they spoke better than they could by nature,
 they still might seem to speak in their own persons?

For a speech which is out of keeping with the man who delivers it is
 just as faulty as the speech which fails to suit the subject to which it
 should conform. It is for this reason that Lysias is regarded as having
 shown the highest art in the speeches which he wrote for uneducated
 persons, on account of their extraordinary realism. In the case of
 declaimers indeed it is of the first importance that they should
 consider what best suits each character: for they rarely play the role
 of advocates in their declamations. As a rule they impersonate sons,
 parents, rich men, old men, gentle or harsh of temper, misers,
 superstitious persons, cowards and mockers, so that hardly even comic
 actors have to assume more numerous roles in their performances on the
 stage than these in their declamations.

All these rôles may be regarded as forming part of impersonation, which I have included under delibertive themes, from which it differs merely in that it
 involves the assumption of a role. It is sometimes introduced even with
 controversial themes, which are drawn from history and involve the
 appearance of definite historical characters as pleaders.

I am aware also that historical and poetical themes are often set for
 the sake of practice, such as Priam's speech to 
 Achilles or Sulla's address to the people on his resignation of the
 dictatorship. But these will fall under one or other of the three
 classes into which I have divided causes. For entreaty, statement, and
 argument, with other themes already mentioned, are all of frequent
 occurrence in forensic, deliberative or demonstrative subjects, according as
 circumstances demand,

and we often introduce fictitious speeches of historical persons, whom
 we select ourselves. Cicero for instance in the pro
 Caelio 
 makes both Appius Caecus and her
 brother Clodius address Clodia, the former rebuking her for her
 immorality, the latter exhorting her thereto.

In scholastic declamations the fictitious themes for deliberative
 speeches are often not unlike those of controversial speeches and are a
 compromise between the two forms, as for instance when the theme set is
 a discussion in the presence of Gaius Caesar of the punishment to be
 meted out to Theodotus; for it consists of accusation and defence, both
 of them peculiar to forensic oratory.

But the topic of expediency also enters into the case, in such questions
 as whether it was to Caesar's advantage that Pompeius should be slain;
 whether the execution of Theodotus would involve the risk of a war with
 the king of Egypt; whether such a war would be highly inopportune at
 such a critical moment, would prove dangerous and be certain to last a
 long time.

There is also a question of honour. Does it befit Caesar to avenge
 Pompeius' death? or is it to be feared that an admission that Pompeius
 did not deserve death will injure the cause of the Caesarian party?

It may be noted that discussions of such a kind may well occur in actual
 cases. Declaimers have however often been guilty of
 an error as regards deliberative themes which has involved a series of
 consequences. They have considered deliberative themes to be different
 and absolutely opposed to forensic themes. For they have always affected
 abrupt openings, an impetuous style and a generous embellishment, as
 they call it, in their language, and have been especially careful to
 make shorter notes for deliberative than for forensic themes.

For my part while I realise that deliberative 
 themes do not require an exordium, for reasons
 which I have already stated, I do not, however, understand why they
 should open in such a wild and exclamatory manner. When a man is asked
 to express his opinion on any subject, he does not, if he is sane, begin
 to shriek, but endeavours as far as possible to win the assent of the
 man who is considering the question by a courteous and natural opening.

Why, I ask, in review of the fact that deliberations require moderation
 above all else, should the speaker on such themes indulge in a
 torrential style of eloquence kept at one high level of violence? I
 acknowledge that in controversial speeches the tone is often lowered in
 the exordium, the 
 statement of
 facts and the argument, and that if you
 subtract these three portions, the remainder is more or less of the deliberative type of speech, but what remains
 must likewise be of a more even flow, avoiding all violence and fury.

With regard to manificence of language, deliblerative declaimers should
 avoid straining after it more than others, but it comes to them more
 naturally. For there is a preference among those who invent such themes
 for selecting great personages, such as kings, princes, senators and
 peoples, while the theme itself is generally on a
 grander scale. Consequently since the words are suited to the theme,
 they acquire additional splendour from the magnificence of the matter.

In actual deliberations the case is different, and consequently
 Theophrastus laid it down that in the deliberative class of oratory the language should as far as
 possible be free from all affectation: in stating this view he followed
 the authority of his instructor, although as a rule he is not afraid to
 differ from him. For Aristotle

held that the demonstrative type of oratory was
 the best suited for writing and that the next best was forensic oratory: his reason for this view was that the first
 type is entirely concerned with display, while the second requires art,
 which will even be employed to deceive the audience, if expedience
 should so demand, whereas advice requires only truth and prudence.

I agree with this view as regards demonstrative 
 oratory (in fact all writers are agreed on this point), but as regards
 forensic and deliberative themes I think that the style must be suited to
 the requirements of the subject which has to be treated.

For I notice that the Philippics of Demosthenes
 are pre-eminent for the same merits as his forensic speeches, and that
 the opinions expressed by Cicero before the senate or the people are as
 remarkable for the splendour of their eloquence as the speeches which he
 delivered in accusing or defending persons before the courts. And yet
 Cicero says of deliberative oratory that the whole speech should be simple
 and dignified, and should derive its ornament rather from the sentiments
 expressed than the actual words.

As regards the use of examples practically all authorities are with good
 reason agreed that there is no subject to which they are better suited,
 since as a rule history seems to repeat itself and
 the experience of the past is a valuable support to reason.

Brevity and copiousness are determined not so much by the nature as by
 the compass of the subject. For, just as in deliberations the question is generally less complicated, so
 in forensic cases it is often of less importance.
 Anyone who is content to read not merely speeches, but history as well,
 in preference to growing grey over the notebooks of the rhetoricians,
 will realise the truth of what I say: for in the historians the speeches
 delivered to the people and the opinions expressed in the senate often
 provide examples of advice and dissuasion.

he will find an avoidance of abrupt openings in deliberatire speeches and will note that the forensic style is often the more impetuous of the two, while
 in both cases the words are suited to the matter and forensic speeches are often shorter than deliberative.

Nor will he find in them those faults into which some of our declaimers
 fall, namely a coarse abuse of those who hold opposite opinions and a
 general tendency to speak in such a way as to make it seem that the
 speaker's views are in opposition to those of the persons who ask his
 advice. Consequently their aim seems to be invective rather than
 persuasion.

I would have my younger readers realise that these words are penned for
 their special benefit that they may not desire to adopt a different
 style in their exercises from that in which they will be required to
 speak, and may not be hampered by having to unlearn what they have
 acquired. For the rest if they are ever summoned to take part in the
 counsels of their friends, or to speak their opinions in the senate, or
 advise the emperor on some point on which he may
 consult them, they will learn from practice what they cannot perhaps put
 to the credit of the schools.

IX. I now come to the forensic kind of
 oratory, which presents the utmost variety, but whose duties are no more
 than two, the bringing and rebutting of charges. Most authorities divide
 the forensic speech into five parts: the exordium, the statement of facts, the
 proof, the refutation, 
 and the peroration. To these some have added the
 partition into heads, proposition and digression, the two first of which form part of
 the proof.

For it is obviously necessary to propound what
 you are going to prove as well as to conclude.
 Why then, if proposition is a part of a speech,
 should not conclusion be also? Partition on the other hand is merely one aspect of arrangement, and arrangement is a part of rhetoric itself, and is equally
 distributed through every theme of oratory and their whole body, just as
 are invention and style.

Consequently we must regard partition not as one
 part of a whole speech, but as a part of each individual question that
 may be involved. For what question is there in which an orator cannot
 set forth the order in which he is going to make his points? And this of
 course is the function of partition. But how
 ridiculous it is to make each question an aspect of proof, but partition which is an aspect
 of a question a part of the whole speech.

As for digression (egressio, now more usually
 styled excessus ), if it lie outside the case, it
 cannot be part of it, while, if it lie within it, it is merely an
 accessory or ornament of that portion of the case from which digression is made. For if anything that lies
 within the case is to be called part of it, why not 
 call argument, comparison, commonplace, pathos,
 illustration parts of the case?

On the other hand I disagree with those who, like Aristotle, would remove refuation from the
 list on the ground that it forms part of the proof: for the proof is constructive,
 and the reputation destructive. Aristotle also introduces another slight novelty in making
 proposition, not statement
 of facts, follow the exordium. This
 however he does because he regards proposition as
 the genus and statement of
 facts as the species, with the result
 that he holds that, whereas the former is always and everywhere
 necessary, the latter may sometimes be dispensed with.

It is however necessary to point out as regards these five parts which I
 have established, that that which has to be spoken first is not
 necessarily that which requires our first consideration. But above all
 we must consider the nature of the case, the question at issue and the
 arguments for and against. Next we must consider what points are to be
 made, and what refuted, and then how the facts are to be stated.

For the stalement of facts is designed to prepare
 the way for the proofs and must needs be
 unprofitable, unless we have first determined what proofs. are to be promised in the statement. Finally we must consider how best to win the judge
 to take our view. For we cannot be sure until we have subjected all the
 parts of the case to careful scrutiny, what sort of impression we wish
 to make upon the judge: are we to mollify him or increase his severity,
 to excite or relax his interest in the case, to render him susceptible
 to influence or the reverse?

I cannot however approve the view of those who 
 think that the exordium should actually be
 written last. For though we must collect all our material and determine
 the proper place for each portion of it, before we begin to speak or
 write, we must commence with what naturally comes first.

No one begins a portrait by painting or modelling the feet, and no art
 finds its completion at the point where it should begin. Otherwise what
 will happen if we have not time to write our speech? Will not the result
 of such a reversal of the proper order of things be that we shall be
 caught napping? We must therefore review the subject-matter in the order
 laid down, but write our speech in the order in which we shall deliver
 it.

X. Every cause in which one side attacks and the other defends
 consists either of one or more controversial questions. In the first
 case it is called simple, in the second complex. An example of the first is when the
 subject of enquiry is a theft or an adultery taken by itself. In complex cases the several questions may all be of
 the same kind, as in cases of extortion, or of different kinds, as when
 a man is accused at one and the same time of homicide and sacrilege.
 Such cases no longer arise in the public courts, since the praetor
 allots the different charges to different courts in accordance with a
 definite rule; but they still are of frequent occurrence in the Imperial
 or Senatorial courts, and were frequent in the days when they came up
 for trial before the people. Private
 suits again are often tried by one judge, who may have to determine many
 different points of law.

There are no other species of forensic causes,
 not even when one person brings the same suit on the same grounds
 against two different persons, or two persons bring
 the same suit against one, or several against several, as occasionally
 occurs in lawsuits about inheritances. Because although a number of
 parties may be involved, there is still only one suit, unless indeed the
 different circumstances of the various parties alter the questions at
 issue.

There is however said to be a third and different class, the comparative. Questions of comparison frequently
 require to be handled in portions of a cause, as for instance in the
 centum viral court, 
 when after other questions have been raised the question is discussed as
 to which of two claimants is the more deserving of an inheritance. It is
 rare however for a case to be brought into court on such grounds alone,
 as in divinations 
 which
 take place to determine who the accuser shall be, and occasionally when
 two informers dispute as to which has earned the reward.

Some again have added a fourth class, namely mutual
 accusation, which they call ἀντικατηγορία Others, however, regard it as belonging to
 the comparative group, to which indeed the common
 case of reciprocal suits on different grounds bears a strong
 resemblance. If this latter case should also be called ἀντικατηγορία (for it has no special name
 of its own), we must divide mutual accusation 
 into two classes, in one of which the parties bring the same charge
 against each other, while in the other they bring different charges. The
 same division will also apply to claims.

As soon as we are clear as to the kind of cause on which we are engaged,
 we must then consider whether the act that forms the basis of the charge
 is denied or defended, or given another name or excepted from that class
 of action. Thus we determine the basis of each
 case.

XI. As soon as these points are ascertained,
 the next step, according to Hermagoras, should be to consider what is
 the question at issue, the line
 of defence, the point for the judge's
 decision and the central point, or, as
 others call it, the foundation of the case. The question in its more general sense is taken to mean everything
 on which two or more plausible opinions may be advanced.

In forensic subjects however it must be taken in
 two senses: first in the sense in which we say that a controversial
 matter involves many questions, thereby including all minor questions;
 secondly in the sense of the main question on which the case turns. It
 is of this, with which the basis originates, that
 I am now speaking. We ask whether a thing has been done, what it is that
 has been done, and whether it was rightly done.

To these Hermagoras and Apollodorus and many other writers have given
 the special name of questions; Theodorus on the
 other hand, as I have already said, calls them general
 heads, while he designates minor questions or questions
 dependent on these general heads as special heads. For it is agreed that question may
 spring from question, and species be subdivided into other species.

This main question, then, they call the ζήτημα. The line of defence is the
 method by which an admitted act is defended. I see no reason why I
 should not use the same example to illustrate this point that has been
 used by practically all my predecessors. Orestes has killed his mother:
 the fact is admitted. He pleads that he was justified in so doing: the
 basis will be one of quality, the question, whether he was justified in his action,
 the line of defence that Clytemnestra killed her
 husband, Orestes' father. This is called the αἴτιον or motive. 
 The point for the decision of the judge is known as
 the κρινόμενον and in this case is
 whether it was right that even a guilty mother should be killed by her
 son.

Some have drawn a distinction between αἴτιον and αἰτίαν 
 making αἴτιον mean the cause of the
 trial, namely the murder of Clytemnestra, αἰτία the motive urged in defence, namely the murder of
 Agamemnon. But there is such lack of agreement over these two words,
 that some make αἰτία the cause of the
 trial and αἴτιον the motive of the
 deed, while others reverse the meanings. If we turn to Latin writers we
 find that some have given these causes the names of initinum, the beginning, and ratio, the
 reason, while others give the same name to both.

Moreover cause seems to spring from cause, or as the Greeks say αἴτιον ἐξ αἰτίον as will be seen from the
 following:— Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon, because he had sacrificed
 their daughter and brought home a captive woman as his paramour. The
 same authors think that there may be several lines of
 defence to one question: for instance
 Orestes may urge that he killed his mother because driven to do so by
 oracles. But the number of points for the decision of
 the judge will be the same as the number of alleged motives for the deed: in this case it will be
 whether he ought to have obeyed the oracles.

But one alleged motive may also in my opinion
 involve several questions and several points for the decision of the
 judge, as for instance in the case when the husband caught his wife in
 adultery and slew her and later slew the adulterer, who had escaped, in
 the market place. The motive is but one:
 he was an adulterer. But there arise as questions and points for
 decision by the judge, whether it was
 lawful to kill him at that time and at that place.

But just as, although there be several questions, 
 each with its special basis, the basis of the case is but one, namely that to
 which all else is referred, even so the real point for
 the decision of the judge is, strictly speaking, that on which
 judgment is given.

As for the σύνεχον the central argument, as I have mentioned it is
 called by some, or the foundation as it is called
 by others, or as Cicero styles it the strongest argument of the defender and the most
 relevant to the decision of the judge, some regard it as being
 the point after which all enquiry ceases, others as the main point for
 adjudication.

The motive of the deed does not arise in all
 controversial cases. For how can there be a motive for the deed, when the deed is denied? But when the motive for the deed does come up for discussion,
 they deny that the point for the decision of the
 judge rests on the same ground as the main
 question at issue, and this view is maintained by Cicero in his Rhetorica and Partitiones.

For when it has been asserted and denied that a deed was done, the
 question whether it was done is resolved by conjecture, and the decision of the
 judge and the main question rest on the
 same ground, since the first question and the final decision are
 concerned with the same point. But when it is stated and denied that
 Orestes was justified in killing his mother, considerations of quality are introduced: the question is whether he was justified in killing her, but this
 is not yet the point for the decision of the
 judge. When, then, does it become so? She killed my
 father. 
 Yes, but that did not make it your duty to
 murder your mother. The point for the
 decision of the judge is whether it was his duty to kill her.

As regards the foundation, I will put it in the words of Cicero 
 himself:— The foundation is the strongest argument for the
 defence, as for instance, if Orestes were ready to say that the
 disposition of his mother towards his father, himself and his
 sisters, the kingdom, the reputation of the race and the family were
 such that it was the peculiar duty of her children to punish her.

Others again use illustrations such as the following:— He who has
 spent his patrimony, is not allowed to address the
 people. 
 But he spent it on public works. The
 question is whether everyone that spends his
 patrimony is to be prohibited, while the point for
 decision is whether he who spent it in such a way is to be
 prohibited.

Or again take the case of the soldier Arruntius, who killed the tribune
 Lusius for assaulting his honour. The question is
 whether he was justified in so doing, the line of
 defence, that the murdered man made an assault upon his honour,
 the point for the decision of the judge, 
 whether it was right that a man should be killed uncondemned or a
 tribune by a soldier.

Some even regard the basis of the question as being different from the basis of the decision. The
 question as to whether Milo was justified in
 killing Clodius, is one of quality. The point for the decision of the judge, namely
 whether Clodius lay in wait for Milo, is a matter for conjecture.

They also urge that a case is often diverted to the consideration of
 some matter irrelevant to the question, and that
 it is on this matter that judgment is given. I strongly disagree. Take
 the question whether all who have spent their patrimony are to be
 prohibited from addressing the people. This question must have its point for
 decision, and therefore the question and
 the point for decision are not different, but
 there are more than one question and more than one point for
 decision in the case. Again, in the case of Milo,

is not the question of fact ultimately referred
 to the question of quality ? For if Clodius lay
 in wait for Milo, it follows that he was justifiably killed. But when
 the case is shifted to some other point far removed from the original
 question, even in this case the question will be
 found to reside in the point for decision.

As regards these questions Cicero is slightly inconsistent with himself.
 For in the Rhetorica, as I have already mentioned, he followed
 Hermagoras, while in the Topicai 
 he holds that the κρινόμενον or disputed point is
 originated by the basis, and in addressing the
 lawyer Trebatius on this subject he calls it the point
 at issue, and describes the elements in which it resides as central arguments or 
 foundations of the defence which hold it together and the removal of
 which causes the whole defence to fall to the ground.

But in the Partitiones Oratoriae 
 he gives the
 name of foundation to that which is advanced
 against the defence, on the ground that the central
 argument, as it logically comes first, is put forward by the
 accuser, while the line of defence is put forward
 by the accused, and the point for the decision of the
 judge arises from the question jointly raised by the central argument and the line
 of defence. The view therefore of those who make the basis, the central
 argument, and the point for the decision of
 the judge identical, is at once more concise and nearer to the
 truth. The central argument, they point out, is
 that the removal of which makes the whole case fall to the ground.

In this central argument they seem to me to have
 included both the alleged causes, that Orestes
 killed his mother and that Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon. the same
 authorities have likewise always held that the basis and the point for the decision of
 the judge are in agreement; any other opinion would have been
 inconsistent with their general views.

But this affectation of subtlety in the invention of technical terms is
 mere laborious ostentation: I have undertaken the task of discussing
 them solely that I might not be regarded as having failed to make
 sufficient inquiry into the subject which I have chosen as my theme. But
 it is quite unnecessary for an instructor proceeding on less technical
 lines to destroy the coherence of his teaching by attention to such
 minute detail.

Many however suffer from this drawback, more especially Hermagoras who,
 although he labours these points with such anxious diligence, was a man
 of penetrating intellect and in most respects deserves our admiration,
 so that even where we must needs blame him, we cannot withhold a certain
 meed of praise.

But the shorter method, which for that very reason is also by far the
 most lucid, will not fatigue the learner by leading him through a maze
 of detail, nor destroy the coherence of his eloquence by breaking it up
 into a number of minute departments. For he who has a clear view of the
 main issue of a dispute, and divines the aims which his own side and his
 opponents intend to follow and the means they intend to employ (and it
 is to the intentions of his own side that he must pay special
 attention), will without a doubt be in possession of a knowledge of all
 the points which I have discussed above.

And there is hardly anyone, unless he be a born fool without the least
 acquaintance with the practice of speaking, who does not know what is the main issue of a dispute (or as they call it the
 cause or central
 argument ) and what is the question 
 between the parties and the point on which the judge
 has to decide, these three being identical. For the question is concerned with the matter in dispute
 and the decision of the judge is given on the
 point involved in the question.

Still we do not keep our attention rigidly fixed on such details, but
 the desire to win praise by any available means and the sheer delight in
 speaking make us wander away from the subject, since there is always
 richer material for eloquence outside the strict theme of the case,
 inasmuch as the points of any given dispute are always few, and there is
 all the world outside, and in the one case we speak according to our
 instructions, in the other on the subjects of our own choice.

We should teach not so much that it is our duty to discover the question, the 
 central
 argument, and the point for the decision of
 the judge (an easy task), as that we should continually keep
 our attention on our subject, or if we digress, at least keep looking
 back to it, lest in our desire to win applause we should let our weapons
 drop from our grasp.

The school of Theodorus, as I have said, groups everything under heads, by which they mean several things. First
 they mean the main question, which is to be
 identified with the basis; secondly they mean the
 other questions dependent on the main question, 
 thirdly the proposition and the statement of the proofs. The word is used as we use it when we
 say It is the head of the whole business, or, as Menander
 says, κεφάλαιόν ἐστιν. 
 But generally speaking, anything which has
 to be proved will be a head of varying degrees of importance. I have now set forth the principles laid down by
 the writers of text-books,

though I have done so at a greater length than was necessary. I have
 also explained what are the various parts of forensic causes. My next
 book therefore shall deal with the exordium.

I have now, my dear Marcellus Victorius, completed the third book of the
 work which I have dedicated to you, and have nearly finished a quarter
 of my task, and am confronted with a motive for renewed diligence and
 increased anxiety as to the judgment it may be found to deserve. For up
 to this point we were merely discussing rhetoric between ourselves and,
 in the event of our system being regarded as inadequate by the world at
 large, were prepared to content ourselves with putting it into practice
 at home and to confine ourselves to the education of your son and mine.

But now Domitianus Augustus has entrusted me with the education of his
 sister's grandsons, and I should be undeserving of the honour conferred
 upon me by such divine appreciation, if I were not to regard this
 distinction as the standard by which the greatness of my undertaking
 must be judged.

For it is clearly my duty to spare no pains in moulding the character of
 my august pupils, that they may earn the deserved approval of the most
 righteous of censors. The same applies to their intellectual training, for I would not be found to have
 disappointed the expectations of a prince pre-eminent in eloquence as in
 all other virtues.

But no one is surprised at the frequency with which the greatest poets
 invoke the Muses not merely at the commencement of their works, but even
 further on when they have reached some important passage and repeat
 their vows and utter fresh prayers for assistance.

Assuredly therefore I may ask indulgence for doing what I omitted to do
 when I first entered on this task and calling to my aid all the gods and
 Himself before them all (for his power is unsurpassed and there is no
 deity that looks with such favour upon learning), beseeching him to
 inspire me with genius in proportion to the hopes that he has raised in
 me, to lend me propitious and ready aid and make me even such as he has
 believed me to be.

And this, though the greatest, is not the only motive for this act of
 religious devotion, but my work is of such a nature that, as it
 proceeds, I am confronted with greater and more arduous obstacles than
 have yet faced me. For my next task is to explain the order to be
 followed in forensic causes, which present the utmost complication and
 variety. I must set forth the function of the exordium, the method of the statement of
 facts, the cogency of proofs, whether we
 are confirming our own assertions or refuting those of our opponents,
 and the force of the peroration, whether we have
 to refresh the memory of the judge by a brief recapitulation of the
 facts, or to do what is far more effective, stir his emotions.

Some have preferred to give each of these points separate treatment,
 fearing that if they undertook them as a whole the burden would be
 greater than they could bear, and consequently have
 published several books on each individual point. I have ventured to
 treat them altogether and foresee such infinite labour that I feel weary
 at the very thought of the task I have undertaken. But I have set my
 hand to the plough and must not look back. My strength may fail me, but
 my courage must not fail.

I. The commencement or exorditum as we call it in Latin is styled a proem by the Greeks. This seems to me a more appropriate name,
 because whereas we merely indicate that we are beginning our task, they
 clearly show that this portion is designed as an introduction to the
 subject on which the orator has to speak.

It may be because οἴμη means a tune,
 and players on the lyre have given the name of proem to the prelude which they perform to win the favour of
 the audience before entering upon the regular contest for the prize,
 that orators before beginning to plead make a few introductory remarks
 to win the indulgence of the judges.

Or it may be because οἶμος in Greek
 means a way, that the practice has arisen of
 calling an introduction a proem. But in any case
 there can be no doubt that by proem we mean the
 portion of a speech addressed to the judge before he has begun to
 consider the actual case. And it is a mistaken practice which we adopt
 in the schools of always assuming in our exordia 
 that the judge is already acquainted with the case.

This form of licence arises from the fact that a sketch of the case is
 always given before actual declamation. Such kinds of exordia may, however, be employed in the courts, when a case comes on for the second time, but
 never or rarely on the first occasion, unless we are speaking before a
 judge who has knowledge of the case from some other source.

The sole purpose of the exordium is to prepare
 our audience in such a way that they will be disposed to lend a ready
 ear to the rest of our speech. The majority of authors agree that this
 is best effected in three ways, by making the audience well-disposed,
 attentive and ready to receive instruction. I need hardly say that these
 aims have to be kept in view throughout the whole speech, but they are
 especially necessary at the commencement, when we gain admission to the
 mind of the judge in order to penetrate still further.

As regards good-will, we secure that either from persons connected with
 the case or from the case itself. Most writers have divided these
 persons into three classes, the plaintiff, the defendant and the judge.

This classification is wrong, for the exordium 
 may sometimes derive its conciliatory force from the person of the
 pleader. For although he may be modest and say little about himself, yet
 if he is believed to be a good man, this consideration will exercise the
 strongest influence at every point of the case. For thus he will have
 the good fortune to give the impression not so much that he is a zealous
 advocate as that he is an absolutely reliable witness. It is therefore
 pre-eminently desirable that he should be believed to have undertaken
 the case out of a sense of duty to a friend or relative, or even better,
 if the point can be made, by a sense of patriotism or at any rate some
 serious moral consideration. No doubt it is even more necessary for the parties themselves to create the impression that
 they have been forced to take legal action by some weighty and
 honourable reason or even by necessity.

But just as the authority of the speaker carries greatest weight, if his
 undertaking of the case is free from all suspicion of meanness, personal
 spite or ambition, so also we shall derive some silent support from
 representing that we are weak, unprepared, and no match for the powerful
 talents arrayed against us, a frequent trick in the exordia of Messala.

For men have a natural prejudice in favour of those who are struggling
 against difficulties, and a scrupulous judge is always specially ready
 to listen to an advocate whom he does not suspect to have designs on his
 integrity. Hence arose the tendency of ancient orators to pretend to
 conceal their eloquence, a practice exceedingly unlike the ostentation
 of our own times.

It is also important to avoid giving the impression that we are abusive,
 malignant, proud or slanderous toward any individual or body of men,
 especially such as cannot be hurt without exciting the disapproval of
 the judges.

As to the judge, it would be folly for me to warn speakers not to say or
 even hint anything against him, but for the fact that such things do
 occur. Our opponent's advocate will sometimes provide us with material
 for our exordium: we may speak of him in
 honorific terms, pretending to fear his eloquence and influence with a
 view to rendering them suspect to the judge, or occasionally, though
 very seldom, we may abuse him, as Asinius did in his speech on behalf of
 the heirs of Urbinia, where he includes among the proofs of the weakness
 of the plaintiff's case the fact that he has secured Labienus as his
 advocate.

Cornelius Celsus denies that such remarks can be considered as belonging
 to the exordium on the ground that they are
 irrelevant to the actual case. Personally I prefer to follow the
 authority of the greatest orators, and hold that whatever concerns the
 pleader is relevant to the case, since it is natural that the judges
 should give readier credence to those to whom they find it a pleasure to
 listen.

The character of our client himself may, too, be treated in various
 ways: we may emphasise his worth or we may commend his weakness to the
 protection of the court. Sometimes it is desirable to set forth his
 merits, when the speaker will be less hampered by modesty than if he
 were praising his own. Sex, age and situation are also important
 considerations, as for instance when women, old men or wards are
 pleading in the character of wives, parents or children.

For pity alone may move even a strict judge. These points, however,
 should only be lightly touched upon in the exordium, not run to death. As regards our opponent he is
 generally attacked on similar lines, but with the method reversed. For
 power is generally attended by envy, abject meanness by contempt, guilt
 and baseness by hatred, three emotions which are powerful factors to
 alienate the good-will of the judges.

But a simple statement will not suffice, for even the uneducated are
 capable of that: most of the points will require exaggeration or
 extenuation as expediency may demand: the method of treatment belongs to
 the orator, the points themselves belong to the case. We shall win the
 good-will of the judge not merely by praising him,

which must be done with tact and is an artifice common to both parties,
 but by linking his praise to the furtherance of our
 own case. For instance, in pleading for a man of good birth we shall
 appeal to his own high rank, in speaking for the lowly we shall lay
 stress on his sense of justice, on his pity in pleading the cause of
 misfortune, and on his severity when we champion the victims of wrong,
 and so on.

I should also wish, if possible, to be acquainted with the character of
 the judge. For it will be desirable to enlist their temperaments in the
 service of our cause, where they are such as are like to be useful, or
 to mollify them, if they are like to prove adverse, just according as
 they are harsh, gentle, cheerful, grave, stern, or easy-going. It will,
 however,

sometimes happen that the judge is hostile to us and friendly to our
 adversaries. Such cases demand the attention of both parties and I am
 not sure that the party favoured by the judge does not require to handle
 the situation with even more care than his opponent. For perverse judges
 have sometimes a preposterous tendency to give judgment against their
 friends or in favour of those with whom they have a quarrel, and of
 committing injustice merely to avoid the appearance of partiality.

Again some have been judges in cases where their own interests were
 involved. I note, for instance, in the books of observations published
 by Septimius that Cicero appeared in such a case, while I myself, when I
 appeared on behalf of Queen Berenice, actually pleaded before her. In
 such cases we must be guided by the same principles that I have laid
 down above. The opponent of the judge will emphasise his confidence in
 the justice of his client's cause, while the advocate of his interests
 will express the fear that the judge may be influenced by a quixotic delicacy.

Further, if the judge is thought to have come into court with a
 prejudice in favour of one side, we must try to remove or strengthen
 that prejudice as circumstances may demand. Again occasionally we shall
 have to calm the judges' fears, as Cicero does in the pro Milone, where he strives to persuade them not to think
 that Pompey's soldiers have been stationed in the court as a threat to
 themselves. Or it may be necessary to frighten them, as Cicero does in
 the Verrines.

There are two ways of bringing fear to bear upon the judges. The
 commonest and most popular is to threaten them with the displeasure of
 the Roman people or the transference of the juries to another class
 ; the second is somewhat brutal and is
 rarely employed, and consists in threatening them with a prosecution for
 bribery: this is a method which is fairly safe with a large body of
 judges, since it checks the bad and pleases the good members of the
 jury, but I should never recommend its employment with a single judge
 except
 in the very last resort.

But if necessity should drive us to such a course, we must remember that
 such threats do not come under the art of oratory, any more than appeals
 from the judgment of the court (though that is often useful), or the
 indictment of the judge before he gives his decision. For even one who
 is no orator can threaten or lay an information.

If the case affords us the means of winning the favour of the judge, it
 is important that the points which seem most likely to serve to our
 purpose should be selected for introduction into the exordium. 
 On this subject Verginius falls
 into error, for he asserts that Theodorus lays down that some one
 reflexion on each individual question that is involved by the case
 should be introduced into the exordium. As a
 matter of fact Theodorus does not say this,

but merely that the judge should be prepared for the most important of
 the questions that are to be raised. There is nothing to object to in
 this rule, save that he would make it of universal application, whereas
 it is not possible with every question nor desirable in every case. For
 instance, seeing that the plaintiff's advocate speaks first, and that
 till he has spoken the judge is ignorant of the nature of the dispute,
 how is it possible for us to introduce reflexions relating to all the
 questions involved? The facts of the case must be stated before that can
 be done. We may grant that some questions may be mentioned, for that
 will sometimes be absolutely necessary; but can we introduce all the
 most important questions, or in other words the whole case? If we do we
 shall have completed our statement of facts 
 within the limits of the exordium. Again if, as
 often happens,

the case is somewhat difficult, surely we should seek to win the
 good-will of the judge by other portions of our speech sooner than
 thrust the main questions upon him in all their naked harshness before
 we have done anything to secure his favour. If the main questions ought
 always to be treated at the beginning of a speech, we might dispense
 with the exordium.

We shall then occasionally introduce certain points from the main
 questions into the exordium, which will exercise
 a valuable influence in winning the judge to regard us with favour. It
 is not necessary to enumerate the points which are
 likely to gain us such favour, because they will be obvious as soon as
 we have acquainted ourselves with the circumstances of each dispute,
 while in view of the infinite variety presented by cases it is out of
 the question to specify them here.

Just, however, as it is in the interest of our case to note and amplify
 these points, so it is also to rebut or at any rate lessen the force of
 anything that is damaging to our case. Again our case may justify an
 appeal to compassion with regard to what we have suffered in the past or
 are likely to suffer.

For I do not share the opinion held by some, that the exordium and the peroration are to be
 distinguished by the fact that the latter deals with the past, the
 former with the future. Rather I hold that the difference between them
 is this: in our opening any preliminary appeal to the compassion of the
 judge must be made sparingly and with restraint, while in the peroration
 we may give full rein to our emotions, place fictitious speeches in the
 mouths of our characters, call the dead to life, and produce the wife or
 children of the accused in court, practices which are less usual in exordia.

But it is the function of the exordium not merely
 to excite the feelings to which I have alluded, but to do all that is
 possible to show that our opponent's case is not deserving of them. It
 is advantageous to create the impression not merely that our fate will
 be deserving of pity, if we lose, but that our adversary will be swollen
 with outrageous insolence if he prove successful.

But exordia are often drawn from matters which do not, strictly
 speaking, concern either cases or the persons involved, though not
 unrelated to either. In such relation to persons
 stand not only wives and children of whom I have just spoken, but also
 relations, friends, and at times districts and states together with
 anything else that is like to suffer injury from the fall of the client
 whom we defend.

As regards external circumstances which have a bearing on the case, I may mention time, which is
 introduced in the exordium of the pro Caelio, 
 place (in the pro Deiotaro ),the appearance of
 the court (in the pro Milone ),public opinion (in
 the Verrines ),and finally, as I cannot mention
 all, the ill-repute of the law courts and the popular expectation
 excited by the case. None of these actually belong to the case, but all
 have some bearing on it.

Theophrastus adds that the exordium may be drawn
 from the speech of one's opponent, as that of the pro
 Ctesiphonte of Demosthenes appears to be, where he asks that he
 may be allowed to speak as he pleases and not to be restricted to the
 form laid down by the accuser in his speech.

Confidence often labours under the disadvantage of being regarded as
 arrogance. But there are certain tricks for acquiring good-will, which
 though almost universal, are by no means to be neglected, if only to
 prevent their being first employed against ourselves. I refer to
 rhetorical expressions of wishing, detestation, entreaty, or anxiety.
 For it keeps the judge's attention on the alert, if he is led to think
 the case novel, important, scandalous, or likely to set a precedent,
 still more if he is excited by concern for himself or the common weal,
 when his mind must be stirred by hope, fear,
 admonition, entreaty and even by falsehood, if it seems to us that it is
 likely to advance our case.

We shall also find it a useful device for wakening the attention of our
 audience to create the impression that we shall not keep them long and
 intend to stick closely to the point. The mere fact of such attention
 undoubtedly makes the judge ready to receive instruction from us, but we
 shall contribute still more to this effect if we give a brief and lucid
 summary of the case which he has to try; in so doing we shall be
 following the method adopted by Homer and Virgil at the beginning of
 their poems.

For as regards the length of the exordium, it
 should propound rather than expound, and should not describe how each
 thing occurred, but simply indicate the points on which the orator
 proposes to speak. I do not think a better example of this can be found
 than the exordium to the pro
 Cluentio of Cicero.

I have noted, judges, that the speech for the prosecution was
 divided into two parts: of these, the first seemed to rest and in
 the main to rely on the odium, now inveterate, arising from the
 trial before Junius, while the other appeared to touch, merely as a
 matter of form, and with a certain timidity and diffidence, on the
 question of the charge of poisoning, though it is to try this point
 that the present court has been constituted in accordance with the
 law. All this, however, is easier for the defender than the
 prosecutor, since the latter has merely to remind the judge, while the
 former has to instruct him.

Nor shall any authority, however great, induce me to abandon my opinion
 that it is always desirable to render the judge attentive and ready to
 receive instruction. I am well aware that those who
 disagree with me urge that it is to the advantage of a bad case that its
 nature should not be understood; but such lack of understanding arises
 not from inattention on the part of the judge, but from his being
 deceived.

Our opponent has spoken and perhaps convinced him; we must alter his
 opinion, and this we cannot do unless we render him attentive to what we
 have to say and ready to be instructed. What are we to do then? I agree
 to the view that we should cut down, depreciate and deride some of our
 opponent's arguments with a view to lessening the attention shown him by
 the judge, as Cicero did in the pro Ligario.

For what was the purpose of Cicero's irony save that Caesar should be
 induced to regard the case as presenting only old familiar features and
 consequently to give it less attention? What was his purpose in the pro Caelio 
 
 save to make the case seem far more trivial than had been anticipated?
 It is, however, obvious that of the rules which I have laid down, some
 will be applicable to one case and some to another.

The majority of writers consider that there are five kinds of causes,
 the honourable, the 
 mean, 
 the doubtful or ambiguous, 
 the extraordinary and the obscure, or as they are called in Greek, ἔνδοξον, ἄδοξον, ἀμφίδοξον, παράδοξον and
 δυσπαρακολούθητον. To these some
 would add a sixth, the scandalous, which some
 again include under the heading of the mean, 
 others under the extraordinary.

The latter name is given to cases which are contrary to ordinary
 expectation. In ambiguous cases it is specially
 important to secure the good-will of the judge, in the obscure to render him ready to receive 
 instruction, in the mean to excite his attention.
 As regards the honourable the very nature of the
 case is sufficient to win the approval of the judge; in the scandalous and extraordinary some kind of palliation is required.

Some therefore divide the exordium into two
 parts, the introduction and the insinuation, making the former contain a direct appeal to the
 good-will and attention of the judge. But as this is impossible in
 scandalous cases, they would have the orator on such occasions insinuate
 himself little by little into the minds of his judges, especially when
 the features of the case which meet the eye are discreditable, or
 because the subject is disgraceful or such as to meet with popular
 disapproval, or again if the outward circumstances of the case are such
 as to handicap it or excite odium (as for instance when a patron appears
 against a client or a father against a son), or pity (as when our
 opponent is an old or blind man or a child).

To save the situation the rhetoricians lay down a number of rules at
 quite inordinate length: they invent fictitious cases and treat them
 realistically on the lines which would be followed in actual pleading.
 But these peculiar circumstances arise from such a variety of causes as
 to render classification by species impossible, and their enumeration
 save under the most general heads would be interminable.

The line to be adopted will therefore depend on the individual nature of
 each case. As a general principle, however, I should advise the
 avoidance of points which tell against us and concentrate on those which
 are likely to be of service. If the case itself is weak, we may derive
 help from the character of our client; if his character is doubtful, we
 may find salvation in the nature of the case. If
 both are hopeless, we must look out for something that will damage our
 opponent. For though it is desirable to secure as much positive
 good-will as possible, the next best thing is to incur the minimum of
 actual dislike.

Where we cannot deny the truth of facts that are urged against us, we
 must try to show that their significance has been exaggerated or that
 the purpose of the act was not what is alleged or that the facts are
 irrelevant or that what was done may be atoned for by penitence or has
 already been sufficiently punished. It is consequently easier for an
 advocate to put forward such pleas than for his client, since the former
 can praise without laying himself open to the charge of arrogance and
 may sometimes even reprove him with advantage to the case.

At times, like Cicero in his defence of Rabirius Postumus, he will pretend that he himself is strongly moved, in
 order to win the ear of the judge and to give the impression of one who
 is absolutely convinced of the truth of his cause, that so his
 statements may find all the readier credence whether he defends or
 denies the actions attributed to his client. Consequently it is of the
 first importance, wherever the alternative is open to us, to consider
 whether we are to adopt the character of a party to the suit or of an
 advocate. In the schools, of course, we have a free choice in the
 matter, but it is only on rare occasions that a man is capable of
 pleading his own case in the actual courts.

When we are going to deliver a declamation on a theme that turns largely
 on its emotional features, we must give it a dramatic character suited
 to the persons concerned. For emotions are not transferable at will, nor
 can we give the same forcible expression to another
 man's emotions that we should give to our own.

The circumstances which call for insinuation arise also in cases where
 the pleading of our opponent has made a powerful impression on the minds
 of the judges, or where the audience whom we have to address are tired.
 The first difficulty we shall evade by promising to produce our own
 proofs and by eluding the arguments of our opponents, the second by
 holding out hopes that we shall be brief and by the methods already
 mentioned for capturing the attention of the judges.

Again an opportune display of wit will often restore their flagging
 spirits and we may alleviate their boredom by the introduction of
 entertaining matter derived from any source that may be available. It
 will also be found advantageous to anticipate the objections that may be
 raised by our opponent, as Cicero does when he says I know that some persons are surprised
 that one, who for such a number of years has defended so many and
 attacked none, should have come forward as the accuser of Verres,
 he then goes on to show that the accusation which he has
 undertaken is really a defence of the allies, an artifice known as
 πρόληψις or anticipation.

Although this is at times a useful device, some of our declaimers employ
 it on practically every occasion, on the assumption that one should
 always start with the order thus reversed. The adherents of Apollodorus
 reject the view stated above to the effect that there are only three
 respects in which the mind of the judge requires to be prepared, and
 enumerate many others, relating to the character of the judge, to
 opinions regarding matters which though outside the case have still some bearing on it, to the opinion current as to the
 case itself, and so on ad infinitum: to these
 they add others relating to the elements of which every dispute is
 composed, such as persons, deeds, words, motives, time and place,
 occasions and the like. Such views are, I admit, perfectly correct,

but are covered by one or other of the three classes which I have
 mentioned. For if I can secure good-will, attention and readiness to
 learn on the part of my judge, I cannot see what else I ought to
 require; even fear, which perhaps may be thought more than anything else
 to lie outside the considerations I have mentioned, secures the
 attention of the judge and deters him from favouring our opponent.

It is not, however, sufficient to explain the nature of the exordium to our pupils. We must also indicate the
 easiest method of composing an exordium. I would
 therefore add that he who has a speech to make should consider what he
 has to say; before whom, in whose defence, against whom, at what time
 and place, under what circumstances he has to speak; what is the popular
 opinion on the subject, and what the prepossessions of the judge are
 likely to be; and finally of what we should express our deprecation or
 desire. Nature herself will give him the knowledge of what he ought to
 say first.

Nowadays, however, speakers think that anything with which they choose
 to start is a proem and that whatever occurs to
 them, especially if it be a reflexion that catches their fancy, is an
 exordium. There are, no doubt, many points
 that can be introduced into an exordium which are
 common to other parts of a speech, but the best test of the
 appropriateness of a point to any part of a speech is to consider
 whether it would lose effect by being placed
 elsewhere.

A most attractive form of exordium is that which
 draws its material from the speech of our opponent, if only for the
 reason that the fact of its not having been composed at home, but having
 been improvised on the spot to meet the needs of the case increases the
 orator's reputation for natural talent by the readiness with which it is
 produced and carries conviction owing to the simple and ordinary
 language in which it is clothed. As a result, even although the rest of
 the speech has been committed to writing and carefully elaborated, the
 whole of the speech will often be regarded as extempore, simply because
 its commencement is clearly not the result of previous study.

Indeed a certain simplicity in the thoughts, style, voice and look of
 the speaker will often produce so pleasing an effect in the exordium that even in a case where there is no
 room for doubt the confidence of the speaker should not reveal itself
 too openly. For as a rule the judge dislikes self-confidence in a
 pleader, and conscious of his rights tacitly demands the respectful
 deference of the orator.

No less care must be taken to avoid exciting any suspicion in this
 portion of our speech, and we should therefore give no hint of
 elaboration in the exordium, since any art that
 the orator may employ at this point seems to be directed solely at the
 judge.

But to avoid all display of art in itself requires consummate art: this
 admirable canon has been insisted on by all writers, though its force
 has been somewhat impaired by present conditions, since in certain
 trials, more especially those brought on capital charges or in the
 centumviral court, the judges themselves demand
 the most finished and elaborate speeches, think
 themselves insulted, unless the orator shows signs of having exercised
 the utmost diligence in the preparation of his speech, and desire not
 merely to be instructed, but to be charmed.

It is difficult to preserve the happy mean in carrying this precept into
 effect: but by a skilful compromise it will be possible to give the
 impression of speaking with care but without elaborate design. The old
 rule still holds good that no unusual word, no overbold metaphor, no
 phrase derived from the lumber-rooms of antiquity or from poetic licence
 should be detected in the exordium.

For our position is not yet established, the attention of the audience
 is still fresh and imposes restraint upon us: as soon as we have won
 their good-will and kindled their interest, they will tolerate such
 freedom, more especially when we have reached topics whose natural
 richness prevents any licence of expression being noticed in the midst
 of the prevailing splendour of the passage.

The style of the exrordiumn should not resemble
 that of our purple patches nor that of the argumentative and narrative
 portions of the speech, nor yet should it be prolix or continuously
 ornate: it should rather seem simple and unpremeditated, while neither
 our words nor our looks should promise too much. For a method of
 pleading which conceals its art and makes no vain display, being as the
 Greeks say ἀνεπίφατος 
 will often be best adapted to insinuate its way
 into the minds of our hearers. But in all this we must be guided by the
 extent to which it is expedient to impress the minds of the judges.

There is no point in the whole speech where confusion of memory or loss
 of fluency has a worse effect, for a faulty exordium is like a face seamed with scars; and he
 who runs his ship ashore while leaving port is certainly the least
 efficient of pilots.

The length of the exordium will be determined by
 the case; simple cases require a short introduction only, longer exordia being best suited to cases which are
 complicated, suspect or unpopular. As for those who have laid it down as
 a law applying to all exordia that they should
 not be more than four sentences long, they are merely absurd. On the
 other hand undue length is equally to be avoided, lest the head should
 seem to have grown out of all proportion to the body and the judge
 should be wearied by that which ought to prepare him for what is to
 follow.

The figure which the Greeks call apostrophe, by
 which is meant the diversion of our words to address some person other
 than the judge, is entirely banned by some rhetoricians as far as the
 exordium is concerned, and for this they have
 some reason, since it would certainly seem to be more natural that we
 should specially address ourselves to those whose favour we desire to
 win.

Occasionally however some striking expression of thought is necessary in
 the exordium which can be given greater point and
 vehemence if addressed to some person other than the judge. In such a
 case what law or what preposterous superstition is to prevent us from
 adding force to such expression of our thought by the use of this
 figure?

For the writers of text-books do not forbid it because they regard it as
 illicit, but because they think it useless. Consequently if its utility
 be proved, we shall have to employ it for the very reason for which we
 are now forbidden to do so.

Moreover Demosthenes turns to address Aeschines in
 his exordium, 
 while
 Cicero adopts the same device in several of his speeches, but more
 especially in the pro Ligario, 
 where he turns to
 address Tubero.

His speech would have been much less effective, if any other figure had
 been used, as will be all the more clearly realised, if the whole of
 that most vigorous passage You are, then, in possession, Tubero,
 of the most valuable advantage that can fall to an accuser etc.
 be altered so as to be addressed to the judge. For it is a real
 and most unnatural diversion of the passage, which destroys its whole
 force, if we say Tubero is then in possession of the most
 valuable advantage that can fall to an accuser.

In the original form Cicero attacks his opponent and presses him hard,
 in the passage as altered he would merely have pointed out a fact. The
 same thing results if you alter the turn of the passage in Demosthenes.
 Again did not Sallust when speaking against Cicero himself address his
 exordium to him and not to the judge? In fact
 he actually opens with the words I should feel deeply injured by
 your reflexions on my character, Marcus Tullius, wherein he
 followed the precedent set by Cicero in his speech against Catiline
 where he opens with the words How long will you continue to abuse
 our patience?

Finally to remove all reason for feeling surprise at the employment of
 apostrophe, Cicero in his defence of Scaurus,
 on a charge of bribery (the speech is to be found in his
 Notebooks; for he defended him twice) actually introduces an imaginary
 person speaking on behalf of the accused, while in his pro Rahirio and his speech in defence of this same Scaurus on
 a charge of extortion he employs illustrations, and
 in the pro Cluentio, as I have already pointed
 out, introduces division into heads.

Still such artifices, although they may be employed at times to good
 effect, are not to be indulged in indiscriminately, but only when there
 is strong reason for breaking the rule. The same remark applies to simile (which must however be brief), metaphor and other tropes, 
 all of which are forbidden by our cautious and pedantic teachers of
 rhetoric, but which we shall none the less occasionally employ, unless
 indeed we are to disapprove of the magnificent example of irony in the
 pro Ligario to which I have already referred
 a few pages back.

The rhetoricians have however been nearer the truth in their censure of
 certain other faults that may occur in the exordium. The stock exordium which can
 be suited to a number of different cases they style vulgar; it is an unpopular form but can sometimes be
 effectively employed and has often been adopted by some of the greatest
 orators. The exordium which might equally well be
 used by our opponent, they style common. That
 which our opponent can turn to his own advantage, they call interchangeable, that which is irrelevant to the
 case, detached, and that which is drawn from some
 other speech, transferred. In addition to these
 they censure others as long and others as contrary to rule. Most of these faults are
 however not peculiar to the exordinum, but may be
 found in any or every portion of a speech.

Such are the rules for the exordium, wherever it
 is employed. It may however sometimes be dispensed with. For
 occasionally it is superfluous, if the judge has been sufficiently
 prepared for our speech without it or if the case is such as to render
 such preparation unnecessary. Aristotle indeed says that with good judges the exordium is entirely unnecessary. Sometimes
 however it is impossible to employ it, even if we desire to do so, when,
 for instance, the judge is much occupied, when time is short or superior
 authority forces us to embark upon the subject right away.

On the other hand it is at times possible to give the force of an exordium to other portions of the speech. For
 instance we may ask the judges in the course of our statement of the facts or of our arguments to give us their best attention and good-will, a
 proceeding which Prodicus recommended as a means of wakening them when
 they begin to nod. A good example is the following:

Gaius Varenus, he who was killed by the slaves of Ancharius—I beg
 you, gentlemen, to give me your best attention at this point.
 Further if the case involves a number of different matters,
 each section must be prefaced with a short introduction, such as
 Listen now to what follows, or I now pass to
 the next point. Even in the proof 
 there are many passages which perform the same function as an exordium, such as the passage in the pro Cluentio 
 where Cicero introduces an
 attack on the censors and in the pro Murena 
 when he
 apologises to Servius. But the practice is too common to need
 illustration.

However on all occasions when we have employed the exordium, whether we intend to pass to the statement of facts or direct to the proof, our intention should be mentioned at the conclusion of
 the introduction, with the result that the transition to what follows
 will be smooth and easy.

There is indeed a pedantic and childish affectation in vogue in the
 schools of marking the transition by some epigram
 and seeking to win applause by this feat of legerdemain. Ovid is given
 to this form of affectation in his Metamorphoses, 
 but there is some excuse for him owing to the fact that he is compelled
 to weld together subjects of the most diverse nature so as to form a
 continuous whole.

But what necessity is there for an orator to gloss over his transitions
 or to attempt to deceive the judge, who requires on the contrary to be
 warned to give his attention to the sequence of the various portions of
 the speech? For instance the first part of our statement of the facts will be wasted, if the judge does not
 realise that we have reached that stage.

Therefore, although we should not be too abrupt in passing to our statement of facts, it is best to do nothing to
 conceal our transition. Indeed, if the statement of
 fact on which we are about to embark is somewhat long and
 complicated, we shall do well to prepare the judge for it, as Cicero
 often does, most notably in the following passage: 
 The introduction to my exposition of this point will
 be rather longer than usual, but I beg you, gentlemen, not to take
 it ill. For if you get a firm grasp of the beginning, you will find
 it much easier to follow what comes last. This is
 practically all that I can find to say on the subject of the exordium.

II. It is a most natural and frequently
 necessary proceeding, that after preparing the mind of the judge in the
 manner described above we should indicate the nature of the subject on
 which he will have to give judgment: that is the statement of facts.

In dealing with this question I shall deliberately pass over the
 divisions made by certain writers, who make too many classes and err on
 the side of subtlety. For they demand an explanation
 dealing not only with the facts of the case which is before the court,
 but with the person involved (as in the sentence, 
 Marcus Lollius Palicanus, a Picentine of humble
 birth, a man gifted with loquacity rather than eloquence )
 or of the place where an incident occurred (as in the sentence 
 Lampsacus, gentlemen,
 is a town situated on the Hellespont ), or of the time at
 which something occurred (as in the verse 
 
 
 In early spring,
 when on the mountains hoar 
 The snows
 dissolve), 
 
 or of the causes of an
 occurrence, such as the historians are so fond of setting forth, when
 they explain the origin of a war, a rebellion or a pestilence. Further
 they style some statements of fact
 complete, 
 and others 
 incomplete, 
 
 a distinction which is self-evident. To this they add
 that our explanation may refer to the past (which is of course the
 commonest form), the present (for which compare Cicero's remarks about the excitement caused
 among the friends of Chrysogonus when his name was mentioned), or of the
 future (a form permissible only to prophets): for hypotyposis or picturesque description cannot be regarded as a
 statement of facts.

However let us pass to matters of more importance. The majority regard
 the statement of facts as being indispensable:
 but there are many considerations which show that this view is
 erroneous. In the first place there are some cases which are so brief,
 that they require only a brief summary rather than a full statement of
 the facts.

This may apply to both parties to a suit, as for instance in cases where
 there is no necessity for explanation or where the facts are admitted and the whole question turns on a point of
 law, as it so often does in the centumviral court, as for example when
 we discuss, whether the heir of a woman who has died intestate should be
 her son or brother, or whether puberty is to be reckoned by age or by
 physical development. The same situation arises also in cases where the
 facts admit of full statement, but are well known to the judge or have
 been correctly set forth by a previous speaker.

Sometimes again the statement of facts can be dispensed with only by one
 party, who is generally the plaintiff, either because it is sufficient
 for him to make a simple summary of his case or because it is more
 expedient for him to do so. It may, for instance, suffice to say,
 I claim repayment of a certain sum of money which was lent on
 certain conditions or I claim a legacy in accordance
 with the terms of the will. It is for the other party to
 explain why these sums are not due to the plaintiff.

Again it is sometimes sufficient and expedient to summarise a case in
 one sentence such as I say that Horatius killed his
 sister. For the judge will understand the whole charge from
 this simple affirmation: the sequence of events and the motive for the
 deed will be matters for the defence to expound.

On the other hand in some cases the accused may dispense with the statement of facts, when for instance the charge
 can neither be denied nor palliated, but turns solely on some point of
 law: the following case will illustrate my meaning. A man who has stolen
 from a temple money belonging to a private individual is accused of
 sacrilege: in such a case a confession will be more seemly than a full
 statement of facts: 
 We do not deny
 that the money was taken from the temple; but
 the accuser is bringing a false accusation in charging my client
 with sacrilege, since the money was not consecrated, but private
 property: it is for you to decide whether under these circumstances
 sacrilege has been committed.

While however I think that there are occasional cases where the statement of facts may be dispensed with, I
 disagree with those who say that there is no statement
 of facts when the accused simply denies the charge. This
 opinion is shared by Cornelius Celsus who holds that most cases of
 murder and all of bribery and extortion fall into this class.

For he thinks that the only statement of facts is
 that which gives a general account of the charge before the court. Yet
 he himself acknowledges that Cicero employed the statement of facts in his defence of Rabirius Postumus, in
 spite of the fact that Cicero denies that any money came into the hands
 of Rabirius (and this was the question at issue) and gives no
 explanations relating to the actual charge in his statement of facts.

For my part I follow the very highest authorities in holding that there
 are two forms of statement of facts in forensic
 speeches, the one expounding the facts of the case itself, the other
 setting forth facts which have a bearing on the case.

I agree that a sentence such as I did not kill the man 
 does not amount to a statement of facts: but
 there will be a statement of facts, occasionally,
 too, a long one, in answer to the arguments put forward by the accuser:
 it will deal with the past life of the accused, with the causes which
 have brought an innocent man into peril, and other circumstances such as
 show the charge to be incredible.

For the accuser does not merely say You
 killed him, but sets forth the facts proving his assertion:
 tragedy will provide an example, where Teucer accuses Ulysses of
 murdering Ajax, and states that he was found in a lonely place near the
 lifeless body of his enemy with a blood-stained sword in his hands. To
 this Ulysses does not merely reply that he did not do the deed, but adds
 that he had no quarrel with Ajax, the contest between them having been
 concerned solely with the winning of renown: he then goes on to say how
 he came to be in the lonely place, how he found Ajax lying lifeless and
 drew the sword from the wound. Then follow arguments based on these
 facts.

But even when the accuser says You were found on the spot where
 your enemy was killed and the accused says I was
 not, a statement of facts is
 involved; for he must say where he was. Consequently cases of bribery
 and extortion will require as many statements of this kind as there are
 charges: the charges themselves will be denied, but it will be necessary
 to counter the arguments of the accuser either singly or all together by
 setting forth the facts in quite a different light.

Is it, I ask you, irrelevant for one accused of bribery to set forth his
 parentage, his past life and the services on which he relied for success
 in his candidature? And if a man is indicted for extortion, will it not
 be to his advantage to set forth not merely his past record, but also
 the reasons which have made the whole province or the accuser or a
 witness hostile to himself?

If these are not statements of facts, neither is
 the first portion of Cicero's defence of Cluentius, beginning with the words
 Aulus Cluentius Habitus. For there he says nothing
 about the charge of poisoning, but confines himself
 entirely to setting forth the reasons for the hostility of Cluentius'
 mother to her son.

There are also statements which do not set forth the facts of the case
 itself, but facts which are none the less relevant to the case: the
 speaker's purpose may be to illustrate the case by some parallel, as in
 the passage in the Verrines 
 about Lucius Domitius who
 crucified a shepherd because he admitted that he had used a hunting
 spear to kill the boar which he had brought him as a present;

or he may desire to dispel some charge that is irrelevant to the case as
 in the passage of the speech for Rabirius Postumus, which runs as
 follows: For when he came to Alexandria, gentlemen, the only
 means of saving his money which the king suggested to Postumus was
 that he should take charge of the royal household and act as a kind
 of steward. Or the orator may desire to heighten the effect
 of his charges, as Cicero does in his description
 of the journey of Verres.

Sometimes a fictitious statement is employed either to stir the emotions
 of the judges, as in that passage of the proo Roscio
 Amerino 
 dealing with Chrysogonus to which I referred just
 recently, or to entertain them with a show of wit, as in the passage of
 the pro Cluentio 
 
 describing the brothers Caepasius: sometimes again a digression may be
 introduced to add beauty to the speech, as in the passage about
 Proserpine in the Verrines, 
 beginning It was here that a mother is
 once said to have sought her daughter. All these examples
 serve to show that he who denies a charge may not necessarily refrain
 from stating, but may actually state that very fact which he denies.

Even the assertion which I made above to the effect that a statement of facts familiar to the judge is
 superfluous, is not to be taken too literally. My meaning is that it may
 be dispensed with, if the judge knows not merely what has been done, but
 takes a view of the facts which is favourable to our case.

For the purpose of the statement of facts is not
 merely to instruct, but rather to persuade the judge. Therefore, when we
 desire to influence him in some way or other, although he may require no
 instruction, we shall preface our statement with some such remarks as
 these: I know that you are aware of the general nature of the
 case, but I trust you will not take it ill if I ask you to consider
 each point in detail.

At times again we may pretend that we are repeating the facts for the
 benefit of some new member of the jury, at times that we do so with a
 view to letting every bystander as well realise the gross unfairness of
 our opponents' assertions. Under these circumstances our statement must
 be diversified by a free use of figures to avoid wearying those to whom
 the facts are familiar: we shall for instance use phrases such as
 You remember, 
 It may perhaps be superfluous to
 dwell on this point, 
 But why should I say more, as you
 are well acquainted with the fact? , You are not
 ignorant how this matter stands and so on.

Besides, if we are always to regard as superfluous a statement of facts made before a judge who is familiar with
 the case, we may even go so far as to regard it as superfluous at times
 to plead the case at all.

There is a further question which is still more frequently raised, as to
 whether the statement of facts should always
 follow immediately on the 
 exordium. Those who hold that it should always do so must be
 admitted to have some reason on their side. For since the purpose of the
 exordium is to make the judge more favourably
 disposed and more attentive to our case and more amenable to
 instruction, and since the proof cannot be
 brought forward until the facts of the case are known, it seems right
 that the judge should be instructed in the facts without delay.

But the practice may be altered by circumstances, unless it is contended
 that Cicero in his magnificent published defence of Milo delayed his statement too long by placing three questions
 before it; or unless it is argued that, if it bad been held to be
 impermissible to defend a man at all who acknowledged that he had killed
 another, or if Milo's case had already been prejudged and condemnation
 passed by the senate, or if Gnaeus Pompeius, who in addition to exerting
 his influence in other ways had surrounded the court with an armed
 guard, had been regarded with apprehension as hostile to the accused, it
 would have served his case to set forth how Clodius had set an ambush
 for Milo.

These three questions, then, served the purpose of an exordium, since
 they all of them were designed to prepare the minds of the judges. Again
 in the pro Vareno Cicero delayed his statement of
 facts until he had first rebutted certain allegations put forward by the
 prosecution. This may be done with advantage whenever we have not merely
 to rebut the charge, but to turn the tables on our opponents: thus after
 first rebutting the charge, we make our statement of
 facts the opening of an incrimination of the other party just
 as in actual fighting we are most concerned to parry
 our adversary's blows before we strike him ourselves.

There will also not infrequently be certain cases, in which it is easy
 to rebut the charge that is under trial, but the conduct of which is
 hampered by the past life of our client and the many and serious crimes
 which he has committed. We must dispose of these first, in order that
 the judge may give a favourable hearing to our defence of the actual
 facts which form the question at issue. For example, if we have to
 defend Marcus Caelius, the best course for his advocate to adopt will be
 to meet the imputations of luxury, wantonness and immorality which are
 made against him before we proceed to the actual charge of poisoning. It
 is with these points that the speech of Cicero in his defence is
 entirely concerned. Is he then to go on to make a statement about the
 property of Palla and explain the whole question of rioting, a charge
 against which Caelius has already defended himself in the speech which
 he delivered on his own behalf?

We however are the victims of the practice of the schools in accordance
 with which certain points or themes as we call them are put forward for
 discussion, outside which our refutation must not go, and consequently a
 statement of facts always follows the exordium. It is this too that leads declaimers to
 take the liberty of inserting a statement of
 facts even when they speak second for their side.

For when they speak for the prosecution they introduce both a statement of facts, as if they were speaking
 first, and a refutation of the arguments for the defence, as if they
 were replying: and they are right in so doing. For since declamation is
 merely an exercise in forensic pleading, why should they not qualify
 themselves to speak either first or second ? Those however who do not understand the reason for
 such a practice, think that when they appear in the courts they should
 stick to the custom of the schools with which they have become familiar.

But even scholastic rhetoricians occasionally substitute a brief summary
 for the full statement of the facts. For what statement of the case can
 be made when a wife is accusing a jealous husband of maltreating her, or
 a father is indicting his son turned Cynic before the censors for
 indecent behaviour ? In both cases
 the charge can be sufficiently indicated by one word placed in any part
 of the speech. But enough of these points.

I will now proceed to the method to be adopted in making our statement of facts. The statement of facts consists in the persuasive exposition of
 that which either has been done, or is supposed to have been done, or,
 to quote the definition given by Apollodorus, is a speech instructing
 the audience as to the nature of the case in dispute. Most writers, more
 especially those of the Isocratean school, hold that it should be lucid,
 brief and plausible (for it is of no importance if we substitute clear
 for lucid, or credible or probable for plausible).

I agree with this classification of its qualities, although Aristotle
 disagrees with Isocrates on one
 point, and pours scorn on his injunction to be brief, as though it were
 necessary that a statement should be either long or short and it were
 impossible to hit the happy mean. The followers of Theodorus on the
 other hand recognise only plausibility on the ground that it is not
 always expedient that our exposition should be either short or clear.

It will be necessary therefore for me to devote some
 care to the differentiation of the various features of this portion of a
 speech, in order that I may show under what circumstances each is
 specially useful. The statement will be either
 wholly in our favour or wholly in that of our opponent or a mixture of
 both. If it is entirely in our own favour, we may rest content with the
 three qualities just mentioned, the result of which is to make it easier
 for the judge to understand, remember and believe what we say.

Now I should regret that anyone should censure my conduct in suggesting
 that a statement which is wholly in our favour
 should be plausible, when as a matter of fact it
 is true. There are many things which are true,
 but scarcely credible, just as there are many things which are plausible
 though false. It will therefore require just as much exertion on our
 part to make the judge believe what we say when it is true as it will
 when it is fictitious.

These good qualities, which I have mentioned above, do not indeed cease
 to be virtues in other portions of the speech; for it is our duty to
 avoid obscurity in every part of our pleading, to preserve due
 proportion throughout and to say nothing save what is likely to win
 belief. But they require special observance in that portion of the
 speech which is the first from which the judge can learn the nature of
 the case: if at this stage of the proceedings he fails to understand,
 remember or believe what we say, our labour is but lost in the remainder
 of the speech.

We shall achieve lucidity and clearness in our statement of facts, first
 by setting forth our story in words which are appropriate, significant
 and free from any taint of meanness, but not on the other hand farfetched or unusual, and secondly by giving a
 distinct account of facts, persons, times, places and causes, while our
 delivery must be adapted to our matter, so that the judge will take in
 what we say with the utmost readiness.

This latter virtue is disregarded by the majority of speakers who are
 used to the noisy applause of a large audience, whether it be a chance
 gathering or an assembly of claqueurs, and
 consequently are unnerved by the attentive silence of the courts. They
 feel that they have fallen short of eloquence, if they do not make
 everything echo with noise and clamour; they think that to state a
 matter simply is suited only to everyday speech such as falls within the
 capacity of any uneducated man, while all the time it is hard to say
 whether they are less willing or less capable of performing a task which
 they despise on account of its supposed easiness.

For even when they have tried everything, they will never find anything
 more difficult in the whole range of oratory than that which, once
 heard, all think they would have said,— a delusion due to the fact that
 they regard what has been said as having no merit save that of truth.
 But it is just when an orator gives the impression of absolute truth
 that he is speaking best.

As it is, when such persons as these get a fair field for stating their
 case, they select this as the precise occasion for affected modulations
 of the voice, throwing back their heads, thumping their sides and
 indulging in every kind of extravagance of statement, language and
 style. As a result, while the speech, from its very monstrosity, meets
 with applause, the case remains unintelligible. However, let us pass to
 another subject; my aim is to win favour for 
 pointing out the right road rather than to give offence by rebuking such
 perversity.

The statement of facts will be brief, if in the
 first place we start at that point of the case at which it begins to
 concern the judge, secondly avoid irrelevance, and finally cut out
 everything the removal of which neither hampers the activities of the
 judge nor harms our own case.

For frequently conciseness of detail is not inconsistent with length in
 the whole. Take for instance such a statement as the following: 
 I came to the harbour, I saw a ship, I asked the cost of a passage,
 the price was agreed, I went on board, the anchor was weighed, we
 loosed our cable and set out. Nothing could be terser than
 these assertions, but it would have been quite sufficient to say
 I sailed from the harbour. And whenever the
 conclusion gives a sufficiently clear idea of the premisses, we must be
 content with having given a hint which will enable our audience to
 understand what we have left unsaid.

Consequently when it is possible to say I have a young
 son, it is quite superfluous to say, Being desirous
 of children I took a wife, a son was born whom I acknowledged and
 reared and brought up to manhood. For this reason some of
 the Greeks draw a distinction between a concise statement (the word they
 use is σύντομος ) and a brief
 statement, the former being free from all superfluous matter, while the
 latter may conceivably omit something that requires to be stated.

Personally, when I use the word brevity, I mean not saying less, but not
 saying more than occasion demands. As for repetitions and tautologies
 and diffuseness, which some writers of textbooks tell us we must avoid,
 I pass them by; they are faults which we should shun
 for other reasons beside our desire for brevity.

But we must be equally on our guard against the obscurity which results
 from excessive abridgment, and it is better to say a little more than is
 necessary than a little less. For though a diffuse irrelevance is
 tedious, the omission of what is necessary is positively dangerous.

We must therefore avoid even tile famous terseness of Sallust (though in
 his case of course it is a merit), and shun all abruptness of speech,
 since a style which presents no difficulty to a leisurely reader, flies
 past a hearer and will not stay to be looked at again; and whereas the
 reader is almost always a man of learning, the judge often comes to his
 panel from the country side and is expected to give a decision on what
 he can understand. Consequently we must aim, perhaps everywhere, but
 above all in our statement of facts, at striking
 the happy mean in our language, and the happy mean may be defined as
 saving just what is necessary and just what is sufficient.

By just what is necessary I mean not the bare minimum
 necessary to convey our meaning; for our brevity must not be devoid of
 elegance, without which it would be merely uncouth: pleasure beguiles
 the attention, and that which delights us ever seems less long, just as
 a picturesque and easy journey tires us less for all its length than a
 difficult short cut through an arid waste.

And I would never carry my desire for brevity so far as to refuse
 admission to details which may contribute to the plausibility of our
 narrative. Simplify and curtail your statement of facts in every
 direction and you will turn it into something more like a confession.
 Moreover, the circumstances of the case will often
 necessitate a long statement of facts, in which
 case, as I have already enjoined, the judge should be prepared for it at
 the conclusion of the exordium. Next we must put
 forth all our art either to shorten it or to render it less tedious.

We must do what we can to make it less long by postponing some points,
 taking care however to mention what it is that we propose to postpone.
 Take the following as an example. As regards his motives for
 killing him, his accomplices and the manner in which he disposed his
 ambush, I will speak when I come to the proof. 
 
 Some
 things indeed may be omitted altogether from our marshalling of the
 facts, witness the following example from Cicero, 
 Fulcinius died; there are many circumstances which
 attended that event, but as they have little bearing on this case, I
 shall pass them by. Division of our statement into its
 various heads is another method of avoiding tedium: for example, 
 I will tell you first what preceded this affair, then what occurred
 in its actual development, and finally you shall hear its sequel.

Such a division will give the impression of three short statements
 rather than of one long one. At times it will be well to interrupt our
 narrative by interjecting some brief remark like the following:
 You have heard what happened before: now learn what
 follows. The judge will be refreshed by the fact that we
 have brought our previous remarks to a close and will prepare himself
 for what may be regarded as a fresh start.

If however after employing all these artifices our array of facts is
 still long, it will not be without advantage to append a summary at the
 end of it as a reminder: Cicero does this even at the close of a brief statement of facts in
 the pro Ligario: 
 
 To this day, Caesar, Quintus Ligarius is free from
 all blame: he left his home not merely without the least intention
 of joining in any war, but when there was not the least suspicion of
 any war etc.

The statement of fact will be credible, if in the
 first place we take care to say nothing contrary to nature, secondly if
 we assign reasons and motives for the facts on which the inquiry turns
 (it is unnecessary to do so with the subsidiary facts as well), and if
 we make the characters of the actors in keeping with the facts we desire
 to be believed: we shall for instance represent a person accused of
 theft as covetous, accused of adultery as lustful, accused of homicide
 as rash, or attribute the opposite qualities to these persons if we are
 defending them: further we must do the same with place, time and the
 like.

It is also possible to treat the subject in such a way as to give it an
 air of credibility, as is done in comedy and farce. For some things have
 such natural sequence and coherence that, if only the first portion of
 your statement is satisfactory, the judge will
 himself anticipate what you have got to say in the later part.

It will also be useful to scatter some hints of our proofs here and
 there, but in such a way that it is never forgotten that we are making a
 statement of facts and not a proof.
 Sometimes, however, we must also support our assertions by a certain
 amount of argument, though this must be short and simple: for instance
 in a case of poisoning we shall say, He was perfectly well when
 he drank, he fell suddenly to the ground, and blackness and swelling
 of the body immediately supervened.

The same result is produced by preparatory remarks
 such as the following: The accused is a strong man and was fully
 armed, while his opponents were weak, unarmed and suspecting no
 evil. We may in fact touch on everything that we propose to
 produce in our proof; while making our statement
 of facts, as for instance points connected with persons, cause, place,
 time, the instrument and occasion employed.

Sometimes, when this resource is unavailable, we may even confess that
 the charge, though true, is scarcely credible, and that therefore it
 must be regarded as all the more atrocious; that we do not know how the
 deed was done or why, that we are filled with amazement, but will prove
 our case.

The best kind of preparatory remarks are those which cannot be
 recognised as such: Cicero, for instance, is
 extraordinarily happy in the way he mentions in advance everything that
 shows that Clodius lay in wait for Milo and not Milo for Clodius. The
 most effective stroke of all is his cunning feint of simplicity: 
 Milo, on the other hand, having been in the senate all day till the
 house rose, went home, changed his shoes and clothes, and waited for
 a short time, while his wife was getting ready, as is the way with
 women.

What an absence of haste and premeditation this gives to Milo's
 proceedings. And the great orator secures this effect not merely by
 producing facts which indicate the slow and tardy nature of Milo's
 departure, but by the use of the ordinary language of everyday speech
 and a careful concealment of his art. Had he spoken otherwise, his words
 would by their very sound have warned the judge to keep an eye on the
 advocate.

The majority of readers regard this passage as lacking in distinction,
 but this very fact merely serves to show how the art
 which is scarce detected by a reader succeeded in hoodwinking the judge.
 It is qualities of this kind that make the statement
 of facts credible.

If a student requires to be told that we must avoid contradiction and
 inconsistency in our statement of facts, it will
 be vain to attempt to instruct him on the remaining points, although
 some writers of text-books produce this precept as if it were a mystery
 only discovered by their own personal penetration.

To these three qualities some add magnificence of diction or μεγαλοπρέπεια as they call it this quality
 is not, however, suitable to all cases. For what place has language that
 rises above the ordinary level in the majority of private suits dealing
 with loans, letting and hiring and interdicts? Nor yet is it always
 expedient, as may be inferred from the passage just cited from the pro Milone.

We must remember, too, that there are many cases in which confession,
 excuse or modification are necessary with regard to our statements: and
 magnificence is a quality wholly out of keeping with such procedure.
 Magnificence of diction is therefore no more specially appropriate to
 the statement of facts than language calculated to excite pity or
 hatred, or characterised by dignity, charm or wit. Each of these
 qualities is admirable in its proper place, but none can be regarded as
 the peculiar and inalienable property of this portion of the speech.

Theodectes asserts that the statement of facts 
 should not merely be magnificent, but attractive in style. But this
 quality again though suitable enough to the statement of facts, is
 equally so in other portions of the speech. There are others who add palpability, which the Greeks call ἐνάργεια.

And I will not conceal the fact that Cicero 
 himself holds that more qualities are required. For in addition to
 demanding that it should be plain, brief and credible, he would have it
 clear, characteristic and worthy of the occasion. But everything in a
 speech should be characteristic and worthy of the occasion as far as
 possible. Palpalility, as far as I understand the term, is no doubt a
 great virtue, when a truth requires not merely to be told, but to some
 extent obtruded, still it may be included under lucidity. Some, however,
 regard this quality as actually being injurious at times, on the ground
 that in certain cases it is desirable to obscure the truth. This
 contention is, however, absurd.

For he who desires to obscure the situation, will state what is false in
 lieu of the truth, but must still strive to secure an appearance of
 palpability for the facts which he narrates.

A chance turn of the discussion has led us to a difficult type of statement of facts. I will therefore proceed to
 speak of those in which the facts are against us. Under such
 circumstances some have held that we should omit the statement of facts altogether. Nothing can be more easy,
 except perhaps to throw up the case altogether. But suppose you
 undertake a case of this kind with some good reason. It is surely the
 worst art to admit the badness of the case by keeping silence. We can
 hardly hope that the judge will be so dense as to give a decision in
 favour of a case which he knows we were unwilling to place before him.

I do not of course deny that just as there may be some points which you
 should deny in your statement 
 
 of facts, others which you should add, and
 yet again others that you should alter, so there may be some which you
 should pass over in silence. But still only those points should be
 passed over which we ought and are at liberty to treat in this way. This
 is sometimes done for the sake of brevity, as in the phrase He
 replied as he thought fit.

We must therefore distinguish between case and case. In those where
 there is no question of guilt but only of law, we may, even though the
 facts he against us, admit the truth. He took money from the
 temple, but it was private property, and therefore he is not guilty
 of sacrilege. He abducted a maiden, but the father can have no option as to his fate. He assaulted a freeborn boy, and the
 latter hanged himself, but that is no reason for the author of the
 assault to be awarded capital punishment as having caused his death;
 he will instead pay 10,000 sesterces, the fine imposed by law for
 such a crime. But even in making these admissions we may to
 some extent lessen the odium caused by the statement of our opponent.
 For even our slaves extenuate their own faults.

In some cases, too, we may mitigate a bad impression by words which
 avoid the appearance of a statement of facts. We
 may say, for instance, He did not, as our opponent asserts,
 enter the temple with the deliberate intention of theft nor seek a
 favourable occasion for the purpose, but was led astray by the
 opportunity, the absence of custodians, and the sight of the money
 (and money has always an undue influence on the mind of man), and so
 yielded to temptation. What does that matter? He committed the
 offence and is a thief. It is useless to defend
 an act to the punishment of which we can raise no objection.

Again we may sometimes go near condemning our client ourselves.
 
 Do you wish me to say that you
 were under the influence of wine? that you made a mistake? that the
 darkness deceived you? That may be true. But still you committed an
 assault on a freeborn boy; pay your 10,000 sesterces. 
 Sometimes we may fortify our case in advance by a preliminary summary,
 from which we proceed to the full statement of
 facts.

All the evidence points to the guilt of three sons who had conspired
 against their father. After drawing lots they entered their father's
 bedroom while he slept, one following the other in the order
 predetermined and each armed with a sword. None of them had the heart to
 kill him, he woke and they confessed all.

If, however, the father, who has divided his estate among them and is
 defending them when accused of parricide, pleads as follows: As
 regards my defence against the law, it suffices to point out, that
 these young men are charged with parricide in spite of the fact that
 their father still lives and is actually appearing on behalf of his
 children. What need is there for me to set forth the facts as they
 occurred since the law does not apply to them? But if you desire me
 to confess my own guilt in the matter, I was a hard father to them
 and watched over my estate, which would have been better managed by
 them, with miserly tenacity.

And if he then should add, they were spurred to attempt the
 crime by others who had more indulgent fathers; but their real
 feelings towards their father have been proved by the result; they
 could not bring themselves to kill him. It would
 have been quite unnecessary for them to take an oath to kill him, if
 they had really had the heart to do the deed, while the only
 explanation of their drawing lots is that each of them wished to
 avoid the commission of the crime. If such were his
 pleading, all these pleas would, such as they are, find the judges all
 the more disposed to mercy, since the brief defence offered in the first
 summary statement would have paved the way for them.

But if the question is whether an act has been committed or what its
 nature may be, even though everything be against us, how can we avoid a
 statement of facts without gross neglect of
 our case? The accuser has made a statement of facts
 facts, and has done so not merely in such a way as to indicate
 what was done, but has added such comments as might excite strong
 prejudice against us and made the facts seem worse than they are by the
 language which he has used. On the top of this have come the proofs, while the peroration has kindled the indignation of the judges and left
 them full of anger against us.

The judge naturally waits to hear what we can state in our behalf. If we
 make no statement, he cannot help believing that our opponent's
 assertions are correct and that their tone represents the truth. What
 are we to do then? Are we to restate the same facts? Yes, if the
 question turns on the nature of the act, as it will if there is no doubt
 about the commission, but we must restate them in a different way,
 alleging other motives and another purpose and putting a different
 complexion on the case.

Some imputations we may mitigate by the use of other words; luxury will
 be softened down into generosity, avarice into
 economy, carelessness into simplicity, and I shall seek to win a certain
 amount of favour or pity by look, voice and attitude. Sometimes a frank
 confession is of itself sufficient to move the jury to tears. And I
 should like to ask those who differ from me whether they are prepared to
 defend what they have refused to state, or no.

For if they refuse either to defend or to state the facts, they will be
 giving away their whole case. If, on the other hand, they do propose to
 put in a defence, they must at least, as a rule, set forth what they
 intend to justify. Why then not state fully facts which can be got rid
 of and must in fact be pointed out to make that possible?

Or again what difference is there between a proof 
 and a statement of facts save that the latter is
 a proof put forward in continuous form, while a
 proof is a verification of the facts as put
 forward in the statement? Let us consider
 therefore whether under such circumstances the statement should not be somewhat longer and fuller than usual,
 since we shall require to make some preliminary remarks and to introduce
 certain special arguments (note that I say arguments, and not
 argumentation), while it will add greatly to the force of our defence if
 we assert not once nor twice that we shall prove what we say is true and
 that the significance of the facts cannot be brought out by one opening
 statement, bidding them wait, delay forming their opinions and hope for
 the best.

Finally it is important to include in our statement anything that can be
 given a different complexion from that put upon it by our opponent.
 Otherwise even an exordium will be superfluous in
 a case of this kind. For what is its purpose if not
 to make the judge better disposed for the investigation of the case? And
 yet it will be agreed that the exordium is never
 more useful than when it is necessary to divert the judge from some
 prejudice that he has formed against us.

Conjectural cases, on the other hand—that
 is to say questions of fact—require a statement, which will more often
 deal with the circumstances from which a knowledge of the point at issue
 may be derived than with the actual point which is under trial. When the
 accuser states these circumstances in such a manner as to throw
 suspicion on the case for the defence, and the accused has consequently
 to dispel that suspicion, the facts must be presented to the judge in
 quite a different light by the latter.

But, it may be urged, some arguments are strong when put forward in
 bulk, but far less effective when employed separately. My answer is that
 this remark does not affect the question whether we ought to make a
 statement of fact, but concerns the question how it should be made. For
 what is there to prevent us from amassing and producing a number of
 arguments in the statement, if that is likely to
 help our cause? Or from subdividing our statement of facts and appending
 the proofs to their respective sections and so passing on to what
 remains to be said?

Neither do I agree with those who assert that the order of our statement of facts should always follow the
 actual order of events, but have a preference for adopting the order
 which I consider most suitable. For this purpose we can employ a variety
 of figures. Sometimes, when we bring up a point in a place better suited
 to our purpose, we may pretend that it had escaped our notice; occasionally, too, we may inform the judge that we
 shall adhere to the natural order for the remainder of our statement,
 since by so doing we shall make our case clearer, while at times after
 stating a fact, we may append the causes which preceded it.

For there is no single law or fixed rule governing the method of
 defence. We must consider what is most advantageous in the circumstances
 and nature of the case, and treat the wound as its nature dictates,
 dressing at once or, if the dressing can be delayed, applying a
 temporary bandage.

Again I do not regard it as a crime to repeat a statement of a fact more
 than once, as Cicero does in the pro Cluentio. It
 is not merely permissible, but sometimes necessary, as in trials for
 extortion and all complicated cases; and only a lunatic will allow a
 superstitious observance of rules to lead him counter to the interests
 of his case.

The reason for placing the statement of facts before the proof is to
 prevent the judge from being ignorant of the question at issue. Why
 then, if each individual point has to be proved or refuted, should not
 each individual point be stated as well? If my own experience may be
 trusted, I know that I have followed this practice in the courts,
 whenever occasion demanded it, and my procedure has been approved both
 by learned authorities and the judges themselves, while the duty of
 setting forth the case was generally entrusted to me. I am not boasting,
 for there are many with whom I have been associated as counsel, who can
 bring me to book if I lie.

On the other hand this is no reason for not following the order of
 events as a general rule. Indeed inversion of the order has at times a
 most unhappy effect, as for example if you should mention first that a woman has brought forth and then that
 she has conceived, or that a will has been read and then that it has
 been signed. In such cases, if you should happen to have mentioned the
 later incident, it is better to say nothing about the former, which must
 quite obviously have come first.

Sometimes, too, we get false statements of facts; these, as far as
 actual pleading in the courts is concerned, fall into two classes. In
 the first case the statement depends on external support; Publius
 Clodius, for instance, relied on his witnesses when he stated that he
 was at Interamna on the night when he committed abominable sacrilege at
 Rome. The other has to be supported by the speaker's native talent, and
 sometimes consists simply in an assumption of modesty, which is, I
 imagine, the reason why it is called a gloss, while at other times it will be concerned with the
 question at issue.

Whichever of these two forms we employ, we must take care, first that
 our fiction is within the bounds of possibility, secondly that it is
 consistent with the persons, dates and places involved and thirdly that
 it presents a character and sequence that are not beyond belief: if
 possible, it should be connected with something that is admittedly true
 and should be supported by some argument that forms part of the actual
 case. For if we draw our fictions entirely from circumstances lying
 outside the case, the liberty which we have taken in resorting to
 falsehood will stand revealed.

Above all we must see that we do not contradict ourselves, a slip which
 is far from rare on the part of spinners of fiction: for some things may
 put a most favourable complexion on portions of our case, and yet fail
 to agree as a whole. Further, what we say must not
 be at variance with the admitted truth. Even in the schools, if we
 desire a gloss, we must not look for it outside
 the facts laid down by our theme.

In either case the orator should bear clearly in mind throughout his
 whole speech what the fiction is to which he has committed himself,
 since we are apt to forget our falsehoods, and there is no doubt about
 the truth of the proverb that a liar should have a good memory.

But whereas, if the question turns on some act of our own, we must make
 one statement and stick to it, if it turns on an act committed by
 others, we may cast suspicion on a number of different points. In
 certain controversial themes of the schools, however, in which it is
 assumed that we have put a question and received no reply, we are at
 liberty to enumerate all the possible answers that might have been
 given.

But we must remember only to invent such things as cannot be checked by
 evidence: I refer to occasions when we make our own minds speak (and we
 are the only persons who are in their secret) or put words in the mouth
 of the dead (for what they say is not liable to contradiction) or again
 in the mouth of someone whose interests are identical with ours (for he
 will not contradict), or finally in the mouth of our opponent (for he
 will not be believed if he does deny).

Glosses drawn from dreams and superstitions have
 long since lost their value, owing to the very ease with which they can
 be invented. But it will avail us little to use glosses in a statement of fact, unless
 they are consistent throughout the whole of our speech, more especially
 as certain things can only be proved by persistent assertion.

Take for instance the case of the parasite who claims as his son a young
 man who has been thrice disinherited by a wealthy
 father and thrice restored to his own. He will be able to put forward as
 a gloss or plea that poverty was the reason why
 he exposed the child, that he assumed the role of a parasite because his
 son was in the house in question and, lastly, that the reason why the
 young man was thrice disinherited was simply that he was not the son of
 the man who disinherited him.

But unless every word that he utters reveals an ardent paternal
 affection, hatred for his wealthy opponent and anxiety on behalf of the
 youth, who will, he knows, be exposed to serious danger if he remains in
 the house where he is the victim of such dislike, he will be unable to
 avoid creating the suspicion that he has been suborned to bring the
 action.

It sometimes happens in the controversial themes of the schools, though
 I doubt whether it could ever occur in the courts, that both sides
 employ the same gloss and support it on their own
 behalf.

An example of this may be found in the theme which runs as follows.
 A wife has stated to her husband that her stepson has
 attempted to seduce her and that a time and place have been assigned
 for their meeting: the son has brought the same charge against his
 stepmother, with the exception that a different time and place are
 mentioned. The father finds the son in the place mentioned by the
 wife, and the wife in the place mentioned by the son. He divorces
 her, and then, as she says nothing in her own defence, disinherits
 the son. No defence can be put forward for the son which is
 not also a defence of the stepmother.

However, what is common to both sides of the case will be stated, and
 then arguments will be drawn from a comparison of 
 the characters of the two parties, from the order in which they laid
 information against each other and from the silence of the divorced
 wife.

Still we must not ignore the fact that there are some cases which do not
 admit of any form of gloss, but must be defended
 forthright. An example is provided by the case of the rich man who
 scourged the statue of a poor man who was his enemy, and was
 subsequently indicted for assault. Here no one can deny that the act was
 outrageous, but it may be possible to maintain that it is not punishable
 by law.

If, however, part of the statement of facts tells in our favour and part
 against us, we must consider whether in view of the circumstances of the
 case the parts in question should be blent or kept apart. If the points
 which are damaging to our case be in the majority, the points which are
 in its favour will be swamped. Under those circumstances it will be best
 to keep them apart and, after setting forth and proving the points which
 help our case, to meet the rest by employing the remedies mentioned
 above.

If, on the other hand, it be the points in our favour which predominate,
 we may even blend them with the others, since thus the traitors in our
 camp will have less force. None the less these points, both good and
 bad, must not be set forth naked and helpless: those in our favour must
 be supported by some argument, and then reasons must be added why the
 points which tell against us should not be believed; since if we do not
 distinguish clearly between the two, it is to be feared that those which
 are favourable may suffer from their bad company.

Further rules are laid down with regard to the 
 statement of fact, forbidding us to indulge in digression, apostrophe or
 argumentation or to put our words into the mouths of others. Some even
 add that we should make no appeal to the passions. These rules should
 for the most part be observed, indeed they should never be infringed
 unless the circumstances absolutely demand it.

If our statement is to be clear and brief, almost anything can be
 justified sooner than digression. And if we do introduce a digression,
 it must always be short and of such a nature that we give the impression
 of having been forced from our proper course by some uncontrollable
 emotion. The passage in Cicero about the
 marriage of Sasia is a good example of this.

What incredible wickedness in a woman! Unheard of in the history
 of mankind till she dared the sin! What unbridled and unrestrained
 lust, what amazing daring! One might have thought that, even if she
 had no regard for the vengeance of heaven and the opinion of man,
 she would at least have dreaded that night of all nights and those
 torches that lighted her to the bridal bed: that she would have
 shrunk in horror from the threshold of her chamber, from her
 daughter's room and the very walls that had witnessed her former
 marriage.

As to addressing another in place of the judge, it may be a means of
 making a point with greater brevity and give it greater force. On this
 subject I hold the same view that I expressed in dealing with the exordium, as I do on the subject of
 impersonation. This artifice however is employed not only by Servius
 Sulpicius in his speech on behalf of Aufidia, when he cries Am I
 to suppose that you were drowsed with sleep or weighed down by some
 heavy lethargy? but by Cicero
 as well, when in a passage
 which, like the above, belongs to the statement of facts, in speaking of
 the ships' captains he says, You will give so much to enter,
 etc.

Again in the pro Clueniio 
 
 does not the conversation between Staienus and Bulbus conduce to speed
 and enhance the credibility of the statements ? In case it should be
 thought that Cicero did this without design (quite an incredible
 supposition in his case), I would point out that in the Partitiones 
 he lays it down that the statement of facts should be characterised by
 passages which will charm and excite admiration or expectation, and
 marked by unexpected turns, conversations between persons and appeals to
 every kind of emotion.

We shall, as I have already said, never argue points in the statement of facts, but we may sometimes
 introduce arguments, as for example Cicero does in the pro Ligario, 
 when he says that he ruled his province in such a
 way that it was to his interest that peace should continue. We shall
 sometimes also, if occasion demand, insert a brief defence of the facts
 in the statement and trace the reasons that led up to them.

For we must state our facts like advocates, not witnesses. A statement
 in its simplest form will run as follows, Quintus Ligarius went
 out as legate to C. Considius. But how will Cicero put it ? Quintus Ligarius, he says,
 set out for Africa as legate to Gaius Considius at a time
 when there was no thought of war. And again elsewhere

he says, Not only not to war, but to a country where there was no
 thought of war. And when the sense would have been
 sufficiently clear had he said no more than
 Quintus Ligarius would not suffer himself to be entangled in
 any transaction, 
 he adds
 for he had his eyes fixed on home and wished to return to his
 own people. Thus he made what he stated credible by giving a
 reason for it and at the same time coloured it with emotion.

I am therefore all the more surprised at those who hold that there
 should be no appeal to the emotions in the statement
 of facts. If they were to say Such appeals should be
 brief and not on the scale on which they are employed in tile peroration, 
 I should agree with them;
 for it is important that the statement should be expeditious. But why,
 while I am instructing the judge, should I refuse to move him as well?

Why should I not, if it is possible, obtain that effect at the very
 opening of the case which I am anxious to secure at its conclusion, more
 especially in view of the fact that I shall find the judge far more
 amenable to the cogency of my proof, if I have previously filled his
 mind with anger or pity?

Does not Cicero, in his
 description of the scourging of a Roman citizen, in a few brief words
 stir all the emotions, not merely by describing the victim's position,
 the place where the outrage was committed and the nature of the
 punishment, but also by praising the courage with which he bore it? For
 he shows us a man of the highest character who, when beaten with rods,
 uttered not a moan nor an entreaty, but only cried that lie was a Roman
 citizen, thereby bringing shame on his oppressor and showing his
 confidence in the law.

Again does he not throughout the whole of his statement excite the
 warmest indignation at the misfortunes of Philodamus and move us even to tears when he speaks of
 his punishment and describes, or rather shows us as in a picture, the
 father weeping for the death of his son and the son for the death of his
 father?

What can any peroration present that is more calculated to stir our
 pity? If you wait for the peroration to stir your
 hearer's emotions over circumstances which you have recorded unmoved in
 your statement of facts, your appeal will come
 too late. The judge is already familiar with them and hears their
 mention without turning a hair, since he was unstirred when they were
 first recounted to him. Once the habit of mind is formed, it is hard to
 change it.

For my own part (for I will not conceal my opinion, though it rests
 rather on actual examples than on rules), I hold that the statement of fact more than any portion of the
 speech should be adorned with the utmost grace and charm. But much will
 depend on the nature of the subject which we have to set forth.

In slighter cases, such as are the majority of private suits, the
 decoration must be restrained and fit close to the subject, while the
 utmost care must be exercised in choice of words. The words which in our
 purple passages are swept along by the force of our eloquence and lost
 in the profusion of our language, must in cases such as these be clear
 and, as Zeno says, steeped with meaning. The rhythm
 should be unobtrusive, but as attractive as possible,

while the figures must neither be derived from poetry nor such as are
 contrary to current usage, though warranted by the authority of
 antiquity (for it is important that our language should be entirely
 normal), but should be designed to relieve tedium by their variety and
 should be frequently changed to relax the strain of
 attention. Thus we shall avoid repeating the same terminations and
 escape monotony of rhythm and a stereotyped turn of phrase. For the statement of facts lacks all the other
 allurements of style and, unless it is characterised by this kind of
 charm, will necessarily fall flat.

Moreover there is no portion of a speech at which the judge is more
 attentive, and consequently nothing that is well said is lost. And the
 judge is, for some reason or other, all the more ready to accept what
 charms his ear and is lured by pleasure to belief.

When on the other hand the subject is on a larger scale, we have a
 chance to excite horror by our narration of abominable wrongs or pity by
 a tale of woe: but we must do so in such a way as not to exhaust our
 stock of emotions on the spot, but merely to indicate our harrowing
 story in outline so that it may at once be clear what the completed
 picture is like to be.

Again I am far from disapproving of the introduction of some striking
 sentence designed to stimulate the judge's jaded palate. The best way of
 so doing is the interposition of a short sentence like the following:
 Milo's slaves did what everyone would have wished his own
 slaves to do under similar circumstances 
 : at times we may even be a little more daring and
 produce something like the following: The mother-in-law wedded
 her son-in-law: there were no witnesses, none to sanction the union,
 and the omens were dark and sinister.

If this was done in days when every speech was designed for practical
 purposes rather than display and the courts were far stricter than
 to-day, how much more should we do it now, when the passion for
 producing a thrill of pleasure has forced its way
 even into cases where a man's life or fortunes are in peril? I shall say
 later to what extent I think we should indulge popular taste in this
 respect: in the meantime I shall admit that some such indulgence is
 necessary.

A powerful effect may be created if to the actual facts of the case we
 add a plausible picture of what occurred, such as will make our audience
 feel as if they were actual eyewitnesses of the scene. Such is the
 description introduced by Marcus Caelius in his speech against Antonius.
 For they found him lying prone in a drunken slumber, snoring
 with all the force of his lungs, and belching continually, while the
 most distinguished of his female companions sprawled over every
 couch, and the rest of the seraglio lay round in all directions.
 They however perceived the
 approach of the enemy and, half-dead with terror, attempted to
 arouse Antonius, called him by name, heaved up his head, but all in
 vain, while one whispered endearing words into his ear, and another
 slapped him with some violence. At last he recognised the voice and
 touch of each and tried to embrace her who happened to be nearest.
 Once wakened he could not sleep, but was too drunk to keep awake,
 and so was bandied to and fro between sleeping and waking in the
 hands of his centurions and his paramours. Could you find
 anything more plausible in imagination, more vehement in censure or more
 vivid in description?

There is another point to which I must call attention, namely the credit
 which accrues to the statement of facts from the
 authority of the speaker. Now such authority should first and foremost
 be the reward of our manner of life, but may also be conferred by our style of eloquence. For the more dignified
 and serious our style, the greater will be the weight that it will lend
 to our assertions.

It is therefore specially important in this part of our speech to avoid
 anything suggestive of artful design, for the judge is never more on his
 guard than at this stage. Nothing must seem fictitious, nought betray
 anxiety; everything must seem to spring from the case itself rather than
 the art of the orator.

But our modern orators cannot endure this and imagine that their art is
 wasted unless it obtrudes itself, whereas as a matter of fact the moment
 it is detected it ceases to be art. We are the slaves of applause and
 think it the goal of all our effort. And so we betray to the judges what
 we wish to display to the bystanders.

There is also a kind of repetition of the statement which the Greeks call ἐπιδιηγήσις. It belongs to declamation rather than
 forensic oratory, and was invented to enable the speaker (in view of the
 fact that the statement should be brief) to set forth his facts at
 greater length and with more profusion of ornament, as a means of
 exciting indignation or pity. I think that this should be done but
 rarely and that we should never go to the extent of repeating the statement in its entirety. For we can attain the
 same result by a repetition only of parts. Anyone, however, who desires
 to employ this form of repetition, should touch but lightly on the facts
 when making his statement and should content
 himself with merely indicating what was done, while promising to set
 forth how it was done more fully when the time comes for it.

Some hold that the statement of facts should
 always begin by referring to some person, whom we must praise if he is on our side, and abuse if he is on
 the side of our opponents. It is true that this is very often done for
 the good reason that a law-suit must take place between persons.

Persons may however also be introduced with all their attendant
 circumstances, if such a procedure is likely to prove useful. For
 instance, The father of my client, gentlemen, was Aulus
 Cluentius Habitus, a man whose character, reputation and birth made
 him the leading man not only in his native town of Larinum, but in
 all the surrounding district.

Or again they may be introduced without such circumstances, as in the
 passage beginning For Quintus Ligarius etc. 
 Often, too, we may commence with a fact as
 Cicero does in the pro Tullio 
 : Marcus Tullius has a farm which
 he inherited from his father in the territory of Thurium, 
 or Demosthenes in the speech in defence of Ctesiphonl, — On the
 outbreak of the Phocian war.

As regards the conclusion of the statement of
 facts, there is a controversy with those who would have the
 statement end where the issue to be determined begins. Here is an
 example. After these events the praetor Publius Dolabella issued
 an interdict in the usual form dealing with rioting and employment
 of armed men, ordering, without any exception, that Aebutius should
 restore the property from which he had ejected Caecina. He stated
 that he had done so. A sum of money was deposited. It is for you to
 decide to whom this money is to go. 
 This rule can always be observed by the prosecutor, but not
 always by the defendant.

III. In the natural order of things the statement of fact is followed by the verification. For it is
 necessary to prove the points which we stated with the proof in view.
 But before I enter on this portion, I have a few words to say on the
 opinions held by certain rhetoricians. Most of them are in the habit, as
 soon as they have completed the statement of
 facts, of digressing to some pleasant and attractive topic with
 a view to securing the utmost amount of favour from their audience.

This practice originated in the display of the schools of declaration
 and thence extended to the courts as soon as causes came to be pleaded,
 not for the benefit of the parties concerned, but to enable the
 advocates to flaunt their talents. I imagine that they feared that if
 the slender stream of concise statement, such as is generally required,
 were followed by the pugnacious tone inevitable in the arguing of the
 case, the speech would fall flat owing to the postponement of the
 pleasures of a more expansive eloquence.

The objection to this practice lies in the fact that they do this
 without the slightest consideration of the difference between case and
 case or reflecting whether what they are doing will in any way assist
 them, on the assumption that it is always expedient and always
 necessary. Consequently they transfer striking thoughts from the places
 which they should have occupied elsewhere and concentrate them in this
 portion of the speech, a practice which involves either the repetition
 of a number of things that they have already said or their omission from
 the place which was really theirs owing to the fact that they have
 already been said.

I admit however that this form of digression can be advantageously
 appended, not merely to the statement of facts, 
 but to each of the different questions or to the questions as a whole,
 so long as the case demand, or at any rate
 permit it. Indeed such a practice confers great distinction and
 adornment on a speech, but only if the digression fits in well with the
 rest of the speech and follows naturally on what has preceded, not if it
 is thrust in like a wedge parting what should naturally come together.

For there is no part of a speech so closely connected with any other as
 the statement with the proof, though of course such a digression may be intended as
 the conclusion of the statement and the beginning
 of the proof There will therefore sometimes be
 room for digression; for example if the end of the statement has been concerned with some specially horrible
 theme, we may embroider the theme as though our indignation must find
 immediate vent.

This, however, should only be done if there is no question about the
 facts. Otherwise it is more important to verify your charge than to
 heighten it, since the horrible nature of a charge is in favour of the
 accused, until the charge is proved. For it is just the most flagrant
 crimes that are the most difficult to prove.

Again a digression may be advantageous if after setting forth the
 services rendered by your client to his opponent you denounce the latter
 for his ingratitude, or after producing a variety of charges in your
 statement, you point out the serious danger in which the advancement of
 such charges is likely to involve you.

But all these digressions should be brief. For as soon as he has heard
 the facts set forth in order, the judge is in a hurry to get to the
 proof and desires to satisfy himself of the correctness of his
 impressions at the earliest possible moment. Further, care must be taken
 not to nullify the effect of the statement by diverting the minds of the court to some other
 theme and wearying them by useless delay.

But, though such digressions are not always necessary at the end of the
 statement, they may form a very useful
 preparation for the examination of the main question, more especially if
 at first sight it presents an aspect unfavourable to our case, if we
 have to support a harsh law or demand severe punishment. For this is the
 place for inserting what may be regarded as a second exordium with a view to exciting or mollifying the judge or
 disposing him to lend a favouring ear to our proofs. Moreover we can do
 this with all the greater freedom and vehemence at this stage of the
 proceedings since the case is already known to the judge.

We shall therefore employ such utterances as emollients to soften the
 harder elements of our statement, in order that the ears of the jury may
 be more ready to take in what we have to say in the sequel and to grant
 us the justice which we ask. For it is hard to persuade a man to do
 anything against the grain.

It is also important on such occasions to know whether the judge prefers
 equity or a strict interpretation of the law, since the necessity for
 such digression will vary accordingly.

Such passages may also serve as a kind of peroration after the main
 question. The Greeks call this παρέκβασις, the Romans egressus or
 egressio (digression). They may however, as I
 have said, be of various kinds and may deal with different themes in any
 portion of the speech. For instance we may extol persons or places,
 describe regions, record historical or even legendary occurrences.

As examples I may cite the praise of Sicily and the rape of Proserpine 
 in the Verrines, or the famous recital of the
 virtues of Gneius Pompeius in the pro
 Cornelio, 
 where the great orator as though the course of his
 eloquence had been broken by the mere mention of the general's name,
 interrupts the topic on which he had already embarked and digresses
 forthwith to sing his praises.

παρέκβασις may, I think, be defined as
 the handling of some theme, which must however have some bearing on the
 case, in a passage that involves digression from the logical order of
 our speech. I do not see therefore why it should be assigned a special
 position immediately following on the statement of
 facts any more than I understand why they think that the name
 is applicable only to a digression where some statement has to be made,
 when there are so many different ways in which a speech may leave the
 direct route.

For whatever we say that falls outside the five divisions of the speech
 already laid down is a digression, whether it express indignation, pity,
 hatred, rebuke, excuse, conciliation or be designed to rebut invective.
 Other similar occasions for digression on points not involved by the
 question at issue arise when we amplify or abridge a topic, make any
 kind of emotional appeal or introduce any of those topics which add such
 charm and elegance to oratory, topics that is to say such as luxury,
 avarice, religion, duty: but these would hardly seem to be digressions
 as they are so closely attached to arguments on similar subjects that
 they form part of the texture of the speech.

There are however a number of topics which are inserted in the midst of
 matter which has no connexion with them, when for example we strive to
 excite, admonish, appease, entreat or praise the judge. Such passages
 are innumerable. Some will have been carefully
 prepared beforehand, while others will be produced to suit the occasion
 or the necessity of the moment, if anything extraordinary should occur
 in the course of our pleading, such as an interruption, the intervention
 of some individual or a disturbance.

For example, this made it necessary for Cicero to digress even in the
 exordium when he was defending Milo, as is
 clear from the short speech which he made on that
 occasion. But the orator who makes some preface to the main question or
 proposes to follow up his proofs with a passage designed to commend them
 to the jury, may digress at some length. On the other hand, if he breaks
 as say in the middle of his speech, he should not be long in returning
 to the point from which he departed.

IV. After the statement of facts some place the proposition 
 which they regard as forming a division of a
 forensic speech. I have already expressed my opinion of this view. But it seems
 to me that the beginning of every proof is a proposition, such as often occurs in the
 demonstration of the main question and sometimes even in the enunciation
 of individual arguments, more especially of those which are called
 ἐπιχειρήματα 
 But for the moment I
 shall speak of the first kind. It is not always necessary to employ it.

The nature of the main question is sometimes sufficiently clear without
 any proposition, especially if the statement of facts ends exactly where the
 question begins. Consequently the recapitulation generally employed in
 the case of arguments is sometimes placed immediately after the
 statement of facts. The affair took place, as I have described,
 gentlemen: he that laid the ambush was defeated, violence was conquered by violence, or rather I should say
 audacity was crushed by valour.

Sometimes proposition is highly advantageous,
 more especially when the fact cannot be defended and the question turns
 on the definition of the fact; as for example in the case of the man who
 has taken the money of a private individual from a temple: we shall say,
 
 My client is charged with
 sacrilege. It is for you to decide whether it was sacrilege, so that the judge may understand
 that his sole duty is to decide whether the charge is tantamount to
 sacrilege.

The same method may be employed in obscure or complicated cases, not
 merely to make the case clearer, but sometimes also to make it more
 moving. This effect will be produced, if we at once support our pleading
 with some such words as the following: It is expressly stated in
 the law that for any foreigner who goes up on to the wall the
 penalty is death. You are undoubtedly a foreigner, and there is no
 question but that you went up on to the wall. The conclusion is that
 you must submit to the penalty. For this proposition forces a confession upon our opponent and to a
 certain extent accelerates the decision of the court. It does more than
 indicate the question, it contributes to its solution.

Propositions may be single, double or manifold:
 this is due to more than one reason. For several charges may be
 combined, as when Socrates was accused of corrupting the youth and of
 introducing new superstitions; while single propositions may be made up of a number of arguments, as for
 instance when Aeschines is accused of misconduct as an ambassador on the
 ground that he lied, failed to carry out his
 instructions, wasted time and accepted bribes.

The defence may also contain several propositions: for instance against a claim for money we may
 urge, Your claim is invalid; for you had no right to act as
 agent nor had the party whom you represent any right to employ an
 agent: further, he is not the heir of the man from whom it is
 asserted that I borrowed the money, nor am I his debtor.

These propositions can be multiplied at pleasure,
 but it is sufficient to give an indication of my meaning. If propositions are put forward singly with the
 proofs appended, they will form several distinct propositions: if they are combined, they fall under the head
 of partition.

A proposition may also be put forward unsupported,
 as is generally done in conjectural cases: The formal accusation
 is one of murder, but I also charge the accused with theft. 
 Or it may be accompanied by a reason: Gaius Cornelius is guilty
 of an offence against the state; for when he was tribune of the
 plebs, he himself read out his bill to the public assembly.
 
 I In addition to these forms of
 proposition we can also introduce a proposition of our own, such as I accuse
 him of adultery, or may use the proposition of our opponent, such as The charge brought
 against me is one of adultery, or finally we may employ a
 proposition which is common to both sides,
 such as The question in dispute between myself and my opponent
 is, which of the two is next-of-kin to the deceased who died
 intestate. Sometimes we may even couple contradictory propositions, as for instance I say this,
 my opponent says that.

We may at times produce the effect of a proposition, even though it is not in itself a proposition, by adding after the statement of facts some phrase such as the
 following: These are the points on which you will give your
 decision, thereby reminding the judge to give special
 attention to the question and giving him a fillip to emphasise the point
 that we have finished the statement of facts and
 are beginning the proof, so that when we start to
 verify our statements he may realise that he has reached a fresh stage
 where he must begin to listen with renewed attention.

V. Partition may be defined as the enumeration in
 order of our own propositions, those of our
 adversary or both. It is held by some that this is indispensable on the
 ground that it makes the case clearer and the judge more attentive and
 more ready to be instructed, if he knows what we are speaking about and
 what we are going subsequently to speak about.

Others, on the contrary, think that such a course is dangerous to the
 speaker on two grounds, namely that sometimes we may forget to perform
 what we have promised and may, on the other hand, come upon something
 which we have omitted in the partition. But this
 will never happen to anyone unless he is either a fool or has come into
 court without thinking out his speech in detail beforehand.

Besides, what can be simpler or clearer than a straightforward partition ? It follows nature as a guide and the
 adhesion to a definite method is actually of the greatest assistance to
 the speaker's memory. Therefore I cannot approve the view even of those
 who lay down that partition should not extend
 beyond the length of three propositions. No doubt
 there is a danger, if our partition is too
 complicated, that it may slip the memory of the
 judge and disturb his attention. But that is no reason why it should be
 tied down to a definite number of propositions, 
 since the case may quite conceivably require more.

There are further reasons why we should sometimes dispense with partition. In the first place there are many
 points which can be produced in a more attractive manner, if they appear
 to be discovered on the spot and not to have been brought ready made
 from our study, but rather to have sprung from the requirements of the
 case itself while we were speaking. Thus we get those not unpleasing
 figures such as It has almost escaped me, 
 I had
 forgotten, or You do well to remind me. For
 if we set forth all that we propose to prove in advance, we shall
 deprive ourselves of the advantage springing from tile charm of novelty.

Sometimes we shall even have to hoodwink the judge and work upon him by
 various artifices so that he may think that our aim is other than what
 it really is. For there are cases when a proposition may be somewhat startling: if the judge foresees
 this, he will shrink from it in advance, like a patient who catches
 sight of the surgeon's knife before the operation. On the other hand, if
 we have given him no preliminary notice and our words take him unawares,
 without his interest in them having been previously roused by any
 warning, we shall gain a credence which we should not have secured had
 we stated that we were going to raise the point.

At times we must not merely avoid distinguishing between the various
 questions, but must omit them altogether, while our audience must be
 distracted by appeals to the emotion and their attention diverted. For
 the duty of the orator is not merely to instruct:
 the power of eloquence is greatest in emotional appeals. Now there is no
 room for passion if we devote our attention to minute and microscopic
 division at a time when we are seeking to mislead the judgment of the
 person who is trying the case.

Again, there are certain arguments which are weak and trivial when they
 stand alone, but which have great force when produced in a body. We
 must, therefore, concentrate such arguments, and our tactics should be
 those of a sudden charge in mass. This, however, is a practice which
 should be resorted to but rarely and only under extreme necessity when
 reason compels us to take a course which is apparently irrational.

In addition it must be pointed out that in any partition there is always some one point of such special
 importance, that when the judge has heard it he is impatient with the
 remainder, which he regards as superfluous. Consequently if we have to
 prove or refute a number of points partition will
 be both useful and attractive, since it will indicate in order what we
 propose to say on each subject. On the other hand, if we are defending
 one point on various grounds partition will be
 unnecessary.

If you were to make a partition such as the
 following, I will not say that the character of my client is
 such as to render him incapable of murder, I will only say that he
 had no motive for murder and that at the time when the deceased was
 killed he was overseas, in that case all the proofs which
 you propose to bring before this, the final proof, must needs seem
 superfluous to the judge.

For the judge is always in a hurry to reach the most important point. If
 he has a patient disposition he will merely make a silent appeal to the
 advocate, whom he will treat as bound by his
 promise. On the other hand, if he is busy, or holds exalted position, or
 is intolerant by nature, he will insist in no very courteous manner on
 his coming to the point.

For these reasons there are some who disapprove of the partition adopted by Cicero in the pro
 Cluentio, 
 
 where he premises that he is going to show, first, that no man
 was ever arraigned for greater crimes or on stronger evidence than
 Oppianicus, secondly, that previous judgments had
 been passed by those very judges by whom he was condemned, 
 and finally, that Cluentius made no attempt to bribe the jury,
 but that his opponent did. They argue that if the third
 point can be proved, there is no need to have urged the two preceding.

On the other hand you will find no one so unreasonable or so foolish as
 to deny that the partition in the pro Murena 
 is admirable. I
 understand, gentlemen, that the accusation falls into three parts,
 the first aspersing my client's character, the second dealing with
 his candidature for the magistracy, and the third with charges of
 bribery. These words make the case as clear as possible,
 and no one division renders any other superfluous.

There are also a number who are in doubt as to a form of defence which I
 may exemplify as follows: If I murdered him, I did right; but I
 did not murder him. 
 What, they ask, is the value of the first
 part, if the second can be proved, since they are mutually inconsistent,
 and if anyone employs both arguments, we should believe neither? This
 contention is partially justified; we should employ the second alone only if the fact can be proved without
 a doubt.

But if we have any doubts as to being able to prove the stronger
 argument, we shall do well to rely on both. Different arguments move
 different people. He who thinks that the act was committed may regard it
 as a just act, while he who is deaf to the plea that the act was just
 may perhaps believe that it was never committed: one who is confident of
 his powers as a marksman may be content with one shaft, whereas he who
 has no such confidence will do well to launch several and give fortune a
 chance to come to his assistance.

Cicero in the pro Milone reveals the utmost skill
 in showing first that Clodius laid an ambush for Milo and then in adding
 as a supernumerary argument that, even if he had not done so, he was
 nevertheless so bad a citizen that his slaying could only have done
 credit to the patriotism of the slayer and redounded to his glory.

I would not however entirely condemn the order mentioned above, since there are
 certain arguments which, though hard in themselves, may serve to soften
 those which come after. The proverb, If you want to get your due,
 you must ask for something more,

is not wholly unreasonable. Still no one should interpret it to mean
 that you must stop short of nothing. For the Greeks are right when they
 lay it down as a rule that we should not attempt the impossible. But
 whenever the double-barrelled defence of which I am speaking is
 employed, we must aim at making the first argument support the
 credibility of the second. For he who might without danger to himself
 have confessed to the commission of the act, can have no motive for
 lying when he denies the commission.

Above all it is important, whenever we suspect that the judge desires a
 proof other than that on which we are engaged, to promise that we will
 satisfy him on the point fully and without delay, more especially if the
 question is one of our client's honour.

But it will often happen that a discreditable case has the law on its
 side, and to prevent the judges giving us only a grudging and reluctant
 hearing on the point of law, we shall have to warn them with some
 frequency that we shall shortly proceed to defend our client's honour
 and integrity, if they will only wait a little and allow us to follow
 the order of our proofs.

We may also at times pretend to say certain things against the wishes of
 our clients, as Cicero does in the pro Cluentio when he
 discusses the law dealing with judicial corruption. Occasionally we may
 stop, as though interrupted by our clients, while often we shall address
 them and exhort them to let us act as we think best. Thus we shall make
 a gradual impression on the mind of the judge, and, buoyed up by the
 hope that we are going to clear our client's honour, he will be less
 ill-disposed toward the harder portions of our proof. And when he has
 accepted these,

he will be all the readier to listen to our defence of our client's
 character. Thus the two points will render mutual assistance to each
 other; the judge will be more attentive to our legal proofs owing to his
 hope that we shall proceed to a vindication of character and better
 disposed to accept that vindication because we have proved our point of
 law.

But although partition is neither always
 necessary nor useful, it will, if judiciously employed, greatly add to the lucidity and grace of our speech. For it
 not only makes our arguments clearer by isolating the points from the
 crowd in which they would otherwise be lost and placing them before the
 eyes of the judge, but relieves his attention by assigning a definite
 limit to certain parts of our speech, just as our fatigue upon a journey
 is relieved by reading the distances on the milestones which we pass.

For it is a pleasure to be able to measure how much of our task has been
 accomplished, and the knowledge of what remains to do stimulates us to
 fresh effort over the labour that still awaits us. For nothing need seem
 long, when it is definitely known how far it is to the end.

Quintus Hortensius deserves the high praise which has been awarded him
 for the care which he took over his partitions, 
 although Cicero more than once indulges in kindly mockery of his habit
 of counting his headings on his fingers. For there is a limit to
 gesture, and we must be specially careful to avoid excessive minuteness
 and any suggestion of articulated structure in our
 partition. If our divisions are too small,

they cease to be limbs and become fragments, and consequently detract
 not a little from the authority of our speech. Moreover, those who are
 ambitious of this sort of reputation, in order that they may appear to
 enhance the nicety and tile exhaustive nature of their division,
 introduce what is superfluous and subdivide things which naturally form
 a single whole. The result of their labours is, however, not so much to
 increase the number of their divisions as to diminish their importance,
 and after all is done and they have split up their argument into a
 thousand tiny compartments, they fall into that very obscurity which the
 partition was designed to eliminate.

The proposition, whether single or multiple,
 must, on every occasion when it can be employed with profit, be clear
 and lucid; for what could be more discreditable than that a portion of
 the speech, whose sole purpose is to prevent obscurity elsewhere, should
 itself be obscure? Secondly it must be brief and must not be burdened
 with a single superfluous word; for we are not explaining what we are saying, but what we are going to say.

We must also ensure that it is free alike from omissions and from
 redundance. Redundance as a rule occurs through our dividing into species when it would be sufficient to divide
 into genera, or through the addition of species after stating the genus. The following will serve as an example: I will
 speak of virtue, justice and abstinence. But justice and
 abstinence are species of tile genus virtue.

Our first partition will be between admitted and
 disputed facts. Admitted facts will then be divided into those
 acknowledged by our opponent and those acknowledged by ourselves.
 Disputed facts will be divided into those which we and those which our
 opponents allege. But the worst fault of all is to treat your points in
 an order different from that which was assigned them in your proposition.

There have been certain writers of no small authority 
 who have held that the sole duty of the orator was to instruct: in their
 view appeals to the emotions were to be excluded for two reasons, first
 on the ground that all disturbance of the mind was a fault, and secondly
 that it was wrong to distract the judge from the truth by exciting his
 pity, bringing influence to bear, and the like. Further, to seek to
 charm the audience, when the aim of the orator was merely to win
 success, was in their opinion not only superfluous for a pleader, but
 hardly worthy of a self-respecting man.

The majority however, while admitting that such arts undoubtedly formed
 part of oratory, held that its special and peculiar task is to make good
 the case which it maintains and refute that of its opponent.

Whichever of these views is correct (for at this point I do not propose
 to express my own opinion), they will regard this book as serving a very
 necessary purpose, since it will deal entirely with the points on which
 they lay such stress, although all that I have already said on the
 subject of judicial causes is subservient to the same end.

For the purpose of the exordium and the slatement of facts is merely to prepare the judge
 for these points, while it would be a work of supererogation to know the
 bases 
 of cases or to consider the
 other points dealt with above, unless we intend
 to proceed to the consideration of the proof 
 Finally,

of the five parts into which we divided judicial cases, any single
 one other than the proof may on occasion be
 dispensed with. But there can be no suit in which the proof is not absolutely necessary. With regard to the rules to
 be observed in this connexion, we shall, I think, be wisest to follow
 our previous method of classification and show first what is common to
 all cases and then proceed to point out those which are peculiar to the
 several kinds of cases.

1. To begin with it may be noted that the division laid down by
 Aristotle has met with almost universal
 approval. It is to the effect that there are some proofs adopted by the
 orator which lie outside the art of speaking, and others which he
 himself deduces or, if I may use the term, begets out of his case. The
 former therefore have been styled ἄτεχνοι or inartificial proofs,
 the latter ἔντεχνοι or artificial.

To the first class belong decisions of previous courts, rumours,
 evidence extracted by torture, documents, oaths, and witnesses, for it
 is with these that the majority of forensic arguments are concerned. But
 though in themselves they involve no art, all the powers of eloquence
 are as a rule required to disparage or refute them. Consequently in my
 opinion those who would eliminate the whole of this class of proof from
 their rules of oratory, deserve the strongest condemnation.

It is not, however, my intention to embrace all that can be said for or
 against these views. I do not for instance propose to lay down rules for
 commonplaces, a task requiring infinite detail, but merely to sketch out
 the general lines and method to be followed by the
 orator. The method once indicated, it is for the individual orator not
 merely to employ his powers on its application, but on the invention of
 similar methods as the circumstances of the case may demand. For it is
 impossible to deal with every kind of case, even if we confine ourselves
 to those which have actually occurred in the past without considering
 those which may occur in the future.

As regards decisions in previous courts, these fall under three heads.
 First, we have matters on which judgment has been given at some time or
 other in cases of a similar nature: these are, however, more correctly
 termed precedents, as for instance where a father's will has been
 annulled or confirmed in opposition to his sons. Secondly, there are
 judgments concerned with the case itself; it is from these that the name
 praeiudicium is derived: as examples I may
 cite those passed against Oppianicus or by the senate against Milo.
 Thirdly, there are judgments passed on the actual
 case, as for example in cases where the accused has been deported, or where renewed
 application is made for the recognition of an individual as a free man,
 or in portions of cases tried in the
 centumviral court which come before two different panels of judges.

Such previous decisions are as a rule confirmed in two ways: by the
 authority of those who gave the decision and by the likeness between the
 two cases. As for their reversal, this can rarely be obtained by denouncing the judges, unless they have been guilty of
 obvious error. For each of those who are trying the case wishes the
 decision given by another to stand, since he too has to give judgment
 and is reluctant to create a precedent that may recoil upon himself.

Consequently, as regards the first two classes, we must, if possible,
 take refuge in some dissimilarity between the two cases, and two cases
 are scarcely ever alike in all their details. If, however, such a course
 is impossible and the case is the same as that on which the previous
 decision was given, we must complain of the negligence shown in the
 conduct of the previous case or of the weakness of the parties
 condemned, or of undue influence employed to corrupt the witnesses, or
 again of popular prejudice or ignorance which reacted unfavourably
 against our client; or else we must consider what has occurred since to
 alter the aspect of the case.

If none of these courses can be adopted, it will still be possible to
 point out that the peculiar circumstances of many trials have led to
 unjust decisions; hence condemnations such as that of Rutilius and acquittals such as those of Clodius and Catiline.
 We must also ask the judges to consider the facts of the case on their
 merits rather than make their verdict the inevitable consequence of a
 verdict given by others.

When, however, we are confronted by decrees of the senate, or ordinances
 of emperors or magistrates, there is no remedy, unless we can make out
 that there is some difference, however small, between the cases, or that
 the same persons or persons holding the same powers have made some
 subsequent enactment reversing the former decision. Failing this, there
 will be no case for judgment.

With regard to rumour and common report, one party will call them the
 verdict of public opinion and the testimony of the world at large; the
 other will describe them as vague talk based on no sure authority, to
 which malignity has given birth and credulity increase, an ill to which
 even the most innocent of men may be exposed by the deliberate
 dissemination of falsehood on the part of their enemies. It will be easy
 for both parties to produce precedents to support their arguments.

A like situation arises in the case of evidence extracted by torture:
 one party will style torture an infallible method of discovering the
 truth, while the other will allege that it also often results in false
 confessions, since with some their capacity of endurance makes lying an
 easy thing, while with others weakness makes it a necessity. It is
 hardly worth my while to say more on the subject, as the speeches both
 of ancient and modern orators are full of this topic.

Individual cases may however involve special considerations in this
 connexion. For if the point at issue is whether torture should be
 applied, it will make all the difference who it is who demands or offers
 it, who it is that is to be subjected to torture, against whom the
 evidence thus sought will tell, and what is the motive for the demand.
 If on the other hand torture has already been applied, it will make all
 the difference who was in charge of the proceedings, who was the victim
 and what the nature of the torture, whether the confession was credible
 or consistent, whether the witness stuck to his first statement or
 changed it under the influence of pain, and whether he made it at the
 beginning of the torture or only after it had continued some time. The
 variety of such questions is as infinite as the
 variety of actual cases.

It is also frequently necessary to speak against documents, for it is
 common knowledge that they are often not merely rebutted, but even
 attacked as forgeries. But as this implies either fraud or ignorance on
 the part of the signatories, it is safer and easier to make the charge
 one of ignorance, because by so doing we reduce the number of the
 persons accused.

But our proceedings as a whole will draw their arguments from the
 circumstances of the case at issue. For example, it may be incredible
 that an incident occurred as stated in the documents, or, as more often
 happens, the evidence of the documents may be overthrown by other proofs
 which are likewise of an inartificial nature; if,
 for example, it is alleged that the person, whose interests are
 prejudiced by the document, or one of the signatories was absent when
 the document was signed, or deceased before its signature, or if the
 dates disagree, or events preceding or following the writing of the
 document are inconsistent with it. Even a simple inspection of a
 document is often sufficient for the detection of forgery.

With regard to oaths, parties either offer to take an oath themselves, or refuse to
 accept the oath of their opponent, demand that their opponent should
 take an oath or refuse to comply with a similar demand when proffered to
 themselves. To offer to take an oath unconditionally without demanding
 that one's opponent should likewise take an oath is as a rule a sign of
 bad faith.

If, however, anyone should take this course, he will defend his action
 by appealing to the blamelessness of his life as
 rendering perjury on his part incredible, or by the solemn nature of the
 oath, with regard to which he will win all the greater credence, if
 without the least show of eagerness to take the oath he makes it clear
 that he does not shrink from so solemn a duty. Or again, if the case is
 such as to make this possible, he will rely on the trivial nature of the
 point in dispute to win belief, on the ground that he would not incur
 the risk of the divine displeasure when so little is at stake. Or,
 finally, he may in addition to the other means which he employs to win
 his case offer to take an oath as a culminating proof of a clear
 conscience.

The man who refuses to accept his opponent's offer to take an oath, will
 allege that the inequality of their respective conditions are not the
 same for both parties and will point out that many persons are not in
 the least afraid of committing perjury, even philosophers having been
 found to deny that the gods intervene in human affairs; and further that
 he who is ready to take an oath without being asked to do so, is really
 proposing to pass sentence on his own case and to show what an easy and
 trivial thing he thinks the oath which he offers to take.

On the other hand the man who proposes to put his opponent on oath
 appears to act with moderation, since he is making his adversary a judge
 in his own case, while he frees the actual judge from the burden of
 coming to a decision, since the latter would assuredly prefer to rest on
 another man's oath than on his own.

This fact makes the refusal to take an oath all the more difficult,
 unless indeed the affair in question be of such a nature that it cannot
 be supposed that the facts are known to the person asked to take the
 oath. Failing this excuse, there is only one course
 open to him: he must say that his opponent is trying to excite a
 prejudice against him and is endeavouring to give the impression that he
 has real ground for complaint though he is not in a position to win his
 case; consequently, though a dishonest man would eagerly have availed
 himself of the proposal, he prefers to prove the truth of his statements
 rather than leave a doubt in anyone's mind as to whether he has
 committed perjury or no.

But in my young days advocates grown old in pleading used to lay it down
 as a rule that we should never be in a hurry to propose that our
 opponent should take an oath, just as we should never allow him the
 choice of a judge nor select our judge from among the
 supporters of the opposite side: for if it is regarded as a disgrace to
 such a supporter to say anything against his client, it is surely a still worse
 disgrace that he should do anything that will harm his client's case.

It is, however, the evidence that gives the greatest trouble to
 advocates. Evidence may be given either in writing or orally by
 witnesses present in court. Documentary evidence is easier to dispose
 of. For it is likely that the deponent was less ashamed of himself in
 the presence of a small number of witnesses, and his absence from court
 is attacked as indicating a lack of confidence. If we cannot call the
 character of the deponent in question, we may attack the witnesses to
 his signature.

Further there is always a certain tacit prejudice against documentary
 evidence, since no one can be forced to give such evidence save of his
 own free will, whereby he shows that he harbours unfriendly feelings
 towards the person against whom he bears witness.
 On the other hand an advocate should be chary of denying that a friend
 may give true evidence against a friend or an enemy against an enemy,
 provided they are persons of unimpeachable credit. But the subject
 admits of copious discussion, from whichever side it be regarded.

The task of dealing with the evidence of witnesses present in court is,
 however, one of great difficulty, and consequently whether defending or
 impugning them the orator employs a twofold armoury in the shape of a
 set speech and examination. In set speeches
 it is usual to begin with observations either on behalf of or against
 witnesses in general.

In so doing we introduce a commonplace, since one side will contend that
 there can be no stronger proof than that which rests on human knowledge,
 while the other, in order to detract from their credibility, will
 enumerate all the methods by which false evidence is usually given.

The next procedure is the common practice of making a special attack,
 which all the same involves impugning the validity of evidence given by
 large numbers of persons. We know, for instance, that the evidence of
 entire nations and whole
 classes of evidence have been disposed of by advocates. For example, in
 the case of hearsay evidence, it will be urged that those who produce
 such evidence are not really witnesses, but are merely reporting the
 words of unsworn persons, while in cases of extortion, those who swear
 that they paid certain sums to the accused are to be regarded not as
 witnesses, but as parties to the suit.

Sometimes however the advocate will direct his speech against single
 individuals. Such a form of attack may be found in many speeches,
 sometimes embedded in the speech for the defence
 and sometimes published separately like the speech against the evidence
 of Vatinius.

The whole subject, therefore, demands a thorough investigation, as the
 task which we have in hand is the complete education of an orator.
 Otherwise the two books written on this subject by Domitius Afer would
 suffice. I attended his lectures when he was old and I was young, and
 consequently have the advantage not merely of having read his book, but
 of having heard most of his views from his own lips. He very justly lays
 down the rule that in this connexion it is the first duty of an orator
 to make himself thoroughly acquainted with the case, a remark which of
 course applies to all portions of a speech.

How such knowledge may be acquired I shall explain when I come to the
 appropriate portion of this work. This knowledge will suggest
 material for the examination and will supply weapons ready to the
 speaker's hand: it will also indicate to him the points for which the
 judge's mind must be prepared in the set speech. For it is by the set
 speech that the credit of witnesses should be established or demolished,
 since the effect of evidence on the individual judge depends on the
 extent to which he has been previously influenced in the direction of
 believing the witness or the reverse. And since there are two classes of
 witnesses

those who testify of their own free will and those who are summoned to
 attend in the public courts of whom the former are available to either
 party, the latter solely to the accusers, we must distinguish between
 the duties of the advocate who produces witnesses and the advocate who
 refutes them.

He who produces a voluntary witness is in a 
 position to know what he is likely to say: consequently the task of
 examining him would seem to be rendered easier. But even here such cases
 make a great demand on the acumen and watchfulness of the advocate, who
 must see that his witness is neither timid, inconsistent nor imprudent.

For the opposing counsel have a way of making a witness lose his head or
 of leading him into some trap; and once a witness trips, he does more
 harm to his own side than he would have done good, had he retained his
 composure and presence of mind. The advocate must therefore put his
 witnesses through their paces thoroughly in private before they appear
 in court and must test them by a variety of questions such as may well
 be put to them by his opponent. The result will be that they will not
 contradict themselves or, if they do make some slip, can be set upon
 their feet again by a timely question from the advocate who produces
 them.

Still, even in the case of witnesses whose evidence is consistent, we
 must be on our guard against treachery. For such witnesses are often put
 up by one's opponent and, after promising to say everything that will
 help our case, give answers of exactly the opposite character and carry
 more weight by the admission of facts which tell against us than they
 would have done had they disproved them.

We must therefore discover what motives they have for doing our opponent
 a hurt, and the fact that they were once his enemies will not suffice
 our purpose: we must find out whether they have ceased to be
 ill-disposed to him or whether they desire by means of their evidence to
 effect a reconciliation with him, in order to assure ourselves that they
 have not been bribed or repented of their previous
 attitude and changed their purpose. Such precautions are necessary even
 with witnesses who know that what they propose to say is true; but it is
 still more necessary with those who promise to give false evidence.

For experience shows that they are more likely to repent of their
 purpose, their promises are less to be relied on, and, if they do keep
 their promise, their evidence is easier to refute.

Witnesses appearing in answer to a subpoena may be divided into two
 classes: those who desire to harm the accused, and those who do not. The
 accuser sometimes is aware of their disposition, sometimes unaware. For
 the moment let us assume that he is aware of their disposition, although
 I must point out that in either case the utmost skill is required in
 their examination.

For if an advocate is producing a witness who is desirous of harming the
 accused, he must avoid letting this desire become apparent, and must not
 at once proceed to question him on the point at issue. On the contrary
 this point must be approached by a circuitous route in such a manner as
 to make it seem that the statement which the witness is really desirous
 of making has been forced from him. Again lie should not press the
 witness too much, for fear he should impair his credit by the glibness
 with which lie answers every question, but should draw from him just so
 much as may seem reasonable to elicit from a single witness.

On the other hand in the case of a witness who is reluctant to tell the
 truth, the essential for successful examination is to extort the truth
 against his will This can only be done by putting questions which have
 all the appearance of irrelevance. If this he done, he will give replies
 which he thinks can do no harm to the party which
 he favours, and subsequently will be led on from the admissions which he
 has made to a position which renders it impossible for him to deny the
 truth of the facts which he is reluctant to state.

For just as in a set speech we usually collect detached arguments which
 in themselves seem innocuous to the accused, but taken together prove
 the case against him, so we must ask the reluctant witness a number of
 questions relative to acts antecedent or subsequent to the case, places,
 dates, persons, etcetera, with a view to luring him into some reply
 which will force him to make the admissions which we desire or to
 contradict his previous evidence.

If this fails, we must content ourselves with making it clear that he is
 reluctant to tell what he knows, and lead him with a view to tripping
 him up on some point or other, even though it be irrelevant to the case;
 we must also keep him in the witness-box for an unusual length of time,
 so that by saying everything that can be said and more than is necessary
 on behalf of the accused, he may be rendered suspect to the judge. Thus
 he will do the accused no less harm than if he had told the truth
 against him.

But if (to proceed to our second supposition) the advocate does not know
 what the intentions of the witness may be, he must advance gradually
 inch by inch and sound him by examination and lead him step by step to
 the particular reply which it is desired to elicit.

But since these witnesses are sometimes so artful that their first
 replies are designed to meet the wishes of the questioner, in order to
 win all the greater credit when subsequently they answer in a very
 different way, it will be the duty of the advocate to dismiss a suspect witness while he can still do so with
 advantage.

In the case of advocates for the defence examination is in some respects
 easier, in some more difficult. It is more difficult because it is
 rarely possible for them to have any previous knowledge of what the
 witness is likely to say, and easier because, when they come to
 cross-examine, they know what he has already said.

Consequently in view of the uncertainty involved, there is need for
 careful inquiry with a view to discovering the character of the witness
 against the accused and what are his motives for hostility and what its
 extent: and all such points about the witness should be set forth in
 advance and disposed of, whether we desire to represent the evidence
 against the accused as instigated by hatred, envy, bribery or influence.
 Further, if our opponents bring forward only a small number of
 witnesses, we must attack them on that head; if on the other hand they
 produce an excessive number, we must accuse them of conspiracy: if the
 witnesses are persons of inconspicuous rank, we must minimise their
 importance, while if they are powerful, we shall accuse our adversaries
 of bringing undue influence to bear.

It will, however, be still more helpful if we expose the motives which
 they have for desiring to injure the accused, and these will vary
 according to the nature of the case and the parties concerned. For the
 other lines of argument mentioned above are often answered by the
 employment of commonplaces on similar lines, since the prosecutor, if he
 produce but few witnesses of inconspicuous rank, can parade the simple
 honesty of his methods on the ground that he has produced none save
 those who are in a position to know the real facts,
 while if he produce a number of distinguished witnesses, it is even
 easier to commend them to the court.

But at times, just as we have to praise individual witnesses, so we may
 have to demolish them, whether their evidence has been given in
 documentary form or they have been summoned to appear in person. This
 was easier and of more frequent occurrence in the days when the
 examination of the witnesses was not deferred till after the conclusion
 of the pleading. With regard to what we should say against individual witnesses,
 no general rules can be laid down: it will depend on the personality of
 the witness.

It remains to consider the technique to be followed in the examination
 of witnesses. The first essential is to know your witness. For a timid
 witness may be terrorised, a fool outwitted, an irascible man provoked,
 and vanity flattered. The shrewd and self-possessed witness, on the
 other hand, must be dismissed at once as being malicious and obstinate;
 or refuted, not by cross-examination, but by a brief speech from the
 counsel for the defence; or may be put out of countenance by some jest,
 if a favourable opportunity presents itself; or, if his past life admits
 of criticism, his credit may be overthrown by the scandalous charges
 which can be brought against him.

It has been found advantageous at times when confronted with an honest
 and respectable witness to refrain from pressing him hard, since it is
 often the case that those who would have defended themselves manfully
 against attack are mollified by courtesy. But every question is either
 concerned with the case itself or with something outside the case. As
 regards the first type of question counsel for the 
 defence may, by adopting a method which I have already recommended for
 the prosecutor, namely by commencing his examination with questions of an
 apparently irrelevant and innocent character and then by comparing
 previous with subsequent replies, frequently lead witnesses into such a
 position that it becomes possible to extort useful admissions from them
 against their will.

The schools, it is true, give no instruction either as to theory or
 practice in this subject, and skill in examination comes rather from
 natural talent or practice. If, however, I am asked to point out a model
 for imitation, I can recommend but one, namely that which may be found
 in the dialogues of the Socratics and more especially of Plato, in which
 the questions put are so shrewd that although individually as a rule the
 answers are perfectly satisfactory to the other side, yet the questioner
 reaches the conclusion at which he is aiming.

Fortune sometimes is so kind that a witness gives an answer involving
 some inconsistency, while at times (and this is a more frequent
 occurrence) one witness contradicts another. But acute examination
 methodically conducted will generally reach the same result which is so
 often reached by chance.

There are also a number of points strictly irrelevant to the case on
 which questions may be put with advantage. We may for example ask
 questions about the past life of other witnesses or about the witness'
 own character, with a view to discovering whether they can be charged
 with some disgraceful conduct, or degrading occupation, with friendship
 with the prosecutor or hostility toward the accused, since in replying
 to such questions they may say something which will help our cause or
 may be convicted of falsehood or of a desire to
 injure the accused. But above all our examination must be circumspect,

since a witness will often launch some smart repartee in answering
 counsel for the defence and thereby win marked favour from the audience
 in general. Secondly, we must put our questions as far as possible in
 the language of everyday speech that the witness, who is often an
 uneducated man, may understand our meaning, or at any rate may have no
 opportunity of saying that he does not know what we mean, a statement
 which is apt to prove highly disconcerting to the examiner.

I must however express the strongest disapproval of the practice of
 sending a suborned witness to sit on the benches of the opposing party,
 in order that on being called into the witness-box from that quarter he
 may thereby do all the more damage to the case for the accused by
 speaking against the party with whose adherents he was sitting or, while
 appearing to help him by his testimony, deliberately giving his evidence
 in such an extravagant and exaggerated manner, as not only to detract
 from the credibility of his own statements, but to annul the advantage
 derived from the evidence of those who were really helpful. I mention
 this practice not with a view to encourage it, but to secure its
 avoidance. Documentary evidence is not frequently in conflict with oral.
 Such a circumstance may be turned to advantage by either side. For one
 party will rest its case on the fact that the witness is speaking on
 oath, the other on the unanimity of the signatories.

Again there is often a conflict between the evidence and the arguments.
 One party will argue that the witnesses know the facts and are bound by
 the sanctity of their oath, while the arguments are
 nought but ingenious juggling with the facts. The other party will argue
 that witnesses are procured by influence, fear, money, anger, hatred,
 friendship, or bribery, whereas arguments are drawn from nature; in
 giving his assent to the latter the judge is believing the voice of his
 own reason, in accepting the former he is giving credence to another.

Such problems are common to a number of cases, and are and will always
 be the subject of vehement debate. Sometimes there are witnesses on both
 sides and the question arises with regard to themselves as to which are
 the more respectable in character, or with regard to the case, which
 have given the more credible evidence, with regard to the parties to the
 case, which has brought the greater influence to bear on the witnesses.

If to this kind of evidence anyone should wish to add evidence of the
 sort known as supernatural, based on oracles, prophecies and omens, I
 would remind him that there are two ways in which these may be treated.
 There is the general method, with regard to which there is an endless
 dispute between the adherents of the Stoics and the Epicureans, as to
 whether the world is governed by providence. The other is special and is
 concerned with particular departments of the art of divination,
 according as they may happen to affect the question at issue.

For the credibility of oracles may be established or destroyed in one
 way, and that of soothsayers, augurs, diviners and astrologers in
 another, since the two classes differ entirely in nature. Again the task
 of establishing or demolishing such evidence as the following will give
 the orator plenty to do; as for example if certain words have been
 uttered under the influence of wine, in sleep or in
 a fit of madness, or if information has been picked up from the mouths
 of children, whom the one party will assert to be incapable of
 invention, while the other will assert that they do not know what they
 are saying.

The following method may not merely be used with great effect, but may
 even be badly missed when it is not employed. You
 gave me the money. Who counted it out? Where did this occur and from
 what source did the money come? You accuse me of poisoning. Where
 did I buy the poison and from whom? What did I pay for it and whom
 did I employ to administer it? Who was my accomplice? 
 Practically all these points are discussed by Cicero in dealing with the
 charge of poisoning in the pro Cluentio. 
 This concludes my observations upon inartificial
 proofs. I have stated them as briefly as I could.

The second class of proofs are wholly the work of art and consist of
 matters specially adapted to produce belief. They are, however, as a
 rule almost entirely neglected or only very lightly touched on by those
 who, avoiding arguments as rugged and repulsive things, confine
 themselves to pleasanter regions and, like those who, as poets tell,
 were bewitched by tasting a magic herb in the land of the Lotus-eaters
 or by the song of the Sirens into preferring pleasure to safety, follow
 the empty semblance of renown and are robbed of that victory which is
 the aim of eloquence.

And yet those other forms of eloquence, which have a more continuous
 sweep and flow, are employed with a view to assisting and embellishing
 the arguments and produce the appearance of super inducing a body upon
 the sinews, on which the whole case rests; thus if it is asserted that some act has been committed under the
 influence of anger, fear or desire, we may expatiate at some length on
 the nature of each of these passions. It is by these same methods that
 we praise, accuse, exaggerate, attenuate, describe, deter, complain,
 console or exhort.

But such rhetorical devices may be employed in connexion with matters
 about which there is no doubt or at least which we speak of as admitted
 facts. Nor would I deny that there is some advantage to be gained by
 pleasing our audience and a great deal by stirring their emotions.
 Still, all these devices are more effective, when the judge thanks he
 has gained a full knowledge of the facts of the case, which we can only
 give him by argument and by the employment of every other known means of
 proof.

Before, however, I proceed to classify the various species of artificial
 proof, I must point out that there are certain features common to all
 kinds of proof. For there is no question which is not concerned either
 with things or persons, nor can there be any ground for argument save in
 connexion with matters concerning things or persons, which may be
 considered either by themselves or with reference to something else;

while there can be no proof except such as is derived from things
 consequent or things opposite, which must be sought for either in the
 time preceding, contemporaneous with or subsequent to the alleged fact,
 nor can any single thing be proved save by reference to something else
 which must be greater, less than or equal to it.

As regards arguments, they may be found either in the questions raised
 by the case, which may be considered by themselves quite apart from any
 connexion with individual things or persons, or in
 the case itself, when anything is discovered in it which cannot be
 arrived at by the light of common reason, but is peculiar to the subject
 on which judgment has to be given. Further, all proofs fall into three
 classes, necessary, credible, and not impossible.

Again there are four forms of proof. First, we may argue that, because
 one thing is, another thing is not; as It is day and
 therefore not night. Secondly, we may argue that, because one
 thing is, another thing is; as The sun is risen,
 thereit is day. Thirdly, it may be argued that because one
 thing is not, another thing is; as It is not night,
 therefore it is day. Finally, it may be argued that, because
 one thing is not, another thing is not; as He is not a
 reasoning being, therefore he is not a man. These general
 remarks will suffice by way of introduction and I will now proceed to
 details.

Every artificial proof consists either of indications, arguments or
 examples. I am well aware that many consider indications to form part of
 the arguments. My reasons for distinguishing them are twofold. In the
 first place indications as a rule come under the head of inartificial
 proofs: for a bloodstained garment, a shriek, a dark blotch and the like
 are all evidence analogous to documentary or oral evidence and rumours;
 they are not discovered by the orator, but are given him with the case
 itself.

My second reason was that indications, if indubitable, are not
 arguments, since they leave no room for question, while arguments are
 only possible in controversial matters. If on the other hand they are
 doubtful, they are not arguments, but require arguments to support them.

The two first species into which artificial proofs 
 may be divided are, as I have already said, those which involve a
 conclusion and those which do not. The former are those which cannot be
 otherwise and are called τεκμήρια, by
 the Greeks, because they are indications from which there is no getting
 away. These however seem to me scarcely to come under the rules of art.
 For where an indication is irrefutable, there can be no dispute as to
 facts.

This happens whenever there can be no doubt that something is being or
 has been done, or when it is impossible for it to be or have been done.
 In such cases there can be no dispute as to the fact. This kind of proof
 may be considered in connexion with past, present or future time.

For example, a woman who is delivered of a child must have had
 intercourse with a man, and the reference is to the past. When there is
 a high wind at sea, there must be waves, and the reference is to the
 present. When a man has received a wound in the heart, he is bound to
 die, and the reference is to the future. Nor again can there be a
 harvest where no seed has been sown, nor can a man be at Rome when he is
 at Athens, nor have been wounded by a sword when he has no scar. Some
 have the same force when reversed:

a man who breathes is alive, and a man who is alive breathes. Some again
 cannot be reversed: because he who walks moves it does not follow that
 he who moves walks.

So too a woman, who has not been delivered of a child, may have had
 intercourse with a man, there may be waves without a high wind, and a
 man may die without having received a wound in the heart. Similarly seed
 may be sown without a harvest resulting, a man, who was never at Athens,
 may never have been at Rome, and a man who has a
 scar may not have received a sword-wound.

There are other indications or εἰκότα, 
 that is probabilities, as the Greeks call them, which do not involve a
 necessary conclusion. These may not be sufficient in themselves to
 remove doubt, but may yet be of the greatest value when taken in
 conjunction with other indications.

The Latin equivalent of the Greek σημεῖον is signum, a sign, though
 some have called it indicium, an indication, or
 vestigium, a trace. Such signs or indications
 enable us to infer that something else has happened; blood for instance
 may lead us to infer that a murder has taken place. But bloodstains on a
 garment may be the result of the slaying of a victim at a sacrifice or
 of bleeding at the nose. Everyone who has a bloodstain on his clothes is
 not necessarily a murderer.

But although such an indication may not amount to proof in itself, yet
 it may be produced as evidence in conjunction with other indications,
 such for instance as the fact that the man with the bloodstain was the
 enemy of the murdered man, had threatened him previously or was in the
 same place with him. Add the indication in question to these, and what
 was previously only a suspicion may become a certainty.

On the other hand there are indications which may be made to serve
 either party, such as livid spots, swellings which may be regarded as
 symptoms either of poisoning or of bad health, or a wound in the breast
 which may be treated as a proof of murder or of suicide. The force of
 such indications depends on the amount of extraneous support which they
 receive.

Hermagoras would include among such indications as do not involve a
 necessary conclusion, an argument such as the
 following, Atalanta cannot be a virgin, as she has been roaming
 the woods in the company of young men. If we accept this
 view, I fear that we shall come to treat all inferences from a fact as
 indications. None the less such arguments are in practice treated
 exactly as if they were indications.

Nor do the Areopagites, when they condemned a boy for plucking out the
 eyes of quails, seem to have had anything else in their mind than the
 consideration that such conduct was an indication of a perverted
 character which might prove hurtful to many, if he had been allowed to
 grow up. So, too, the popularity of Spurius Maelius and Marcus Manlius
 was regarded as an indication that they were aiming at supreme power.

However, I fear that this line of reasoning will carry us too far. For
 if it is an indication of adultery that a woman bathes with men, the
 fact that she revels with young men or even an intimate friendship will
 also be indications of the same offence. Again depilation, a voluptuous
 gait, or womanish attire may be regarded as indications of effeminacy
 and unmanliness by anyone who thinks that such symptoms are the result
 of an immoral character, just as blood is the result of a wound: for
 anything, that springs from the matter under investigation and comes to
 our notice, may properly be called an indication.

Similarly it is also usual to give the names of signs to frequently
 observed phenomena, such as prognostics of the weather which we may
 illustrate by the Vergilian 
 
 
 For wind turns Phoebe's face to ruddy
 gold 
 
 Verg. G. i. 431. 
 
 and 
 
 
 The crow 
 With full voice,
 good-for-naught, invites the rain. 
 
 
 ib. i. 388. 
 
 
 If these phenomena are caused by
 the state of the atmosphere, such an appellation is correct enough.

For if tile moon turns red owing to the wind, her hue is certainly a
 sign of wind. And if, as the same poet infers, 
 the condensation and rarification of the atmosphere causes that
 concert of bird-voices of which he speaks, we may
 agree in regarding it as a sign. We may further note that great things
 are sometimes indicated by trivial signs, witness the Vergilian crow;
 that trivial events should be indicated by signs of greater importance
 is of course no matter for wonder.

I now turn to arguments, the name under which we comprise the ἐνθυμήματα, ἐπιχειρήματα, and ἀποδείξεις of the Greeks, terms which, in
 spite of their difference, have much the same meaning. For the enthymeme (which we translate by commentun or commentatio, 
 there being no alternative, though we should be wiser to use the Greek
 name) has three meanings: firstly it means anything conceived in the
 mind (this is not however the sense of which I am now speaking);

secondly it signifies a proposition with a reason, and thirdly a
 conclusion of an argument drawn either from denial of consequents or
 from incompatibles ; although there is some controversy on this
 point. For there are some who style a conclusion from consequents an epicheireme, while it will be found that the
 majority hold the view that an epicheireme is a
 conclusion from incompatibles: wherefore Cornificius styles it a
 contrarium or argument from contraries. Some
 again call it a rhetorical

syllogism, others an incomplete syllogism, because its parts are not so
 clearly defined or of the same number as those of the regular syllogism,
 since such precision is not specially required by
 the orator. Valgius translates
 ἐπιχείρημα by aggressio,

that is an attempt. It would however, in my opinion, be truer to say
 that it is not our handling of the subject, but the thing itself which
 we attempt which should be called an ἐπιχείρημα, that is to say the argument by which we try
 to prove something and which, even if it has not yet been stated in so
 many words, has been clearly conceived by the mind.

Others regard it not as an attempted or imperfect proof, but a complete
 proof, falling under the most special species of proof;
 consequently, according to its proper and most generally received
 appellation it must be understood in the sense of a definite conception
 of some thought consisting of at least three parts. Some call an ἐπιχείρημα a reason,

but Cicero is more correct in calling it
 a reasoning, although he too seems to derive this
 name from the syllogism rather than anything else; for he calls the syllogistic basis 
 a ratiocinative basis and quotes philosophers to
 support him. And since there is a certain kinship between a syllogism
 and an epicheireme, it may be thought that he was
 justified in his use of the latter term.

An ἀπόδεξις is a clear proof; hence
 the use of the term γραμμικαὶ
 ἀποδείξεις, 
 linear demonstrations 
 by the
 geometricians. Caecilius holds that it differs from the epicheireme solely in the kind of conclusion
 arrived at and that an apodeixis is simply an
 incomplete epicheireme for the same reason that
 we said an enthymeme differed from a syllogism. For an epicheireme is also part of a syllogism. Some think that an
 apodeixis is portion of an epicheireme, 
 namely the part containing
 the proof.

But all authorities, however much they may differ on other points,
 define both in the same way, in so far as they call both a method of
 proving what is not certain by means of what is certain. Indeed this is
 the nature of all arguments, for what is certain cannot be proved by
 what is uncertain. To all these forms of argument the Greeks give the
 name of πίστεις , a term which, though
 the literal translation is fides 
 a warrant
 of credibility, is best translated by probatio 
 proof. But argument has several other meanings.

For the plots of plays composed for acting in the theatre are called
 arguments, while Pedianus, when explaining the themes of the speeches of
 Cicero, says The argument is as follows. Cicero
 himself in writing to Brutus says, 
 Fearing that I might transfer something from that source to my Cato,
 although the argument is quite different. It is thus clear
 that all subjects for writing are so called.

Nor is this to be wondered at, since the term is also in common use
 among artists; hence the Vergilian phrase A mighty
 argument. 
 Again a work which deals with a
 number of different themes is called rich in argument. 
 But the sense with which we are now concerned is that which provides
 proof Celsus indeed treats the terms, proof, indication, credibility,
 attempt, simply as different names for the same things, in which, to my
 thinking, he betrays a certain confusion of thought.

For proof and credibility are not merely the result of logical
 processes, but may equally be secured by inartificial arguments. Now I
 have already 
 distinguished signs or, as he prefers to call them, indications from
 arguments. Consequently, since an argument is a process of reasoning which provides proof and enables one thing to be
 inferred from another and confirms facts which are uncertain by
 reference to facts which are certain, there must needs be something in
 every case which requires no proof.

Otherwise there will be nothing by which we can prove anything; there
 must be something which either is or is believed to be true, by means of
 which doubtful things may be rendered credible. We may regard as
 certainties, first, those things which we perceive by the senses, things
 for instance that we hear or see, such as signs or indications;
 secondly, those things about which there is general agreement, such as
 the existence of the gods or the duty of loving one's parents;

thirdly, those things which are established by law or have passed into
 current usage, if not throughout the whole world, at any rate in the
 nation or state where the case is being pleaded—there are for instance
 many rights which rest not on law, but on custom; finally, there are the
 things which are admitted by either party, and whatever has already been
 proved or is not disputed by our adversary.

Thus for instance it may be argued that since the world is governed by
 providence, the state should similarly be governed by some controlling
 power: it follows that the state must be so governed, once it is clear
 that the world is governed by providence.

Further, the man who is to handle arguments correctly must know the
 nature and meaning of everything and their usual effects. For it is thus
 that we arrive at probable arguments or εἰκότα as the Greeks call them.

With regard to credibility there are three degrees. First, the highest,
 based on what usually happens, as for instance the assumption that
 children are loved by their parents. Secondly,
 there is the highly probable, as for instance the assumption that a man
 in the enjoyment of good health will probably live till to-morrow. The
 third degree is found where there is nothing absolutely against an
 assumption, such as that a theft committed in a house was the work of
 one of the household.

Consequently Aristotle in the second book of his Rhetoric has made a careful examination of all that commonly
 happens to things and persons, and what things and persons are naturally
 adverse or friendly to other things or persons, as for instance, what is
 the natural result of wealth or ambition or superstition, what meets
 with the approval of good men, what is the object of a soldier's or a
 farmer's desires, and by what means everything is sought or shunned.

For my part I do not propose to pursue this subject. It is not merely a
 long, but an impossible or rather an infinite task; moreover it is
 within the compass of the common understanding of mankind. If, however,
 anyone wishes to pursue the subject, I have indicated where he may
 apply.

But all credibility, and it is with credibility that the great majority
 of arguments are concerned, turns on questions such as the following:
 whether it is credible that a father has been killed by his son, or that
 a father has committed incest with his daughter, or to take questions of
 an opposite character, whether it is credible that a stepmother has
 poisoned her stepchild, or that a man of luxurious life has committed
 adultery; or again whether a crime has been openly committed, or false
 evidence given for a small bribe, since each of these crimes is the
 result of a special cast of character as a rule, though not always; if
 it were always so, there would be no room for
 doubt, and no argument.

Let us now turn to consider the places of arguments,
 although some hold that they are identical with the topics which I have
 already discussed above. But I do not use this term in its usual
 acceptance, namely, commonplaces 
 directed against luxury, adultery, and the like, but in the sense of the
 secret places where arguments reside, and from which they must be drawn
 forth.

For just as all kinds of produce are not provided by every country, and
 as you will not succeed in finding a particular bird or beast, if you
 are ignorant of the localities where it has its usual haunts or
 birthplace, as even the various kinds of fish flourish in different
 surroundings, some preferring a smooth and others a rocky bottom, and
 are found on different shores and in divers regions (you will for
 instance never catch a sturgeon or wrasse in Italian waters), so not
 every kind of argument can be derived from every circumstance, and
 consequently our search requires discrimination.

Otherwise we shall fall into serious error, and after wasting our labour
 through lack of method we shall fail to discover the argument which we
 desire, unless assisted by some happy chance. But if we know the
 circumstances which give rise to each kind of argument, we shall easily
 see, when we come to a particular place, what arguments
 it contains.

Firstly, then, arguments may be drawn from persons; for, as I have
 already said, all arguments fall into two classes, those concerned with
 things and those concerned with persons, since causes, time, place,
 occasion, instruments, means and the like are all
 accidents of things. I have no intention of tracing all the accidents of
 persons, as many have done, but shall confine myself to those from which
 arguments may be drawn.

Such are birth, for persons are generally regarded as having some
 resemblance to their parents and ancestors, a resemblance which
 sometimes leads to their living disgracefully or honourably, as the case
 may be; then there is nationality, for races have their own character,
 and the same action is not probable in the case of a barbarian, a Roman
 and a Greek;

country is another, for there is a like diversity in the laws,
 institutions and opinions of different states; sex, since for example a
 man is more likely to commit a robbery, a woman to poison; age, since
 different actions suit different ages; education and training, since it
 makes a great difference who were the instructors and what the method of
 instruction in each individual case;

bodily constitution, for beauty is often introduced as an argument for
 lust, strength as an argument for insolence, and their opposites for
 opposite conduct; fortune, since the same acts are not to be expected
 from rich and poor, or from one who is surrounded by troops of
 relations, friends or clients and one who lacks all these advantages;
 condition, too, is important, for it makes a great difference whether a
 man be famous or obscure, a magistrate or a private individual, a father
 or a son, a citizen or a foreigner, a free man or a slave, married or
 unmarried, a father or childless.

Nor must we pass by natural disposition, for avarice, anger, pity,
 cruelty, severity and the like may often be adduced to prove the
 credibility or the reverse of a given act; it is for instance often
 asked whether a man's way of living be luxurious,
 frugal or parsimonious. Then there is occupation, since a rustic, a
 lawyer, a man of business, a soldier, a sailor, a doctor all perform
 very different actions.

We must also consider the personal ambitions of individuals, for
 instance whether they wish to be thought rich or eloquent, just or
 powerful. Past life and previous utterances are also a subject for
 investigation, since we are in the habit of inferring the present from
 the past. To these some add passion, by which they mean some temporary
 emotion such as anger or fear; they also add design, which may refer to
 the past,

present or future. These latter, however, although accidents of persons,
 should be referred to that class of arguments which we draw from causes,
 as also should certain dispositions of mind, for example when we inquire
 whether one man is the friend or enemy of another.

Names also are treated as accidents of persons; this is perfectly true,
 but names are rarely food for argument, unless indeed they have been
 given for some special reasons, such as the titles of Wise, Great,
 Pious, or unless the name has suggested some special thought to the
 bearer. Lentulus for
 instance had the idea of conspiracy suggested to him by the fact that
 according to the Sibylline books and the Responses of the soothsayers
 the tyranny was promised to three members of the Cornelian family, and
 he considered himself to be the third in succession to Sulla and Cinna,
 since he too bore the name Cornelius.

On tile other hand the conceit employed by Euripides where he makes Eteocles taunt his brother Polynices
 on the ground that his name is evidence of character, is feeble in the
 extreme. Still a name will often provide the subject for a jest, witness
 the frequent jests of Cicero on the name of Verres.
 Such, then, and the like are the accidents of persons. It is impossible
 to deal with them all either here or in other portions of this work, and
 I must content myself with pointing out the lines on which further
 enquiry should proceed.

I now pass to things: of these actions are the most nearly connected
 with persons and must therefore be treated first. In regard to every
 action the question arises either Why or Where or When or How or By what
 means the action is performed.

Consequently arguments are drawn from the causes of past or future
 actions. The matter of these causes, by some called ὕλη, by others δύναμις, falls into two genera, which are each divided
 into four species. For the motive for any action is as a rule concerned
 with the acquisition, increase, preservation and use of things that are
 good or with the avoidance, diminution, endurance of things that are
 evil or with escape there from. All these considerations carry great
 weight in deliberative oratory as well.

But right actions have right motives, while evil actions are the result
 of false opinions, which originate in the things which men believe to be
 good or evil. Hence spring errors and evil passions such as anger,
 hatred, envy, desire, hope, ambition, audacity, fear and others of a
 similar kind. To these accidental circumstances may often be added, such
 as drunkenness or ignorance, which serve sometimes to excuse and
 sometimes to prove a charge, as for instance when a man is said to have
 killed one person while lying in wait for another. Further,

motives are often discussed not merely to convict the accused of the
 offence with which he is charged, but also to defend him when he
 contends that his action was right, that is to say
 proceeded from an honourable motive, a theme of which I have spoken more
 fully in the third book.

Questions of definition are also at times intimately connected with
 motives. Is a man a tyrannicide if he kills a tyrant by whom he has been
 detected in the act of adultery? Or is lie guilty of sacrilege who tore
 down arms dedicated in a temple to enable him to drive the enemy from
 the city?

Arguments are also drawn from place. With a view to proving our facts we
 consider such questions as whether a place is hilly or level, near the
 coast or inland, planted or uncultivated, crowded or deserted, near or
 far, suitable for carrying out a given design or the reverse. This is a
 topic which is treated most carefully by Cicero in his pro Milone.

These points and the like generally refer to questions of fact, but
 occasionally to questions of law as well. For we may ask whether a place
 is public or private, sacred or profane, our own or another's, just as
 where persons are concerned we ask whether a man is a magistrate, a
 father, a foreigner.

Hence arise such questions as the following. You have stolen
 private money, but since you stole it from a temple, it is not theft
 but sacrilege. 
 You have killed adulterers, an act
 permitted by law, but since the act was done in a brothel, it is
 murder. "You have committed an assault, but since the
 object of your assault was a magistrate, the crime is lèse-majesté.

Similarly it may be urged in defence, The act was lawful, because
 I was a father, a magistrate. But such points afford matter
 for argument when there is a controversy as to the facts, and matter for
 enquiry when the dispute turns on a point of law. Place also frequently
 affects the quality of an action, for the same
 action is not always lawful or seemly under all circumstances, while it
 makes considerable difference in what state the enquiry is taking place,
 for they differ both in custom and law.

Further arguments drawn from place may serve to secure approval or the
 reverse. Ajax for instance in Ovid says:— 
 
 What! do we plead our cause before the
 ships? 
 And is Ulysses there preferred to
 me? 
 
 Again one of the many charges
 brought against Milo was that he killed Clodius on the monument of his
 ancestors.

Such arguments may also carry weight in deliberative oratory, as may
 those drawn from time, which I shall now proceed to discuss. Time may,
 as I have said elsewhere, be understood in two different senses, general and
 special. The first sense is seen in words and phrases such as
 now, 
 formerly, 
 in the reign of
 Alexander, 
 in the days of the siege of Troy, 
 and whenever we speak of past, present or future. The second sense
 occurs when we speak either of definite periods of time such as
 in summer, 
 in winter, 
 by
 night, 
 by day, or of fortuitous periods such
 as in time of pestilence, 
 in time of
 war, 
 during a banquet.

Certain Latin writers have thought it a sufficient distinction to call
 the general sense time, and the special
 times. In both senses time is of importance in
 advisory speeches and demonstrative oratory, but not so frequently as in
 forensic.

For questions of law turn on time, while it also determines the quality
 of actions and is of great importance in questions of fact; for
 instance, occasionally it provides irrefragable 
 proofs, which may be illustrated by a case which I have already cited,
 when one
 of the signatories to a document has died before the day on which it was
 signed, or when a person is accused of the commission of some crime,
 although he was only an infant at the time or not yet born.

Further, all kinds of arguments may easily be drawn either from facts
 previous to a certain act, or contemporary or subsequent. 
 As regards antecedent facts the following example will illustrate my
 meaning; You threatened to kill him, you went out by night, you
 started before him. Motives of actions may also belong to
 past time.

Some writers have shown themselves over-subtle in their classification
 of the second class of circumstances, making a sound was
 heard an example of circumstances combined with an act and a shout was raised an
 instance of circumstances attached to an act. As
 regards subsequent circumstances I may cite accusations such as
 You hid yourself, you fled, livid spots and swellings
 appeared on the corpse. The counsel for the defence will
 employ the same divisions of time to discredit the charge which is
 brought against him.

In these considerations are included everything in connexion with words
 and deeds, but in two distinct ways. For some things are done because
 something else is like to follow, and others because something else has
 previously been done, as for instance, when the husband of a beautiful
 woman is accused of having acted as a procurer on the ground that he
 bought her after she was found guilty of adultery, or when a debauched
 character is accused of parricide on the ground that he said to his
 father You have rebuked me for the last time. 
 For in
 the former case the accused is not a procurer because he bought the
 woman, but bought her because he was a procurer, while in the latter the
 accused is not a parricide because he used these words, but used them
 because lie intended to kill his father.

With regard to accidental circumstances, which also provide matter for
 arguments, these clearly belong to subsequent time, but are
 distinguished by a certain special quality, as for instance if I should
 say, Scipio was a better general than Hannibal, for he conquered
 Hannibal ; He was a good pilot, for he was never
 shipwrecked ; He was a good farmer, for he gathered
 in huge harvests ; or referring to bad qualities, He
 was a prodigal, for he squandered his patrimony ; His
 life was disgraceful, for he was hated by all.

We must also consider the resources possessed by the parties concerned,
 more especially when dealing with questions of fact; for it is more
 credible that a smaller number of persons were killed by a larger, a
 weaker party by a stronger, sleepers by men that were wide awake, the
 unsuspecting by the well-prepared, while the converse arguments may be
 used to prove the opposite.

Such considerations arise both in deliberative and forensic oratory: in
 the latter they occur in relation to two questions, namely, whether some
 given person had the will, and whether lie had the power to do the deed;
 for hope will often create the will to act. Hence the well-known
 inference in Cicero: 
 Clodius lay in
 wait for Milo, not Milo for Clodius, for Clodius had a retinue of
 sturdy slaves, while Milo was with a party of women; Clodius was
 mounted, Milo in a carriage, Clodius lightly clad, Milo hampered by
 a cloak.

With resources we may couple instruments, which
 form part of resources and means. But sometimes instruments will provide
 us with indications as well, as for instance if we find a javelin
 sticking in a dead body.

To these we may add manner, the Greek τρόπος, in regard to which we ask how a thing was done.
 Manner is concerned sometimes with quality and the letter of the law
 (we may for instance argue that it was unlawful to
 kill an adulterer by poison), sometimes with questions of fact, as for
 example if I argue that an act was committed with a good intent and
 therefore openly, or with a bad intent and therefore treacherously, by
 night, in a lonely place.

In all cases, however, in which we enquire into the nature and meaning
 of an act, and which can be considered by themselves apart from all
 considerations of persons and all else that gives rise to the actual
 cause, there are clearly three points to which we must give attention,
 namely Whether it is, What it is and Of what kind it is. But as there
 are certain places 
 of argument which are
 common to all three questions, this triple division is impracticable and
 we must therefore consider these questions rather in connexion with
 those places in which they most naturally arise.

Arguments, then, may be drawn from definition, sometimes called finitio and sometimes finis. Definition is of two kinds. We may ask whether a
 particular quality is a virtue or make a definition precede and ask what
 is the nature of a virtue. Such a definition is either stated in general
 terms, such as Rhetoric is the science of speaking
 well, or in detail, such as Rhetoric is the
 science of correct conception, arrangement and utterance, coupled
 with a retentive memory and a dignified delivery. 
 Further,

we may define a word by giving its content as in the preceding
 instances, or by etymology: we may for instance explain assiduus 
 by deriving it from as 
 and do, locuples 
 by
 deriving it from copia locorum, pecuniosus 
 
 from copiapecorum. Genus, species, difference and
 property seem more especially to afford scope
 for definition, for we derive arguments from all of these.

Genus is of little use when we desire to prove a
 species, but of great value for its
 elimination. A tree is not necessarily a plane tree, but that which is
 not a tree is certainly not a plane tree; again, a virtue is not
 necessarily the virtue of justice, but that which is not a virtue is
 certainly not justice. We must proceed from the genus to the ultimate species; 
 for example, to say that man is an animal will not suffice; for
 animal merely gives us the genus: nor yet will
 the addition of the words subject to death be adequate;
 for although this epithet gives us a species, it is common to other
 animals as well. If, however, we define man as a rational animal, we
 need nothing further to make our meaning clear.

On the other hand species will give us clear
 proof of genus, but is of little service for its
 elimination. For example, justice is always a virtue, but that which is
 not justice may still be a virtue, such as fortitude, constancy or
 self-control. Genus therefore cannot be
 eliminated by species unless all the species included in the genus be eliminated, as for instance in the following
 sentence: That which is neither rational 
 
 nor mortal nor an animal is not a
 man.

To these they add property and difference. Properties serve to establish definitions, differences to overthrow them. A property is that which happens to one particular
 object and that alone; speech and laughter for instance are properties of man. Or it may be something
 specially belonging to an object, but not to it alone; heating for
 instance is a property of fire. The same thing
 may also have a number of properties: light and
 heat are both properties of fire. Consequently,
 the omission of any property in a definition will
 impair it, but the introduction of a property, 
 whatever it may be, will not necessarily establish a definition.

We have, however, often to consider what is a property of some given object; for example, if it should be
 asserted, on the ground of etymology, that the peculiar property of a tyrannicide is to kill tyrants, we
 should deny it: for an executioner is not ipso
 facto a tyrannicide, if he executes a tyrant who has been
 delivered to him for the purpose, nor again is he a tyrannicide who
 kills a tyrant unwittingly or against his will.

What is not a property will be a difference: it is, for instance, one thing to be
 a slave, and another to be in a state of servitude; hence the
 distinction raised in connexion with persons assigned to their creditors
 for debt: A slave, if he is manumitted becomes a
 freedman, but this is not the case with one who is assigned. 
 There are also other points of difference which are dealt with
 elsewhere.

Again, the term difference is applied in cases when the genus is divided into species and one species is subdivided.
 Animal, for instance, is a genus, mortal a species, while terrestrial or biped is a difference: for they are not actually properties, but serve to
 show the difference between such animals and
 quadrupeds or creatures of the sea. This distinction, however, comes
 under the province not so much of argument as of exact definition.
 Cicero separates genus and species,

which latter he calls form, from definition and
 includes them under relation. For example, if a person to whom another
 man has left all his silver should claim all his silver money as well,
 he would base his claim upon genus; on the other
 hand if when a legacy has been left to a married woman holding the
 position of materfamilias, it should be
 maintained that the legacy is not due to a woman who never came into the
 power of her husband, the argument is based on species, since there are two kinds of marriage. Cicero

further shows that definition is assisted by division, which he distinguishes from partition, making the latter the dissection of a whole into
 its parts and the former the division of a genus 
 into its forms or species. 
 The number of parts he regards as being uncertain, as for instance the
 elements of which a state consists; the forms or
 species are, however, certain, as for instance the number of
 forms of government, which we are told are three, democracy, oligarchy,
 and monarchy. It is true that he does not use these illustrations,

since, as he was writing to Trebatius, he preferred to draw his examples from
 law. I have chosen my illustrations as being more obvious. Properties have relation to questions of fact as
 well; for instance, it is the property of a good
 man to act rightly, of an angry man to be violent in speech or action,
 and consequently we believe that such acts are committed by persons of
 the appropriate character, or not committed by
 persons of inappropriate character. For just as certain persons possess
 certain qualities, so certain others do not possess certain qualities,
 and the argument is of precisely the same nature, though from opposite
 premises.

In a similar way division is valuable both for
 proof and refutation. For proof, it is sometimes enough to establish one
 thing. To be a citizen, a man must either have been born or made
 such. For refutation, both points must be disproved:
 he was neither born nor made a citizen.

This may be done in many ways, and constitutes a form of argument by
 elimination, whereby we show sometimes that the whole is false,
 sometimes that only that which remains alter the process of elimination
 is true. An example of the first of these two cases would be: 
 You say that you lent him money. Either you possessed it yourself,
 received it from another, found it or stole it. If you did not
 possess it, receive it from another, find or steal it, you did not
 lend it to him.

The residue after elimination is shown to be true as follows: 
 This slave whom you claim was either born in your house or bought or
 given you or left you by will or captured from the enemy or belongs
 to another. By the elimination of the previous suppositions
 he is shown to belong to another. This form of argument is risky and
 must be employed with care; for if, in setting forth the alternatives,
 we chance to omit one, our whole case will fail, and our audience will
 be moved to laughter. It is safer to do what Cicero

does in the pro Caecina, when he asks, If
 this is not the point at issue, what is? For thus all other
 points are eliminated at one swoop. Or again two contrary propositions
 may be advanced, either of which if established would suffice to prove the case. Take the following example from
 Cicero: 
 There can be no one so
 hostile to Cluentius as not to grant me one thing: if it be a fact
 that the verdict then given was the result of bribery, the bribes
 must have proceeded either from Habitus or Oppianicus: if I show
 that they did not proceed from Habitus I prove that they proceeded
 from Oppianicus: if I demonstrate that they were given by
 Oppianicus, I clear Habitus.

Or we may give our opponent the choice between two alternatives of which
 one must necessarily be true, and as a result, whichever he chooses, lie
 will damage his case. Cicero does this in the pro
 Oppio: 
 
 Was the
 weapon snatched from his hands when he had attacked Cotta, or when
 he was trying to commit suicide? and in the pro Vareno: 
 
 You have a choice
 between two alternatives: either you must show that the choice of
 this route by Varenus was due to chance or that it was the result of
 this man's persuasion and inducement. He then shows that
 either admission tells against his opponent. Sometimes again,

two propositions are stated of such a character that the admission of
 either involves the same conclusion, as in the sentence, We must
 philosophise, even though we ought not, or as in the common
 dilemma, What is the use of a figure, if its meaning is clear? And what is its use, if it
 is unintelligible? or, He who is capable of
 enduring pain will lie if tortured, and so will he who cannot endure
 pain.

As there are three divisions of time, so the order of events falls into
 three stages. For everything has a beginning, growth and consummation,
 as for instance a quarrel, blows, murder. Thus
 arise arguments which lend each other mutual support; for the conclusion
 is inferred from the beginnings, as in the following case: I
 cannot expect a purple-striped toga, when I see that the beginning
 of the web is black ; or the beginning may be inferred from
 the conclusion: for instance the fact that Sulla resigned the
 dictatorship is an argument that Sulla did not take up arms with the
 intention of establishing a tyranny.

Similarly from the growth of a situation we may infer either its
 beginning or its end, not only in questions of fact but as regards
 points of equity, such as whether the conclusion is referable to the
 beginning, that is, Should the man that began the quarrel be
 regarded as guilty of the bloodshed with which it ended? 
 Arguments are also drawn from similarities:

If self-control is a virtue, abstinence is also a
 virtue. 
 If a guardian should be required to be
 faithful to his trust, so should an agent. To this class
 belongs the type of argument called ἐπαγωγή by the Greeks, induction 
 by Cicero. Or arguments may be drawn from
 unlikes: It does not follow that if joy is a good thing, pleasure
 also is a good thing : It does not follow that what
 applies to the case of a woman applies also to the case of a ward.
 Or from contraries: Frugality is a good thing, since
 luxury is an evil thing : If war is the cause of ill,
 peace will prove a remedy : If he who does harm
 unwittingly deserves pardon, he who does good unwittingly does not
 deserve a reward.

Or from contradictions: He who is wise is not a fool. Or
 from consequences necessary or probable : If
 justice is a good thing, we must give right
 judgment : If breach of faith is a bad thing, we
 must not deceive. And such arguments may also be reversed.
 Similar to these are the following arguments, which must therefore be
 classed under this same head, since it is to this that they naturally
 belong: A man has not lost what he never had : A
 man does not wittingly injure him whom he loves : If
 one man has appointed another as his heir, he regarded, still
 regards and will continue to regard him with affection. 
 However, such arguments, being incontrovertible, are of the nature of
 absolute indications.

These, however, I call consequent or 
 ἀκόλουθα goodness, for instance, is
 consequent on wisdom: while in regard to things which merely have taken
 place afterwards or will take place I use the term insequent or παρεπόμενα, 
 though I do not regard the question of terminology as important. Give
 them any name you please, as long as the meaning is clear and it is
 shown that the one depends on time, the other on the nature of things.

I have therefore no hesitation in calling the following forms of
 argument also consequential, although they argue
 from the past to the future: some however divide them into two classes,
 those concerned with action, as in the pro Oppio, 
 How could he detain against
 their will those whom he was unable to take to the province against
 their will? and those concerned with time, as in the Verrines, 
 
 If the first of January
 puts an end to the authority of the praetor's edict, why should the
 commencement of its authority not likewise date from the first of
 January?

Both these instances are of such a nature that the
 argument is reversible. For it is a necessary consequence that those who could not be taken to the province
 against their will could not be retained against their will.

So too I feel clear that we should rank as consequential arguments those derived from facts which lend
 each other mutual support and are by some regarded as forming a separate
 kind of argument, which they call ἐκ τῶν πρὸς ἄλληλα, arguments from things
 mutually related, while Cicero styles them
 arguments drawn from things to which the same line of reasoning applies;
 take the following example : If it is honourable
 for the Rhodians to let out their harbour dues, it is honourable
 likewise for Hermocreon to take the contract, or
 What it is honourable to learn, it is also honourable to
 teach. Such also is the fine sentence of Domitius Afer,

which has the same effect, though it is not identical in form: I
 accused, you condemned. Arguments which prove the same thing
 from opposites are also mutually consequential; 
 for instance, we may argue that he who says that the world was created
 thereby implies that it is suffering decay, since this is the property
 of all created things.

There is another very similar form of argument, which consists in the
 inference of facts from their efficient causes or the reverse, a process
 known as argument from causes. The conclusion is sometimes necessary,
 sometimes generally without being necessarily true. For instance, a body
 casts a shadow in the light, and the shadow wherever it falls indicates
 the presence of a body.

There are other conclusions which, as I have said, are not necessary,
 whether as regards both cause and effect or only one of the two. For
 instance, the sun colours the skin, but not 
 everyone that is coloured receives that colour from the sun; a
 journey makes the traveller dusty, but every journey does not
 produce dust, nor is everyone that is dusty just come from a
 journey.

As examples of necessary conclusions on the other hand I may cite the
 following: If wisdom makes a man good, a good man must needs be
 wise ; and again, It is the part of a good man to act
 honourably, of a bad man to act dishonourably, or 
 Those who act honourably are considered good, those who act
 dishonourably are considered bad men. In these cases the
 conclusion is correct. On the other hand, though exercise
 generally makes the body robust, not everyone who is robust is given
 to exercise, nor is everyone that is addicted to exercise robust.
 Nor again, because courage prevents our fearing death, is every man
 who has no fear of death to be regarded as a brave man; nor is the
 sun useless to man because it sometimes gives him a headache.

Arguments such as the following belong in the main to the hortative
 department of oratory:— Virtue brings renown, therefore it
 should be pursued; but the pursuit of pleasure brings ill-repute,
 therefore it should be shunned. But the warning that we
 should not necessarily search for the originating cause is just: an
 example of such error is provided by the speech of Medea beginning

Ah! would that never there in Pelion's grove, as though
 her misery or guilt were due to the fact that there 
 
 The beams of fir had fallen to
 the ground ; 
 or I might cite the words
 addressed by Philoctetes to Paris, 
 
 
 Hadst thou been other than thou art, then I 
 Had ne'er been plunged in
 woe. 
 
 
 By tracing back causes
 on lines such as these we may arrive anywhere.

But for the fact that Cicero has done so, I
 should regard it as absurd to add to these what is styled the conjugate argument, such as Those who
 perform a just act, act justly, a self-evident fact
 requiring no proof; or again, Every man has a common right to
 send his cattle to graze in a common pasture.

Some call these arguments derived from causes or efficients by the Greek
 name ἐκβάσεις that is, results; for in
 such cases the only point considered is how one thing results from
 another. Those arguments which prove the lesser from the greater or the
 greater from the less or equals from equals are styled apposite or comparative.

A conjecture as to a fact is confirmed by argument from something
 greater in the following sentence: If a man commit sacrilege, he
 will also commit theft ; from something less, in a sentence
 such as He who lies easily and openly will commit perjury 
 ; from something equal in a sentence such as He who has taken a
 bribe to give a false verdict will take a bribe to give false
 witness.

Points of law may be proved in a similar manner; from something greater,
 as in the sentence If it is lawful to kill an adulterer, it is
 lawful to scourge him ; from something less, If it
 is lawful to kill a man attempting theft by night, how much more
 lawful is it to kill one who attempts robbery with violence 
 ; from something equal, The penalty which is just in the case of
 parricide is also just in the case of matricide. In all
 these cases we follow the syllogistic method.

The following type of argument on the other hand is more serviceable in
 questions turning on definition or quality. 
 If strength is good for the body,
 health is no less good. 
 If theft is a crime, sacrilege
 is a greater crime. 
 If abstinence is a virtue, so is
 self-control. 
 If the world is governed by providence,
 the state also requires a government. 
 If a house
 cannot be built without a plan, what of a whole
 city? 
 If naval stores require careful supervision, so
 also do arms.

I am content to treat this type of argument as a genus without going further; others however divide it into species. For we may argue from several things to
 one or from one thing to several; hence arguments such as What
 has happened once may happen often. We may also argue from a
 part to a whole, from genus to species, from that which contains to that which is contained,
 from the difficult to the easy, from the remote to the near, and
 similarly from the opposites of all these to their opposites.

Now all these arguments deal with the greater or the less or else with
 things that are equal, and if we follow up such fine distinctions, there
 will be no limit to our division into species. For the comparison of
 things is infinite; things may be more pleasant, more serious, more
 necessary, more honourable, more useful. I say no more for fear of
 falling into that very garrulity which I deprecate.

The number of examples of these arguments which I might quote is
 likewise infinite, but I will only deal with a very few. As an example
 of argument from something greater take the following example from the
 pro Caecina 
 
 Shall we suppose that that
 which alarms whole armies caused no alarm to a peaceful company of
 lawyers? As an instance of argument from something easier,
 take this passage from the speech against Clodius
 and Curio: 
 
 Consider whether it would have been easy for you to secure the
 praetorship, when he in whose favour you withdrew failed to secure
 election?

The following provides an example of argument from something more difficult:
 I beg you, Tubero, to remark that I, who do not hesitate to
 speak of my own deed, venture to speak of that performed by Ligarius
 ; and again, Has not Ligarius reason for hope, when I am
 permitted to intercede with you for another? For an argument
 drawn from something less take this passage from the pro Caecinaa 
 : Really! Is the knowledge that the men were armed
 sufficient to prove that violence was offered, and the fact that he
 fell into their hands insufficient? 
 Well, then, to give a brief summary of the whole
 question, arguments are drawn from persons, causes, place and time
 (which latter we have divided into preceding, contemporary and
 subsequent), from resources (under which we include instruments), from
 manner (that is, how a thing has been done), from definition, genus,
 species, difference, property, elimination, division, beginnings,
 increase, consummation, likes, unlikes, contradictions, consequents,
 efficients, effects, results, and comparison, which is subdivided into
 several species.

I think I should also add that arguments are drawn not merely from
 admitted facts, but from fictitious suppositions, which the Greeks style
 καθ᾽ ὑπόθεσιν and that this latter
 type of argument falls into all the same divisions as those which I have
 mentioned above, since there may be as many
 species of fictitious arguments as there are of true arguments.

When I speak of fictitious arguments I mean the proposition of something
 which, if true, would either solve a problem or contribute to its
 solution, and secondly the demonstration of the similarity of our
 hypothesis to the case under consideration. To make this the more
 readily intelligible to youths who have not yet left school, I will
 first of all illustrate it by examples of a kind familiar to the young.

There is a law to the effect that the man who refuses to support
 his parents is liable to imprisonment. A certain man fails
 to support his parents and none the less objects to going to prison. He
 advances the hypothesis that he would be exempt from such a penalty if
 he were a soldier, an infant. or if he were absent from home on the
 service of the state. Again in the case where a hero is allowed to
 choose his reward we might introduce the
 hypotheses of his desiring to make himself a tyrant or to overthrow the
 temples of the gods.

Such arguments are specially useful when we are arguing against the
 letter of the law, and are thus employed by Cicero in the pro Caecina 
 : [The
 interdict contains the words,] ' whence you or your household or
 your agent had driven him.' If your steward alone had driven me out,
 [it would not, I suppose, be your household but a member of your
 household that had driven me out]. . . . If indeed you owned no
 slave except the one who drove me out, [you would cry, 'If I possess
 a household at all, I admit that my household drove you out'].
 Many other examples might be quoted from the same work.

But fictitious suppositions are also exceedingly useful when we are
 concerned with the quality of an act : 
 If 
 Catiline could try
 this case assisted by a jury composed of those scoundrels whom he
 led out with him he would condemn Lucius Murena. It is
 useful also for amplification : If this had happened to you
 during dinner in the midst of your deep potations ; or
 again, 
 If the state could
 speak.

Such in the main are the usual topics of proof as specified by teachers
 of rhetoric, but it is not sufficient to classify them generically in
 our instructions, since from each of them there arises an infinite
 number of arguments, while it is in the very nature of things impossible
 to deal with all their individual species. Those who have attempted to
 perform this latter task have exposed themselves in equal degree to two
 disadvantages, saying too much and yet failing to cover the whole
 ground.

Consequently the majority of students, finding themselves lost in an
 inextricable maze, have abandoned all individual effort, including even
 that which their own wits might have placed within their power, as
 though they were fettered by certain rigid laws, and keeping their eyes
 fixed upon their master have ceased to follow the guidance of nature.

But as it is not in itself sufficient to know that all proofs are drawn
 either from persons or things, because each of these groups is
 subdivided into a number of different heads so he who has learned that
 arguments must be drawn from antecedent, contemporary or subsequent
 facts will not be sufficiently instructed in the knowledge of the method
 of handling arguments to understand what arguments are to be drawn from
 the circumstances of each particular case;

especially as the majority of proofs are to be found in the special
 circumstances of individual cases and have no
 connexion with any other dispute, and therefore while they are the
 strongest, are also the least obvious, since, whereas we derive what is
 common to all cases from general rules, we have to discover for
 ourselves whatever is peculiar to the case which we have in hand.

This type of argument may reasonably be described as drawn from
 circumstances, there being no other word to express the Greek περίστασις or from those things which are
 peculiar to any given case. For instance, in the case of the priest who
 having committed adultery desired to save his own 
 life by means of the law which gave him the
 power of saving one life, the appropriate
 argument to employ against him would run as follows: You would
 save more than one guilty person, since, if you were discharged, it
 would not be lawful to put the adulteress to death. For
 such an argument follows from the law forbidding the execution of the
 adulteress apart from the adulterer.

Again, take the case falling under the law which lays down that bankers
 may pay only half of what they owe, while permitted to recover the whole
 of what they are owed. One banker requires payment of the whole sum owed
 him by another banker. The appropriate argument supplied by the subject
 to the creditor is that there was special reason for the insertion of
 the clause sanctioning the
 recovery of the whole of a debt by a banker, since there was no need of
 such a law as against others, inasmuch as all have the right to recover
 the whole of a debt from any save a banker.

But while some fresh considerations are bound to present themselves in
 every kind of subject, this is more especially the case in questions
 turning on the letter of the law, since not merely
 individual words, but still more whole phrases are frequently ambiguous.

And these considerations must vary according to the complexity of laws
 and other documents, whether they are in agreement or contradictory,
 since fact throws light on fact and law on law as in the following
 argument: I owed you no money: you never summoned me for debt,
 you took no interest from me, nay, you actually borrowed money from
 me. It is laid down by law that he who refuses to defend
 his father when accused of treason thereby loses his right to inherit. A
 son denies that he is liable to this penalty unless his father is
 acquitted. How does he support this contention? There is another law to
 the effect that a man found guilty of treason shall be banished and his
 advocate with him.

Cicero in the pro Cluentio 
 says that Publius
 Popilius and Tiberius Gutta were not condemned for receiving bribes to
 give a false verdict, but for attempting to bribe the jury. What is his
 argument in support of this view? That their accusers, who were
 themselves found guilty of bribing the jury, were restored in accordance
 with law after winning their case.

But the consideration as to what argument should be put forward requires
 no less care than the consideration of the manner in which we are to
 prove that which we have put forward. Indeed in this connexion
 invention, if not the most important, is certainly the first
 consideration. For, just as weapons are superfluous for one who does not
 know what his target is, so too arguments are useless, unless you see in
 advance to what they are to be applied. This is a task for which no
 formal rules can be laid down.

Consequently, though a number of orators, who have
 studied the same rules, will use similar kinds of arguments, one will
 discover a greater number of arguments to suit his case than another.
 Let us take as an example a controversial theme involving problems that
 have little in common with other cases.

When Alexander destroyed Thebes, he found documents showing that
 the Thebans had lent a hundred talents to the Thessalians. These
 documents he presented to the Thessalians as a reward for the
 assistance they had given him in the campaign. Subsequently the
 Thebans, after the restoration of their city by Cassander, demanded
 that the Thessalians should repay the money. The case is
 tried before the Amphictyonic council. It is admitted that the Thebans
 lent the money and were not repaid.

The whole dispute turns on the allegation that Alexander had excused the
 Thessalians from payment of the debt. It is also admitted that the
 Thessalians had received no money from Alexander. The question is
 therefore whether his gift is equivalent to his having given them money.

What use will formal topics of argument be in such a case, unless I
 first convince myself that the gift of Alexander made no difference,
 that he had not the power to make it, and that he did not make it? The
 opening of the Thebans' plea presents no difficulty and is likely to win
 the approval of the judges, since they are seeking to recover by right
 what was taken from them by force. But out of this point arises a
 violent controversy as to the right of war, since the Thessalians urge
 that kingdoms and peoples and the frontiers of nations and cities depend
 upon these rights.

To meet this argument it is necessary to discover
 in what respect this case differs from others which are concerned with
 property that has fallen into the hands of the victor: the difficulty
 moreover lies not so much in the proof as in the way it should be put
 forward. We may begin by stating that the rights of war do not hold good
 in any matter which can be brought before a court of justice, and that
 what is taken by force of arms can only be retained by force of arms,
 and consequently, wherever the rights of war hold good, there is no room
 for the functions of a judge, while on the contrary where the functions
 of the judge come into play, the rights of war cease to have any force.

The reason why it is necessary to discover this principle is to enable
 us to bring the following argument into play: that prisoners of war are
 free on returning to their native land just because the gains of war
 cannot be retained except by the exercise of the same violence by which
 they were acquired. Another peculiar feature of the case is that it is
 tried before the Amphictyonic council, and you will remember
 that we have to employ different methods in pleading a case before the
 centumviral court and before an arbitrator, though the problems of the
 cases may be identical.

Secondly we may urge that the right to refuse payment could not have
 been conferred by the victor because he possesses only what he holds,
 but a right, being incorporeal, cannot be grasped by the hand. It is more difficult to discover this principle
 than, once discovered, to defend it with arguments such as that the
 position of an heir and a conqueror are fundamentally different, since
 right passes to the one and property to the other.

It is further an argument peculiar to the subject
 matter of the case that the right over a public debt could not have
 passed to the victor, because the repayment of a sum of money lent by a
 whole people is due to them all, and as long as any single one of them
 survives, he is creditor for the whole amount: but the Thebans were
 never all of them to a man in Alexander's power.

The force of this argument resides in the fact that it is not based on
 any external support, but holds good in itself. Proceeding to the third
 line of argument we may note that the first portion of it is of a more
 ordinary type, namely that the right to repayment is not based on the
 actual document, a plea which can be supported by many arguments. Doubt
 may also be thrown on Alexander's purpose: did he intend to honour them
 or to trick them? Another argument peculiar to the subject (indeed it
 practically introduces a new discussion) is that the Thebans may be
 regarded as having in virtue of their restoration recovered the right
 even though it be admitted that they had lost it. Again Cassander's
 purpose may be discussed, but, as the case is being pleaded before the
 Amphictyonic council, we shall find that the most powerful plea that can
 be urged is that of equity.

I make these remarks, not because I think that a knowledge of the
 places 
 from which arguments may be derived is useless (had
 I thought so, I should have passed them by)but to prevent those who have
 learnt these rules from neglecting other considerations and regarding
 themselves as having a perfect and absolute knowledge of the whole
 subject, and to make them realise that, unless they acquire a thorough
 knowledge of the remaining points which I am about
 to discuss, they will be the possessors of what I can only call a dumb
 science.

For the discovery of arguments was not the result of the publication of
 text-books, but every kind of argument was put forward before any rules
 were laid down, and it was only later that writers of rhetoric noted
 them and collected them for publication. A proof of this is the fact
 that the examples which they use are old and quoted from the orators,
 while they themselves discover nothing new or that has not been said
 before.

The creators of the art were therefore the orators, though we owe a debt
 of gratitude also to those who have given us a short cut to knowledge.
 For thanks to them the arguments discovered by the genius of earlier
 orators have not got to be hunted out and noted down in detail. But this
 does not suffice to make an orator any more than it suffices to learn
 the art of gymnastic in school: the body must be assisted by continual
 practice, self control, diet and above all by nature; on the other hand
 none of these are sufficient in themselves without the aid of art.

I would also have students of oratory consider that all the forms of
 argument which I have just set forth cannot be found in every case, and
 that when the subject on which we have to speak has been propounded, it
 is no use considering each separate type of argument and knocking at the
 door of each with a view to discovering whether they may chance to serve
 to prove our point, except while we are in the position of mere learners
 without any knowledge of actual practice.

Such a proceeding merely retards the process of speaking to an
 incalculable extent, if it is always necessary for us to try each single
 argument and thus learn by experiment what is
 apt and suitable to our case. In fact I am not sure that it will not be
 an actual obstacle to progress unless a certain innate penetration and a
 power of rapid divination seconded by study lead us straight to the
 arguments which suit our case.

For just as the melody of the voice is most pleasing when accompanied by
 the lyre, yet if the musician's hand be slow and, unless he first look
 at the strings and take their measure, hesitate as to which strings
 match the several notes of the voice, it would be better that he should
 content himself with the natural music of the voice unaccompanied by any
 instrument; even so our theory of speaking must be adapted and, like the
 lyre, attuned to such rules as these.

But it is only by constant practice that we can secure that, just as the
 hands of the musician, even though his eyes be turned elsewhere, produce
 bass, treble or intermediate notes by force of habit, so the thought of
 the orator should suffer no delay owing to the variety and number of
 possible arguments, but that the latter should present themselves
 uncalled and, just as letters and syllables require no thought on the
 part of a writer, so arguments should spontaneously follow the thought
 of the orator.

The third kind of proof, which is drawn into the service of the case
 from without, is styled a παράδειγμα 
 by the Greeks, who apply the term to all comparisons of like with like,
 but more especially to historical parallels. Roman writers have for the
 most part preferred to give the name of comparison to that which the
 Greeks style παραβολή, while they
 translate παράδειγμα by example,
 although this latter involves comparison, while the former is of the nature of an example.

For my own part, I prefer with a view to making my purpose easier of
 apprehension to regard both as παραδείγματα and to call them examples. Nor am I afraid
 of being thought to disagree with Cicero, although he does separate
 comparison from example. For he divides
 all arguments into two classes, induction and ratiocination, just as
 most Greeks divide it into
 παραδείγματα and ἐπιχειρήματα, explaining παράδειγμα as a rhetorical induction.

The method of argument chiefly used by Socrates was of this nature: when
 he had asked a number of questions to which his adversary could only
 agree, he finally inferred the conclusion of the problem under
 discussion from its resemblance to the points already conceded. This
 method is known as induction, and though it cannot be used in a set
 speech, it is usual in a speech to assume that which takes the form of a
 question in dialogue.

For instance take the following question: What is the finest form
 of fruit? Is it not that which is best? This will be
 admitted. What of the horse? What is the finest? Is it not that
 which is the best? Several more questions of the same kind
 follow. Last comes the question for the sake of which all the others
 were put: What of man? Is not he the finest type who is
 best? The answer can only be in the affirmative.

Such a procedure is most valuable in the examination of witnesses, but
 is differently employed in a set speech. For there the orator either
 answers his own questions or makes an assumption of that which in
 dialogue takes the form of a question. What is the finest fruit? The best, I should imagine.
 What is the finest horse? The swiftest. So too the finest type of
 man is not he that is noblest of birth, but he that is most
 excellent in virtue. All arguments of this kind, therefore,
 must be from things like or unlike or contrary. Similes are, it is true,
 sometimes employed for the embellishment of the speech as well, but I
 will deal with them in their proper place; 
 at present I am concerned with the use of similitude in proof.

The most important of proofs of this class is that which is most
 properly styled example, that is to say the adducing of some past action
 real or assumed which may serve to persuade the audience of the truth of
 the point which we are trying to make. We must therefore consider
 whether the parallel is complete or only partial, that we may know
 whether to use it in its entirety or merely to select those portions
 which are serviceable. We argue from the like when we say,
 Saturninus was justly killed, as were the Gracchi ;
 from the unlike when we say,

Brutus killed his sons for plotting against the state, while
 Manlius condemned his son to death for his valoulr ; from the contrary when we
 say, Marcellus restored the works of art which had been taken
 from the Syracusans who were our enemies, while Verres took the same works of art
 from our allies. The same divisions apply also to such
 forms of proof in panegyric or denunciation.

It will also be found useful when we are speaking of what is likely to
 happen to refer to historical parallels: for instance if the orator
 asserts that Dionysius is asking for a bodyguard that with their armed
 assistance he may establish himself as tyrant, he may adduce the parallel case of Pisistratus who secured the supreme power
 by similar means.

But while examples may at times, as in the last instance, apply in their
 entirety, at times we shall argue from the greater to the less or from
 the less to the greater. Cities have been overthrown by the
 violation of the marriage bond. What punishment then will meet the
 case of adultery? 
 Fluteplayers have been recalled by
 the state to the city which they had left. How much more then is it
 just that leading citizens who have rendered good service to their
 country should be recalled from that exile to which they have been
 driven by envy.

Arguments from unlikes are most useful in exhortation. Courage is more
 remarkable in a woman than in a man. Therefore, if we wish to kindle
 someone's ambition to the performance of heroic deeds, we shall find
 that parallels drawn from the cases of Horatius and Torquatus will carry
 less weight than that of the woman by whose hand Pyrrhus was slain, and
 if we wish to urge a man to meet death, the cases of Cato and Scipio
 will carry less weight than that of Lucretia. These are however
 arguments from the greater to the less.

Let me then give you separate examples of these classes of argument from
 the pages of Cicero; for where should I find better? The following
 passage from the pro Murena 
 is an instance of argument from the
 like: For it happened that I myself when a candidate had two
 patricians as competitors, the one a man of the most unscrupulous
 and reckless character, the other a most excellent and respectable
 citizen. Yet I defeated Catiline by force of merit and Galba by my
 popularity.

The pro Milone 
 will give us an example of
 argument from the greater to the less: They say that he who
 confesses to having killed a man is not fit to look upon the light
 of day. Where is the city in which men are such fools as to argue
 thus? It is Rome itself, the city whose first trial on a capital
 charge was that of Marcus Horatius, the bravest of men, who, though
 the city had not yet attained its freedom, was none the less
 acquitted by the assembly of the Roman people, in spite of the fact
 that he confessed that he had slain his sister with his own hand.
 The following is an example of
 argument from the less to the greater: I killed, not Spurius
 Maelius, who by lowering the price of corn and sacrificing his
 private fortune fell under the suspicion of desiring to make himself
 king, because it seemed that he was courting popularity with the
 common people overmuch, and so on till we come to, 
 No, the man I killed (for my client would not shrink from the
 avowal, since his deed had saved his country) was he who committed
 abominable adultery even in the shrines of the gods ; then
 follows the whole invective against Clodius.

Arguments from unlikes present great variety, for they may turn on kind,
 manner, time, place, etcetera, almost every one of which Cicero employs
 to overthrow the previous decisions that seemed to apply to the case of
 Cluentius, 
 while he makes use of argument from contraries when lie minimises the importance of the
 censorial stigma by praising Scipio Africanus, who in his capacity of
 censor allowed one whom he openly asserted to have committed deliberate
 perjury to retain his horse, because no one had appeared as evidence
 against him, though he promised to come forward
 himself to bear witness to his guilt, if any should be found to accuse
 him. I have paraphrased this passage because it is too long to quote.

A brief example of a similar argument is to be found in Virgil, 
 
 
 But he, whom
 falsely thou dost call thy father, 
 Even
 Achilles, in far other wise 
 Dealt with old
 Priam, and Priam was his foe.

Historical parallels may however sometimes be related in full, as in the
 pro Milone 
 :
 When a military tribune serving in the army of Gaius Marius,
 to whom he was related, made an assault upon the honour of a common
 soldier, the latter killed him; for the virtuous youth preferred to
 risk his life by slaying him to suffering such dishonour. And yet
 the great Marius acquitted him of all crime and let him go scot
 free.

On the other hand in certain cases it will be sufficient merely to
 allude to the parallel, as Cicero does in the same speech : For neither the famous Servilius Ahala nor
 Publius Nasica nor Lucius Opimius nor the Senate during my
 consulship could be cleared of serious guilt, if it were a crime to
 put wicked men to death. Such parallels will be adduced at
 greater or less length according as they are familiar or as the
 interests or adornment of our case may demand.

A similar method is to be pursued in quoting from the fictions of the
 poets, though we must remember that they will be of less force as
 proofs. The same supreme authority, the great master of eloquence, shows
 us how we should employ such quotations.

For an example of this type will be found in the same speech :
 And it is therefore, gentlemen of' the jury, that men of the
 greatest learning have recorded in their
 fictitious narratives that one who had killed his mother to avenge
 his father was acquitted, when the opinion of men was divided as to
 his guilt, not merely by the decision of a deity, but by the vote of
 the wisest of goddesses.

Again those fables which, although they did not originate with Aesop
 (for Hesiod seems to have been the first to write them), are best known
 by Aesop's name, are specially attractive to rude and uneducated minds,
 which are less suspicious than others in their reception of fictions
 and, when pleased, readily agree with the arguments from which their
 pleasure is derived. Thus Menenius Agrippa is said to have
 reconciled the plebs to the patricians by his fable of the limbs'
 quarrel with the belly. Horace

also did not regard the employment of fables as beneath the dignity even
 of poetry; witness his lines that narrate What the shrewd fox to
 the sick lion told. The Greeks call such fables αἶνοι (tales) and, as I have already remarked, Aesopean
 or Libyan stories, while some Roman writers term them
 apologues, though the name has not found general
 acceptance.

Similar to these is that class of proverb which may be regarded as an
 abridged fable and is understood allegorically: The burden is not
 mine to carry, he said, the ox is carrying
 panniers.

Simile has a force not unlike that of example, more especially when drawn from things
 nearly equal without any admixture of metaphor, as in the following
 case: Just as those who have been accustomed to receive bribes
 in the Campus Martius are specially hostile to those whom they
 suspect of having withheld the money, so in the present case the
 judges came into court with a strong prejudice against the accused.

For παραβολή, which Cicero translates by comparison, is often apt
 to compare things whose resemblance is far less obvious. Nor does it
 merely compare the actions of men as Cicero does in the pro Murena 
 : But if those who have
 just come into harbour from the high seas are in the habit of
 showing the greatest solicitude in warning those who are on the
 point of leaving port of the state of the weather, the likelihood of
 falling in with pirates, and the nature of the coasts which they are
 like to visit (for it is a natural instinct that we should take a
 kindly interest in those who are about to face the dangers from
 which we have just escaped), what think you should be my attitude
 who am now in sight of land after a mighty tossing on the sea,
 towards this man who, as I clearly see, has to face the wildest
 weather? On the contrary, similes of this kind are
 sometimes drawn from dumb animals and inanimate objects.

Further, since similar objects often take on a different appearance when
 viewed from a different angle, I feel that I ought to point out that the
 kind of comparison which the Greeks call εἰκών, and which expresses the appearance of things and
 persons (as for instance in the line of Cassius — 
 
 Who
 is he yonder that doth writhe his face 
 Like
 some old man whose feet are wrapped in wool?)
 
 
 should be more sparingly used in oratory
 than those comparisons which help to prove our point. For instance, if
 you wish to argue that the mind requires cultivation, you would use a
 comparison drawn from the soil, which if neglected produces thorns and
 thickets, but if cultivated will bear fruit; or if you are exhorting someone to enter the service of the
 state, you will point out that bees and ants, though not merely dumb
 animals, but tiny insects, still toil for the common weal.

Of this kind is the saying of Cicero : As our bodies
 can make no use of their members without a mind to direct them, so
 the state can make no use of its component parts, which may be
 compared to the sinews, blood and limbs, unless it is directed by
 law. And just as he draws this simile in the pro Cluentio from the analogy of the human body,
 so in the pro Cornelio 
 he draws a simile from horses, and in the pro
 Archia 
 from stones.

As I have already said, the following type of simile comes more readily
 to hand: 
 As oarsmen are useless without a
 steersman, so soldiers are useless without a general. Still
 it is always possible to be misled by appearances in the use of simile,
 and we must therefore use our judgment in their employment. For though a
 new ship is more useful than one which is old, this simile will not
 apply to friendship: and again, though we praise one who is liberal with
 her money, we do not praise one who is liberal with her embraces. In
 these cases there is similitude in the epithets old and liberal, but their force is
 different, when applied to ships and friendship, money and embraces.

Consequently, it is allimportant in this connexion to consider whether
 the simile is really applicable. So in answering those Socratic
 questions which I mentioned above, the greatest care must be taken to
 avoid giving an incautious answer, such as those given by the wife of
 Xenophon to Aspasia in the dialogue of Aeschines the Socratic: the
 passage is translated by Cicero as follows:

Tell me, pray, wife of Xenophon, if your 
 neighbour has finer gold ornaments than you, would you prefer hers
 or yours? 
 Hers, she replied. Well,
 then, if her dress and the rest of her ornaments are more valuable
 than yours, which would you prefer, hers or yours?
 
 Hers, she replied. Come, then, 
 said she, if her husband is better than yours, would you prefer
 yours or hers? At this the wife of Xenophon not unnaturally
 blushed; for she had answered ill in replying that she would prefer her
 neighbour's gold ornaments to her own, since it would be wrong to do so.
 If on the other hand she had replied that she would prefer her ornaments
 to be of the same quality as those of her neighbour, she might have
 answered without putting herself to the blush that she would prefer her
 husband to be like him who was his superior in virtue.

I am aware that some writers have shown pedantic zeal in making a minute
 classification of similes, and have pointed out that there is lesser
 similitude (such as that of a monkey to a man or a statue when first
 blocked out to its original), a greater similitude (for which compare
 the proverb As like as egg to egg ), a similitude in
 things dissimilar (an elephant, for instance, and an ant both belong to
 the genus animal ),and dissimilitude in things
 similar (puppies and kids, for example, are unlike the parents, for they differ from them in point of age).

So too they distinguish between contraries: some are opposites, as night
 to day, some hurtful, as cold water to a fever, some contradictory, as
 truth to falsehood, and some negative, as things which are not hard when
 contrasted with things which are hard. But I cannot see that such
 distinctions have any real bearing on the subject under discussion.

It is more important for our purpose to note that arguments may be drawn
 from similar, opposite, and dissimilar points of law. As an example of
 the first, take the following passage from the Topica of Cicero, where he argues that a man to whom the usufruct of
 a house has been left will not restore it in the interests of the heir
 if it collapses; just as lie would not replace a slave if he should die.
 The following will provide an example of an argument drawn from opposite
 points of law: The absence of a formal contract is no bar to the
 legality of a marriage, provided the parties cohabit by mutual
 consent, since the signing of a formal document will count for
 nothing in the absence of such mutual consent. An instance
 of an argument drawn from dissimilar points of law occurs in the pro Caecina of Cicero :

If anyone had driven me from my house by armed violence, I should
 have ground for action against him. Have I then no ground, if he has
 prevented me from entering my house? Dissimilar points may
 be illustrated by the following example : 
 Because a man has bequeathed all his silver to a given person and
 this bequest is regarded as including silver coin as well as plate,
 it does not follow that he intended all outstanding debts to be paid
 to the legatee.

Some draw a distinction between analogy and similarly, but personally I regard the former as
 included under the latter. For the statement that the relation of 1 to
 10 is the same as that of 10 to certainly involves similarity,

just as does the statement that a bad citizen may be compared to an
 actual enemy. But arguments of this kind are carried still further:
 If connexion with a male slave is
 disgraceful to the mistress of the house, so is the connexion of the
 master with a female slave. If pleasure is an end sought by dumb
 animals, so also must it be with men.

But these arguments may readily be met by arguments from dissimilars:
 It is not the same thing for the master of the house to have
 intercourse with a female slave as for the mistress to have
 intercourse with a male slave; nor does it follow that because dumb
 animals pursue pleasure, reasoning beings should do likewise.
 Or they may even be met by arguments from opposites; as for
 instance, Because pleasure is an end sought by dumb animals, it
 should not be sought by reasoning beings.

Authority also may be drawn from external sources to support a case.
 Those who follow the Greeks, who call such arguments κρίσεις, style them judgments or adjudications, thereby
 referring not to matters on which judicial sentence has been pronounced
 (for such decisions form examples or precedents), but to whatever may be
 regarded as expressing the opinion of nations, peoples, philosophers,
 distinguished citizens, or illustrious poets. Nay,

even common sayings and popular beliefs may be found to be useful. For
 they form a sort of testimony, which is rendered all the more impressive
 by the fact that it was not given to suit special cases, but was the
 utterance or action of minds swayed neither by prejudice or influence,
 simply because it seemed the most honourable or honest thing to say or
 do.

For instance, if I am speaking of the misfortunes of this mortal life,
 surely it will help me to adduce the opinion of those nations who hold
 that we should weep over the new-born child and rejoice over the dead. Or if I am urging the judge to shew
 pity, surely my argument may be assisted by the fact that Athens, the
 wisest of all states, regarded pity not merely as an emotion, but even
 as a god. Again,

do we not regard the precepts of the Seven Wise Men as so many rules of
 life? If an adulteress is on her trial for poisoning, is she not already
 to be regarded as condemned by the judgment of Marcus Cato, who asserted
 that every adulteress was as good as a poisoner? As for reflexions drawn
 from the poets, not only speeches, but even the works of the
 philosophers, are full of them; for although the philosophers think
 everything inferior to their own precepts and writings, they have not
 thought it beneath their dignity to quote numbers of lines from the
 poets to lend authority to their statements.

Again, a remarkable example of the weight carried by authority is
 provided by the fact that when the Megarians disputed the possession of
 Salamis with the Athenians, the latter prevailed by citing a line from
 Homer, which is not however found in all editions, to the
 effect that Ajax united his ships with those of the Athenians.

Generally received sayings also become common property owing to the very
 fact that they are anonymous, as, for instance, Friends are a
 treasure, or Conscience is as good as a thousand
 witnesses, or, to quote Cicero, 
 In the words of the old proverb, birds of a feather
 flock together. Sayings such as these would not have
 acquired immortality had they not carried conviction of their truth to
 all mankind.

Some include under this head the supernatural authority that is derived
 from oracles, as for instance the response asserting that Socrates was
 the wisest of mankind: indeed, they rank it above
 all other authorities. Such authority is rare, but may prove useful. It
 is employed by Cicero in his speech on the Replies of the Soothsayers
 and in the oration
 in which he denounced Catiline to the people, when he points to the statue of Jupiter crowning a column, and
 again in the pro Ligario, 
 where lie admits the cause of
 Caesar to be the better because the gods have decided in his favour.
 When such arguments are inherent in the case itself they are called
 supernatural evidence; when they are adduced from without they are
 styled supernatural arguments.

Sometimes, again, it may be possible to produce some saying or action of
 the judge, of our adversary or his advocate in order to prove our point.
 There have therefore been some writers who have regarded examples and
 the use of authorities of which I am speaking as belonging to inartificial proofs, on the ground that the
 orator does not discover them, but receives them readymade. But the
 point is of great importance.

For witnesses and investigation and the like all make some pronouncement
 on the actual matter under trial, whereas arguments drawn from without
 are in themselves useless, unless the pleader has the wit to apply them
 in such a manner as to support the points which he is trying to make.

Such in the main are the views about proof which I have either heard
 from others or learned by experience. I would not venture to assert that
 this is all there is to be said; indeed I would exhort students to make
 further researches on the subject, for I admit the possibilities of
 making further discoveries. Still anything that may be discovered will
 not differ greatly from what I have said here. I
 will now proceed to make a few remarks as to how proofs should be
 employed.

It has generally been laid down that an argument to be effective must be
 based on certainty; for it is obviously impossible to prove what is
 doubtful by what is no less doubtful. Still some things which are
 adduced as proof require proof themselves. You killed your
 husband, for you were an adulteress. 
 
 Adultery must first be proved: once that is certain it can be used as an
 argument to prove what is uncertain. Your javelin was found in
 the body of the murdered man. He denies that it was his. If
 this point is to serve as a proof, it must itself be proved. It is,

however, necessary in this connection to point out that there are no
 stronger proofs than those in which uncertainty has been converted into
 certainty. You committed the murder, for your clothes were
 stained with blood. 'This argument is not so strong if the
 accused admits that his clothes were bloodstained as if the fact is
 proved against his denial. For if he admits it, there are still a number
 of ways in which the blood could have got on to his clothes: if on the
 other hand he denies it, lie makes his whole case turn on this point,
 and if his contention is disproved, he will he unable to make a stand on
 any subsequent ground. For it will be thought that he would never have
 told a lie in denying the allegation, unless he had felt it a hopeless
 task to justify himself if he admitted it.

In insisting on our strongest arguments we must take them singly,
 whereas our weaker arguments should be massed together: for it is
 undesirable that those arguments which are strong in themselves should
 have their force obscured by the surrounding
 matter, since it is important to show their true nature: on the other
 hand arguments which are naturally weak will receive mutual support if
 grouped together.

Consequently arguments which have no individual force on the ground of
 strength will acquire force in virtue of their number, since all tend to
 prove the same thing. For instance, if one man is accused of having
 murdered another for the sake of his property, it may be argued as
 follows: You had expectations of succeeding to the inheritance,
 which was moreover very large: you were a poor man, and at the time
 in question were specially hard pressed by your creditors: you had
 also offended him whose heir you were, and knew that he intended to
 alter his will. These arguments are trivial and commonplace
 in detail, but their cumulative force is damaging. They may not have the
 overwhelming force of a thunderbolt, but they will have all the
 destructive force of hail.

There are certain arguments, which must not merely be stated, but
 supported as well. If we say, The motive for the crime was
 greed, we must show the force of greed as a motive: if we
 say that anger was the motive, we must show the sway that this passion
 has over the minds of men. Thus our arguments will not only be
 strengthened, but will be more ornamental as well, since we shall have
 produced something more than a mere fleshless skeleton. It also makes an
 enormous difference,

supposing that we allege hatred as the motive for a crime, whether such
 hatred was due to envy, injury or unlawful influence, whether it was
 recent or of long standing, whether it was directed against an inferior, an equal or a superior, against a
 stranger or a relative. There are special methods for the treatment of
 all these arguments, and tile treatment to be selected will depend on
 the interests of the case which we are defending.

On tile other hand we must not always burden the judge with all the
 arguments we have discovered, since by so doing we shall at once bore
 him and render him less inclined to believe us. For he will hardly
 suppose those proofs to be valid which we ourselves who produce them
 regard as insufficient. On the other hand, where the facts are fairly
 obvious, it would be as foolish to argue about them as to bring some
 artificial light into broad sunlight.

To these proof's some authorities would add those which they call pathetic or emotional. 
 Aristotle indeed holds that the strongest
 argument in support of a speaker is that he is a good man. This no doubt
 is the best support, but to seem good is also of value, though the
 semblance is but a bad second to the reality.

Of this nature is the noble defence of Scaurus. Quintus Varius
 of Sucro asserts that Aemilius Scaurus has betrayed the interests of
 the Roman people: Aemilius Scaurus denies it. A similar
 defence is said to have been employed by Iphicrates : he asked Aristophon who was
 accusing him on a similar charge of treason whether lie would consent to
 betray his country for a bribe: when Aristophon replied in the negative,
 he continued, Have I then done what you would have refused to
 do?

We must however take the character of the judge into consideration and
 seek out such arguments as will appeal to him. I have already spoken of
 this in the rules which I laid down for the
 exordium and for deliberative oratory.

Another form of proof is provided by asseveration as in I did
 this, 
 You told me this, or O outrageous
 crime! and the like. Every pleading should contain some such
 asseverations; if it does not, the loss will be considerable. Still
 asseverations must not be regarded as supports of the first importance,
 since they can be produced by either party in the same case with the
 same emphasis.

A more forcible kind of proof is that drawn from character and supported
 by some plausible reason, as for instance, It is not likely that
 a wounded man or one who has lost his son would accuse anyone who is
 not guilty, since if he accused an innocent man, he would free the
 real offender from all risk of punishment. It is from such
 arguments that fathers seek support when pleading against their sons or
 one relative against another.

The further question has been raised as to whether the strongest
 arguments should be placed first, to take possession of the judge's
 mind, or last, to leave an impression on it; or whether they should be
 divided between the commencement and close of the proof, adopting the
 Homeric disposition of placing the weakest in the centre of the column,
 so that they may derive strength from their
 neighbours. But in the disposition of our arguments we must be guided by
 the interests of the individual case: there is only one exception to
 this general rule in my opinion, namely, that we should avoid descending
 from the strongest proofs to the weakest.

I have been content to give a brief outline of my views concerning these
 points, and have put them forward in such a way as to show as clearly as
 was in my power the various topics and kinds of
 arguments. Others have dealt with the subject at greater length,
 preferring to deal with the whole subject of commonplaces and to show
 how each topic may be treated.

This seems to me unnecessary, since it is as a rule obvious what should
 be said against the injurious conduct or avarice of our opponents, or
 against a hostile witness or powerful friends; to say everything on all
 these subjects is an endless task, as endless in fact as if I were to
 attempt to lay down rules for dealing with every dispute that can ever
 occur and all the questions, arguments and opinions thereby involved.

I do not venture to suppose that I have pointed out all the
 circumstances that may give rise to arguments, but I think that I have
 done so in the majority of cases. This was a task which required all the
 more careful handling because the declamations, which we used to employ
 as foils wherewith to practise for the duels of the forum, have long
 since departed from the true form of pleading and, owing to the fact
 that they are composed solely with the design of giving pleasure, have
 become flaccid and nerveless: indeed, declaimers are guilty of exactly
 the same offence as slave-dealers who castrate boys in order to increase
 tile attractions of their beauty.

For just as the slave-dealer regards strength and muscle, and above all,
 the beard and other natural characteristics of manhood as blemishes, and
 softens down all that would be sturdy if allowed to grow, on the ground
 that it is harsh and hard, even so we conceal the manly form of
 eloquence and power of speaking closely and forcibly by giving it a
 delicate complexion of style and, so long as what we say is smooth and
 polished, are absolutely indifferent as to
 whether our words have any power or no.

But I take Nature for my guide and regard any man whatsoever as fairer
 to view than a eunuch, nor can I believe that Providence is ever so
 indifferent to what itself has created as to allow weakness to be an
 excellence, nor again can I think that the knife can render beautiful
 that which, if produced in the natural course of birth, would be
 regarded as a monster. A false resemblance to the female sex may in
 itself delight lust, if it will, but depravity of morals will never
 acquire such ascendancy as to succeed in giving real value to that to
 which it has succeeded in giving a high price.

Consequently, although this debauched eloquence (for I intend to speak
 with the utmost frankness) may please modern audiences by its effeminate
 and voluptuous charms, I absolutely refuse to regard it as eloquence at
 all: for it retains not the slightest trace of purity and virility in
 itself, not to say of these qualities in the speaker.

When the masters of sculpture and painting desired to carve or paint
 forms of ideal beauty, they never fell into the error of taking some
 Bagoas or Megabyzus as models, but rightly selected the well-known
 Doryphorus, equally adapted either for the fields of war or for the
 wrestling school, and other warlike and athletic youths as types of
 physical beauty. Shall we then, who are endeavouring to mould the ideal
 orator, equip eloquence not with weapons but with timbrels?

Consequently, let the youth whom we are training devote himself, as far
 as in him lies, to the imitation of truth and, in view of the fact that
 the battles of the forum that await him are not few, let him strive for
 victory in the schools and learn how to strike the
 vitals of his foe and protect his own; and let his instructor insist on
 his doing this above all else and reserve his special approval for the
 mastery of this art. For though young men may be lured to evil practices
 by praise, they still prefer to be praised for what is right.

At the present time the misfortune is that teachers more often than not
 pass over what is necessary in silence, and utility is not accounted one
 of the good qualities of eloquence. But I have dealt with these points
 in another work, 
 and shall often have to recur to them in this. I will now return to my
 prescribed course.

Refitation may be understood in two senses. For the duty of the defence
 consists wholly in refutation, while whatever is said by our opponents
 must be rebutted, whether we are speaking for the defence or the
 prosecution. It is in this sense that refutation is assigned the fourth
 place in pleadings, but the methods required in either
 case are identical. For the principles of argument in refutation can
 only be drawn from the same sources as those used in proof, while topics
 and thoughts, words and figures will all be on the same lines.

As a rule no strong appeal to the emotions is made in refutation. It is
 not, however, without reason that, as Cicero so often testifies, the task of defence has always
 been considered harder than that of prosecution. In the first place
 accusation is a simpler task: for the charge is put forward in one
 definite form, but its refutation may take a number of different forms,
 since as a rule it is sufficient for the accuser that his charge should
 be true, whereas counsel for the defence may deny 
 or justify the facts, raise the question of competence, make
 excuses, plead for mercy, soften, extenuate, or divert the charge,
 express contempt or derision. The task of the accuser is consequently
 straightforward and, if I may use the phrase, vociferous; but the
 defence requires a thousand arts and stratagems.

Moreover the prosecutor generally produces a speech which he has
 prepared at home, while the counsel for the defence has frequently to
 deal with quite unexpected points. The prosecutor brings forward his
 witnesses, while counsel for the defence has to refute the charge by
 arguments drawn from the case itself. The prosecutor draws his material
 from the odium excited by the charges, even though it have no
 justification, denouncing parricide, sacrilege, or treason, whereas
 counsel for the defence can only deny them. Consequently quite moderate
 speakers have proved adequate in prosecution, while no one can be a good
 counsel for the defence unless he possesses real eloquence. In a word,
 it is just so much easier to accuse than to defend as it is easier to
 inflict than to heal a wound.

The nature of the arguments put forward by our opponent and the manner
 in which he produces them will, however, make an enormous difference to
 our task. We must therefore first consider what it is to which we have
 to reply, whether it is part and parcel of the actual case or has been
 introduced from circumstances lying outside the case. For in the former
 case we must deny or justify the facts or raise the question of
 competence: for these are practically the sole methods of defence
 available in the courts. Pleas for mercy,

which are not in any sense a method of actual defence, can rarely be
 used, and only before judges who are not limited to
 some precise form of verdict. Even those speeches delivered before Gaius Caesar
 and the
 triumvirs on behalf of members of the opposite party, although they do
 employ such pleas for mercy, also make use of the ordinary methods of
 defence. For I think you will agree with me that the following passage
 contains arguments of a strongly defensive character : What was our object, Tubero,
 save that we might have the power that Caesar has now But
 if,

when pleading before the emperor or any other person who has power
 either to acquit or condemn, it is incumbent on us to urge that, while
 our client has committed an offence that deserves the death penalty, it
 is still the duty of a merciful judge to spare him despite his sins, it
 must be noted in the first place that we have to deal, not with our
 adversary, but with the judge, and secondly that we shall have to employ
 the deliberative rather than the forensic style. For we shall urge the
 judge to fix his desire rather on the glory that is won by clemency than
 on the pleasure that is given by vengeance.

On the other hand, when we are pleading before judges who have to give
 their verdict in accordance with the prescriptions of law, it would be
 absurd to give them advice as to how they should deal with a criminal
 who admits his guilt. Consequently, when it is impossible either to deny
 the facts or to raise the question of competence, we must attempt to
 justify the facts as best we can, or else throw up the case. I have
 pointed out that there are two ways in which a fact can be denied: it
 can be denied absolutely, or it may be denied that a fact is of the
 nature alleged. When it is impossible to plead
 justification or to raise the question of competence, we must deny the facts, and that not merely when a definition of
 the facts will serve our case, but even when nothing except an absolute
 denial is left for us.

If witnesses are produced, there is much that may be said to discredit
 them; if a document is put forward, we may hold forth on the similarity
 of the handwritings. In any case there can be no worse course than
 confession of guilt. When denial and justification are both impossible,
 we must as a last resort base our defence on the legal point of
 competence.

Still, there are some cases in which none of these three courses is
 possible. She is accused of adultery on the ground that after a
 widowhood of twelve months she was delivered of a child. In
 this case there is no ground for dispute. Consequently I regard as the
 height of folly the advice that is given in such cases, that what cannot
 be defended should be ignored and passed over in silence, at any rate if
 the point in question is that on which the judge has to give his
 decision.

On the other hand, if the allegation is irrelevant to the actual case
 and no more than accessory, I should prefer simply to state that it has
 nothing to do with the question at issue, that it is not worth our
 attention, and that it has not the importance given to it by our
 opponent, though in such a case I should be prepared to pardon a policy
 of ignoring the charge such as I have just mentioned. For a good
 advocate ought not to be afraid of incurring a trivial censure for
 negligence, if such apparent negligence is likely to save his client.

We must further consider whether we should attack
 our opponent's arguments en masse or dispose of
 them singly. We shall adopt the former course if the arguments are so
 weak that they can be overthrown simultaneously, or so embarrassing that
 it would be inexpedient to grapple with them individually. For in such a
 case we must fight with all the force at our disposal and make a frontal
 attack. Sometimes,

if it is difficult to refute the statements made by our opponents, we
 may compare our arguments with theirs, at least if by such a procedure
 it is possible to prove the superiority of our own. On the other hand,
 those arguments which rely on their cumulative force must be analysed
 individually, as for example in the case which I cited above: 
 You were the heir, you were poor and were summoned by your creditors
 for a large sum: you had offended him and knew that he intended to
 change his will.

The cumulative force of these arguments is damaging. But if you refute
 them singly, the flame which derived its strength from the mass of fuel
 will die down as soon as the material which fed it is separated, just as
 if we divert a great stream into a number of channels we may cross it
 where we will. We shall therefore adapt our method of refutation to the
 exigencies of our case, now dealing with individual arguments and now
 treating them in bulk.

For at times we may include in a single proposition the refutation of an
 argument which our opponent has constructed of a number of different
 points. For instance, if the accuser allege that the accused had a
 number of motives for committing a crime, we may make a general denial
 of the fact without dealing singly with each alleged motive, because the
 fact that a man has had a motive for committing a 
 crime does not prove that he has actually committed it.

It will however as a rule be expedient for the prosecution to employ
 massed arguments, and for the accused to refute them in detail. We must,
 however, also consider the manner in which we should refute the
 arguments of our opponent. If his statements be obviously false, it will
 be sufficient to deny them. This is done by Cicero in the pro Cluentio, 
 where he denies that the man
 alleged by the accuser to have fallen dead on the spot after drinking
 the contents of the cup, died on the same day.

Again, it requires no skill to rebut arguments which are obviously
 contradictory, superfluous or foolish, and consequently I need give no
 examples nor instructions as to the method to be employed. There is also
 the type of charge which is known as obscure, where it is alleged that
 an act was committed in secret without witnesses or any evidence to
 prove it: this suffers from an inherent weakness, since the fact that
 our opponent can produce no proof is sufficient for our purpose: the
 same applies to arguments which are irrelevant to the case.

It is, however, sometimes an orator's duty to make it appear that some
 argument of his opponent is contradictory or irrelevant or incredible or
 superfluous or really favourable to his own client. Oppius is charged with having embezzled the supplies
 intended to feed the troops. It is a serious charge, but Cicero shows
 that it contradicts other charges, since the same accusers also charged
 Oppius with desiring to corrupt the army by bribes.

The accuser of Cornelius offers to produce witnesses to show that he
 read out the law when tribune : Cicero makes
 this argument superHuous by admitting it. Quintus
 Caecilius demands to be entrusted with the task of accusing Verres on
 the ground that he had been the latter's quaestor: Cicero actually makes
 this argument tell in his own favour.

As regards other charges, they may all be dealt with by very similar
 methods. For they may be demolished either by conjecture, when we shall
 consider whether they are true, by definition, when we shall examine
 whether they are relevant to the case, by quality, when we shall
 consider whether they are dishonourable, unfair, scandalous, inhuman,
 cruel, or deserve any other epithet coming under the head of quality.

Such questions have to be considered, not merely in connection with the
 statement of the charges or the reasons alleged, but with reference to
 the nature of the case in its entirety. For instance, the question of
 cruelty is considered with regard to the charge of high treason brought
 against Rabirius by Labienus; of inhumanity in the case of Tubero who
 accused Ligarius when he was an exile and attempted to prevent Caesar
 from pardoning him; of arrogance as in the case of the charge brought
 against Oppius on the strength of a letter of
 Cotta.

Similarly, it may be shown that charges are hasty, insidious or
 vindictive. The strongest argument, however, which can be brought
 against a charge is that it involves peril to the community or to the
 judges themselves; we find an example of the former in the pro Tullio, 
 where Cicero says Who ever laid down
 such a principle as this, or who could be allowed, without grave
 peril to the community, to kill a man, just because he asserts that
 he feared that he himself might be killed by
 him? An instance of the latter occurs in the pro Oppio, where Cicero warns the judges at some
 length not to permit such an action to be brought against the equestrian
 order.

On the other hand there are certain arguments which at times may best be
 treated with contempt, as being trivial or irrelevant. This course is
 frequently pursued by Cicero, indeed this affectation of indifference is
 sometimes carried so far that we trample disdainfully under foot
 arguments which we should never succeed in refuting by counter-argument.

Since, however, the majority of such arguments are based on similarity,
 we must make diligent search to discover if any discrepancy is to be
 found in what is put forward. It is easy to do this where points of law
 are concerned. For the law was drafted to cover cases quite other than
 the present, and consequently it is all the easier to show the
 difference between case and case. As to parallels drawn from dumb
 animals or inanimate objects, they are easy to make light of.

Examples drawn from facts, if damaging to our case, must be treated in
 various ways: if they are ancient history, we may call them legendary,
 while if they are undoubted, we may lay stress on their extreme
 dissimilarity. For it is impossible for two cases to be alike in every
 detail. For instance, if the case of Ahala,2 by whom Maelius was killed,
 is quoted to justify Nasica for the slaying of Tiberius Gracchus, we may
 argue that Maelius was endeavouring to make himself king, while all that
 Gracchus had done was to bring forward laws in the interest of the
 people, and that while Ahala was Master of the Horse, Nasica was a
 private citizen. In the last resort, if all else prove unavailing, we
 must see if we can show that the action adduced as
 a parallel was itself unjustifiable. These remarks as to examples apply
 also to previous decisions in the courts.

With regard to my statement that the manner in which the accuser stated
 his charges was of importance, I would point out in this connexion that
 if he has spoken but feebly, we may repeat his actual words; while, if
 he has used bitter and violent language, we may restate the facts in
 milder terms, as Cicero does in the pro Cornelio, 
 where he says, He put his hand to the tablet containing the
 law 
 :

and we may do this in such a way as to defend our client; for instance,
 if our client is addicted to luxury, we may say, He has been
 charged with living in a somewhat too liberal style. So,
 too, we may call a mean man thrifty and a slanderous tongue free.

But we must never under any circumstances repeat our opponent's charges
 together with their proofs, nor emphasise any of his points by
 amplifying them, unless we do so with a view to making light of them, as
 for instance in the following passage 
 : You have been with the army, he says, and have not set foot in
 the forum for so many years, and do you now on returning after so
 long an interval seek to compete for a post of high dignity with
 those who have made the forum their home?

Again, when we are replying to the accuser we may sometimes set forth
 the whole charge, as Cicero does in the pro
 Scauro with reference to the death of Bostar, where he virtually
 parodies the speech of his opponent, or we may take a number of points
 raised in the course of the accusation and put them together as in the
 pro Vareno : 
 They have asserted that, when he was journeying with Pompulenus through a lonely
 stretch of country, he fell in with the slaves of Ancharius, that
 Pompulenus was then killed and Varenus imprisoned on the spot until
 such time as this man should indicate what he wished to be done with
 him. Such a procedure is useful, if the sequence of facts
 alleged by the prosecution is incredible, and likely to lose its force
 by restatement. Sometimes, on the other hand, we may destroy the
 cumulative force of a number of statements by refuting them singly; in
 fact this is generally the safest course. Sometimes, again, the
 different portions of our reply will be independent of one another, a
 case which requires no illustration.

Common arguments are
 readily appropriated, not merely because they can be used by either
 party, but because they are of greater service to the speaker who is
 replying; for I shall not scruple to repeat the warning which I have
 often given already; the speaker who is first to employ such an argument
 makes it tell against himself.

For an argument must needs tell against a speaker if it be one which his
 opponent can use with effect. But, you say, it is not probable
 that a crime of this magnitude was designed by Marcus Cotta. Is it
 probable then that a crime of this magnitude was attempted by
 Oppius? On the other hand it is a task for a real artist to
 discover inconsistencies, real or apparent, in the speech of his
 opponent, though such inconsistencies are sometimes evident from the
 bare facts, as for instance in the case of Caelius, where Clodia asserts on the one hand that she lent
 Caelius money, which is an indication of great intimacy, and on the
 other hand that he got poison to murder her, which 
 is a sign of violent hatred. Tubero similarly

accuses Ligarius of having been in Africa, and complains that Ligarius
 refused to allow him to land in Africa. At times, however, some
 ill-advised statement by our opponent will give us an opportunity of
 demolishing his arguments. This is specially likely to occur with
 speakers who have a passion for producing impressive thoughts: for the
 temptation to air their eloquence is such that they take no heed of what
 they have said already, being absorbed by the topic immediately before
 them to the detriment of the interests of the case as a whole.

What is there likely to tell so heavily against Cluentius as the stigma
 inflicted by the censors? What can be more damaging than the fact that
 Egnatius disinherited his son on the ground that lie had been bribed to
 give a false verdict in the trial in which Cluentius secured the
 condemnation of Oppianicus? But Cicero

shows that the two facts tell against one another. But, Attius,
 I would urge you to give the closest consideration to the following
 problem. Which do you desire to carry the greater weight—the
 judgment of the censors, or of Egnatius? If the latter, you regard
 the judgment of the censors in other cases as counting for little,
 since they expelled this same Gnaeus Egnatius, on whose authority
 you lay such stress, from his place in the senate. On the other
 hand, if you attach most weight to the judgment of the censors, I
 must point out that the censors retained the younger Egnatius, whom
 his father disinherited by an act resembling a censorial decision,
 in his position as senator, although they had expelled his father.
 As regards errors such as the following,

the folly shown in their commission is out of all
 proportion to the skill required to deal with them: I refer to mistakes
 such as advancing a disputable argument as indisputable, a controversial
 point as admitted, a point common to a number of cases as peculiar to
 the case in hand, or the employment of trite, superfluous, or incredible
 arguments. For careless speakers are liable to commit a host of errors:
 they will exaggerate a charge which has still got to be proved, will
 argue about an act when the question is who committed it, will attempt
 impossibilities, drop an argument as if it were complete, whereas it is
 scarcely begun, speak of the individual in preference to the case,

and attribute personal faults to circumstances, as for instance if a
 speaker should attack the decemvirate instead of Appius. They will also
 contradict what is obvious, speak ambiguously, lose sight of the main
 issue of the case, or give replies which have no relation to the charges
 made. This latter procedure may, it is true, be occasionally employed
 when we have a bad case which requires to be supported by arguments
 drawn from matters foreign to the case. The trial of Verres provides an
 example; when accused of peculation it was alleged that he had shown
 courage and energy in his defence of Sicily against the pirates.

The same rules apply to objections which we may have to meet. But there
 is one point which requires special attention, since in such cases many
 speakers fall into two very different faults. For some even in the
 courts will pass by such objections when raised by their opponents as
 troublesome and vexatious details, and, contenting themselves with the
 arguments which they have brought ready-made from
 their study, will speak as if their opponent did not exist. This error
 is of course far more common in the schools, for there objections are
 not merely disregarded, but the subjects for declamation are generally
 framed in such a way that there is nothing to be said on the opposite
 side.

On the other hand there are some who surfer from excess of zeal, and
 think it their duty to reply to every word and even every trifling
 reflexion, a task which is at once endless and superfluous. For it is
 not the case. but the pleader, whom they are refuting. Personally I
 should always prefer that a speaker should reveal his eloquence in such
 a way that, if what he says advances his case, the credit will be given
 to his talent and not to the nature of his case, while if what he says
 damages his case the blame will attach to the case and not to his
 powers.

Consequently when we come across denunciations such as that directed
 against Rullus for the obscurity of his language, or against Piso for his utter incapacity as a speaker, or against Antony for his lack of taste and his complete
 ignorance both of words and things, we shall give then our sanction as
 reasonable concessions to passion and just resentment, and as useful in
 stirring up hatred against those whom it is desired to render unpopular.

The method of reply to our opponent's counsel should be on different
 lines. Sometimes however we are justified in attacking, not merely their
 manner of speaking, but also their character, their appearance, their
 gait or bearing. Indeed, in his attack on Quintius, Cicero does not confine himself to these
 topics, but even attacks his purple-bordered toga that goes trailing to
 his heels: for Quintius had caused Cluentius grave 
 embarrassment by his turbulent harangues.

Sometimes, in order to dispel the unpopularity excited by bitter
 criticism, the latter may be disposed of by a jest, as for example
 Cicero disposes of Triarius. For to the allegation that the pillars
 destined for the house of Scaurus were carried on waggons through the
 city streets he replied, 
 I got my
 pillars from the quarries of Alba, and had them brought in
 panniers! Such tactics are more readily allowed against an
 accuser, for the duties of counsel for the defence sometimes force him
 to make such personal attacks.

On the other hand there is no objection to complaining of the conduct of
 the advocates on either side, so long as our complaint follows accepted
 practice and does not overstep the limits imposed by good manners; I
 refer to complaints such as that our opponents have abridged, obscured
 or postponed the discussion of some point, or with deliberate cunning
 have avoided discussing it at all.

A change in the tactics of defence is also often selected for censure.
 For example, Attius in his speech
 against Cluentius complains that Cicero insists on the letter of the
 law, and Aeschines in his speech against Ctesiphon complains
 that Demosthenes refuses to consider the legal aspect of the case. It is
 however necessary to issue a special warning to declaimers that they
 should not put forward objections that can easily be met or assume that
 their opponent is a fool. As it is, owing to our tendency to think that
 the subject-matter of our speech may be drawn from our own fancy, florid
 commonplaces and epigrams designed to bring down the house occur to our
 minds with the utmost readiness, with the result
 that we should do well to bear in mind the lines: 
 
 
 A shrewd retort! Could it be otherwise? 
 A foolish question makes for smart
 replies. 
 
 Origin unknown.

But such a practice will be fatal in the courts, where we have to answer
 our opponent and not ourselves. It is said that Accius, when asked why
 he did not turn advocate in view of the extraordinary skill in making
 apt replies which his tragedies revealed, replied that in his plays the
 characters said what he himself wanted them to say, whereas in the
 courts his adversaries would probably say just what he least wanted them
 to say.

It is therefore ridiculous in exercises which prepare the student for
 the actual courts to consider what answer can be made before ever giving
 a thought to what the opposing counsel is likely to say. And a good
 teacher should commend a pupil no less for his skill in thinking out
 arguments that may be put forward for the opposite side than in
 discovering arguments to prove his own case.

Again, there is another practice which is always permissible in the
 schools, but rarely in the courts. For when we speak first as claimants
 in a real case, how can we raise objections, seeing that our opponent
 has so far said nothing?

Still, many fall into this error either because they have acquired the
 habit in declamation or simply owing to a passion for hearing their own
 voice, thereby affording fine sport to those who reply: for sometimes
 the latter will remark sarcastically that they never said anything of
 the kind and have no intention of saying anything so idiotic, and
 sometimes that they are grateful for the admirable 
 warnings so kindly given by their opponent: but most often they will
 say, and this is the strongest line that they can take, that their
 opponent would never have replied to objections which had never been
 raised had he not realised that these objections were justified and been
 driven to admit it by his consciousness of the fact.

We may find an example of this in the pro
 Cluentio 
 of Cicero: You have frequently asserted that you
 are informed that I intend to base my defence on the letter of the
 law. Really! I suppose that my friends have secretly betrayed me,
 and that there is one among those whom I believe to be my friends
 who reports my designs to my opponent. Who gave you this
 information? Who was the traitor? And to whom did I ever reveal my
 design? No one, I think, is to blame. It must have been the law
 itself that told you. But there are some who,

not content with raising imaginary objections, develop whole passages on
 such themes, saying that they know their opponents will say this and
 will proceed to argue thus and thus. I remember that Vibius Crispus in
 our own day disposed of this practice very neatly, for he was a humorous
 fellow with a very pretty wit: I do not make those objections
 which you attribute to me, he said, for what use
 would it be to make them twice?

Sometimes however it may be possible to put forward something not unlike
 such objections, if some point included by our opponent in the
 depositions which he produces has been discussed among his advocates
 : for
 then we shall be replying to something which they have said and not to
 an objection which has been invented by ourselves; or again, this will
 be possible if the case is of such a nature that we 
 are in a position to state certain definite objections which are
 absolutely essential to our opponent's case: for instance, if stolen
 goods have been discovered in a house, the accused must of necessity
 allege either that they were brought there without his knowledge or
 deposited with him or given to him and we may therefore answer all these
 points even although they have not been put forward.

On the other hand, in the schools we are quite justified in answering
 both statements and imaginary objections; for by these means we shall
 train ourselves at one and the same time for speaking either first or
 second. Unless we do this, we shall have no chance of employing
 objections, since there is no adversary to whom we can reply.

There is another serious fault into which pleaders fall: the anxious
 over-elaboration of points. Such a procedure makes his case suspect to
 the judges, while frequently arguments which, if stated without more
 ado, would have removed all doubt, lose their force owing to the delay
 caused by the elaborate preparations made for their introduction, due to
 the tact that the advocate thinks that they require additional support.
 Our orator must therefore adopt a confident manner, and should always
 speak as if he thought his case admirable. This quality, like all other
 good qualities, is particularly evident in Cicero.

For the extraordinary care which he takes gives the impression of
 confidence and carries such weight when lie speaks that it does not
 permit us to feel the least doubt and has all the force of genuine
 proof. Further, the advocate who knows what are the strongest points in
 his own and his opponent's case will easily be able to decide what
 points it will be most necessary for him to
 emphasise or to counter.

As regards order, there is no part of a case which involves less
 trouble. For, if we are prosecuting, our first duty will be to prove our
 own case, our second to refute the arguments brought against it. If, on
 the other hand, we are defending, we must begin by refutation.

But from our answers to objections fresh objections will arise, a
 process which may be carried to some length. The strokes 
 of gladiators provide a parallel. If the first
 stroke was intended to provoke the adversary to strike, the second will
 lead to the third, while if the challenge be repeated it will lead to
 the fourth stroke, so that there will be two parries and two attacks.
 And tile process may be prolonged still further.

But refutation also includes that simple form of proof, which I
 described above, based on an appeal to the emotions and mere assertion;
 for an example see the words of Scaurus which I have already quoted.
 Nay, I
 am not sure that this form of proof is not actually of more frequent
 occurrence when something is denied. It is, however, specially important
 for both parties that they should see where the main issue lies. For it
 often happens that the points raised in pleading are many, although
 those on which a decision is given are few.

Such are the elements of the methods of proof and refutation, but they
 require to be embellished and supported by the powers of the speaker.
 For although our arguments may be admirably adapted to express what we
 desire, they will none the less be slight and weak unless the orator
 makes a special effort to give them life.

Consequently the commonplaces on the subject of
 witnesses, documentary evidence, arguments and the like make a great
 impression on the minds of the judges, as also do those topics which are
 peculiar to the case, those I mean in which we praise or blame any
 action or show that it is just or unjust, or make it seem more or less
 important or more or less harsh than it really is. Of these topics some
 are adapted to the comparison of individual arguments, others to the
 comparison of a number, while others may serve to influence the success
 or failure of the whole case.

Some again prepare the mind of the judge, while others confirm it in
 opinions already formed. But such preparation or confirmation will
 sometimes apply to the whole case, sometimes only to particular
 portions, and must therefore be employed with due regard to
 circumstances.

I am consequently surprised that there should be a violent dispute
 between the leaders of two opposite schools as to whether such
 commonplaces should be applied to individual questions (which is the
 view of Theodorus), or whether the judge should be instructed in the
 facts before any appeal is made to his feelings (the latter being the
 view of Apollodorus), as though no middle course were possible and no
 regard were to be had to the exigencies of the case itself. Those who
 lay down such rules have no experience of speaking in the actual courts,
 the result being that text-books composed in the calm leisure of the
 study are sadly upset by the necessities of forensic strife.

For practically all those who have set forth the law of speaking as
 though it were a profound mystery, 
 have tied us down not merely to fixed topics for argument, but to
 definite rules as to how we should draw our
 conclusions.

propose after making a few preliminary remarks on the subject to give a
 frank expression of my own views, or in other words to set forth what I
 perceive to have been the practice of the most distinguished orators.

Tile term enthymeme 
 is applied not merely to the actual argument, that is
 to say, the matter adduced to prove something else, but also to its
 expression, the nature of which, as I have already pointed out, is
 twofold. It may be drawn from denial of consequents, when it will consist of a
 proposition immediately followed by a proof, as in the following passage
 from the pro Ligario; 
 
 
 At that point the justice of the cause was
 doubtful, since there was something to be said on both sides. But
 now we can only regard that cause as superior, which even the gods
 supported. Here we have a proposition and a reason, but no
 formal conclusion: it is therefore tile incomplete syllogism known as an
 enthymeme.

It may on the other hand be drawn from incompatibles, in which case the proof will be much stronger;
 indeed some restrict the title of enthymeme 
 to this form of argument. The following passage from the
 pro Milone 
 
 of Cicero will provide a parallel: You are then sitting there to
 avenge the death of a man whom you would refuse to restore to life,
 even if you thought it within your power to do so.

This form of argument may even at times consist of a number of clauses,
 as in the following passage from the same speech : Was he resolved then
 to kill to the dissatisfaction of some a man whom he refused to kill
 to the satisfaction of all? Are we to believe that he did not
 hesitate, in defiance of the law and despite
 the unfavourable circumstances both of time and place and the risk
 involved to his own life, to kill one whom he did not venture to
 kill when he might have done so legally, at his own time and place
 and without the least danger to himself?

The most effective kind of enthymeme seems
 however to be that in which a reason is subjoined to a dissimilar or
 contrary proposition as in the following passage from Demosthenes : For if at any time
 an act has been committed contrary to law and you have imitated it,
 it does not therefore follow that you should go scot free; on the
 contrary it is an additional reason why you should be condemned. For
 if any of those who transgressed the law had been condemned, you
 would not have proposed this, and further, if you are condemned, no
 one else will propose anything of the kind.

As regards the epicheieme, some authorities hold
 that it consists of four, five, and even six parts. Cicero urges that there are not more than five at
 most, i.e. the major premise and its reason, the minor premise and its
 proof, and fifthly the conclusion. But since at times the major premise
 does not require a reason nor the minor a proof, while occasionally even
 the conclusion is not necessary, he holds that the epicheireme may consist of only four, three, or even two
 parts.

Personally however follow the majority of authorities in holding that
 there are not more than three parts. For it follows from the very nature
 of reasoning that there must be something to form the subject of enquiry
 and something else to provide the proof, while the third element which
 has to be added may be regarded as resulting from the agreement of the
 two previous elements. Thus the first part will be
 the major, the second the minor premise and the third the conclusion.
 For the confirmation and development of both premises may reasonably be
 included in the parts to which they belong.

Let us then take an example from Cicero of the epicheireme consisting of five
 parts. Those things which are controlled by reason are better
 governed than those which are not. This they call the first
 part and consider that it requires to be established by various reasons
 and a copious display of eloquence. Personally I hold that the whole of
 this together with its reason forms but one part. Otherwise, if the reason is to be treated as a separate part and if
 there are a variety of reasons, this will involve
 an addition to the number of parts. Next he produces the minor premise:

But there is nothing better administered than the
 universe. The proof of this minor premise is treated as the
 fourth part of the epicheireme. My criticism of
 this statement is identical with my criticism of the preceding.

The fifth place they assign to the conclusion which either merely makes
 the necessary inference from the preceding parts ( i.e. 
 Therefore the universe is governed by
 reason ) or after briefly bringing major and minor premise
 together adds what is deduced from them with the following result:
 But if on the one hand things that are controlled by reason
 are better governed than things which are not and on the other
 nothing is better administered than the universe, then it follows
 that the universe is governed by reason. As regards this
 part of the epicheireme I agree.

I have said that the epicheireme consists of
 three parts: its form is not however invariable. There is firstly the form in which the conclusion is identical with what has already been stated in
 the major premise. 
 The soul is immortal,
 since whatever derives its motion from itself is immortal. But the
 soul derives its motion from itself. Therefore the soul is immortal.
 This process occurs not merely in individual arguments, but in
 whole cases, provided they are of a simple
 character, and also in questions.

For cases and questions always have first a major
 premise, such as You have committed sacrilege, 
 or Not everyone who has killed a man is guilty of murder. 
 Second comes a reason, which is stated at greater
 length in cases and questions than in separate arguments, while finally
 comes the conclusion in which as a rule they set
 forth the point they have proved either by enumeration of particulars or
 in the form of a hasty conclusion. In this type of epicheireme the major premise is
 doubtful, since it is still under investigation.

There is another form of conclusion which is not
 actually identical with the major premise, but
 has the same force Death is nothing to us, for that which is
 dissolved into its elements is devoid of' feeling, and that which is
 devoid of feeling is nothing to us. There is a third form
 in which the major premise and the conclusion are different. All animate
 things are better than inanimate, but there is nothing better than
 the universe, wherefore the universe is animate. It may be
 thought that in this case there is no real major
 premise, since it would be possible to state the reasoning in
 the following form: The universe is animate, for all things
 animate are better than inanimate, etcetera.

This major premise is either an admitted fact as
 in the last example or requires to be proved as in
 the following: He who wishes to live a happy life, must be a
 philosopher : for this is not an acknowledged truth, and the
 premises must be established before we can arrive at the conclusion.
 Sometimes again the minor premise is an admitted
 fact, as for instance, But all men wish to live a happy
 life, while sometimes it requires to be proved, as for
 example the statement quoted above, That which is dissolved into
 its elements is devoid of feeling, since it is doubtful
 whether the soul is immortal after its release from the body or only
 continues to exist for a time. Some call this a minor
 premise, some a reason.

There is no difference between the epicheireme 
 and the syllogism, except that the latter has a
 number of forms and infers truth from truth, whereas the epicheireme is frequently concerned with
 statements that are no more than credible. For if it were always
 possible to prove controversial points from admitted premises, the
 orator would have little to do in this connexion.

For what skill does it require to say, The property is mine, for
 I am the only son of the deceased, or I am the sole
 heir, since possession of the testator's estate is given by the law
 of property in accordance with the terms of his will: the property
 therefore belongs to me ?

But when the reason given is itself disputable, we must establish the
 certainty of the premises by which we are proposing to prove what is
 uncertain. For example, if our opponent says You are not his
 son or You are illegitimate or You are
 not his only son ; or, again, You are not his
 heir or The will is invalid or You are
 not entitled to inherit or You have co-heirs, 
 we must prove the validity of the reason on which
 we base our claim that the property should be adjudicated to us.

But when a reason of unusual length intervenes,
 it is necessary to state the final conclusion, otherwise the major premise and the reason would suffice. Laws are silent in the midst of
 arms, and do not require us to await their sanction when the
 circumstances are such that he who would await their sanction is
 certain to be the victim of an unjust penalty before ever the just
 penalty can be claimed. 
 
 Hence it has been asserted that the form of enthymeme which is based on denial of consequents resembles a
 reason. But sometimes, again, it is
 sufficient to state a single proposition as in the example just quoted,
 The laws are silent in the midst of arms.

We may also begin with the reason and then
 proceed to the conclusion as in another passage from the same speech
 : But if the Twelve Tables permitted the
 killing of a thief by night under any circumstances, and by day if
 he used a weapon to defend himself, who is there who will contend
 that the slayer must be punished under whatever circumstances a man
 has been killed? 'The process is still further varied by
 Cicero, and the reason placed third, as in the
 phrase, When he sees that the sword is sometimes placed in our
 hands by the laws themselves.

On the other hand, he places the various parts in the regular order in
 the following instance: How can it be unjust to kill a robber who
 lies in wait for his victim? 
 Next
 comes the reason: 
 What is the object of our
 escorts and our swords? Last comes the conclusion resulting
 from the major premise and the reason: 
 Which we certainly should not be permitted to
 have, if we were absolutely forbidden to use them.

This form of proof may be countered in three ways, that is to say it may
 be attacked in all its parts. For either the major
 premise or the minor or the conclusion or occasionally all three are refuted.
 The major premise is refuted in the following
 case: I was justified in killing him, as he lay in wait for
 me. For the very first question in the defence of Milo is
 whether it is right that he who confesses that he has killed
 a man should look upon the light of day.

The minor premise is refuted by all the methods
 which we mentioned in dealing with refutation. As to the reason it must be pointed out that it is
 sometimes true when the proposition to which it
 is attached is not true, but may on the other hand sometimes be false
 although the proposition is true. For example, Virtue is a good
 thing is true, but if the reason, Because it brings
 us wealth, be added, we shall have an instance of a true major premise and a false reason.

With regard to the conclusion, we may either deny
 its truth when it infers something which does not logically result from
 the premises, or we may treat it as irrelevant. The truth is denied in
 the following case: We are justified in killing one who lies in
 wait for us; for since, like an enemy, he threatens us with
 violence, we ought to repulse his attack as though he were an enemy:
 therefore Milo was justified in killing Clodius as an enemy.
 The conclusion is not valid, since we have not yet proved that
 Clodius lay in wait for him But the conclusion that we are therefore
 justified in killing one who lies in wait for us is perfectly true,
 though irrelevant to the case, for it is not yet clear that Clodius lay
 in wait for Milo.

But while the major premise and the reason 
 may both be true and
 the conclusion false, yet if both are false, the conclusion can never be
 true.

Some call the enthymeme a rhetorical syllogism, while others regard it as a part of the
 syllogism, because whereas the latter always
 has its premises and conclusion and effects its proof by the employment
 of all its parts, the ethymeme is content to let
 its proof be understood without explicit statement.

The following is an example of a syllogism: Virtue is the only
 thing that is good, for that alone is good which no one can put to a
 bad use: but no one can make a bad use of virtue; virtue therefore
 is good. The enthymeme draws its
 conclusion from denial of consequents. Virtue is a good thing
 because no one can put it to a bad use. On the other hand
 take the following syllogism. Money is not a good thing; for
 that is not good which can be put to a bad use: money may be put to
 a bad use; therefore money is not a good thing. The enthymeme draws its conclusion from
 incompatibles. Can money be a good thing when it is possible to
 put it to a bad use?

The following argument is couched in syllogistic form: If money
 in the form of silver coin is silver, the man who bequeathed all his
 silver to a legatee, includes all money in the form of coined
 silver: but he bequeathed all his silver: therefore he included in
 the bequest all money in the form of coined silver. But for
 the orator it will be sufficient to say, Since he bequeathed all
 his silver, he included in his bequest all his silver
 money.

I think I have now dealt with all the precepts of those who treat
 oratory as a mystery. But these rules still leave scope for free
 exercise of the judgment. For although I consider that there are
 occasions when the orator may lawfully employ the
 syllogism, I am far from desiring him to make his whole speech consist
 of or even be crowded with a mass of epicheiremes 
 and enthymemes. For a speech of that character
 would resemble dialogues and dialectical controversies rather than
 pleadings of the kind with which we are concerned, and there is an
 enormous difference between the two.

For in the former we are confronted with learned men seeking for truth
 among men of learning; consequently they subject everything to a minute
 and scrupulous inquiry with a view to arriving at clear and convincing
 truths, and they claim for themselves the tasks of invention and
 judgment, calling the former τοπική or
 the art of selecting the appropriate material for treatment, and the
 latter κριτική or the art of
 criticism.

We on the other hand have to compose our speeches for others to judge,
 and have frequently to speak before an audience of men who, if not
 thoroughly ill-educated, are certainly ignorant of such arts as
 dialectic: and unless we attract them by the charm of our discourse or
 drag them by its force, and occasionally throw them off their balance by
 an appeal to their emotions, we shall be unable to vindicate the claims
 of truth and justice.

Eloquence aims at being rich, beautiful and commanding, and will attain
 to none of these qualities if it be broken up into conclusive inferences
 which are generally expressed in the same monotonous form: on the
 contrary its meanness will excite contempt, its severity dislike, its
 elaboration satiety, and its sameness boredom.

Eloquence therefore must not restrict itself to narrow tracks, but range
 at large over the open fields. Its streams must not be conveyed through narrow pipes like the water of fountains,
 but flow as mighty rivers flow, filling whole valleys; and if it cannot
 find a channel it must make one for itself. For what can be more
 distressing than to be fettered by petty rules, like children who trace
 the letters of the alphabet which others have first written for them,
 or, as the Greeks say, insist on keeping the coat their mother gave
 them. Are we to have nothing but premises and
 conclusions from consequents and incompatibles? Must not the orator
 breathe life into the argument and develop it?

Must lie not vary and diversify it by a thousand figures, and do all
 this in such a way that it seems to come into being as the very child of
 nature, not to reveal an artificial manufacture and a suspect art nor at
 every moment to show traces of an instructor's hand? What orator ever
 spoke thus? Even in Demosthenes we find but few traces of such a
 mechanism. And yet the Greeks of to-day are even more prone than we are
 (though this is the only point in which their practice is worse than
 ours) to bind their thoughts in fetters and to connect them by an
 inexorable chain of argument, making inferences where there was never
 any doubt, proving admitted facts and asserting that in so doing they
 are following the orators of old, although they always refuse to answer
 the question who it is that they are imitating. However of figures I
 shall speak elsewhere.

For the present I must add that I do not even agree with those who hold
 that arguments should always be expressed in language which is not only
 pure, lucid and distinct, but also as free as possible from all
 elevation and ornateness. I readily admit that 
 arguments should be distinct and clear, and further that in arguments of
 a minor character the language and words should be as appropriate and as
 familiar as possible.

But if the subject be one of real importance every kind of ornament
 should be employed, so long as it does nothing to obscure our meaning.
 For metaphor will frequently throw a flood of light upon a subject: even
 lawyers, who spend so much trouble over the appropriateness of words,
 venture to assert that the word litus is derived
 from eludere, because the shore is a place where
 the waves break in play.

Further, the more unattractive the natural appearance of anything, the
 more does it require to be seasoned by charm of style: moreover, an
 argument is often less suspect when thus disguised, and the charm with
 which it is expressed makes it all the more convincing to our audience.
 Unless indeed we think that Cicero was in error when he introduced
 phrases such as the following into an argumentative passage: The
 laws are silent in the midst of arms, and A sword is
 sometimes placed in our hands by the laws themselves. 
 However, we must be careful to observe a happy mean in the employment of
 such embellishments, so that they may prove a real ornament and not a
 hindrance.

I undertook my present task, Marcellus Victorius, mainly to gratify your
 request, but also with a view to assist
 the more earnest of our young men as far as lay in my power, while
 latterly the energy with which I have devoted myself to my labours has
 been inspired by the almost imperative necessity imposed by the office
 conferred on me, though all the
 while I have had an eye to my own personal pleasure. For I thought that
 this work would be the most precious part of the inheritance that would
 fall to my son, whose ability was so remarkable that it called for the
 most anxious cultivation on the part of his father. Thus if, as would
 have been but just and devoutly to be wished, the fates had torn me from
 his side, he would still have been able to enjoy the benefit of his
 father's instruction.

Night and day I pursued this design, and strove to hasten its completion
 in the fear that death might cut me off with my task unfinished, when
 misfortune overwhelmed me with such suddenness, that the success of my
 labours now interests no one less than myself. A second bereavement has
 fallen upon me, and I have lost him of whom I had formed the highest
 expectations, and in whom I reposed all the hopes that should solace my
 old age. What is there left for me to do?

Or what further use can I hope to be on earth, when
 heaven thus frowns upon me? For it so chances that just at the moment
 when I began my book on the causes of the decline of eloquence, I was
 stricken by a like affliction. Better had I thrown that illomened work
 and all my ill-starred learning upon the flames of that untimely pyre
 that was to consume the darling of my heart, and had not sought to
 burden my unnatural persistence in this wicked world with the fatigue of
 fresh labours!

For what father with a spark of proper feeling would pardon me for
 having the heart to pursue my researches further, and would not hate me
 for my insensibility, had I other use for my voice than to rail against
 high heaven for having suffered me to outlive all my nearest and
 dearest, and to testify that providence deigns not at all to watch over
 this earth of ours? If this is not proved by my own misfortune (and yet
 my only fault is that I still live), it is most surely manifest in
 theirs, who were cut off thus untimely; their mother was taken from me
 earlier still, she had borne me two sons ere the completion of her
 nineteenth year; but for her, though she too died most untimely, death
 was a blessing.

Yet for me her death alone was such a blow that thereafter no good
 fortune could bring me true happiness. For she had every virtue that is
 given to woman to possess, and left her husband a prey to irremediable
 grief; nay, so young was she when death took her, that if her age be
 compared with mine, her decease was like the loss not merely of a wife,
 but of a daughter. Still her children survived her, and I, too,

lived on by some unnatural ordinance of fate, which for all its
 perversity was what she herself desired; and thus
 by her swift departure from this life she escaped tile worst of
 tortures. My youngest boy was barely five, when he was the first to
 leave me, robbing me as it were of one of my two eyes.

I have no desire to flaunt my woes in the public gaze, nor to exaggerate
 the cause I have for tears; would that I had some means to make it less!
 But how can I forget the charm of his face, the sweetness of his speech,
 his first flashes of promise, and his actual possession of a calm and,
 incredible though it may seem, a powerful mind. Such a child would have
 captivated my affections, even had he been another's.

Nor was this all; to enhance my agony the malignity of designing fortune
 had willed that he should devote all his love to me, preferring me to
 his nurses, to his grandmother who brought him up, and all those who, as
 a rule, win the special affection of infancy.

I am, therefore, grateful to the grief that came to me some few months
 before his loss in the death of his mother, the best of women, whose
 virtues were beyond all praise. For I have less reason to weep my own
 fate than to rejoice at hers. After these calamities all my hopes, all
 my delight were centred on my little Quintilian, and he might have
 sufficed to console me.

For his gifts were not merely in the bud like those of his brother: as
 early as his ninth birthday he had put forth sure and well-formed fruit.
 By my own sorrows, by the testimony of my own sad heart, by his departed
 spirit, the deity at whose shrine my grief does worship, I swear that I
 discerned in him such talent, not merely in receiving instruction,
 although in all my wide experience I have never seen his like, nor in
 his power of spontaneous application, to which his 
 teachers can bear witness, but such upright, pious, humane and generous
 feelings, as alone might have sufficed to fill me with the dread of the
 fearful thunder-stroke that has smitten me down: for it is a matter of
 common observation that those who ripen early die young, and that there
 is some malign influence that delights in cutting short the greatest
 promise and refusing to permit our joys to pass beyond the bound
 allotted to mortal man.

He possessed every incidental advantage as well, a pleasing and resonant
 voice, a sweetness of speech, and a perfect correctness in pronouncing
 every letter both in Greek and Latin, as though either were his native
 tongue. But all these were but the promise of greater things. He had
 finer qualities, courage and dignity, and the strength to resist both
 fear and pain. What fortitude he showed during an illness of eight
 months, till all his physicians marvelled at him! How he consoled me
 during his last moments. How even in the wanderings of delirium did his
 thoughts recur to his lessons and his literary studies, even when his
 strength was sinking and he was no longer ours to claim!

Child of my vain hopes, did I see your eyes fading in death and your
 breath take its last flight? Had I the heart to receive your fleeting
 spirit, as I embraced your
 cold pale body, and to live on breathing the common air. Justly do I
 endure the agony that now is mine, and the thoughts that torment me.

Have I lost you at the moment when adoption by a consular had given hope
 that you would rise to all the high offices of state, when you were
 destined to be the son-in-law of your uncle the praetor, and gave
 promise of rivalling the eloquence of your grandsire? and do I your father survive only to weep? May my endurance
 (not my will to live, for that is gone from me) prove me worthy of you
 through all my remaining years. For it is in vain that we impute all our
 ills to fortune. No man grieves long save through his own fault.

But I still live, and must find something to make life tolerable, and
 must needs put faith in the verdict of the wise, who held that
 literature alone can provide true solace in adversity. Yet, if ever the
 violence of my present grief subside and admit the intrusion of some
 other thought on so many sorrowful reflexions, I may with good cause ask
 pardon for the delay in bringing my work to completion. Who can wonder
 that my studies have been interrupted, when the real marvel is that they
 have not been broken off altogether?

Should certain portions therefore betray a lack of finish compared with
 what was begun in the days when my affliction was less profound, I would
 ask that the imperfections should be regarded with indulgence, as being
 due to the cruel tyranny of fortune, which, if it has not utterly
 extinguished, has at any rate weakened such poor powers of intellect as
 I once possessed. But for this very reason I must rouse myself to face
 my task with greater spirit, since it is easy to despise fortune, though
 it may be hard to bear her blows. For there is nothing left that she can
 do to me, since out of my calamities she has wrought for me a security
 which, full of sorrow though it be, is such that nothing can shake it.

And the very fact that I have no personal interest in persevering with
 my present work, but am moved solely by the desire to serve others, if
 indeed anything that I write can be of such service, is a reason for regarding my labours with an indulgent eye.
 Alas! I shall bequeath it, like my patrimony, for others than those to
 whom it was my design to leave it.

The next subject which I was going to discuss was the peroration which
 some call the completion and others the conclusion. There are two kinds
 of peroration, for it may deal either with facts or with the emotional
 aspect of the case. The repetition and grouping of the facts, which the
 Greeks call ἀνακεφαλαίωσις and some of
 our own writers call the enumeration, serves both to refresh the memory
 of the judge and to place the whole of the case before his eyes, and,
 even although the facts may have made little impression on him in
 detail, their cumulative effect is considerable.

This final recapitulation must be as brief as possible and, as the Greek
 term indicates, we must summarise the facts under the appropriate heads.
 For if we devote too much time thereto, the peroration will cease to be
 an enumeration and will constitute something very like a second speech.
 On the other hand the points selected for enumeration must be treated
 with weight and dignity, enlivened by apt reflexions and diversified by
 suitable figures; for there is nothing more tiresome than a dry
 repetition of facts, which merely suggests a lack of confidence in the
 judges' memory.

There are however innumerable ways in which this may be done. The finest
 example is provided by Cicero's prosecution of Verres. 
 If
 your own father were among your judges, what would he say when these
 facts were proved against you? Then follows the enumeration. Another admirable example may be found in the same speech where the enumeration
 of the temples which the praetor had despoiled takes the form of
 invoking the various deities concerned. We may also at times pretend to
 be in doubt whether we have not omitted something and to wonder what the
 accused will say in reply to certain points or what hope tile accuser
 can have after the manner in which we have refuted all the charges
 brought against us.

But the most attractive form of peroration is that which we may use when
 we have an opportunity of drawing some argument from our opponent's
 speech, as for instance when we say He omitted to deal with this
 portion of tile case, or He preferred to crush us by
 exciting odium against us, or He had good reason for
 resorting to entreaty, since lie knew certain facts.

But I must refrain from dealing with the various methods individually,
 for fear that the instances that I produce should be regarded as
 exhaustive, whereas our opportunities spring from the nature of the
 particular case, from the statements of our opponents and also from
 fortuitous circumstances. Nor must we restrict ourselves to
 recapitulating the points of our own speech, but must call upon our
 opponent to reply to certain questions.

This however is only possible if there is time for him to do so and if
 the arguments which we have put forward are such as not to admit of
 refutation. For to challenge points which tell in our opponent's favour
 is not to argue against him, but to play the part of prompter to him.

The majority of Athenians and almost all philosophers who have left
 anything in writing on the art of oratory have held that the
 recapitulation is the sole form of peroration. I 
 imagine that the reason why the Athenians did so was that appeals to the
 emotions were forbidden to Athenian orators, a proclamation to this
 effect being actually made by the court-usher. I am
 less surprised at the philosophers taking this view, for they regard
 susceptibility to emotion as a vice, and think it immoral that the judge
 should be distracted from the truth by an appeal to his emotions and
 that it is unbecoming for a good man to make use of vicious procedure to
 serve his ends. None the less they must admit that appeals to emotion
 are necessary if there are no other means for securing the victory of
 truth, justice and the public interest.

It is however admitted by all that recapitulation may be profitably
 employed in other portions of the speech as well, if the case is
 complicated and a number of different arguments have been employed in
 the defence; though no one will doubt but that there are many cases, in
 which no recapitulation at all is necessary at any point, assuming, that
 is, that the cases are both brief and simple. This part of the
 peroration is common both to the prosecution and the defence.

Both parties as a general rule may likewise employ the appeal to the
 emotions, but they will appeal to different emotions and the defender
 will employ such appeals with greater frequency and fulness. For the
 accuser has to rouse the judge, while the defender has to soften him.
 Still even the accuser will sometimes make his audience weep by the pity
 excited for the man whose wrongs he seeks to avenge, while the defendant
 will at times develop no small vehemence when he complains of the
 injustice of the calumny or conspiracy of which he
 is the victim. It will therefore be best to treat these duties
 separately: as I have already said, they are much the same in
 the peroration as in the exordium, but are freer and wider in scope in
 the former.

For our attempts to sway the judges are made more sparingly at the
 commencement of the speech, when it is enough that such an attempt
 should gain admittance and we have the whole speech before us. On the
 other hand in the peroration we have to consider what the feelings of
 the judge will be when he retires to consider his verdict, for we shall
 have no further opportunity to say anything and cannot any longer
 reserve arguments to be produced later.

It is therefore the duty of both parties to seek to win the judge's
 goodwill and to divert it from their opponent, as also to excite or
 assuage his emotions. And the following brief rule may be laid down for
 the observation of both parties, that the orator should display the full
 strength of his case before the eyes of the judge, and, when he has made
 up his mind what points in his case actually deserve or may seem to
 deserve to excite envy, goodwill, dislike or pity, should dwell on those
 points by which he himself would be most moved were he trying the case.

But it will be safer to discuss these considerations in detail. The
 points likely to commend the accuser to the judge have already been
 stated in my remarks on the exordium. There
 are however certain things which require fuller treatment in the
 peroration than in the exordium, where it is sufficient merely to
 outline them. This fuller treatment is specially required if the accused
 be a man of violent, unpopular or dangerous character or if the condemnation of the accused is likely to cover the
 judges with glory or his acquittal with disgrace.

Calvus for example in his speech against Vatinius makes an admirable
 remark: You know, gentlemen, that bribery has been committed and
 everybody knows that you know it. Cicero again in the Verrines 
 says that the ill-name acquired by the courts may
 be effaced by the condemnation of Verres, a statement that comes under
 the head of the conciliatory methods mentioned above. The appeal to tear
 also, if it is necessary to employ it to produce a like effect, occupies
 a more prominent place in the peroration than in the exordium, but I
 have expressed my views on this subject in an earlier book.

The peroration also provides freer opportunities for exciting the
 passions of jealousy, hatred or anger. As regards the circumstances
 likely to excite such feelings in the judge, jealousy will be produced
 by the influence of the accused, hatred by the disgraceful nature of his
 conduct, and anger by his disrespectful attitude to the court, if, for
 instance, he be contumacious, arrogant or studiously indifferent: such
 anger may be aroused not merely by specific acts or words, but by his
 looks, bearing and manner. In this connexion the remark made by the
 accuser of Cossutianus Capito in my young days was
 regarded with great approval: the words used were Greek, but may be
 translated thus:— You blush to fear even Caesar.

The best way however for the accuser to excite the feelings of the judge
 is to make the charge which he brings against the accused seem as
 atrocious or, if feasible, as deplorable as possible. Its atrocity may
 be enhanced by considerations of the nature of the act, the position of
 its author or the victim, the purpose, time, place
 and manner of the act: all of which may be treated with infinite
 variety.

Suppose that we are complaining that our client has been beaten. We must
 first speak of the act itself; we shall then proceed to point out that
 the victim was an old man, a child, a magistrate, an honest man or a
 benefactor to the state; we shall also point out that the assailant was
 a worthless and contemptible fellow, or (to take the opposite case) was
 in a position of excessive power or was the last man who should have
 given the blow, or again that the occasion was a solemn festival, or
 that the act was committed at a time when such crimes were punished with
 special severity by the courts or when public order was at a dangerously
 low ebb. Again the hatred excited by the act will be enhanced if it was
 committed in the theatre, in a temple, or at a public assembly,

and if the blow was given not in mistake or in a moment of passion or,
 if it was the result of passion which was quite unjustifiable, being due
 to the fact that the victim had gone to the assistance of his father or
 had made some reply or was a candidate for the same office as his
 assailant; or finally we may hint that he wished to inflict more serious
 injury than he succeeded in inflicting. But it is the manner of the act
 that contributes most to the impression of its atrocity, if, for
 example, the blow was violent or insulting: thus Demosthenes seeks to excite hatred against Midias by emphasising the
 position of the blow, the attitude of the assailant and the expression
 of his face.

It is in this connexion that we shall have to consider whether a man was
 killed by sword or fire or poison, by one wound or several, and whether he was slain on the spot or tortured by
 being kept in suspense. The accuser will also frequently attempt to
 excite pity by complaining of the fate of the man whom he is seeking to
 avenge or of the desolation which has fallen upon his children or
 parents.

The judges may also be moved by drawing a picture of the future, of the
 fate which awaits those who have complained of violence and wrong, if
 they fail to secure justice. They must go into exile, give up their
 property or endure to the end whatever their enemy may choose to inflict
 upon them.

But it will more frequently be the duty of the accuser to divert the
 judge from all the temptations to pity which the accused will place
 before him, and to incite him to give a strong and dispassionate
 verdict. It will also be his duty in this connexion to forestall the
 arguments and actions to which his opponent seems likely to have
 recourse. For it makes the judge more cautious in observing the sanctity
 of his oath and destroys the influence of those who are going to reply
 to us when the arguments used by the defence have already been dealt
 with by the prosecution, since they lose their novelty. An instance of
 this will be found in the speech of Messala against Aufidia, where he warns
 Servius Sulpicius not to talk about the peril which threatens the
 signatories to the document and the defendant herself. Again Aesehines
 foretells the line of defence which
 Demosthenes will pursue. There are also occasions when the judges should
 be told what answer they should make to requests on behalf of the
 accused, a proceeding which is a form of recapitulation.

If we turn to the defendant, we must note that his
 worth, nis manly pursuits, the scars from wounds received in battle, his
 rank and the services rendered by his ancestors, will all commend him to
 the goodwill of the judges. Cicero, as I have already pointed
 out, and Asinius both make use of this form of appeal: indeed they may
 almost be regarded as rivals in this respect, since Cicero employed it
 when defending the elder Scaurus, Asinius when defending the son. Again,

the cause which has brought the accused into peril may serve to produce
 the same effect, if, for example, it appears that he has incurred enmity
 on account of some honourable action: above all his goodness, humanity
 or pity may be emphasised with this end in view. For it adds to the
 apparent justice of his claim, if all that he asks of the judge is that
 he should grant to him what he himself has granted to others. We may
 also in this connexion lay stress on the interests of the state, the
 glory which will accrue to the judges, the importance of the precedent
 which their verdict will set and the place it will hold in the memory of
 after generations.

But the appeal which will carry most weight is the appeal to pity, which
 not merely forces the judge to change his views, but even to betray his
 emotion by tears. Such appeals to pity will be based either on the
 previous or present sufferings of the accused, or on those which await
 him if condemned. And the force of our appeal will be doubled if we
 contrast the fortune which he now enjoys with that to which he will be
 reduced, if he fail.

In this connexion great play may be made by reference to the age and sex
 of the accused, or to his nearest and dearest, that is, his children,
 parents and kindred, all of which topics are treated in different ways. Sometimes the advocate himself may
 even assume the role of close intimacy with his client, as Cicero does
 in the pro Milone, 
 where he cries: 
 Alas, unhappy that I am! Alas, my unfortunate friend! You succeeded
 by the agency of those who are now your judges in recalling me to my
 native land, and cannot I through the same agency retain you in
 yours? Such a method is especially serviceable when, as was
 the case with Milo, entreaty is not in keeping with the character of the
 accused.

Who would have endured to hear Milo pleading for his life, when he
 admitted that he had killed a man of noble birth because it was his duty
 to do so? Consequently Cicero sought to win the judges' goodwill for
 Milo by emphasising the staunchness of his character, and himself
 assumed the role of suppliant. Impersonation may also be employed with
 profit in such passages, and by impersonations I mean fictitious
 speeches supposed to be uttered, such as an advocate puts into the mouth
 of his client. The bare facts are no doubt moving in themselves; but
 when we pretend that the persons concerned themselves are speaking, the
 personal note adds to the emotional effect.

For then the judge seems no longer to be listening to a voice bewailing
 another's ills, but to hear the voice and feelings of the unhappy
 victims, men whose appearance alone would call forth his tears even
 though they uttered never a word. And as their plea would awaken yet
 greater pity if they urged it with their own lips, so it is rendered to
 some extent all the more effective when it is, as it were, put into
 their mouth by their advocate: we may draw a parallel from the stage,
 where the actor's voice and delivery produce
 greater emotional effect when he is speaking in an assumed role than
 when he speaks in his own character. Consequently Cicero, to quote him
 once again,

although he will not put entreaties into Milo's mouth, and prefers to
 commend him by his staunchness of character, still lends him words in
 the form of such complaint as may become a brave man. 
 Alas! he says, 
 my labours have been in vain! Alas for my
 blighted hopes! Alas for my baffled purpose! Appeals to
 pity should, however, always be brief, and there is good reason for the
 saying that nothing dries so quickly as tears.

Time assuages even genuine grief, and it is therefore inevitable that
 the semblance of grief portrayed in our speech should vanish yet more
 rapidly. And if we spend too much time over such portrayal our hearer
 grows weary of his tears, takes a breathing space, and returns once more
 to the rational attitude from which lie has been distracted by the
 impulse of the moment.

We must not, therefore, allow the effect which we have produced to fall
 flat, and must consequently abandon our appeal to the emotion just when
 that emotion is at its height, nor must we expect anyone to weep for
 long over another's ills. For this reason our eloquence ought to be
 pitched higher in this portion of our speech than in any other, since,
 wherever it fails to add something to what has preceded, it seems even
 to diminish its previous effect, while a diminuendo is merely a step towards the rapid disappearance of
 the emotion.

Actions as well as words may be employed to move the court to tears.
 Hence the custom of bringing accused persons into
 court wearing squalid and unkempt attire, and of introducing their
 children and parents, and it is with this in view that we see
 blood-stained swords, fragments of bone taken from the wound, and
 garments spotted with blood, displayed by the accusers, wounds stripped
 of their dressings, and scourged bodies bared to view.

The impression produced by such exhibitions is generally enormous, since
 they seem to bring the spectators face to face with the cruel facts. For
 example, the sight of the bloodstains on the purple-bordered toga of
 Gaius Caesar, which was carried at the head of his funeral procession,
 aroused the Roman people to fury. They knew that he had been killed;
 they had even seen his body stretched upon the bier: but his garment,
 still wet with his blood, brought such a vivid image of the crime before
 their minds, that Caesar seemed not to have been murdered, but to be
 being murdered before their very eyes.

Still I would not for this reason go so far as to approve a practice of
 which I have read, and which indeed I have occasionally witnessed, of
 bringing into court a picture of the crime painted on wood or canvas,
 that the judge might be stirred to fury by the horror of the sight. For
 the pleader who prefers a voiceless picture to speak for him in place of
 his own eloquence must be singularly incompetent.

On the other hand, I know that the wearing of mourning and the
 presentation of an unkempt appearance, and the introduction of relatives
 similarly arrayed, has proved of value, and that entreaties have been of
 great service to save the accused from condemnation. The practice
 therefore of appealing to the judges by all that is near and dear to
 them will be of great service to the accused,
 especially if he, too, has children, a wife and parents.

Invocation of the gods, again, usually gives the impression that the
 speaker is conscious of the justice of his cause, while it may produce a
 good effect if the accused throws himself on the ground and embraces the
 knees of the judges, unless his character, his past life and station
 prohibit a resort to this device: for there are some acts which require
 to be defended with no less boldness than was required for their
 commission. But we must take care not to carry matters with too high a
 hand, for fear of creating a bad impression by an appearance of
 over-confidence.

The most effective of all such methods was in times past that by which
 more than anything else Cicero is considered to have saved Lucius Murena
 from the attacks of his accusers,
 who were men of the greatest distinction. For he persuaded the court
 that nothing was more necessary in view of the critical position of
 affairs than that Murena should assume the consulship on the
 thirty-first of December. This form of appeal is now, however, almost
 entirely obsolete, since the safety of the state is to-day dependent on
 the watchful care of a single ruler, and cannot conceivably be
 imperilled by the result of a trial.

I have spoken of accusers and accused because it is in situations
 involving danger that the emotional appeal is most serviceable. But
 private cases also admit of both kinds of peroration, namely, that which
 consists in the recapitulation of the proofs and that which takes the
 form of an appeal for pity, the latter being employed when the position
 or reputation of the litigant seems to be in danger. For to embark on such tragic methods in trivial cases
 would be like putting the mask and buskins of Hercules on a small child.

It is also worth while pointing out that, in my opinion, the manner in
 which the client whose sorrows we parade before the court conforms his
 behaviour to the methods of his advocate is of the utmost importance.
 For sometimes our appeal falls flat owing to the ignorance, rusticity,
 indifference or uncouthness of our client, and it is consequently most
 important that the advocate should take all necessary precautions in
 this connexion.

I have often seen clients whose behaviour was wholly out of keeping with
 the line adopted by their counsel, since their expression showed not the
 slightest emotion, while they displayed a most unseasonable cheerfulness
 and even aroused laughter by their looks or actions; such incongruity is
 especially frequent when the appeal is of a theatrical character.

On one occasion an advocate produced a girl alleged to be the sister of
 the opposing party (for it was on this point that the dispute turned)
 and led her across to the benches occupied by his opponents as though to
 leave her in the arms of her brother: I however had given tile brother
 timely warning and he had left his seat. The advocate, although as a
 rule an eloquent speaker, was struck dumb by the unexpected turn of
 events and took his little girl back again in the tamest possible
 manner.

There was another advocate who was defending a woman who thought to
 secure a great effect by producing the portrait of her husband, but sent
 the court into repeated peals of laughter. For the persons entrusted
 with the duty of handing in the portrait had no idea of the nature of a peroration and displayed it whenever the advocate
 looked their way, and when at last it was produced at the proper moment
 it destroyed all the good effect of his previous eloquence by its
 hideousness, for it was a wax cast taken from an old man's corpse.

We are also familiar with the story of what happened to Glycon,
 nicknamed Spiridion. He asked a boy whom he produced in court why he was
 crying; to which the boy replied, that his paedagogus was pinching him. But the most effective warning as
 to the perils which beset the peroration is the story told by Cicero
 about the Caepasii.

But all these perils may be boldly faced by those who have no difficulty
 in changing their line of pleading. Those however who cannot get away
 from what they have written, are reduced to silence by such emergencies
 or else led into making false statements, as for instance if an advocate
 should say, He stretches out suppliant hands to embrace your
 knees, or The unhappy man is locked in the embrace of
 his children, or See he recalls me to the
 point, although the person in question is doing none of
 these things.

Such faults are due to the practice of the schools, where we are free to
 feign what we will with impunity, because we are at liberty to invent
 facts. But this is impossible when we are confronted with realities, and
 it was an excellent remark that Cassius made to a young orator who said,
 Why do you look so fiercely at me, Severus? To which
 he replied, I was doing nothing of the kind, but if it is in your
 manuscript, here you are! And he fixed his eyes on him with
 the most ferocious scowl that he could muster.

There is one point which it is specially important to remember, that we should never attempt to move our audience to tears
 without drawing on all the resources of our eloquence. For while this
 form of emotional appeal is the most effective of all, when successful,
 its failure results in anti-climax, and if the pleader is a feeble
 speaker he would have been wiser to leave the pathos of the situation to
 the imagination of the judges.

For look and voice and even the expression on the face of the accused to
 which the attention of the court is drawn will generally awaken laughter
 where they fail to awaken compassion. Therefore the pleader must measure
 and make a careful estimate of his powers, and must have a just
 comprehension of the difficulty of the task which he contemplates. For
 there is no halfway house in such matters between tears and laughter.

The task of the peroration is not however confined to exciting pity in
 the judges: it may also be required to dispel the pity which they feel,
 either by a set speech designed to recall them from their tears to a
 consideration of the justice of the case, or by a few witticisms such
 as, Give the boy some bread to stop him crying, or the
 remark made by counsel to a corpulent client, whose opponent, a mere
 child, had been carried round the court by his advocate, What am
 I to do? I can't carry you!

Such jests should not however descend to buffoonery. Consequently I
 cannot give my approval to the orator, although he was one of the most
 distinguished speakers of his day, who, when his opponent brought in
 some children to enhance the effect of his peroration, threw some dice
 among them, with the result that they began to scramble for them. For
 their childish ignorance of the perils with which 
 they were threatened might in itself have awakened compassion.

For the same reason I cannot commend the advocate who, when his opponent
 the accuser produced a bloodstained sword in court, fled suddenly from
 the benches as though in an agony of terror, and then, when his turn
 came to plead, peeped out of the crowd with his head half covered by his
 robe and asked whether the man with the sword had gone away. For though
 he caused a laugh, he made himself ridiculous.

Still, theatrical effects of the kind we are discussing can be dispelled
 by the power of eloquence. Cicero provides most admirable examples of
 the way in which this may be done both in the pro
 Rabirio 
 where he attacks
 the production in court of the portrait of Saturninus in the most
 dignified language, and in the pro Vareno where
 he launches a number of witticisms against a youth whose wound had been
 unbound at intervals in the course of the trial.

There are also milder kinds of peroration in which, if our opponent is
 of such a character that he deserves to be treated with respect, we
 strive to ingratiate ourselves with him or give him some friendly
 warning or urge him to regard us as his friends. This method was
 admirably employed by Passienus when he pleaded in a suit brought by his
 wife Domitia against her brother Ahenobarbus for the recovery of a sum
 of money: he began by making a number of remarks about the relationship
 of the two parties and then, referring to their wealth, which was in
 both cases enormous, added, There is nothing either of you need
 less than the subject of this dispute.

All these appeals to emotion, although some hold 
 that they should be confined to the exordium and the peroration, which
 are, I admit, the places where they are most often used, may be employed
 in other portions of the speech as well, but more briefly, since most of
 them must be reserved for the opening or the close. But it is in tile
 peroration, if anywhere, that we must let loose the whole torrent of our
 eloquence.

For, if we have spoken well in the rest of our speech, we shall now have
 the judges on our side, and shall be in a position, now that we have
 emerged from the reefs and shoals, to spread all our canvas, while since
 the chief task of the peroration consists of amplification, we may
 legitimately make free use of words and reflexions that are magnificent
 and ornate. It is at the close of our drama that we must really stir the
 theatre, when we have reached the place for the phrase with which the
 old tragedies and comedies used to end, Friends, give us your
 applause.

In other portions of the speech we must appeal to the emotions as
 occasion may arise. For it would clearly be wrong to set forth facts
 calling for horror and pity without any such appeal, while, if the
 question arises as to the quality of any fact, such an appeal may
 justifiably be subjoined to the proofs of the fact in question.

When we are pleading a complicated case which is really made up of
 several cases, it will be necessary to introduce a number of passages
 resembling perorations, as Cicero does in the Vetrines, where he laments over Philodamus, the ships'
 captains, the crucifixion of the Roman citizen, and a number of other
 tragic incidents.

Some call these μερικοὶ ἐπίλογοι, by
 which they mean a peroration distributed among different portions of a
 speech. I should regard them rather as species than as parts of
 the peroration, since the terms epilogue and peroration both clearly
 indicate that they form the conclusion of a speech.

II. The peroration
 is the most important part of forensic pleading, and in the main
 consists of appeals to the emotions, concerning which I have
 consequently been forced to say something. But I have not yet been able
 to give the topic specific consideration as a whole, nor should I have
 been justified in doing so. We have still, therefore, to discuss a task
 which forms tile most powerful means of obtaining what we desire, and is
 also more difficult than any of those which we have previously
 considered, namely that of stirring the emotions of the judges, and of
 moulding and transforming them to the attitude which we desire.

The few remarks which I have already made on this subject were only such
 as were essential to my theme, while my purpose was rather to show what
 ought to be done than to set forth the manner in which we can secure our
 aim. I must now review the whole subject in a more exhaustive fashion.
 There is scope for an appeal to the emotions, as I have already said,1
 in every portion of a speech. Moreover these emotions present great
 variety, and demand more than cursory treatment, since it is in their
 handling that the power of oratory shews itself at its highest. Even a
 slight and limited talent may,

with the assistance of practice or learning, perhaps succeed in giving
 life to other departments of oratory, and in developing them to a
 serviceable extent. At any rate there are, and have always been, a considerable number of pleaders capable of
 discovering arguments adequate to prove their points. I am far from
 despising such, but I consider that their utility is restricted to
 providing the judge with such facts as it is necessary for him to know,
 and, to be quite frank, I regard them merely as suitable persons to
 instruct pleaders of real eloquence in the facts of a case. But few
 indeed are those orators who can sweep the judge with them, lead him to
 adopt that attitude of mind which they desire, and compel him to weep
 with them or share their anger.

And yet it is this emotional power that dominates the court, it is this
 form of eloquence that is the queen of all. For as a rule arguments
 arise out of the case itself, and the better cause has always the larger
 number to support it, so that the party who wills by means of them will
 have no further satisfaction than that of knowing that his advocate did
 not fail him.

But the peculiar task of the orator arises when the minds of the judges
 require force to move them, and their thoughts have actually to be led
 away from the contemplation of the truth. No instruction from the
 litigant can secure this, nor can such power be acquired merely by the
 study of a brief. Proofs, it is true, may induce the judges to regard
 our case as superior to that of our opponent, but the appeal to the
 emotions will do more, for it will make them wish our case to be the
 better. And what they wish, they will also believe.

For as soon as they begin to be angry, to feel favourably disposed, to
 hate or pity, they begin to take a personal interest in the case, and
 just as lovers are incapable of forming a reasoned judgment on the
 beauty of the object of their affections, because passion forestalls the sense of sight, so the judge, when overcome by
 his emotions, abandons all attempt to enquire into the truth of the
 arguments, is swept along by the tide of passion, and yields himself
 unquestioning to the torrent.

Thus the verdict of the court shows how much weight has been carried by
 the arguments and the evidence; but when the judge has been really moved
 by the orator he reveals his feelings while he is still sitting and
 listening to the case. When those tears, which are the aim of most
 perorations, well forth from his eyes, is he not giving his verdict for
 all to see? It is to this, therefore, that the orator must devote all
 his powers, 
 
 
 There lie the task and toil! 
 
 
 Aen. vi. 128.
 
 
 Without this all else is bare and meagre, weak and
 devoid of charm. For it is in its power over the emotions that the life
 and soul of oratory is to be found.

Emotions however, as we learn from ancient authorities, fall into two
 classes; the one is called pathos by the Greeks
 and is rightly and correctly expressed in Latin by adfectus (emotion): the other is called ethos, a word for which in my opinion Latin has no equivalent:
 it is however rendered by mores (morals) and
 consequently the branch of philosophy known as ethics is styled moral philosophy by
 us.

But close consideration of the nature of the subject leads me to think
 that in this connexion it is not so much morals 
 in general that is meant as certain peculiar aspects; for the term morals includes every attitude of the mind. The
 more cautious writers have preferred to give the sense of the term
 rather than to translate it into Latin. They therefore explain pathos 
 as describing the more
 violent emotions and ethos as designating those
 which are calm and gentle: in the one case the passions are violent, in
 the other subdued, the former command and disturb, the latter persuade
 and induce a feeling of goodwill.

Some add that ethos is continuous, while pathos is momentary. While admitting that this is
 usually the ease, I still hold that there are some subjects which demand
 that the more violent emotion should be continuous. But, although the
 gentler emotions require less force and impetus, they call for no less
 art and experience than the more vehement, and are demanded in a greater
 number of cases, indeed in a certain sense they are required in all.

For as everything treated by the orator may be regarded from the ethical
 standpoint, we may apply the word ethos whenever
 he speaks of what is honourable and expedient or of what ought or ought
 not to be done. Some regard commendation and excuse as the peculiar
 spheres of ethos, but while I admit that they do
 fall within its sphere, I do not regard them as being alone in so doing.

Indeed I would add that pathos and ethos are sometimes of the same nature, differing
 only in degree; love for instance comes under the head of pathos, affection of ethos; sometimes however they differ, a distinction which is
 important for the peroration, since ethos is
 generally employed to calm the storm aroused by pathos. I ought however to explain what is meant by ethos in greater detail, since the term is not in
 itself sufficiently expressive of its meaning.

The ethos which I have in my mind and which I
 desiderate in an orator is commended to our approval by goodness more
 than aught else and is not merely calm and mild, but in most cases ingratiating and courteous and such as to excite
 pleasure and affection in our hearers, while the chief merit in its
 expression lies in making it seem that all that we say derives directly
 from the nature of the facts and persons concerned and in the revelation
 of the character of the orator in such a way that all may recognise it.

This kind of ethos should be especially displayed
 in cases where the persons concerned are intimately connected, whenever
 we tolerate or pardon any act or offer satisfaction or admonition, in
 all of which cases there should be no trace of anger or hatred. On the
 other hand the moderation shown by a father to his son, a guardian to
 his ward or a husband to his wife will differ from that which is shown
 by an old man to a youthful stranger who has insulted him or by a man of
 high rank to his inferior, since in the former cases they emphasise
 their affection for the wrongdoer and there is no desire to do anything
 that will excite dislike against them save by the manifestation of the
 fact that they still love them; while in the one case the offended party
 should be no more than provoked, in the other he should he really deeply
 moved. Of the same character, though less violent,

is the emotion to be shown when we ask pardon for the errors of the
 young, or apologise for some youthful amour. Sometimes again gentle
 raillery of another's passion may derive its tone from ethos, though only to a partial extent. More closely dependent
 on ethos are the skilful exercise of feigned
 emotion or the employment of irony in making apologies or asking
 questions, irony being the term which is applied to words which mean
 something other than they seem to express.

From the same source springs also that more
 powerful method of exciting hatred, when by a feigned submission to our
 opponents we pass silent censure on their violence. For the very fact of
 our yielding serves to demonstrate their insupportable arrogance, while
 orators who have a passion for abuse or are given to affect freedom of
 speech fail to realise that it is a far more effective course to make
 your antagonist unpopular than to abuse him. For the former course makes
 our antagonists disliked, the latter ourselves.

The emotion of love and longing for our friends and connexions is
 perhaps of an intermediate character, being stronger than ethos and weaker than pathos. There is also good reason for giving the name of ethos to those scholastic exercises in which we portray rustics, misers, cowards and
 superstitious persons according as our theme may require. For if ethos denotes moral character, our speech must
 necessarily be based on ethos when it is engaged
 in portraying such character.

Finally ethos in all its forms requires the
 speaker to be a man of good character and courtesy. For it is most
 important that he should himself possess or be thought to possess those
 virtues for the possession of which it is his duty, if possible, to
 commend his client as well, while the excellence of his own character
 will make his pleading all the more convincing and will be of the utmost
 service to the cases which he undertakes. For the orator who gives the
 impression of being a bad man while he is speaking, is actually speaking
 badly, since his words seem to be insincere owing to the absence of ethos which would otherwise have revealed itself.

Consequently the style of oratory employed in such cases should be calm
 and mild with no trace of pride, elevation or 
 sublimity, all of which would be out of place. It is enough to speak
 appropriately, pleasantly and persuasively, and therefore the
 intermediate style of oratory is most suitable.

The pathos of the Greeks, which we correctly
 translate by emotion, is of a different
 character, and I cannot better indicate the nature of the difference
 than by saying that ethos rather resembles comedy
 and pathos tragedy. For pathos is almost entirely concerned with anger, dislike, fear,
 hatred and pity. It will be obvious to all what topics are appropriate
 to such appeals and I have already spoken on the subject in discussing
 the exordium and the peroration.

I wish however to point out that fear is of two kinds, that which we
 feel and that which we cause in others. Similarly there are two kinds of
 invidia (hatred, envy), to which the two
 adjectives invidus (envious) and invidious (invidious, hateful) correspond. The
 first supplies an epithet for persons, the second for things, and it is
 in this latter connexion that the orator's task is even more onerous.
 For though some things are hateful in themselves such as parricide,
 murder, poisoning, other things have to be made to seem hateful.

This latter contingency arises when we attempt to shew that what we have
 suffered is of a more horrible nature than what are usually regarded as
 great evils. Vergil will provide an example in the lines :— 
 
 blest
 beyond all maidens Priam's child, 
 Beneath
 Troy's lofty bulwarks doomed to die 
 Upon the
 tomb of him that was thy foe. 
 
 For how
 wretched was the lot of Andromache, if Polyxena be accounted happy in
 comparison with her!

Again the same problem arises when we endeavour to magnify our wrongs by
 saying that other far lesser ills are intolerable; e.g. 
 If you had merely struck him, your conduct would
 have been indefensible. But you did more, you wounded him. 
 However I will deal with this subject more fully when I come to speak of
 amplification. 
 Meanwhile I will content
 myself with the observation that the aim of appeals to the emotion is
 not merely to slew the bitter and grievous nature of ills that actually
 are so, but also to make ills which are usually regarded as tolerable
 seem unendurable, as for instance when we represent insulting words as
 inflicting more grievous injury than an actual blow or represent
 disgrace as being worse than death.

For the force of eloquence is such that it not merely compels the judge
 to the conclusion toward which the nature of the facts lead him, but
 awakens emotions which either do not naturally arise from the case or
 are stronger than the case would suggest. This is known as deriosis, 
 
 that is to say, language giving additional force to things unjust, cruel
 or hateful, an accomplishment in which Demosthenes created immense and
 special effect.

If I thought it sufficient to follow traditional rules, I should regard
 it as adequate treatment for this topic to omit nothing that I have read
 or been taught, provided that it be reasonably sound. But my design is
 to bring to light the secret principles of this art, and to open up the
 inmost recesses of the subject, giving the result not of teaching
 received from others, but of my own experience and the guidance of
 nature herself.

The prime essential for stirring the emotions of others is, in my
 opinion, first to feel those emotions oneself. It
 is sometimes positively ridiculous to counterfeit grief, anger and
 indignation, if we content ourselves with accommodating our words and
 looks and make no attempt to adapt our own feelings to the emotions to
 be expressed. What other reason is there for the eloquence with which
 mourners express their grief; or for the fluency which anger lends even
 to the uneducated, save the fact that their minds are stirred to power
 by the depth and sincerity of their feelings? Consequently,

if we wish to give our words the appearance of sincerity, we must
 assimilate ourselves to the emotions of those who are genuinely so
 affected, and our eloquence must spring from the same feeling that we
 desire to produce in the mind of the judge. Will he grieve who can find
 no trace of grief in the words with which I seek to move him to grief?
 Will he be angry, if the orator who seeks to kindle his anger shows no
 sign of labouring under the emotion which he demands from his audience?
 Will he shed tears if the pleader's eyes are dry? It is utterly
 impossible.

Fire alone can kindle, and moisture alone can wet, nor can one thing
 impart any colour to another save that which it possesses itself.
 Accordingly, the first essential is that those feelings should prevail
 with us that we wish to prevail with the judge, and that we should be
 moved ourselves before we attempt to move others.

But how are we to generate these emotions in ourselves, since emotion is
 not in our own power? I will try to explain as best I may. There are
 certain experiences which the Greeks call φαντασίαι, and the Romans visions, 
 whereby things absent are presented to our imagination with such extreme
 vividness that they seem actually to be before
 our very eyes.

It is the man who is really sensitive to such impressions who will have
 the greatest power over the emotions. Some writers describe the
 possessor of this power of vivid imagination, whereby things, words and
 actions are presented in the most realistic manner, by the Greek word
 εὐφαντασίωτος and it is a power
 which all may readily acquire if they will. When the mind is unoccupied
 or is absorbed by fantastic hopes or daydreams, we are haunted by these
 visions of which I am speaking to such an extent that we imagine that we
 are travelling abroad, crossing the sea, fighting, addressing the
 people, or enjoying the use of wealth that we do not actually possess,
 and seem to ourselves not to be dreaming but acting. Surely, then, it
 may be possible to turn this form of hallucination to some profit.

I am complaining that a man has been murdered. Shall I not bring before
 my eyes all the circumstances which it is reasonable to imagine must
 have occurred in such a connexion? Shall I not see the assassin burst
 suddenly from his hiding-place, the victim tremble, cry for help, beg
 for mercy, or turn to run? Shall I not see the fatal blow delivered and
 the stricken body fall? Will not the blood, the deathly pallor, the
 groan of agony, the death-rattle, be indelibly impressed upon my mind?

From such impressions arises that ἐνάργεια which Cicero calls illumination and
 actuality, which makes us seem not so much to
 narrate as to exhibit the actual scene, while our emotions will be no
 less actively stirred than if we were present at the actual occurrence. Is it not from visions such as these
 that Vergil was inspired to write— 
 
 
 Sudden her fingers let the shuttle fall 
 And all the thread was spilled, 
 
 
 Aen. ix. 474.
 
 
 Or,

In his smooth breast the gaping
 wound 
 
 
 ib. xi. 40. 
 
 or the description of the horse at the funeral of
 Pallas, his trappings laid aside ? And how vivid was the image
 of death conceived by the poet when he wrote- And dying sees his
 own dear Argive home ? 
 Again, when we desire to awaken pity,

we must actually believe that the ills of which we complain have
 befallen our own selves, and must persuade our minds that this is really
 the case. We must identify ourselves with the persons of whom we
 complain that they have suffered grievous, unmerited and bitter
 misfortune, and must plead their case and for a brief space feel their
 suffering as though it were our own, while our words must be such as we
 should use if we stood in their shoes.

I have often seen actors, both in tragedy and comedy, leave the theatre
 still drowned in tears after concluding the performance of some moving
 role. But if the mere delivery of words written by another has the power
 to set our souls on fire with fictitious emotions, what will the orator
 do whose duty it is to picture to himself the facts and who has it in
 his power to feel the same emotion as his client whose interests are at
 stake?

Even in the schools it is desirable that the student should be moved by
 his theme, and should imagine it to be true; indeed, it is all the more
 desirable then, since, as a rule in scholastic 
 declamations, the speaker more often appears as the actual litigant than
 as his advocate. Suppose we are impersonating an orphan, a shipwrecked
 man, or one in grave peril. What profit is there in assuming such a rôle
 unless we also assume the emotions which it involves? I have thought it
 necessary not to conceal these considerations from my reader, since they
 have contributed to the acquisition of such reputation for talent as I
 possess or once possessed. I have frequently been so much moved while
 speaking, that I have not merely been wrought upon to tears, but have
 turned pale and shown all the symptoms of genuine grief.

I now turn to a very different talent, namely that which dispels the
 graver emotions of the judge by exciting his laughter, frequently
 diverts his attention from the facts of the case, and sometimes even
 refreshes him and revives him when he has begun to be bored or wearied
 by the case. How hard it is to attain success in this connexion is shown
 by the cases of the two great masters of Greek and Roman oratory.

For many think that Demosthenes was deficient in this faculty, and that
 Cicero used it without discrimination. Indeed, it is impossible to
 suppose that Demosthenes deliberately avoided all display of humour,
 since his few jests are so unworthy of his other excellences that they
 clearly show that he lacked the power, not merely that he disliked to
 use it.

Cicero, on the other hand, was regarded as being unduly addicted to
 jests, not merely outside the courts, but in his actual speeches as
 well. Personally (though whether I am right in this view, or have been
 led astray by an exaggerated admiration for the prince of orators, I
 cannot say), I regard him as being the possessor of
 a remarkable turn of wit. For his daily speech was full of humour,

while in his disputes in court and in his examination of witnesses he
 produced more good jests than any other, while the somewhat insipid
 jokes which he launches against Verres are always attributed by him to
 others and produced as evidence: wherefore, the more vulgar they are,
 the more probable is it that they are not the invention of the orator,
 but were current as public property. I wish, however,

that Tiro, or whoever it may have been that published the three books of
 Cicero's jests, had restricted their number and had shown more judgment
 in selecting than zeal in collecting them. For he would then have been
 less exposed to the censure of his calumniators, although the latter
 will, in any case, as in regard to all the manifestations of his genius,
 find it easier to detect superfluities than deficiencies.

The chief difficulty which confronts the orator in this connexion lies
 in the fact that sayings designed to raise a laugh are generally untrue
 (and falsehood always involves a certain meanness), and are often
 deliberately distorted, and, further, never complimentary: while the
 judgments formed by the audience on such jests will necessarily vary,
 since the effect of a jest depends not on the reason, but on an emotion
 which it is difficult, if not impossible, to describe.

For I do not think that anybody can give an adequate explanation, though
 many have attempted to do so, of the cause of laughter, which is excited
 not merely by words or deeds, but sometimes even by touch. Moreover,
 there is great variety in the things which raise a laugh, since we laugh
 not merely at those words or actions which are smart or witty, but also
 at those which reveal folly, anger or fear.
 Consequently, the cause of laughter is uncertain, since laughter is
 never far removed from derision.

For, as Cicero says,
 Laughter has its basis in some kind or other of deformity or
 ugliness, and whereas, when we point to such a blemish in
 others, the result is known as wit, it is called folly when the same
 jest is turned against ourselves. Now, though laughter may be regarded
 as a trivial matter, and an emotion frequently awakened by buffoons,
 actors or fools, it has a certain imperious force of its own which it is
 very hard to resist.

It often breaks out against our will and extorts confession of its
 power, not merely from our face and voice, but convulses the whole body
 as well. Again, it frequently turns the scale in matters of great
 importance, as I have already observed: for instance, it often dispels
 hatred or anger.

A proof of this is given by the story of the young men of Tarentum, who
 had made a number of scurrilous criticisms of Pyrrhus over the dinner
 table: they were called upon to answer for their statements, and, since
 the charge was one that admitted neither of denial nor of excuse, they
 succeeded in escaping, thanks to a happy jest which made the king laugh:
 for one of the accused said, Yes, and if the bottle hadn't been
 empty, we should have killed you! a jest which succeeded in
 dissipating the animosity which the charge had aroused.

Still, whatever the essence of humour may be, and although I would not
 venture to assert that it is altogether independent of art (for it
 involves a certain power of observation, and rules for its employment
 have been laid down by writers both of Greece and 
 Rome), I will insist on this much, that it depends mainly on nature and
 opportunity.

The influence of nature consists not merely in the fact that one man is
 quicker or cleverer than another in the invention of jests (for such a
 power can be increased by teaching), but also in the possession of some
 peculiar charm of look or manner, the effect of which is such that the
 same remarks would be less entertaining if uttered by another.

Opportunity, on the other hand, is dependent on circumstances, and is of
 such importance that with its assistance not merely the unlearned, but
 even mere country bumpkins are capable of producing effective
 witticisms: while much again may depend on some previous remark made by
 another which will provide opportunity for repartee. For wit always
 appears to greater advantage in reply than in attack.

We are also confronted by the additional difficulty that there are no
 specific exercises for the development of humour nor professors to teach
 it. Consequently, while convivial gatherings and conversation give rise
 to frequent displays of wit, since daily practice develops the faculty,
 oratorical wit is rare, for it has no fixed rules to guide it, but must
 adapt itself to the ways of the world.

There has, however, never been anything to prevent the composition of
 themes such as will afford scope for humour, so that our controversial
 declamations may have an admixture of jests, while special topics may be
 set which will give the young student practice in the play of wit.

Nay, even those pleasantries in which we indulge on certain occasions of
 festive licence (and to which we give the name of mots, 
 as, indeed, they are), if
 only a little more good sense were employed in their invention, and they were seasoned by a slight admixture of
 seriousness, might afford a most useful training. As it is, they serve
 merely to divert the young and merrymakers.

There are various names by which we describe wit, but we have only to
 consider them separately to perceive their specific meaning. First,
 there is urbanitas, which I observe denotes
 language with a smack of the city in its words, accent and idiom, and
 further suggests a certain tincture of learning derived from associating
 with well-educated men; in a word, it represents the opposite of
 rusticity. The meaning of venustus is obvious;

it means that which is said with grace and charm. Salsus is, as a rule, applied only to what is laughable: but
 this is not its natural application, although whatever is laughable
 should have the salt of wit in it. For Cicero, 
 when he says that whatever has the salt of wit is Attic, does not say
 this because persons of the Attic school are specially given to
 laughter; and again when Catullus says— 
 
 
 In all her body not a grain of
 salt! 
 
 
 Cat. lxxxvi. 4.
 
 
 he does not mean that there is nothing in her body to
 give cause for laughter.

When, therefore, we speak of the salt of wit, we refer to wit about
 which there is nothing insipid, wit, that is to say, which serves as a
 simple seasoning of language, a condiment which is silently appreciated
 by our judgment, as food is appreciated by the palate, with the result
 that it stimulates our taste and saves a speech from becoming tedious.
 But just as salt, if sprinkled freely over food, gives a special relish
 of its own, so long as it is not used to excess, so in the case of those
 who have the salt of wit there is something about 
 their language which arouses in us a thirst to hear. Again, I do not
 regard the epithet facelus as applicable solely
 to that which raises a laugh.

If that were so Horace 
 would never have said that nature had granted Vergil the gift of being
 facetus in song. I think that the term is
 rather applied to a certain grace and polished elegance. This is the
 meaning which it bears in Cicero's letters, where he quotes the words of
 Brutus, 
 In truth her feet are graceful and soft as she
 goes delicately on her way. This meaning suits the passage
 in Horace, to which
 I have already made reference, To Vergil gave a soft and graceful
 wit.

locus is usually taken to mean the opposite of
 seriousness. This view is, however, somewhat too narrow. For to feign,
 to terrify, or to promise, are all at times forms of jesting. Dicacitas is no doubt derived from dico, and is therefore common to all forms of
 wit, but is specially applied to the language of banter, which is a
 humorous form of attack. Therefore, while the critics allow that
 Demosthenes was urbanus, they deny that he was
 dicax.

The essence, however, of the subject which we are now discussing is the
 excitement of laughter, and consequently the whole of this topic is
 entitled περὶ γελοίου by the Greeks.
 It has the same primary division as other departments of oratory, that
 is to say, it is concerned with things and words.

The application of humour to oratory may be divided into three heads:
 for there are three things out of which we may seek to raise a laugh, to
 wit, others, ourselves, or things intermediate. In the first case we
 either reprove or refute or make light of or retort or deride the
 arguments of others. In the second we speak of
 things which concern ourselves in a humorous manner and, to quote the
 words of Cicero, say things
 which have a suggestion of absurdity. For there are certain sayings
 which are regarded as folly if they slip from us unawares, but as witty
 if uttered ironically.

The third kind consists, as Cicero also tells us, in cheating
 expectations, in taking words in a different sense from what was
 intended, and in other things which affect neither party to the suit,
 and which I have, therefore, styled intermediate.

Further, things designed to raise a laugh may either be said or done. In
 the latter case laughter is sometimes caused by an act possessing a
 certain element of seriousness as well, as in the case of Marcus Caelius
 the praetor, who, when the consul Isauricus broke his curule chair, had
 another put in its place, the seat of which was made of leather thongs,
 by way of allusion to the story that the consul had once been scourged
 by his father: sometimes, again, it is aroused by an act which passes
 the grounds of decency, as in the case of Caelius' box, a jest which was not fit
 for an orator or any respectable man to make.

On the other hand the joke may lie in some remark about a ridiculous
 look or gesture; such jests are very attractive, more especially when
 delivered with every appearance of seriousness; for there are no jests
 so insipid as those which parade the fact that they are intended to be
 witty. Still, although the gravity with which a jest is uttered
 increases its attraction, and the mere fact that the speaker does not
 laugh himself makes his words laughable, there is also such a thing as a
 humorous look, manner or gesture, provided always
 that they observe the happy mean. Further, a jest will either be free
 and lively, like the majority of those uttered by Aulus Galba, or
 abusive, like those with which Junius Bassus recently made us familiar,
 or bitter, like those of Cassius Severus, or gentle, like those of
 Domitius Afer.

Much depends on the occasion on which a jest is uttered. For in social
 gatherings and the intercourse of every day a certain freedom is not
 unseemly in persons of humble rank, while liveliness is becoming to all.
 Our jests should never be designed to wound, and we should never make it
 our ideal to lose a friend sooner than lose a jest. Where the battles of
 the courts are concerned I am always better pleased when it is possible
 to indulge in gentle raillery, although it is, of course, permissible to
 be abusive or bitter in the words we use against our opponents, just as
 it is permissible to accuse them openly of crime, and to demand the last
 penalty of the law. But in the courts as elsewhere it is regarded as
 inhuman to hit a man when he is down, either because he is the innocent
 victim of misfortune or because such attacks may recoil on those who
 make them. Consequently, the first points to be taken into consideration
 are who the speaker is, what is the nature of the case, who is the
 judge, who is the victim, and what is the character of the remarks that
 are made.

It is most unbecoming for an orator to distort his features or use
 uncouth gestures, tricks that arouse such merriment in farce. No less
 unbecoming are ribald jests, and such as are employed upon the stage. As
 for obscenity, it should not merely be banished from his language, but
 should not even be suggested. For even if our 
 opponent has rendered himself liable to such a charge, our denunciation
 should not take the form of a jest.

Further, although I want my orator to speak with wit, he must not give
 the impression of striving after it. Consequently lie must not display
 his wit on every possible occasion, but must sacrifice a jest sooner
 than sacrifice his dignity.

Again, no one will endure an accuser who employs jests to season a
 really horrible case, nor an advocate for the defence who makes merry
 over one that calls for pity. Moreover, there is a type of judge whose
 temperament is too serious to allow him to tolerate laughter.

It may also happen that a jest directed against an opponent may apply to
 the judge or to our own client, although there are some orators who do
 not refrain even from jests that may recoil upon themselves. This was
 the case with Sulpicius Longus, who, despite the fact that he was
 himself surpassingly hideous, asserted of a man against whom he was
 appearing in a case involving his status as a free man, that even his
 face was the face of a slave. To this Domitius Afer replied, Is
 it your profound conviction, Longus, that an ugly man must be a
 slave?

Insolence and arrogance are likewise to be avoided, nor must our jests
 seem unsuitable to the time or place, or give the appearance of studied
 premeditation, or smell of the lamp, while those directed against the
 unfortunate are, as I have already said, inhuman. Again, some advocates
 are men of such established authority and such known respectability,
 that any insolence shown them would only hurt the assailant. As regards
 the way in which we should deal with friends I have already given
 instructions.

It is the duty not merely of an orator, but of any
 reasonable human being, when attacking one whom it is dangerous to
 offend to take care that his remarks do not end in exciting serious
 enmity, or the necessity for a grovelling apology. Sarcasm that applies
 to a number of persons is injudicious: I refer to cases where it is
 directed against whole nations or classes of society, or against rank
 and pursuits which are common to many.

A good man will see that everything he says is consistent with his
 dignity and the respectability of his character; for we pay too dear for
 the laugh we raise if it is at the cost of our own integrity. It is,
 however, a difficult task to indicate the sources from which laughter
 may be legitimately derived or the topics where it may be naturally
 employed. To attempt to deal exhaustively with the subject would be an
 interminable task and a waste of labour.

For the topics suitable to jests are no less numerous than those from
 which we may derive reflexions, as they are
 called, and are, moreover, identical with the latter. The powers of
 invention and expression come into play no less where jests are
 concerned, while as regards expression its force will depend in part on
 the choice of words, in part on the figures employed.

Laughter then will be derived either from the physical appearance of our
 opponent or from his character as revealed in his words and actions, or
 from external sources; for all forms of raillery come under one or other
 of these heads; if the raillery is serious, we style it as severe; if,
 on the other hand, it is of a lighter character, we regard it as
 humorous. These themes for jest may be pointed out to the eye or
 described in words or indicated by some mot.

It is only on rare occasions that it is possible to
 make them visible to the eye, as Gaius Julius did when Helvius Mancia kept clamouring against him.
 I will show you what you're like! he cried, and then,
 as Mancia persisted in asking him to do so, pointed with his finger at
 the picture of a Gaul painted on a Cimbric shield, a figure to which
 Mancia bore a striking resemblance. There were shops round the forum and
 the shield had been hung up over one of them by way of a sign.

The narration of a humorous story may often be used with clever effect
 and is a device eminently becoming to an orator. Good examples are the
 story told of Caepasius and Fabricius, which Cicero tells in the pro Cluentio, or the story told by Caelius of the
 dispute between Decimus Laelius and his colleague when they were both in
 a hurry to reach their province first. But in all such cases the whole
 narrative must possess elegance and charm, while the orator's own
 contribution to the story should be the most humorous element. Take for
 instance the way in which Cicero gives a special relish to the flight of
 Fabricius.

And so, just at the moment when he thought his speech was showing
 him at his best and he had uttered the following solemn words, words
 designed to prove a master-stroke of art, 'Look at the fortunes of
 mankind, gentlemen, look at the aged form of Gaius Fabricius,' just
 at that very moment, I say, when he had repeated the word 'look'
 several times by way of making his words all the more impressive, he
 looked himself, and found that Fabricius had slunk out of court with
 his head hanging down. I will not quote the rest of the
 passage, for it is well known. But he develops the theme still further although the plain facts amount
 simply to this, that Fabricius had left the court.

The whole of the story told by Caelius is full of wit and invention, but
 the gem of the passage is its conclusion. He followed him, but
 how he crossed the straits, whether it was in a ship or a
 fisherman's boat, no one knew; but the Sicilians, being of a lively
 turn of wit, said that he rode on a dolphin and effected his
 crossing like a second Arion. 
 Cicero

thinks that humour belongs to narrative and wit to sallies against the
 speaker's antagonist. Domitius Afer showed remarkable finish in this
 department; for, while narratives of the kind I have described are
 frequent in his speeches, several books have been published of his
 witticisms as well.

This latter form of wit lies not merely in sallies and brief displays of
 wit, but may be developed at greater length, witness the story told by
 Cicero in the second book of his de Oratore, 
 in which Lucius
 Crassus dealt with Brutus, against whom he was appearing in court.

Brutus was prosecuting Cnaeus Plancus and had produced two readers to show that Lucius Crassus, who
 was counsel for the defence, in the speech which he delivered on the
 subject of the colony of Narbo had advocated measures contrary to those
 which he recommended in speaking of the Servilian law. Crassus, in
 reply, called for three readers and gave them the dialogues of Brutus'
 father to read out. One of these dialogues was represented as taking
 place on his estate at Privernum, the second on his estate at Alba, and
 the third on his estate at Tibur. Crassus then asked where these estates
 were. Now Brutus had sold them all, and in those days it was considered
 somewhat discreditable to sell one's paternal
 acres. Similar attractive effects of narrative may be produced by the
 narration of fables or at times even of historical anecdotes.

On the other hand brevity in wit gives greater point and speed. It may
 be employed in two ways, according as we are the aggressors, or are
 replying to our opponents; the method, however, in both cases is to some
 extent the same. For there is nothing that can be said in attack that
 cannot be used in riposte.

But there are certain points which are peculiar to reply. For remarks
 designed for attack are usually brought ready-made into court, after
 long thought at home, whereas those made in reply are usually improvised
 during a dispute or the cross-examination of witnesses. But though there
 are many topics on which we may draw for our jests, I must repeat that
 not all these topics are becoming to orators:

above all doubles entendres and obscenity, such
 as is dear to the Atellan farce, are to be avoided, as also are those
 coarse jibes so common on the lips of the rabble, where the ambiguity of
 words is turned to the service of abuse. I cannot even approve of a
 similar from of jest, that sometimes slipped out even from Cicero,
 though not when he was pleading in the courts: for example, once when a
 candidate, alleged to be the son of a cook, solicited someone else's
 vote in his presence, he said, Ego quoque tibi
 favebo.

I say this not because I object absolutely to all play on words capable
 of two different meanings, but because such jests are rarely effective,
 unless they are helped out by actual facts as well as similarity of
 sound. For example, I regard the jest which Cicero
 levelled against that same Isauricus, whom I mentioned above, as being
 little less than sheer buffoonery. I wonder, he said,
 why your father, the steadiest of men, left behind him such
 a stripy gentleman as yourself.

On the other hand, the following instance of the same type of wit is
 quite admirable: when Milo's accuser, by way of proving that he had lain
 in wait for Clodius, alleged that he had put up at Bovillae before the
 ninth hour in order to wait until Clodius left his villa, and kept
 repeating the question, When was Clodius killed? , Cicero
 replied, Late! 
 a
 retort which in itself justifies us in refusing to exclude this type of
 wit altogether. Sometimes,

too, the same word may be used not merely in several senses, but in
 absolutely opposite senses. For example, Nero said
 of a dishonest slave, No one was more trusted in my house: there
 was nothing closed or sealed to him.

Such ambiguity may even go so far as to present all the appearance of a
 riddle, witness the jest that Cicero made at the expense of Pletorius,
 the accuser of Fonteius: His mother, he said, kept
 a school while she lived and masters after she was
 dead. 
 The explanation is that in
 her lifetime women of infamous character used to frequent her house,
 while after her death her property was sold. (I may note however that
 ludus, is used metaphorically in the sense of
 school, while magisiri is used ambiguously.)

A similar form of jest may be made by use of the
 figure known as metalepsis, 
 as when Fabius Maximus complained
 of the meagreness of the gifts made by Augustus to his friends, and said
 that his congiaria were heminaria: for congiarium 
 implies at once liberality and a particular measure,
 and Fabius put a slight on the liberality of Augustus by a reference to
 the measure.

This form of jest is as poor as is the invention of punning names by the
 addition, subtraction or change of letters: I find, for instance, a case
 where a certain Acisculus was called Pacisculus because of some
 compact which he had made, while one Placidus was
 nicknamed Acidus because of his sour temper, and one
 Tullius was dubbed Tollius because he
 was a thief.

Such puns are more successful with things than names. It was, for
 example, a neat hit of Afer's when he said that Manlius Sura, who kept
 rushing to and fro while he was pleading, waving his hands, letting his
 toga fall and replacing it, was not merely pleading, but giving himself
 a lot of needless trouble. For there is a
 spice of wit about the word satagere in itself,
 even if there were no resemblance to any other word.

Similar jests may be produced by the addition or removal of the
 aspirate, or by splitting up a word or joining it to another: the effect
 is generally poor, but the practice is occasionally permissible. Jests
 drawn from names are of the same type. Cicero introduces a number of
 such jests against Verres, but always as quotations 
 from others. On one occasion he says that he would sweep everything away, for his name was Verres; on
 another, that he had given more trouble to Hercules, whose temple he had
 pillaged, than was given by the Erymanthine boar ; on
 another, that he was a bad priest who had left so
 worthless a pig behind him. For Verres' predecessor was named Sacerdos.

Sometimes, however, a lucky chance may give us an opportunity of
 employing such jests with effect, as for instance when Cicero in the pro Caecina 
 says of the witness Sextus
 Clodius Phormio, He was not less black or less bold than the
 Phormio of Terence.

We may note therefore that jests which turn on the meaning of things are
 at once more pointed and more elegant. In such cases resemblances
 between things produce the best effects, more especially if we refer to
 something of an inferior or more trivial nature, as in the jests of
 which our forefathers were so fond, when they called Lentulus Spinther
 and Scipio Serapio. But such jests may be drawn
 not merely from the names of men, but from animals as well; for example
 when I was a boy, Junius Bassus, one of the wittiest of men, was
 nicknamed the white ass.

And Sarmentus compared Messius Cicirrus to a wild horse. The comparison may
 also be drawn from inanimate objects: for example Publius Blessius
 called a certain Julius, who was dark, lean and bent, the iron buckle.
 This method of raising a laugh is much in vogue to-day.

Such resemblances may be put to the service of wit
 either openly or allusively. Of the latter type is the remark of
 Augustus, made to a soldier who showed signs of timidity in presenting a
 petition, Don't hold it out as if you were giving a penny to an
 elephant.

Some of these jests turn on similarity of meaning. Of this kind was the
 witticism uttered by Vatinius when he was prosecuted by Calvus. Vatinius
 was wiping his forehead with a white handkerchief, and his accuser
 called attention to the unseemliness of the act. Whereupon Vatinius
 replied, Though I am on my trial, I go on eating white bread all
 the same.

Still more ingenious is the application of one thing to another on the
 ground of some resemblance, that is to say the adaptation to one thing
 of a circumstance which usually applies to something else, a type of
 jest which we may regard as being an ingenious form of fiction. For
 example, when ivory models of captured towns were carried in Caesar's
 triumphal procession, and a few days later wooden models of the same
 kind were carried at the triumph of Fabius Maximus, Chrysippus remarked
 that the latter were the cases for Caesar's ivory towns. And Pedo said of a heavy-armed gladiator who was pursuing another armed
 with a net and failed to strike him, He wants to catch him
 alive.

Resemblance and ambiguity may be used in conjunction: Galba for example
 said to a man who stood very much at his ease when playing ball,
 You stand as if you were one of Caesar's
 candidates. 
 The ambiguity lies in the word stand, while the indifference shewn by the player supplies the
 resemblance.

I need say no more on this form of humour. But the practice of combining
 different types of jest is very common, and those are best which are of
 this composite character. A like use may be made of dissimilarity. Thus
 a Roman knight was once drinking at tile games, and Augustus sent him
 the following message, If I want to dine, I go home. To
 which the other replied, Yes, 
 but you are not afraid of losing your seat Contraries give
 rise to more than one kind of jest. For instance the following jests
 made by Augustus and Galba differ in form. Augustus was engaged in
 dismissing an officer with dishonour from his service: the officer kept
 interrupting him with entreaties and said, What shall I say to my
 father? Augustus replied, Tell him that I fell under
 your displeasure. Galba, when a friend asked him for the
 loan of a cloak, said, I cannot lend it you, as I am going to
 stay at home, the point being that the rain was pouring
 through the roof of his garret at the time. I will add a third example,
 although out of respect to its author I withhold his name: You
 are more lustful than a eunuch, where we are surprised by
 the appearance of a word which is the very opposite of what we should
 have expected. Under the same heading, although it is quite different
 from any of the preceding, we must place the remark made by Marcus
 Vestinus when it was reported to him that a certain man was dead.
 Some day then he will cease to stink, was his reply.

But I shall overload this book with illustrations and turn it into a
 common jest-book, if I continue to quote each jest that was made by our
 forefathers. All forms of argument afford equal
 opportunity for jests. Augustus for example employed definition when he said of two ballet-dancers who were engaged
 in a contest, turn and turn about, as to who could make tile most
 exquisite gestures, that one was a dancer and the other merely
 interrupted the dancing.

Galba on the other hand made use of partition 
 when he replied to a friend who asked him for a cloak, It is not
 raining and you don't need it; if it does rain, I shall wear it
 myself. Similar material for jests is supplied by genus,
 species, property, difference, conjugates, adjuncts, antecedents,
 consequents, contraries, causes, effects, and comparisons of things
 greater, equal, or less, as it is also by all
 forms of trope.

Are not a large number of jests made by means of hyperbole? Take for instance Cicero's remark about a
 man who was remarkable for his height, He bumped his head against
 the Fabian arch, or the remark made by Publius Oppius about
 the family of the Lentuli to the effect, that since the children were
 always smaller than their parents, the race would perish by
 propagation. Again, what of irony?

Is not even the most severe form of irony a kind of jest? Afer made a
 witty use of it when he replied to Didius Callus, who, after making the
 utmost efforts to secure a provincial government, complained on
 receiving the appointment that he had been forced into accepting,
 Well, then, do something for your country's
 sake. 
 Cicero also employed metaphor to serve his jest, when on receiving a
 report of uncertain authorship to the effect that Vatinius was dead, he
 remarked, Well, for the meantime I shall 
 make use of the interest.

He also employed allegory in the witticism that
 he was fond of making about Marcus Caelius, who was better at bringing
 charges than at defending his client against them, to the effect that he
 had a good right hand, but a weak left. As an example of the use of emphasis I may quote the jest of Aulus Villius,
 that Tuccius was killed by his sword falling upon him.

Figures of thought, which the Greeks call σχήματα διανοίας, may be similarly employed, and some
 writers have classified jests under their various headings. For we ask
 questions, express doubts, make assertions, threaten, wish and speak in
 pity or in anger. And everything is laughable that is obviously a
 pretence.

It is easy to make fun of folly, for folly is laughable in itself; but
 we may improve such jests by adding something of our own. Titius Maximus
 put a foolish question to Campatius, who was leaving the theatre, when
 he asked him if he had been watching the play. No, 
 replied Campatius, I was playing ball in the stalls, 
 whereby lie made the question seem even more foolish than it actually
 was.

Refutation consists in denying, rebutting, defending or making light of
 a charge, and each of these affords scope for humour. Manius Curius, for
 example, showed humour in the way in which he denied a charge that had
 been brought against him. His accuser had produced a canvas, in every
 scene of which he was depicted either as naked and in prison or as being
 restored to freedom by his friends paying off his gambling debts. His
 only comment was, Did I never win, then?

Sometimes we rebut a charge openly, as Cicero did
 when he refuted the extravagant lies of Vibius Curius about his age:
 Well, then, he remarked, in the days when you
 and I used to practise declamation together, you were not even born.
 At other times we may rebut it by pretending to agree. Cicero,
 for example, when Fabia the wife of Dolabella asserted that her age was
 thirty, remarked, That is true, for I have heard it for the last
 twenty years.

Sometimes too it is effective to add something more biting in place of
 the charge which is denied, as was done by Junius Bassus when Domitia
 the wife of Passienus complained that by way of accusing her of meanness he
 had alleged that she even sold old shoes. No, he replied,
 I never said anything of the sort. I said you bought
 them. A witty travesty of defence was once produced by a
 Roman knight who was charged by Augustus with having squandered his
 patrimony. I thought it was my own, he answered.

As regards making light of a charge, there are two ways in which this
 may be done. We may throw cold water on the excessive boasted of our
 opponent, as was done by Gaius Caesar, when Pomponius displayed a wound in his face which he
 had received in the rebellion of Sulpicius and which he boasted he had
 received while fighting for Caesar: You should never look
 round, he retorted, when you are running
 away. Or we may do the same with some charge that is brought
 against us, as was done by Cicero when he remarked to those who
 reproached him for marrying Publilia, a young unwedded girl, when he was
 already over sixty, Well, she will be a woman
 to-morrow.

Some style this type of jest consequent and, on
 the ground that both jests seem to follow so
 naturally and inevitably, class it with the jest which Cicero levelled
 against Curio, who always began his speeches by asking indulgence for
 his youth: You will find your exordium easier every day, 
 he said.

Another method of making light of a statement is to suggest a reason.
 Cicero employed this method against Vatinius. The latter was lame and,
 wishing to make it seem that his health was improved, said that he could
 now walk as much as two miles. Yes, said Cicero,
 for the days are longer. Again Augustus, when the
 inhabitants of Tarraco reported that a palm had sprung up on the altar
 dedicated to him, replied, That shows how often you kindle fire
 upon it.

Cassius Severus showed his wit by transferring a charge made against
 himself to a different quarter. For when lie was reproached by the
 praetor on the ground that his advocates had insulted Lucius Varus, an
 Epicurean and a friend of Caesar, he replied, I do not know who
 they were who insulted him, I suppose they were Stoics. Of
 retorts there are a number of forms, the wittiest being that which is
 helped out by a certain verbal similarity, as in the retort made by
 Trachalus to Suelius. The latter had said, If that is the case,
 you go into exile : to which Trachalus replied, And
 if it is not the case, you go back into exile.

Cassius Severus baffled an opponent who reproached him with the fact
 that Proculeius had forbidden him to enter his house by replying,
 Do I ever go there? But one jest may also be defeated
 by another: for example, Augustus of blessed memory, when the Gauls gave
 him a golden necklet weighing a hundred pounds, and Dolabella, speaking
 in jest but with an eye to the success of his jest,
 said, General, give me your necklet, replied, I
 had rather give you the crown of oak leaves.

So, too, one lie may be defeated by another: Galba, for instance, when
 someone told him that he once bought a lamprey five feet long for half a
 denarius in Sicily, replied, There is nothing extraordinary in
 that: for they grow to such a length in those seas that the
 fishermen tie them round their waists in lieu of ropes! 
 Then there is the opposite of denial,

namely a feigned confession, which likewise may show no small wit. Thus
 Afer, when pleading against a freedman of Claudius Caesar and when
 another freedman called out from the opposite side of the court,
 You are always speaking against Caesar's freedmen, 
 replied, Yes, but I make precious little headway. A
 similar trick is not to deny a charge, though it is obviously false and
 affords good opportunity for an excellent reply. For example, when
 Philippus said to Catulus, Why do you bark so? the latter
 replied, 
 I see a thief.

To make jokes against oneself is scarcely fit for any save professed
 buffoons and is strongly to be disapproved in an orator. This form of
 jest has precisely the same varieties as those which we make against
 others and therefore I pass it by, although it is not infrequently
 employed.

On the other hand scurrilous or brutal jests, although they may raise a
 laugh, are quite unworthy of a gentleman. I remember a jest of this kind
 being made by a certain man against an inferior who
 had spoken with some freedom against him: I will smack your head,
 and bring an action against you for having such a hard
 skull! In such cases it is difficult to say whether the
 audience should laugh or be angry.

There remains the prettiest of all forms of humour, namely the jest
 which depends for success on deceiving anticipations or taking
 another's words in a sense other than he intended. The unexpected
 element may be employed by the attacking party, as in the example cited
 by Cicero, 
 What does this man lack
 save wealth and—virtue? or in the remark of Afer, For
 pleading causes he is most admirably—dressed. Or it may be
 employed to meet a statement made by another, as it was by Cicero on hearing a false report of Vatinius' death: he had met one of
 the latter's freedmen and asked him, Is all well? The
 freedman answered, All is well. To which Cicero replied,
 Is he dead, then?

But the loudest laughter of all is produced by simulation and
 dissimulation, proceedings which differ but little and are almost
 identical; but whereas simulation implies the pretence of having a
 certain opinion of one's own, dissimulation consists in feigning that
 one does not understand someone else's meaning. Afer employed
 simulation, when his opponents in a certain case kept saying that
 Celsina (who was an influential lady) knew all about the facts, and he,
 pretending to believe that she was a man, said, Who is
 he?

Cicero on the other hand employed dissimulation when Sextus Annalis gave
 evidence damaging to the client whom lie was defending, and the accuser
 kept pressing him with the question, Tell me, Marcus Tullius,
 what have you to say about Sextus Annalis? 
 To which he replied by beginning to recite the Sixth book of the
 Annals of Ennius, which commences with the line, 
 
 
 Who may the causes vast of war
 unfold? 
 
 Enn. 174 
 
 
 This kind of jest finds its most frequent opportunity
 in ambiguity,

as for example, when Cascellius, on being consulted by a client who said,
 I wish to divide my ship, replied, You will
 lose it then. But there are also other ways of distorting
 the meaning; we may for instance give a serious statement a
 comparatively trivial sense, like the man who, when asked what he
 thought of a man who had been caught in the act of adultery, replied
 that he had been too slow in his movements.

Of a similar nature are jests whose point lies in insinuation. Such was
 the reply which Cicero quotes as given to the
 man who complained that his wife had hung herself on a fig-tree.
 I wish, said someone, you would give me a slip
 of that tree to plant. For there the meaning is obvious,
 though it is not expressed in so many words.

Indeed the essence of all wit lies in the distortion of the true and
 natural meaning of words: a perfect instance of this is when we
 misrepresent our own or another's opinions or assert some impossibility.

Juba misrepresented another man's opinion, when he replied to one who
 complained of being bespattered by his horse, What, do you think
 I am a Centaur? 
 Gaius Cassius misrepresented his own, when he said to a soldier
 whom he saw hurrying into battle without his sword,
 Shew yourself a handy man with your fists, comrade. 
 So too did Galba, when served with some fish that had been partially
 eaten the day before and had been placed on the table with the uneaten
 sides turned uppermost: We must lose no time, he said,
 for there are people under the table at work on the other
 side. Lastly there is the jibe that Cicero made against
 Curius, which I have already cited; for it was clearly impossible that
 he should be still unborn at a time when he was already declaiming.

There is also a form of misrepresentation which has its basis in irony,
 of which a saying of Gaius Caesar will provide an example. A witness
 asserted that the accused attempted to wound him in the thighs, and
 although it would have been easy to ask him why he attacked that portion
 of his body above all others, he merely remarked, What else could
 he have done, when you had a helmet and breastplate?

Best of all is it when pretence is met by pretence, as was done in the
 following instance by Domitius Afer. He had made his will long ago, and
 one of his more recent friends, in the hopes of securing a legacy if he
 could persuade him to change it, produced a fictitious story and asked
 him whether he should advise a senior centurion who, being an old man,
 had already made his will to revise it; to which Afer replied,
 Don't do it: you will offend him.

But the most agreeable of all jests are those which are good humoured
 and easily digested. Take another example from Afer. Noting that an
 ungrateful client avoided him in the forum, he sent his servant to him to say, I hope you are
 obliged to me for not having seen you. Again when his steward, being unable to account for certain sums
 of money, kept saying, I have not eaten it: I live on bread and
 water, he replied, Master sparrow, pay what you
 owe. Such jests the Greeks style ὑπὸ
 τὸ ἦθος 
 or adapted to character.

It is a pleasant form of jest to reproach a person with less than would
 be possible, as Afer did when, in answer to a candidate who said,
 I have always shown my respect for your family, he
 replied, although he might easily have denied the statement, You
 are right, it is quite true. Sometimes it may be a good joke
 to speak of oneself, while one may often raise a laugh by reproaching a
 person to his face with things that it would have been merely
 bad-mannered to bring up against him behind his back.

Of this kind was the remark made by Augustus, when a soldier was making
 some unreasonable request and Marcianus, whom he suspected of intending
 to make some no less unfair request, turned up at the same moment:
 I will no more grant your request, comrade, than I will that
 which Marcianus is just going to make.

Apt quotation of verse may add to the effect of wit. The lines may be
 quoted in their entirety without alteration, which is so easy a task
 that Ovid composed an entire book against bad poets out of lines taken
 from the quatrains of Macer. Such a
 procedure is rendered specially attractive if it be seasoned by a spice
 of ambiguity, as in the line which Cicero quoted against Lartius, a
 shrewd and cunning fellow who was suspected of unfair dealing in a
 certain case, 
 
 
 Had not Ulysses Lartius
 intervened. 
 
 The author, presumably a tragic poet, is
 unknown. Lartis= Luertius, son of
 Laertes. 
 
 Or the words may be slightly altered, as in the line
 quoted against the senator who,

although he had always in previous times been
 regarded as an utter fool, was, after inheriting an estate, asked to
 speak first on a motion— 
 
 
 What men call wisdom is a legacy, 
 
 Probably from a lost comedy. 
 
 where legacy is substituted
 for the original faculty. Or again we may invent
 verses resembling well known lines, a trick styled parody by the Greeks.
 A neat application of proverbs may also be effective,

as when one man replied to another, a worthless fellow, who had fallen
 down and asked to be helped to his feet, Let someone pick you up
 who does not know you. 
 Or we may shew our
 culture by drawing on legend for a jest, as Cicero did in the trial of
 Verres, when Hortensius said to him as he was examining a witness,
 I do not understand these riddles. 
 You ought
 to, then, said Cicero, as you have got the Sphinx at
 home. Hortensius had received a bronze Sphinx of great value
 as a present from Verres.

Effects of mild absurdity are produced by the simulation of folly and
 would, indeed, themselves, be foolish were they not fictitious. Take as
 an example the remark of the man who, when people wondered why he had
 bought a stumpy candlestick, said, It will do for
 lunch. 
 There are also sayings closely resembling absurdities which
 derive great point from their sheer irrelevance, like the reply of
 Dolabella's slave, who, on being asked whether his master had advertised
 a sale of his property, answered, He has sold his
 house. 
 
 Sometimes you may get out of a tight
 comer by giving a humorous explanation of your embarrassment,

as the man did who asked a witness, who alleged that lie had been
 wounded by the accused, whether he had any scar to show for it. The
 witness proceeded to show a huge scar on his thigh, on which lie
 remarked, I wish he had wounded you in the side. 
 A happy use may also
 be made of insult. Hispo, for example, when the accuser charged him with
 scandalous crimes, replied, You judge my character by your
 own ; while Fulvius Propinquus, when asked by the
 representative of the emperor whether the documents which he produced
 were autographs, replied, Yes, Sir, and the handwriting is
 genuine, too!

Such I have either learned from others or discovered from my own
 experience to be the commonest sources of humour. But I must repeat that
 the number of ways in which one may speak wittily are of no less
 infinite variety than those in which one may speak seriously, for they
 depend on persons, place, time and chances, which are numberless.

I have, therefore, touched on the topics of humour that I may not be
 taxed with having omitted them; but with regard to my remarks on the
 actual practice and manner of jesting, I venture to assert that they are
 absolutely indispensable. To these Domitius Marsus, who wrote an
 elaborate treatise on Urbanity, adds several
 types of saying, which are not laughable, but rather elegant sayings
 with a certain charm and attraction of their own, which are suitable
 even to speeches of the most serious kind: they are characterized by a
 certain urbane wit, but not of a kind to raise a laugh.

And as a matter of fact his work was not designed
 to deal with humour, but with urbane wit, a
 quality which he regards as peculiar to this city, though it was not
 till a late period that it was understood in this sense, after the word
 Urbs had come to be accepted as indicating
 Rome without the addition of any proper noun. He defines it as follows:

Urbanity is a certain quality of language compressed into the
 limits of a brief saying and adapted to delight and move men to
 every kind of emotion, but specially suitable to resistance or
 attack according as the person or circumstances concerned may
 demand. But this definition, if we except the quality of
 brevity, includes all the virtues of oratory. For it is entirely
 concerned with persons and things to deal with which in appropriate
 language is nothing more nor less than the task of perfect eloquence.
 Why he insisted on brevity being essential I do not know,

since in the same book he asserts that many speakers have revealed their
 urbanity in narrative. And a little later he
 gives the following definition, which is, as he says, based on the views
 expressed by Cato: Urbanity is the characteristic of a man who
 has produced many good sayings and replies, and who, whether in
 conversation, in social or convivial gatherings, in public speeches,
 or under any other circumstances, will speak with humour and
 appropriateness. If any orator do this, he will undoubtedly succeed
 in making his audience laugh.

But if we accept these definitions, we shall have to allow the title of
 urbane to anything that is well said. It was
 natural therefore that the author of this definition should classify
 such sayings under three heads, serious, humorous and intermediate,
 since all good sayings may be thus classified. But,
 in my opinion, there are certain forms of humorous saying that may be
 regarded as not possessing sufficient urbanity.

For to my thinking urbanity involves the total
 absence of all that is incongruous, coarse, unpolished and exotic
 whether in thought, language, voice or gesture, and resides not so much
 in isolated sayings as in the whole complexion of our language, just as
 for the Greeks Atticism means that elegance of
 taste which was peculiar to Athens.

However, out of respect to the judgment of Marsus, who was a man of the
 greatest learning, I will add that he divides serious utterances into
 three classes, the honorific, the derogatory and the intermediate. As an
 example of the honorific he quotes the words uttered by Cicero in the
 pro Ligario 
 with reference to Caesar,
 You who forget nothing save injuries.

The derogatory he illustrates by the words used by Cicero of Pompey and
 Caesar in a letter to Atticus: 
 I
 know whom to avoid, but whom to follow I know not. Finally,
 he illustrates the intermediate, which he calls apophthegmatic (as it
 is), by the passage from Cicero's speech against Catiline where he says,
 Death can never be grievous to the brave nor premature for
 one who has been consul nor a calamity to one that is truly wise.
 All these are admirable sayings, but what special title they
 have to be called urbane I do not see.

If it is not merely, as I think, the whole complexion of our oratory
 that deserves this title, but if it is to be claimed for individual
 sayings as well, I should give the name only to those sayings that are
 of the same general character as humorous sayings, without actually
 being humorous. I will give an illustration of what
 I mean. It was said of Asinius Pollio, who had equal gifts for being
 grave or gay, that he was a man for all hours,

and of a pleader who was a fluent speaker extempore, that his
 ability was all in ready money. Of the same kind, too, was
 the remark recorded by Marsus as having been made by Pompey to Cicero
 when the latter expressed distrust of his party: Go over to
 Caesar and you will be afraid of me. Had this last remark
 been uttered on a less serious subject and with less serious purpose, or
 had it not been uttered by Pompey himself, we might have counted it
 among examples of humour.

I may also add the words used by Cicero in a letter to Caerellia to explain why he endured the
 supremacy of Caesar so patiently: These ills must either be
 endured with the courage of Cato or the stomach of Cicero, 
 for here again the word stomach has a spice of humour in
 it. I felt that I ought not to conceal my feelings on this point. If I
 am wrong in my views, I shall not, at any rate, lead my readers astray,
 since I have stated the opposite view as well, which they are at liberty
 to adopt if they prefer it.

IV. With regard to the principles to be
 observed in forensic debate, it
 might seem that I should delay such instructions until I had finished
 dealing with all the details of continuous speaking, since such debates
 come after the set speeches are done. But since the art of debate turns
 on invention alone, does not admit of arrangement, has little need for
 the embellishments of style, and makes no large demand on memory or
 delivery, I think that it will not be out of place to deal with it here
 before I proceed to the second of the five parts, since it is entirely dependent on the first. Other writers have
 omitted to deal with it on the ground perhaps that they thought the
 subject had been sufficiently covered by their precepts on other topics.

For debate consists in attack and defence, on which enough has already
 been said, since whatever is useful in a continuous speech for the
 purpose of proof must necessarily be of service in this brief and
 discontinuous form of oratory. For we say the same things in debate,
 though we say them in a different manner, since debate consists of
 questions and replies, a topic with which we have dealt fairly
 exhaustively in connexion with the examination of witnesses.

But since this work is designed on an ample scale and since no one can
 be called a perfect orator unless he be an expert debater, we must
 devote a little special attention to this accomplishment as well, which
 as a matter of fact is not seldom the deciding factor in a forensic
 victory.

For just as the continuous speech is the predominant weapon in general
 questions of quality (where the inquiry is as to whether an act was
 right or wrong), and as a rule is adequate to clear up questions of
 definition and almost all those in which the facts are ascertained or
 inferred by conjecture from artificial proof, so on the other hand those
 cases, which are the most frequent of all and depend on proofs which are
 either entirely inartificial or of a composite character, give rise to the most
 violent debates; in fact I should say that there is no occasion when the
 advocate has to come to closer grips with his adversary.

For all the strongest points of the argument have to be sharply
 impressed on the memory of the judge, while we have also to make good
 all the promises we may have made in the course of
 our speech and to refute the lies of our opponents. There is no point of
 a trial where the judge's attention is keener. And even mediocre
 speakers have not without some reason acquired the reputation of being
 good advocates simply by their excellence in debate.

Some on the other hand think they have done their duty to their clients
 by an ostentatious and fatiguing display of elaborate declamation and
 straightway march out of court attended by an applauding crowd and leave
 the desperate battle of debate to uneducated performers who often are of
 but humble origin.

As a result in private suits you will generally find that different
 counsel are employed to plead and to prove the case. If the duties of
 advocacy are to be thus divided, the latter duty must surely be
 accounted the more important of the two, and it is a disgrace to oratory
 that inferior advocates should be regarded as adequate to render the
 greater service to the litigants. In public cases at any rate the actual
 pleader is cited by the usher as well as the other advocates.

For debate the chief requisites are a quick and nimble understanding and
 a shrewd and ready judgment. For there is no time to think; the advocate
 must speak at once and return the blow almost before it has been dealt
 by his opponent. Consequently while it is most important for every
 portion of the case that the advocate should not merely have given a
 careful study to the whole case, but that he should have it at his
 fingers' ends, when he comes to the debate it is absolutely necessary
 that he should possess a thorough acquaintance with all the persons,
 instruments and circumstances of time and place involved: otherwise he
 will often be reduced to silence and forced to give
 a hurried assent to those who prompt him as to what he should say,
 suggestions which are often perfectly fatuous owing to excess of zeal on
 the part of the prompter. As a result it sometimes happens that we are
 put to the blush by too ready acceptance of the foolish suggestions of
 another.

Moreover, we have to deal with others beside these prompters who speak
 for our ear alone. Somego so far as to turn the debate into an open
 brawl. For you may sometimes see several persons shouting angrily at the
 judge and telling him that the arguments thus suggested are contrary to
 the truth, and calling his attention to the fact that some point which
 is prejudicial to the case has been deliberately passed over in silence.

Consequently the skilled debater must be able to control his tendency to
 anger; there is no passion that is a greater enemy to reason, while it
 often leads an advocate right away from the point and forces him both to
 use gross and insulting language and to receive it in return;
 occasionally it will even excite him to such an extent as to attack the
 judges. Moderation, and sometimes even longsuffering, is the better
 policy, for the statements of our opponents have not merely to be
 refuted: they are often best treated with contempt, made light of or
 held up to ridicule, methods which afford unique opportunity for the
 display of wit. This injunction, however, applies only so long as the
 case is conducted with order and decency: if, on the other hand, our
 opponents adopt turbulent methods we must put on a bold front and resist
 their impudence with courage.

For there are some advocates so brazen-faced that they bluster and
 bellow at us, interrupt us in the middle of a sentence and try to throw everything into confusion. While,
 then, it would be wrong to pay them the compliment of imitation, we must
 none the less repel their onslaughts with vigour by crushing their
 insolence and making frequent appeals to the judges or presiding
 magistrates to insist on the observance of the proper order of speaking.
 The debater's task is not one that suits a meek temper or excessive
 modesty, and we are apt to be misled because that which is really
 weakness is dignified by the name of honesty.

But the quality which is the most serviceable in debate is acumen, which
 while it is not the result of art (for natural gifts cannot be taught),
 may none the less be improved by art.

In this connexion the chief essential is never for a moment to lose
 sight either of the question at issue or the end which we have in view.
 If we bear this in mind, we shall never descend to mere brawling nor
 waste the time allotted to the case by indulging in abuse, while we
 shall rejoice if our adversary does so.

Those who have given a careful study to the arguments that are likely to
 be produced by their opponents or the replies which may be made by
 themselves are almost always ready for the fray. There is, however, a
 further device available which consists in suddenly introducing into the
 debate arguments which were deliberately concealed in our set speech: it
 is a procedure which resembles a surprise attack or a sally from an
 ambush. The occasion for its employment arises when there is some point
 to which it is difficult to improvise an answer, though it would not be
 difficult to meet if time were allowed for consideration. For solid and
 irrefutable arguments are best produced at once in
 the actual pleading in order that they may be repeated and treated at
 greater length.

I think I need hardly insist on the necessity for the avoidance in
 debate of mere violence and noise and such forms of pleasantry as are
 dear to tile uneducated. For unscrupulous violence, although annoying to
 one's antagonist, makes an unpleasant impression on the judge. It is
 also bad policy to light hard for points which you cannot prove.

For where defeat is inevitable, it is wisest to yield, since, if there
 are a number of other points in dispute, we shall find it easier to
 prove what remains, while if there is only one point at issue, surrender
 with a good grace will generally secure some mitigation of punishment.
 For obstinacy in the defence of a fault, more especially after
 detection, is simply the commission of a fresh fault.

While the battle still rages, the task of luring on our adversary when
 he has once committed himself to error, and of forcing him to commit
 himself as deeply as possible, even to the extent at times of being
 puffed up with extravagant hopes of success, requires great prudence and
 skill. It is, therefore, wise to conceal some of our weapons: for our
 opponents will often press their attack and stake everything on some
 imagined weakness of our own, and will give fresh weight to our proofs
 by the instancy with which they demand us to produce them.

It may even be expedient to yield ground which the enemy thinks
 advantageous to himself: for in grasping at the fancied advantage he may
 be forced to surrender some greater advantage: at times, too, it may
 serve our purpose to give him a choice between two alternatives, neither
 of which he can select without damage to his cause.
 Such a course is more effective in debate than in a set speech, for the
 reason that in the latter we reply to ourselves, while in the former our opponent replies, and thereby delivers
 himself into our hands. It is, above all,

the mark of a shrewd debater to perceive what remarks impress the judge
 and what he rejects: this may often be detected from his looks, and
 sometimes from some action or utterance. Arguments which help us must be
 pressed home, while it will be wise to withdraw as gently as possible
 from such as are of no service. We may take a lesson from doctors who
 continue or cease to administer remedies according as they note that
 they are received or rejected by the stomach. Sometimes,

if we find difficulty in developing our point, it is desirable to raise
 another question and to divert the attention of the judge to it if this
 be feasible. For what can you do, if you are unable to answer an
 argument, save invent another to which your opponent can give no answer?

In most respects the rules to be observed in debate are, as I have said,
 identical with
 those for the cross examination of witnesses, the only difference lying
 in the fact that the debate is a battle between advocates, whereas
 cross-examination is a fight between advocate and witness. To practise
 the art of debate is, however, far easier. For it is most profitable to
 agree with a fellow-student on some subject, real or fictitious, and to
 take different sides, debating it as would be done in the courts. The
 same may also be done with the simpler class of questions.

I would further have an advocate realise the order in which his proofs should be presented to the judge: the method to be
 followed is the same as in arguments: the strongest should be placed
 first and last. For those which are presented first dispose the judge to
 believe us, and those which come last to decide in our favour.

V. Having
 dealt with these points to the best of my ability, I should have had no
 hesitation in proceeding to discuss arrangement, which is logically the
 next consideration, did I not fear that, since there are some who
 include judgment under the head of invention, they might think that I
 had deliberately omitted all discussion of judgment, although personally
 I regard it as so inextricably blent with and involved in every portion
 of this work, that its influence extends even to single sentences or
 words, and it is no more possible to teach it than it is to instruct the
 powers of taste and smell.

Consequently, all I can do is now and hereafter to show what should be
 done or avoided in each particular case, with a view thereby to guide
 the judgment. What use then is it for me to lay down general rules to
 the effect that we should not attempt impossibilities, that we should
 avoid whatever contradicts our case or is common to both, and shun all
 incorrectness or obscurity of style? In all these cases it is common
 sense that must decide, and common sense cannot be taught.

There is no great difference, in my opinion, between judgment and
 sagacity, except that the former deals with evident facts, while the
 latter is concerned with hidden facts or such as have not yet been
 discovered or still remain in doubt. Again judgment is more often than
 not a matter of certainty, while sagacity is a form
 of reasoning from deep-lying premises, which generally weighs and
 compares a number of arguments and in itself involves both invention and
 judgment.

But here again you must not expect me to lay down any general rules. For
 sagacity depends on circumstances and will often find its scope in
 something preceding the pleading of the cause. For instance in the
 prosecution of Verres Cicero seems to have shown the highest sagacity in
 preferring to cut down the time available for his speech rather than
 allow the trial to be postponed to the following year when Quintus
 Hortensius was to be consul.

And again in the actual pleading sagacity holds the first and most
 important place. For it is the duty of sagacity to decide what we should
 say and what we should pass by in silence or postpone; whether it is
 better to deny an act or to defend it, when we should employ an exordium
 and on what lines it should be designed, whether we should make a
 statement of facts and if so, how, whether we should base our plea on
 law or equity and what is the best order to adopt, while it must also
 decide on all the nuances of style, and settle whether it is expedient
 to speak harshly, gently or even with humility.

But I have already given advice on all these points as far as each
 occasion permitted, and I shall continue to do the same in the
 subsequent portions of this work. In the meantime, however, I will give
 a few instances to make my meaning clearer, since it is not possible, in
 my opinion, to do so by laying down general rules.

We praise Demosthenes for his sagacity because
 when he urged a policy of war upon the Athenians after they had met with
 a series of reverses, he pointed out that so far
 their action had been entirely irrational. For they might still make
 amends for their negligence, whereas, if they had made no mistakes, they
 would have had no ground for hopes of better success in the future.
 Again,

since he feared to give offence if he taxed the people with lack of
 energy in defending the liberties of their country, he preferred to
 praise their ancestors for their courageous policy. Thus lie gained a
 ready hearing, with the natural result that the pride which they felt in
 the heroic past made them repent of their own degenerate behaviour.

If we turn to Cicero, we shall find that one speech alone, the pro Cluenltio, will suffice to provide a number
 of examples. The difficulty is to know what special exhibition of
 sagacity to admire most in this speech. His opening statement of the
 case, by which he discredited the mother whose authority pressed so
 hardly on her son? The fact that he preferred to throw the charge of having
 bribed the jury back upon his opponents rather than deny it on account
 of what he calls the notorious infamy of the verdict? Or his recourse,
 last of all, to the support of the law in spite of the odious nature of
 the affair, a method by which lie would have set the judges against him
 but for the fact that he had already softened their feelings towards
 him? Or the skill which lie shows in
 stating that he has adopted this course in spite of the protests of his
 client?

What again am I to select as an outstanding instance of his sagacity in
 the pro Milone? The fact that he refrains from
 proceeding to his statement of facts until he has cleared the ground by
 disposing of the previous verdicts against the accused? The manner in which he turns the odium of the attempted ambush against Clodius,
 although as a matter of fact the encounter was a pure chance? The way in
 which he at one and the same time praised the actual deed and showed
 that it was forced upon his client? Or the skill with which he avoided
 making Milo plead for consideration and undertook the role of suppliant
 himself? It would be an endless task to quote all the instances of
 his sagacity, how he discredited Cotta, how
 he put forward his own case in defence of Ligarius and saved Cornelius
 by his bold admission of the facts. It is enough, I
 think,

to say that there is nothing not merely in oratory, but in all the tasks
 of life that is more important than sagacity and that without it all
 formal instruction is given in vain, while prudence unsupported by
 learning will accomplish more than learning unsupported by prudence. It
 is sagacity again that teaches us to adapt our speech to circumstances
 of time and place and to the persons with whom we are concerned. But
 since this topic covers a wide field and is intimately connected with
 eloquence itself, I shall reserve my treatment of it till I come to give
 instructions on the subject of appropriateness in speaking.

I think that enough has been said on the subject of invention. For I
 have dealt not merely with the methods by which we may instruct the
 judge, but also with the means of appealing to his emotions. But just as
 it is not sufficient for those who are erecting a building merely to
 collect stone and timber and other building materials, but skilled
 masons are required to arrange and place them, so in speaking, however
 abundant the matter may be, it will merely form a confused heap unless
 arrangement be employed to reduce it to order and to give it connexion
 and firmness of structure.

Nor is it without good reason that arrangement is treated as the second
 of the five departments of oratory, since without it the
 first is useless. For the fact that all the limbs of a statue have been
 cast does not make it a statue: they must be put together; and if you
 were to interchange some one portion of our bodies or of those of other
 animals with another, although the body would be in possession of all
 the same members as before, you would none the less
 have produced a monster. Again even a slight dislocation will deprive a
 limb of its previous use and vigour, and disorder in the ranks will
 impede the movements of an army.

Nor can I regard as an error the assertion that order is essential to
 the existence of nature itself, for without order everything would go to
 wrack and ruin. Similarly if oratory lack this virtue, it cannot fail to
 be confused, but will be like a ship drifting without a helmsman, will
 lack cohesion, will fall into countless repetitions and omissions, and,
 like a traveller who has lost his way in unfamiliar country, will be
 guided solely by chance without fixed purpose or the least idea either
 of starting-point or goal.

The whole of this book, therefore, will be devoted to arrangement, an
 art the acquisition of which would never have been such a rarity, had it
 been possible to lay down general rules which would suit all subjects.
 Put since cases in the courts have always presented an infinite variety,
 and will continue to do so, and since through all the centuries there
 has never been found one single case which was exactly like any other,
 the pleader must rely upon his sagacity, keep his eyes open, exercise
 his powers of invention and judgment and look to himself for advice. On
 the other hand, I do not deny that there are some points which are
 capable of demonstration and which accordingly I shall be careful not to
 pass by.

Division, as I have already stated, means the
 division of a group of things into its component parts, partition is the separation of an individual
 whole into its elements, order the correct
 disposition of things in such a way that what follows
 coheres with what precedes, while arrangement is
 the distribution of things and parts to the places which it is expedient
 that they should occupy.

But we must remember that arrangement is
 generally dependent on expediency, and that the same question will not
 always be discussed first by both parties. An example of what I mean, to
 quote no others, is provided by Demosthenes and Aeschines, who adopt a
 different order in the trial of Ctesiphon, since the accuser begins by
 dealing with the legal question involved, in which he thought he had the
 advantage, whereas the advocate for the defence treats practically every
 other topic before coming to the question of law, with a view to
 preparing the judges for a consideration of the legal aspect of the
 case.

For it will often be expedient for the parties to place different points
 first; otherwise the pleading would always be determined by the good
 pleasure of the prosecution. Finally, in a case of mutual accusation,
 where both parties have to
 defend themselves before accusing their antagonist, the order of
 everything must necessarily be different. I shall therefore set forth
 the method adopted by myself, about which I have never made any mystery:
 it is the result in part of instruction received from others, in part of
 my own reasoning.

When engaged in forensic disputes I made it a point to make myself
 familiar with every circumstance connected with the case. (In the schools, of course, the facts of
 the case are definite and limited in number and are moreover set out
 before we begin to declaim: the Greeks call them themes, which Cicero translates by propositions. ) When I had
 formed a general idea of these circumstances, I proceeded to consider
 them quite as much from my opponent's point of view as from my own.

The first point which I set myself to determine (it is easy enough to
 state, but is still all-important) was what each party desired to
 establish and then what means he was likely to adopt to that end. My
 method was as follows. I considered what the prosecutor would say first:
 his point must either be admitted or controversial: if admitted, no
 question could arise in this connexion.

I therefore passed to the answer of the defence and considered it from
 the same standpoint: even there the point was sometimes one that was
 admitted. It was not until the parties ceased to agree that any question
 arose. 'fake for example the following case. You killed a
 man. 
 Yes, I killed him. Agreed, I pass to the
 defence,

which has to produce the motive for the homicide. It is
 lawful, lie urges, to kill an adulterer with his
 paramour. Another admitted point, for there is no doubt
 about the law. We must look for a third point where the two parties are
 at variance. They were not adulterers, say the
 prosecution; They were, say the defence. Here then is the
 question at issue: there is a doubt as to the facts, and it is therefore
 a question of conjecure. 
 Sometimes even
 the third point may be admitted;

it is granted that they were adulterers. But, says the
 accuser, you had no right to kill them, for you were an
 exile or had forfeited your civil rights. The
 question is now one of law. On the other hand, if when the prosecution
 says, You killed them, the defence at once replies,
 I did not, the issue is raised without more delay.
 If it requires some search to discover where the
 dispute really begins, we must consider what constitutes the first
 question. The charge may be simple,

as for example Rabirius killed Saturninus, 
 or complex like the following: The offence
 committed by Lucius Varenus falls under the law of assassination for
 he procured the murder of Gaius Varenus, the wounding of Gnaeus
 Varenus and also the murder of Salarius. 
 In the latter case there will be a number of
 propositions, a statement which also applies to civil suits as well. But
 in a complex case there may be a number of questions and bases : for instance the accused may
 deny one fact, justify another and plead technical grounds to show that a third fact is not actionable. In such
 cases the pleader will have to consider what requires refutation and
 where that refutation should be placed.

As regards the prosecutor, I do not altogether disagree with Celsus,
 who, though no doubt in so doing he is following the practice of Cicero,
 insists with some vehemence on the view that the first place should be
 given to some strong argument, but that the strongest should be reserved
 to the end, while the weaker arguments should be placed in the middle,
 since the judge has to be moved at the beginning and forcibly impelled
 to a decision at the end. But with the defence it is different:

the strongest arguments as a rule require to be disposed of first, for
 fear that the judge through having his thoughts fixed on those arguments
 should regard the defence of other points with disfavour. Sometimes,
 however, this order is subject to alteration; for example if the minor
 arguments are obviously false and the refutation of the most serious
 argument a matter of some difficulty, we should
 attack it last of all, after discrediting the prosecution by
 demonstrating the falsity of the former, thereby disposing the judges to
 believe that all their arguments are equally unreliable. We shall,
 however, require to preface our remarks by explaining why we postpone
 dealing with the most serious charge, and by promising that we will deal
 with it at a later stage: otherwise the fact that we do not dispose of
 it at once may give the impression that we are afraid of it.

Charges brought against the past life of the accused should generally be
 dealt with first in order that the judge may be well disposed to listen
 to our defence on that point on which lie has to give his verdict. But
 Cicero in the pro Vareno postpones his treatment
 of such charges to the conclusion, being guided not by the general rule,
 but by the special circumstances of the case.

When the accusation is simple, we must consider whether to give a single
 answer to the charge or several. In the former case, we must decide
 whether the question is one of fact or of law: if it is one of fact, we
 must deny the fact or justify it: if, on the other hand, it is a
 question of law, we must decide on what special point the dispute arises
 and whether the question turns on the letter or the intention of the
 law.

We shall do this by considering what the law is which gives rise to the
 dispute, that is to say under what law the court has been constituted.
 In scholastic themes, for example, the laws are sometimes stated merely
 with a view to connecting the arguments of the cases. Take the following
 case: A father who recognises a son whom he has exposed in
 infancy, shall only take him back after paying for his keep. A
 disobedient son may be disinherited. A man who
 took back a son whom he had exposed orders him to marry a wealthy
 neighbour. The son desires to marry the daughter of the poor man who
 brought him up.

The law about children who have been exposed affords scope for emotional
 treatment, while the decision of the court turns on the law of
 disinheritance. On the other hand, a
 question may turn on more laws than one, as in cases of ἀντινομία or contradictory laws. It is by consideration of such points as
 these that we shall be able to determine the point of law out of which
 the dispute arises.

As an example of complex defence I may quote the pro
 Rabirio: 
 If he had killed him, he would have been
 justified in so doing: but he did not kill him. But when we
 advance a number of points in answer to a single proposition, we must
 first of all consider everything that can be said on the subject, and
 then decide which out of these points it is expedient to select and
 where to put them forward. My views on this subject are not identical
 with those which I admitted a little while ago on the subject of propositions and on that of arguments 
 in the section which I devoted to proofs, 
 to the effect
 that we may sometimes begin with the strongest.

For when we are defending, there should always be an increase of force
 in the treatment of questions and we should proceed from the weaker to
 the stronger, whether the points we raise are of the same or of a
 different character.

Questions of law will often arise from one ground of dispute after
 another, whereas questions of fact are always concerned with one point;
 
 but the order to be
 followed is the same in both cases. We must, however, deal first with
 points that differ in character. In such cases the weakest should always
 be handled first, for the reason that there are occasions when after
 discussing a question we make a concession or present of it to our
 opponents: for we cannot pass on to others without dropping those which
 come first.

This should be done in such a way as to give the impression not that we
 regard the points as desperate, but that we have deliberately dropped
 them because we can prove our case without them. Suppose that the agent
 for a certain person claims the interest on a loan as due under an
 inheritance. The question may here arise whether such a claim can be
 made by an agent. Assume that, after discussing the question,

we drop it or that the argument is refuted. We then raise the question
 whether the person in whose name the action is brought has the right to
 employ an agent. Let us yield this point also. 
 The case will still admit of our raising the question whether the person
 in whose name the suit is brought is heir to the person to whom the
 interest was due and again whether he is sole heir.

Grant these points also and we can still raise the question whether the
 sum is due at all? On the other hand, no one will be so insane as to
 drop what he considers his strongest point and pass to others of minor
 importance. The following case from a scholastic theme is of a similar
 character. You may not disinherit your adopted son. And if you
 may disinherit him quâ adopted son, you may
 not disinherit one who is so brave. And if you may disinherit one
 who is so brave, you may not disinherit him because he has not obeyed your every command; and if he was
 bound to obey you in all else, you may not disinherit him on the
 ground of his choice of a reward; and even if the choice of a reward
 may give just ground for disinheriting, that is not true of such a
 choice as he actually made. 
 
 Such is the
 nature of dissimilarity where points of law are concerned. Where,
 however, the question is one of fact, there may be several points all
 tending to the same result, of which some may be dropped as not
 essential to the main issue, as for instance if a man accused of theft
 should say to his accuser, Prove that you had the property,
 prove that you lost it, prove that it was stolen, prove that it was
 stolen by me. The first three can be dropped, but not the
 last. I used also to employ the following method.

I went back from the ultimate species (which
 generally contains the vital point of the case) to the first general
 question or descended from the genus to the
 ultimate species, 
 applying this method even to
 deliberative themes.

For example, Numa is deliberating whether to accept the crown offered
 him by the Romans. First he considers the general question, Ought
 I to be a king? Then, Ought I to be king in a
 foreign state? Ought I to be king at Rome? Are the Romans likely to
 put up with such a king as myself? So too in controversial
 themes. Suppose a brave man to choose another man's wife as his reward.
 The ultimate species is found in the question
 whether lie is allowed to choose another man's wife. The general question is whether he should be given
 whatever he chooses. Next come questions such as whether he can choose
 his reward from the property of private individuals, whether he can choose a bride as his reward, and if so, whether
 he can choose one who is already married.

But in our search for such questions we follow an order quite different
 from that which we employ in actual speaking. 
 For that which as a rule occurs to us first, is just that which ought to
 come last in our speech: as for instance the conclusion, You have
 no right to choose another man's wife. Consequently undue
 haste will spoil our division of the subject. We must not therefore be
 content with the thoughts that first offer themselves, but should press
 our inquiry further till we reach conclusions such as that he ought not
 even to choose a widow: a further advance is made when we reach the
 conclusion that be should choose nothing that is private property, or
 last of all we may go back to the question next in order to the general
 question, and conclude that he should choose nothing inequitable.

Consequently after surveying our opponent's proposition, an easy task,
 we should consider, if possible, what it is most natural to answer
 first. And, if we imagine the case as being actually pleaded and
 ourselves as under the necessity of making a reply, that answer will
 probably suggest itself. On the other hand,

if this is impossible, we should put aside whatever first occurs to us and reason with ourselves as
 follows: What if this were not the case? We must then
 repeat the process a second and a third time and so on, until nothing is
 left for consideration. Thus we shall examine even minor points, by our
 treatment of which we may perhaps make the judge all the better disposed
 to us when we come to the main issue.

The rule that we should descend from the common 
 to the particular is much the same, since what is common is usually general. For example, He killed a
 tyrant is common, while A
 tyrant was killed by his son, by a woman or by his wife are
 all particular.

I used also to note down separately whatever was admitted both by my
 opponent and myself, provided it suited my purpose, and not merely to
 press any admissions that he might make, but to multiply them by
 partition, as for example in the following controversial theme:— 
 A general, who had stood against his father as a candidate and
 defeated him, was captured: the envoys who went to ransom him met
 his father returning from the enemy. He said to the envoys, 'You are
 too late.' They searched the
 father and found gold in his pockets. They pursued their journey and
 found the general crucified. He cried to them, ' Beware of the
 traitor.' The father is accused. What points are admitted
 by both parties? We were told that there had been treason and
 told it by the general. We try to find the traitor. 
 You admit that you went to the enemy, that you did so by stealth,
 that you returned unscathed, that you brought back gold and had it
 concealed about your person.

For an act of the accused may sometimes be stated in such a way as to
 tell heavily against him, and if our statement makes a real impression
 on the mind of the judge, it may serve to close his ears to all that is
 urged by the defence. For as a general rule it is of advantage to the
 accuser to mass his facts together and to the defence to separate them.
 I used also, with reference to the whole material of the case, to do
 what I have already mentioned as being done with arguments, namely, after first
 setting forth all the facts without exception, I
 then disposed of all of them with the one exception of the fact which I
 wished to be believed. For example, in charges of collusion it may be
 argued as follows.

The means for securing the acquittal of an accused person are
 strictly limited. His innocence may be established, some superior
 authority may intervene, force or bribery may be employed, his guilt
 may be difficult to prove, or there may be collusion between the
 advocates. You admit that he was guilty; no superior authority
 intervened, no violence was used and you make no complaint that the
 jury was bribed, while there was no difficulty about proving his
 guilt. What conclusion is left to us save that there was collusion?

If I could not dispose of all the points against me, I disposed of the
 majority. It is acknowledged that a man was killed: but he was
 not killed in a solitary place, such as might lead me to suspect
 that he was the victim of robbers; he was not killed for the sake of
 plunder, for nothing was taken from him; he was not killed in the
 hope of inheriting his property, for he was poor: the motive must
 therefore have been hatred, since you are his enemy.

The task not merely of division, but of invention as well, is rendered
 materially easier by this method of examining all possible arguments and
 arriving at the best by a process of elimination. Milo is accused of
 killing Clodius. Either he did or did not do the deed. The best policy
 would be to deny the fact, but that is impossible. It is admitted then
 that he killed him. The act must then have been either right or wrong.
 We urge that it was right. If so, the act must have either been
 deliberate or under compulsion of necessity, for it
 is impossible to plead ignorance.

The intention is doubtful, but as it is generally supposed to have
 existed, some attempt must he made to defend it and to show that it was
 for the good of the state. On the other hand, if we plead necessity, we
 shall argue that the fight was accidental and unpremeditated. One of the
 two parties then must have lain in wait for the other. Which was it?
 Clodius without doubt. Do you see how inevitably we are led to the right
 method of defence by the logical necessity of the facts?

We may carry the process further: either he wished to kill Clodius, who
 lay in wait for him, or he did not. The safer course is to argue that he
 did not wish to kill him. It was then the slaves of Milo who did the
 deed without Milo's orders or knowledge. But this line of defence shows
 a lack of courage and lessens the weight of our argument that Clodius
 was rightly killed.

We shall therefore add the words, As every man would have wished
 his slaves to do under similar circumstances. 
 This method is all the more useful from the
 fact that often we can find nothing to say that really pleases us and
 yet have got to say something. Let us therefore consider every possible
 point; for thus we shall discover what is the best line for us to
 pursue, or at any rate what is least bad. Sometimes, as I have already
 said in the appropriate context, we may make good use of the statement of our opponent, since
 occasionally it is equally to the purpose of both parties. I am aware
 that some authors have written thousands of lines to show how we may
 discover which party ought to speak first. But in the actual practice of the courts this is decided either by
 some brutally rigid formula, or by the character of the suit, or finally
 by lot.

In the schools, on the other hand, such an enquiry is mere waste of
 time, since the prosecution and the defence are indifferently permitted
 to state a case and refute it in the same declamation. But in the
 majority of controversial themes it is not even possible to discover who
 should speak first, as for instance in the following: A certain
 man had three sons, an orator, a philosopher and a physician. In his
 will he divided his property into four portions, three of which he
 distributed equally among his sons, while the fourth was to go to
 the son who rendered the greatest service to his country.

The sons dispute the point. It is uncertain who should speak first, but
 our course is clear enough. For we shall begin with the son whose role
 we assume. So much for the general rules by which we should be guided in
 making our division.

But how shall we discover those questions which
 present abnormal difficulty? Just as we discover reflexions, words,
 figures or the appropriate nuances of style,
 namely by native wit, by study and by practice. None the less it
 will be rare for anyone who is not a fool to fail to discover them, so
 long as he is content, as I have said, to accept nature for a guide.

Many, however, in their passionate desire to win a reputation for
 eloquence are content to produce showy passages which contribute nothing
 to the proof of their case, while others think that their enquiry need
 not proceed further than that which meets the eye. To make my meaning
 clearer, I will cite a solitary example from the
 controversial themes of the schools; it is neither novel nor
 complicated.

The man who refuses to appear in defence of his father when
 accused of treason shall be disinherited: the man who is condemned
 for treason shall be banished together with his advocate. A father
 accused of treason was defended by one son who was a fluent speaker,
 while another son, who was uneducated, refused to appear for him.
 The father was condemned and banished with his advocate. The
 uneducated son performed some heroic act and demanded as a reward
 the restoration of his father and brother. The father returned and
 died intestate. The uneducated son claims a portion of his estate,
 the orator claims the whole for himself.

In this case those paragons of eloquence, who laugh at us because we
 trouble our heads about cases that rarely occur, will always assume the
 popular rôle. They will defend the uneducated against the eloquent son,
 the brave against the coward, the son who secured the recall of his kin
 against the ungrateful son, the son who is content with a portion of the
 inheritance against the son who would refuse his brother a share in
 their patrimony.

All these points are actually to be found in the case and are of
 considerable importance, but they are not such as to render victory a
 certainty. In such a case they will, as far as possible, search for
 daring or obscure reflexions (for to-day obscurity is accounted a
 virtue), and they will think they have given the theme a brilliant
 treatment by ranting and raving over it. Those, on the other hand, whose
 ideals are higher, but who restrict themselves merely to the obvious,
 will note the following points, which are, however,
 purely superficial.

The uneducated son may be excused for not appearing at the trial on the
 ground that he could contribute nothing to his father's defence: but
 even the orator has no claim on the gratitude of the accused, since the
 latter was condemned: 
 the man who secured the recall of his kin deserves to receive the
 inheritance, while the man who refuses to divide it with his brother,
 more especially with a brother who has deserved so well of him, is
 avaricious, unnatural and ungrateful: they will further note that the
 first and essential question is that which turns on the letter and
 intention of the law; unless this is first disposed of, all subsequent
 arguments must fall to the ground.

He, however, who follows the guidance of nature will assuredly reflect
 as follows: the first argument of the uneducated son will be, My
 father died intestate and left two sons, my brother and myself; I
 claim a share in his estate by the law of nations. Who is
 so ignorant or so lacking in education as not to make this his opening,
 even though he does not know what is meant by a proposition?

He will then proceed to extol, though with due moderation, the justice
 of this common law of nations. The next point for our consideration is
 what reply can be made to so equitable a demand? The answer is clear:—
 There is a law which disinherits the man who fails to appear
 in his father's defence when the latter is accused of treason, and
 you failed to appear. This statement will be followed by
 the necessary praise of the law and denunciation of the man who failed
 to appear.

So far we have been dealing entirely with admitted
 facts. Let us now return to the claimant. Unless he is hopelessly
 unintelligent, surely the following argument will suggest itself:—
 If the law bars the way, there is no ground for action and
 the trial becomes a farce. But it is beyond question that the law
 exists and that the uneducated son did commit the offence for which
 it enacts a punishment. What then shall we say? I
 had no education.

But if the law applies to all men, it will be of no avail to plead lack
 of education. We must therefore try to discover whether there be not
 some point on which the law can be invalidated. We turn for guidance to
 nature (a point on which I cannot insist too often); what does she
 suggest save that when the letter of the law is against us, we should
 discuss its intention? This introduces the general question whether we
 are to stand by the letter or the spirit. But if we argue this question
 on general grounds with reference to law in the abstract, we shall go on
 for ever; it is a question that has never been decided. We must
 therefore restrict our enquiry to the particular law on which our case
 turns and try to find some argument against adhesion to the strict
 letter.

Well, then, is everyone who fails to appear in defence of his father to
 be disinherited? Are there no exceptions to the rule? At this point the
 following arguments will spontaneously suggest themselves. Is an
 infant liable to the law? For we may imagine a case where
 the son is an infant and has failed to appear in his father's support.
 Again does the law apply to a man who was away from home or
 absent on military service or on an embassy? We have gained
 a considerable amount of ground; for we have
 established the fact that a man may fail to appear for his father and
 still inherit.

Our declaimer, who has thought out this line of argument, must now pass
 over like a Latin flute-player, as Cicero says, to the side of the eloquent son and
 reply, Granted, but you are not an infant, you were not away
 from home nor absent on military service. Is there any
 answer to this except the previous reply, I am an uneducated
 man ?

But to this there is the obvious retort, Even if you could not
 actually plead, you might have supported him by your
 presence, which is no more than the simple truth. The
 uneducated son must therefore return to the intention of the legislator.
 He wished to punish unfilial conduct, but I am not
 unfilial.

To this the eloquent son will reply, The action whereby you
 deserved disinheritance was unfilial, although penitence or desire
 for display may have subsequently led you to choose this as your
 reward. Further, it was owing to you that our father was condemned,
 since by absenting yourself you appeared to imply that you thought
 him guilty. The uneducated son replies, Nay, you
 contributed to his condemnation, for you had given offence to many
 and made our family unpopular. These arguments are based on
 conjecture, as also will be the excuse put forward by the uneducated son
 to the effect that his father advised his absence, as he did not wish to
 emperil his whole family. All these arguments are involved in the
 preliminary question as to the letter and the intention of the law.

Let us pursue the matter further and see if we can discover any
 additional arguments. How is that to be done? I am deliberately
 imitating the actual train of thought of one who is
 engaged in such an enquiry with a view to showing how such enquiry
 should be conducted. I shall therefore put aside the more showy kind of
 composition, and concern myself solely with such as may be of real
 profit to the student. So far we have derived all our questions from the
 character of the claimant. But why should we not make some enquiries
 into the character of the father? Does not the law say that whoever
 fails to appear for his father is to be disinherited?

Why should we not try asking whether this means that he is to be
 disinherited, whatever the character of the father for whom he failed to
 appear? Such a course is often adopted in those controversial themes in
 which we demand that sons who fail to maintain their parents should be
 cast into prison: take for example the case of the mother who gave
 evidence against her son when accused of being an alien, or of the
 father who sold his son to a procurer. What, then, is there in the
 present case that we lay hold of as regards the character of the father?

He was condemned. But does the law apply only to those cases where the
 father is acquitted? At first sight the question is difficult. But let
 us not despair. It is probable that the intention of the legislator was
 that innocent parents should secure the support of their children. But
 the uneducated son will be ashamed to produce this argument, since he
 acknowledges that his father was innocent.

There is, however, another line of argument which may be drawn from the
 enactment that the person condemned for treason should be banished
 together with his advocate. It seems almost impossible that in one and
 the same case a son should incur a penalty, both if
 he appeared in his father's defence and if he did not appear. Further,
 exiles are outlaws. Therefore the letter of the law cannot conceivably
 apply to the advocate of the condemned man.

For how can an exile hold any property? The uneducated son raises a
 doubt as to the interpretation both of the letter and the spirit of the
 law. Tile eloquent son will cling to the strict letter of tile law,
 which makes no exception, and will argue that the reason for enacting a
 penalty against those who fail to appear for their fathers was to
 prevent their being deterred from the defence of their fathers by the
 risk of banishment, and he will assert that his brother failed to appear
 in defence of his innocent father. It may therefore be worth while
 pointing out that two general questions may arise
 out of one basis — for we may ask, Is everyone who
 fails to appear liable to disinheritance? or Is he
 bound to appear irrespective of the character of his
 father?

So far all our questions have been derived from two of the persons
 involved. With regard
 to the third, this can give rise to no question, as there is no dispute
 about his portion of the inheritance. Still the time is not yet come to
 relax our efforts: for so far all the arguments might have been used
 even if the father had not been recalled from exile. But we must not
 betake ourselves at once to the obvious point that he was recalled by
 the agency of the uneducated son. A little ingenuity will lead us to
 look further a field: for as species comes after
 genus, so genus 
 precedes 
 species.
 Let us therefore assume that the father was recalled by someone
 else. This will give rise to a question of the
 ratiocinative or syllogistic type, namely whether recall from exile cancels
 the sentence of the court and is tantamount to the trial never having
 taken place at all. The uneducated son will therefore attempt to argue
 that, being entitled to not more than one reward, there was no means by
 which he could have secured the recall of his kin save by the
 restoration of his father on the same terms as if he had never been
 accused, and that this fact carries with it the cancellation of the
 penalty incurred by his advocate, as though he had never defended his
 father at all.

Our next point will be that which first occurred to us, namely the plea
 that he was recalled by the agency of the uneducated son. At this point
 we are confronted by the question whether the son who secured his
 father's restoration is thereby to be regarded in the light of an
 advocate, since he secured for him precisely what his original advocate
 demanded for him, and it is not an unreasonable claim to ask that an
 action should be regarded as equivalent when it is really more than
 equivalent.

The remaining points turn on questions of equity, for we ask which of
 the two sons makes the juster claim. This question admits of still
 further division. The claim of the uneducated son would have been the
 juster even if both had claimed the whole property. How much more so
 when one claims only a half and the other the whole to the exclusion of
 his brother. And then, even after we have dealt with all these points,
 an appeal to the memory of his father will carry great weight with the
 judges, more especially as the dispute is about the father's estate.
 This will give rise to conjecture as to what the intentions of the father were at the time of his dying
 intestate. This conjecture, however, involves a question of quality, and is employed in the service of a
 different basis.

As a rule questions of equity are best introduced at the conclusion of a
 case, since there is nothing to which the judges give more ready
 hearing. Sometimes, however, the interests of the case demand a change
 in this order; for example if we regard our case as weak in point of
 law, it will be well to secure the good-will of the judge by dealing
 with the question of equity first.

This concludes my general rules on this subject. We will now proceed to
 consider the several parts of forensic cases, and although I cannot
 follow them to the ultimate species, 
 that is to say, I cannot deal with individual suits
 and controversies, I shall be able to discuss them on general lines in
 such a way as to show what bases most of them
 involve. And since the first question naturally is whether an alleged
 fact has taken place, I will begin with this.

All conjecture is concerned either with facts or intention. Each of
 these may occur in one of three times, past, present or future.
 Questions concerning facts are either general or definite, that is to
 say, those which involve consideration of persons and those which do
 not.

Concerning intentions there can be no questions which do not involve
 some person and where the facts of the case are not admitted. Therefore
 when the question turns on some fact, the point on which doubt arises is
 either what has been done, or what is being done, or what is likely to
 be done. For example, in general questions we discuss whether the
 universe has been formed of a concourse of atoms,
 or is governed by providence,
 or is likely some day to come to an end. In
 definite questions, on the other hand, we discuss whether Roscius has murdered his father, whether Manlius is aiming at making himself king, or Quintus
 Caecilius will be justified in appearing as the
 accuser of Verres.

In the law courts past time is of most importance, since all accusations
 are concerned with what has actually been done, while what is being done
 or is likely to be done is inferred from the past. We also enquire into
 origins. For instance, we enquire whether a pestilence be due to the
 anger of heaven, the inclement weather, the pollution of the
 water-supply, or the noxious vapours emitted by the earth. Again, we
 seek for the motives of an act. For example, we enquire whether the
 fifty kings who sailed against Troy did so because they were bound by
 their oath, or were moved to do so by righteous indignation, or merely
 desired to gratify the sons of Atreus. There is no very great difference
 between these two classes of question.

As regards facts falling within the present, if they can be detected by
 the eye without any reference to their logical antecedents being
 required, there will be no need of conjecture: let us suppose, for
 instance, that the Lacedaemonians are enquiring whether the Athenians
 are erecting fortifications. But although conjecture may seem entirely
 foreign to this class of question, there are cases in which it it
 necessary, as in questions of personal identity, which may be
 illustrated by the action brought against the heirs of Urbinia, where the question was whether the
 man who claimed the property as being the son of the deceased, was
 Figulus or Sosipater.

In this case the actual person was before the eyes
 of the court, so that there could be no question whether he existed (as
 there is, for instance, when we ask whether there exists any land beyond
 the Ocean) nor what he was nor of what
 kind. The question was simply, who he was. But this kind of dispute also
 depends on past time. The problem is whether this man Clusinius Figulus
 was born of Urbinia. Such disputes have
 arisen even in our own day, indeed I myself have pleaded in such. On the
 other hand,

conjecture as to intention is obviously concerned with all three times.
 We ask with what purpose Ligarius went to Africa,
 with what purpose Pyrrhus is asking for a treaty,
 and how Caesar will take it if Ptolemy kills
 Pompey. We may also employ conjecture
 to enquire into quality in questions dealing with size, species and
 number, such as whether the sun is greater than the earth, whether the
 moon is spherical, flat or conical, whether there is one universe or
 several, or,

to go outside these physical speculations, whether the Trojan or the
 Peloponnesian war was the greatest, what was the nature of the shield of
 Achilles, or whether there was more than one Hercules. In forensic
 cases, however, which consist of accusation and defence, there is one
 kind of conjecture by which we enquire both about an act and about its
 author. This sometimes treats the two questions together, as, for
 example, when both the act and the identity of the author are denied,
 and sometimes separately, as when the first enquiry, whether the act was
 committed, is followed by a second, where, the act being admitted, the
 question is by whom it was committed.

The act itself again sometimes involves a single question, as, for
 example, whether a man is dead, and sometimes two,
 as, for instance, whether he died of poison or of some internal disease.
 Another form of conjecture is concerned with the act alone, it being
 admitted that if the act was really committed, there can be no doubt as
 to its author. A third form is concerned solely with the author, the act
 being admitted and the dispute turning on the question as to who
 committed it. This third form is complex.

For the accused either confines himself to denying that he did it or
 accuses another of having done it. Further, there is more than one way
 of transferring the charge to another. At times this results in mutual accusation, which the Greeks call ἀντικατηγορία, and some of our own authors
 concertative accusation. 
 At times, on the other hand, the
 charge is transferred to some person who cannot be brought to trial, and
 may be either known or unknown: again, if the person is known, he may be
 someone outside the case or the victim himself, who may be alleged to
 have committed suicide.

In such cases we compare characters, motives and other circumstances in
 the same way as in eases of mutual accusation. Cicero, for instance, in
 the pro Vareno diverts the charge from the
 accused to the slaves of Ancharius and in the pro
 Scauro throws the suspicion of Bostar's murder upon his mother.

There is also a different form of comparison, which comes into play when
 both parties claim the credit of some act, and yet another kind, when
 the question is not as between two persons, but as between two acts;
 that is to say, the question is not which of the two committed an act,
 but which of two acts was committed. Finally, if the act and the
 identity of the author are both admitted, we may
 still raise the question of his intention. I shall now proceed to
 detail. As an example of joint denial covering both the act and the
 identity of the author we may take the following statements, I
 have not committed adultery, 
 I have not sought to
 establish myself as tyrant. In cases of murder or poisoning
 the denial is often divided as follows:

The act was not committed, and, if it was committed, it was not by
 me. But if the defence say, Prove that the man was
 killed, the burden falls solely on the accuser, for the
 accused can say nothing more against the charge except perhaps in the
 way of casting certain suspicions, which he should throw out in the
 vaguest terms, since if you make one definite assertion, you will have
 to prove it or run the risk of losing your case. For when the question
 lies between our statement and that of our opponent, one or other will
 be regarded as true. Thus when the point on which we relied for our
 defence is overthrown, there is nothing left but the points that tell
 against us.

For example, when the question turns on symptoms, which may point either
 to poisoning or internal disease, there is no third course left open and
 consequently each party sticks to his statement. At times the question
 turns on the nature of the fact, whether, for instance, death was due to
 poisoning or internal disease, and arguments are introduced which are
 drawn from the circumstances alone without any reference to the person
 concerned.

For example, it makes a difference whether the deceased was cheerful or
 depressed, had been working or taking his ease, had been awake or
 sleeping previous to the festive gathering that was
 followed by his death. The age of the deceased is also an important
 factor, and it is desirable to know whether he died suddenly or after a
 long period of ill health. If the question turns only on his sudden
 death, both parties will have still freer scope for discussion.

At times the character of the accused may be adduced to prove the fact,
 and to make it likely that it was or was not a case of poisoning because
 the accused is or is not a likely person to have committed such an act.
 When, on the other hand, the enquiry concerns both the accused and the
 act, the natural order for the accuser to pursue is to commence by
 proving that the act has been committed and then to go on to show that
 it was committed by the accused. If, however, proofs of the authorship
 of the crime are more in number than the proofs of the commission, this
 order may be reversed.

On the other hand, the accused will always begin by denying the act,
 since if this can be successfully proved, there is no need to say
 anything more, while if it is not proved, there remain other means of
 defence. Similarly, when the dispute turns solely on the act and, the
 act being proved, there can be no doubt as to the author, arguments may
 be drawn in like manner both from the person and the facts, although
 with reference to the question of fact alone.

Take the following controversial theme as an example, for it is best to
 employ scholastic themes as illustrations since they are more familiar
 to the student. A man who had been disinherited by his father
 took to the study of medicine. His father fell sick and, his life
 being despaired of by the other doctors, the son was called in, and
 said he would cure him if he would take a
 draught prescribed by himself. The father after drinking part of the
 draught said that he had been poisoned: the son drank the remainder
 of the draught. The father died and the son is accused of parricide.

There is no doubt who administered the draught, and, if it was poison,
 there is no question as to the author: but the problem as to whether the
 draught was poison can only be decided by arguments drawn from the
 character of the accused. There remains a third type of conjectural case
 where the fact is admitted, and the only question is as to the author.
 It is unnecessary for me to quote examples, since such cases are of
 frequent occurrence. For example, it may be clear that a man has been
 killed or that sacrilege has been committed, but the person accused of
 the crime may deny his guilt. It is from such circumstances that cases
 of mutual accusation arise, where it is admitted that the crime has been
 committed, but each party charges the other with being the author.

With regard to this class of case Celsus points out that they cannot
 actually occur in the courts, a fact which I imagine is familiar to all:
 for the jury is empanelled to try one accused person only, and even
 though the defence and the prosecution may accuse each other of tile
 crime, the first case must be tried before the second.

Apollodorus again stated that mutual accusation involved two separate
 disputes, and this is of course in conformity with the practice of the
 courts, which insists on two separate trials. On the other hand, mutual
 accusation is possible in cases tried before the senate or the emperor,
 and even in the courts the fact of mutual accusation will involve no difference in the pleadings, since the same
 methods will be required whether the verdict is given on both charges
 simultaneously or only on one.

In such cases the defence must always come first for three reasons. In
 the first place, we naturally prefer to secure our own safety than to
 injure our opponent, while secondly, our accusation will carry greater
 weight if we have first proved our own innocence, and thirdly, we shall
 thus secure a double line of defence. For the man who says, I did
 not kill him, is then free to go on to say, You
 killed him, whereas it is superfluous for the man who says,
 You killed him, to go on to say, I did not
 kill him.

Further, such cases consist of comparison, which may be effected in
 different ways. For we may either compare our case in its entirety with
 that of our adversary, or we may compare individual arguments. The
 choice between these two methods can only be determined by the
 requirements of the case. For example, in the pro
 Vareno, Cicero, in dealing with the first charge, compares the
 individual arguments: for it would have been rash in connexion with the
 second charge to compare the position of a stranger with that of a
 mother. It is therefore best, if
 possible, to refute argument by individual argument: if, however, our
 individual arguments are weak, we shall try to secure success by
 comparison of case with case as a whole.

But whether the case is one of mutual accusation, or the accused throws
 the guilt upon his opponent without making any formal accusation (as
 Roscius did without
 indicting his accusers), or the responsibility for
 the deed be placed on the victims themselves, whom we allege to have
 perished by their own hand, the arguments for both sides of the case
 will be compared in exactly the same way as in cases of mutual
 accusation.

The class of case last mentioned by me is, however, not merely of
 frequent occurrence in the schools, but sometimes actually occurs in the
 courts. For example, the sole question in the case of Naevius of Arpinum
 was whether he threw his wife out of the window or she threw herself. My
 speech in this case is the only one of all my pleadings that I have so
 far published, and I admit that I was led to do so merely by a youthful
 desire for glory. For the other speeches which circulate as mine have
 little in them that actually fell from my lips, having been corrupted by
 the carelessness of the shorthand-writers who took them down with a view
 to making money out of them.

There is also another type of conjectural case which, though it involves
 two questions, is different from cases of mutual accusation; such cases
 are concerned with rewards and may be illustrated by the following
 controversial theme. A tyrant, suspecting that his physician had
 given him poison, tortured him and, since he persisted in denying
 that he had done so, sent for a second physician. The latter
 asserted that poison had been administered, but that he would
 provide an antidote; he gave him a draught: the tyrant drank it and
 died. Both physicians claim a reward for slaying the tyrant.
 Now just as in cases of mutual accusation where each party
 shifts the guilt to his opponent, so in this case we
 compare the characters, motives, means, opportunities, instruments and
 evidence of the persons who claim the reward.

There is yet another type of case which, though not one of mutual
 accusation, is treated in the same way: I mean a case in which we
 enquire, without accusing anyone, which of two acts has taken place. For
 both parties make and defend their own statement of the case. Thus in
 the suit concerning the estate of Urbinia the claimant says that Clusinius Figulus, the
 son of Urbinia, on the defeat of the army in which he was serving, fled
 and after various misfortunes, being even even kept in captivity by the
 king, at length returned to Italy and his own home in the Marrucine
 district, where he was recognised. To this Pollio replies that he had
 been a slave to two masters at Pisaurum, that he had practised medicine,
 and finally, after receiving his freedom, inserted himself into a gang
 of slaves who were for sale and was at his own request purchased by
 himself.

Does not the whole suit consist of comparison between the two cases and
 of two different and opposite sets of conjecture? But the method to be
 followed is identical whether the case be one of accusation and defence
 or of claim and denial of the claim. Conjecture is, in the first place,
 based on what is past, under which I include persons, causes and intent.
 For in dealing with a case we first ask what the accused intended to do,
 next what he was in a position to do, and lastly what he actually did.
 Consequently the first point on which we must fix our attention is the
 character of the accused.

It is the business of the accuser to make any charge that he may bring against the accused not merely
 discreditable, but as consistent as possible with the crime for which he
 is arraigned. For example, if he calls a man accused of murder a
 debauchee or an adulterer, the discredit attaching to such charges will
 no doubt tell against the accused, but will, on the other hand, do less
 to prove the case than if he shows him to be bold, insolent, cruel or
 reckless.

On the other hand, counsel for the defence must, as far as possible, aim
 at denying, excusing or extenuating such charges, or, if that be
 impossible, show that they are not relevant to the case. For there are
 many charges which not only have no mutual resemblance, but may even at
 times contradict each other, as for instance if a man accused of theft
 is called prodigal or careless. For it is not likely that one and the
 same man should at once despise money and covet it.

If such means of defence are not available, we must take refuge with the
 plea that the charges made are not relevant to the case, that because a
 man has committed certain sins, it does not follow that he has committed
 all, and that the accusers ventured to make such false charges merely
 because they hoped by injuring and insulting the accused to be able to
 overwhelm him with the unpopularity thus created.

There are also other topics which arise from and against the statement
 of the case by the prosecution. The defence may begin by drawing
 arguments from the person involved, and will at times urge on general
 grounds that it is incredible that a father has been killed by his son
 or that a commander has betrayed his country to the enemy. The answer to
 such arguments is easy, for we may urge that bad men
 are capable of every crime, as is shown by every-day occurrences, or
 that the atrocious nature of a crime is but a poor argument against its
 having been committed.

At times we may base our arguments on the special circumstances of the
 person involved. This may be done in various ways: rank, for example,
 may be pleaded in defence of the accused, or at times, on the other
 hand, may be employed to prove his guilt on the ground that he trusted
 to his rank to secure impunity. Similarly poverty, humble rank, wealth
 may be used as arguments for or against the accused according to the
 talent of the advocate.

Upright character, however, and the blamelessness of his past life are
 always of the utmost assistance to the accused. If no charge is made
 against his character, counsel for the defence will lay great stress on
 this fact, while the accuser will attempt to restrict the judge to the
 sole consideration of the actual issue which the court has to decide,
 and will say that there must always be a first step in crime and that a
 first offence is not to be regarded as the occasion for celebrating a
 feast in honour of the defendant's character.

So much for the methods of reply which will be employed by the
 prosecution. But he will also in his opening speech endeavour to dispose
 the judges to believe that it is not so much that he is unable, as that
 he is unwilling to bring any charge against the character of the
 accused. Consequently it is better to abstain from casting any slur on
 the past life of the accused than to attack him with slight or frivolous
 charges which are manifestly false, since such a proceeding discredits
 the rest of our argument. Further, the advocate who brings no charges against the accused may be believed to
 have omitted all reference to past offences on the ground that such
 reference was not necessary, while the advocate who heaps up baseless
 charges thereby admits that his only argument is to be found in the past
 life of the accused, and that he has deliberately preferred to risk
 defeat on this point rather than say nothing at all about it.

As regards the other arguments derived from character, I have already
 discussed them in connexion with places of argument.
 The next type of proof is derived from causes or
 motives, such as anger, hatred, fear, greed or hope, since all motives
 can be classified as species of one or other of these. If any of these
 motives can be plausibly alleged against the accused, it is the duty of
 the accuser to make it appear that such motives may lead a man to commit
 any crime, and to exaggerate the particular motives which he selects for
 the purpose of his argument.

If no such motive can be alleged, he must take refuge in suggesting that
 there must have been some hidden motive, or in asserting that, if he
 committed the act, all enquiry into motive is irrelevant or that a
 motiveless crime is even more abominable than one which has a motive.
 Counsel for the defence, on the other hand, will, wherever it be
 possible, emphasise the point that it is incredible that any act should
 be committed without a motive. Cicero develops this point with great
 energy in a number of his speeches, but more especially in his defence
 of Varenus, who had everything else against him and was as a matter of
 fact condemned.

But if the prosecution do allege some motive, he will either say that
 the motive alleged is false or inadequate or unknown
 to the accused. For it is possible that a man may be quite ignorant of
 motives imputed to him. He may not, for example, have known whether the
 man whom he is accused of having killed had appointed him his heir or
 intended to prosecute him. All else failing, we may urge that motives
 are not necessarily of importance. For what man is there who is not
 liable to the emotions of fear, hatred or hope, and yet numbers of
 persons act on these motives without committing crime?

Nor should we neglect the point that all motives do not apply to all
 persons. For example, although poverty may in certain cases be a motive
 for theft, it will not have the same force with men such as Curius or
 Fabricius.

The question has been raised as to whether we should deal first with
 persons or motives, and different orators have given different answers:
 Cicero as a rule prefers to treat motives first. For my own part, if the
 circumstances of the case do not point strongly in either direction, I
 consider that the most natural course is to begin by dealing with
 persons. For the enquiry whether any crime can credibly be imputed to
 such a man as the accused is of a more general character than the
 question whether some one particular crime can be imputed, and in
 addition involves a greater correctness in division.

Still, in many cases expediency may make it desirable to reverse the
 order. Further, we have to seek not merely motives affecting the will,
 but also causes leading to error, such as drunkenness or ignorance. For
 just as such considerations lessen the guilt of a crime when regarded
 from the point of view of its quality, so they tell heavily against the
 criminal as far as the question of fact is
 concerned.

I should imagine that there could never be a case, or at any rate an
 actual case in the courts, in which neither side said anything about the
 character of the persons involved; but this is not true of causes and
 motives, for it is often wholly unnecessary to trouble ourselves about
 them, as, for example, in cases of theft or adultery, crimes which carry
 their motives on the face of them.

Next we must consider the intention, a term which involves a number of
 questions, such as whether it is probable that the accused hoped that he
 would be able to carry such a crime into effect, or that it would escape
 detection when committed, or that, even if detected, it would be
 pardoned or punished but lightly or after considerable lapse of time, or
 that the inconvenience involved by the penalty would be outweighed by
 the pleasure resulting from the crime: or again, whether it was worth
 while incurring the penalty;

and further, whether he could have done the deed at some other time and
 in some other way, or with greater ease or security, as Cicero says in
 the pro Milone, 
 
 where he mentions the numerous occasions when his client could have
 killed Clodius with impunity. There is also the question why the accused
 should have chosen that particular place or time or means for the
 commission of the crime, a topic to which Cicero gives a thorough
 treatment in the same passage;

or whether, without having the least reason for the deed, he was carried
 away by the impulse of the moment and acted without deliberate purpose
 (for it is a common saying that crimes are irrational), or finally,
 whether he was led astray by the fact that crime had become a habit with
 him. Having dealt with the question whether he
 intended to commit the crime, we proceed to the question whether he was
 in a position to commit it. Under this head we discuss the place and
 occasion of the offence. For instance, in a case of theft we ask whether
 it was committed in a secluded or frequented spot, in the daytime, when
 witnesses are more numerous, or by night, when success is more
 difficult.

Consequently we shall consider all the circumstances rendering the act
 difficult or easy of accomplishment; these require no illustration,
 being numerous and familiar. This second topic is of such importance
 that, if it is impossible to give it satisfactory treatment, the case
 falls to the ground; if, however, we succeed in dealing with it
 adequately, we must proceed to consider whether the accused actually
 committed the act. But this topic involves conjecture as to intention,
 for it is from these facts that we infer whether he hoped for success or
 not. Therefore we must also consider the question of the means at his
 disposal, such, for example, as the retinues of Clodius and Milo.

The question whether he actually did the deed belongs, in the first
 place, to the second division of time, namely the present, and secondly
 to time that is almost, though not actually contemporary: under this
 latter head come circumstances such as noise, cries or groans, while concealment, fear and the
 like belong to subsequent time. To these must be added indications,
 which we have already discussed elsewhere, and words and acts antecedent
 or subsequent to the crime.

These words and acts are either our own or those of others. With regard
 to words, our own do us greater harm and bring us less profit than do those of others, while those of others bring
 us greater profit and do us less harm than our own. On the other hand,
 with regard to deeds, it is sometimes from our own and sometimes from
 those of others that we derive the greatest advantage, as, for example,
 when our opponent has done something which tells in our favour: but our
 own acts are always more injurious to our case than are those of others.

Again, with regard to words, we must distinguish between those whose
 meaning is clear and those whose significance is doubtful. The latter
 will necessarily give less assistance to either side, be they our own
 words or another's. On the other hand, any ambiguity in our own words
 will always tell against us, as, for example, in the following
 controversial theme. A son, on being asked where his father was,
 replied: 'Wherever he is, he is alive.' But the father was found
 dead at the bottom of a well.

When the ambiguity lies in words used by others, they can never do us
 any harm, unless he who uttered them be unknown or dead; I will give two
 illustrations of my meaning: A cry was heard at night, 'Be on
 your guard against the establishment of a tyranny'; and,
 on being asked who had poisoned him, he replied: 'It is not
 fit that you should know.' For if the speaker is available
 for examination, he will clear up the ambiguity.

Finally, whereas our own words and deeds can only be justified by their
 intention, the deeds and words of others can be disposed of in a number
 of different ways. My remarks on this subject have, I think, been
 confined to one very important class of conjectural cases, but something
 of what I have said will apply to all cases. For example, in cases
 concerned with theft, deposits and loans, arguments
 are derived both from possibilities (as when we enquire whether there
 was any money to deposit), and from persons, as when we raise the
 question whether it is credible that anyone deposited money with this
 man or trusted him with a loan, or that the claimant is bringing a false
 accusation, or that the accused repudiates his debt or is a thief.

But even in the case of an accusation of theft, just as in an accusation
 of murder, we enquire both into the act and the author, while in cases
 concerned with loans and deposits there are also two questions (though
 these are always distinct from one another), namely, whether the money
 was delivered and whether it has been repaid. Cases of adultery are
 marked by the following peculiarity, that, as a rule, the safety of two
 persons is involved, and it is necessary to say something of the past
 life of both, although some have raised the question whether both
 parties should be defended together. The line to be taken must depend on
 the circumstances of the individual case: if the defence of one party
 lends support to the defence of the other, I should defend them
 conjointly; if the reverse is the case, I should treat the two cases
 separately.

However, that no one may think me somewhat hasty in saying that two
 persons are as a rule involved in charges of adultery, I would point out
 that I would not assert that this is always the case. The woman alone
 may be accused of adultery with a person unknown: we may say, 
 Gifts were found in the house, and money from some unknown source,
 and love-letters whose destination cannot be ascertained.

The case is similar in accusations of forgery: for either there are
 several accused or only one. The writer of a
 document always regards it as necessary to support the signatory, but
 the signatory does not always support the writer of the document, for it
 is always possible that he has been deceived on the matter. On
 the other hand, the man who is said to have called in their services,
 and for whom the document is alleged to have been written, will always
 defend both writer and signatories. The arguments employed in cases of
 treason or attempted tyranny will be drawn from the same sources.

But the custom prevalent in the schools of regarding everything not
 definitely stated in the theme as being in the speaker's favour, is likely to prove harmful to
 students destined for practice in the courts. You bring a charge of
 adultery. Who is your witness? who is your informer? You
 charge me with treason. What was my reward? who was my
 accomplice? You charge me with poisoning. Where did
 I buy the poison, and from whom? When did I buy it, what was the
 price, and whom did I employ to administer it? Or in
 defence of one charged with attempting to establish himself as tyrant,
 the declaimer will cry, Where are my weapons, and what bodyguards
 have I ever collected?

I do not deny that these questions should be asked, or that we should
 use them as far as is permitted by the rôle which we have assumed; for
 even in the courts I feel that it will be desirable to put such
 questions, if my opponent is not in a position to reply effectively; but
 we have often felt the lack of such freedom in the courts, whereas in
 the schools there is scarcely a case where one or more examples of this
 method are not to be found.

Similar to this is the practice which some 
 declaimers allow themselves in their perorations of assigning children,
 parents and nurses to their characters at will, though it is more
 reasonable to call for evidence which is not explicitly mentioned in the
 statement of the theme than to introduce it ourselves. With regard to the method to be followed when we enquire into
 intention, I have said enough in dividing the subject into three
 questions, 
 namely, whether the accused intended to do the deed, whether he was in a
 position to do it and whether he actually did it. For the method of
 enquiring into the purpose with which an act was committed is identical
 with that employed in enquiring whether the deed was intended, since it
 amounts to asking whether a criminal act was intended.

Further, the order in which the facts are stated may either contribute
 to or detract from the credibility of our case; for consistency and the
 reverse depend to a very great extent on the way the circumstances are
 arranged. But we shall be unable to detect these qualities unless we
 consider the circumstances in connexion with the case as a whole. None
 the less, it will always be necessary to consider what are best suited
 to be placed together.

III. Conjecture is
 followed by definition. For the man who cannot
 assert that he has done nothing, must needs take refuge in the assertion
 that lie has not committed the act which is alleged against him.
 Consequently the laws which govern definition are
 for the most part the same as those which govern conjecture, the only difference lying in the method to be
 employed in defence in cases such as those concerned with theft,
 deposits or adultery. For just as we say, 
 I
 have not committed theft, I never received a deposit, I am not
 guilty of adultery, so we say, This is not theft,
 this is not a deposit, this is not adultery.

Sometimes we may pass from quality to definition, as in actions concerned with lunacy,
 cruelty and offences against the State. In such cases if it is
 impossible to assert that the acts alleged were right, we are left with
 such pleas as, To use bad language to one's wife does not amount
 to cruelty. Definition is the statement of the fact called
 in question in appropriate, clear and concise language.

As I have already said, it consists mainly in the statement of genus, species, difference and property. For example, if you wish to define a horse (for I
 will take a familiar example), the genus is
 animal, the species mortal, the diffrence irrational (since man also is mortal) and the properly neighing. Definition is employed by the
 orator for a number of different reasons.

For sometimes, though there may be no doubt as to a term, there is a
 question as to what it includes, or, on the other hand, there may be no
 doubt about the thing, but no agreement as to the term to be applied to
 it. When the term is agreed, but the thing doubtful, conjecture may
 sometimes come into play, as, for instance, in the question, What
 is god?

For the man who denies that god is a spirit permeating all things,
 assuredly asserts that the epithet divine is falsely
 applied to his nature, like Epicurus, who gives him a human form and
 makes him reside in the intermundane space. While both use the same term
 god, both have to employ conjecture to decide
 which of the two meanings is consistent with fact.

Sometimes again we have recourse to quality, as in the question, 
 What is rhetoric? Is it the power to persuade or
 the science of speaking well? This form of question is of
 frequent occurrence in the courts. For instance, the question may arise
 whether a man caught in a brothel with another man's wife is an
 adulterer. Here there is no doubt about the name; it is the significance
 of the act which is in doubt, since the question is whether he has
 committed any sin at all. For if he has sinned, his sin can only be
 adultery.

There is a different type of question where the dispute is concerned
 with the term to be applied, which depends on the letter of the law: it
 is a form of question which can only arise in the courts from the actual
 words on which the dispute turns. Take as examples the questions,
 whether suicide is a form of homicide, or whether the man who forces a
 tyrant to kill himself can be considered a tyrannicide, or whether
 magical incantations are equivalent to the crime of poisoning. In all
 these cases there is no doubt about the facts, for it is well known that
 there is a difference between killing oneself and killing another,
 between slaying a tyrant and forcing him to suicide, between employing
 incantations and administering a deadly draught, but we enquire whether
 we are justified in calling them by the same name.

Though I hardly like to differ from Cicero, 
 who follows many authorities in saying that definition is concerned with
 identity and difference (since he who denies the applicability of one
 term must always produce another term which he regards as preferable),
 for my own part I consider that definition falls into three types, which
 I may perhaps call species.

For at times it is convenient merely to enquire
 whether one particular term is applicable to a given thing, as in the
 question whether an act committed in a brothel is adultery. If we deny
 that it is adultery, there is no need to state what it should be called,
 since we have given a total denial to the charge. Secondly, there are
 occasions when the question is which of two terms is to be applied to a
 thing, as in the question whether an act is theft or sacrilege. It may
 be sufficient for the defence that it is not sacrilege, but it is still
 necessary to show what else it is, and therefore we must define both.

Thirdly, there are times when the question concerns things which are
 different in species, and we ask whether two different things are to be
 called by the same name, in spite of the fact that each has a special
 name of its own: for example, is tile same name applicable both to a
 love-potion and a poison? But in all disputes
 of this kind the question is whether one thing is another thing as well,
 since the name in doubt does without question apply to something else.
 It is sacrilege to steal a sacred object from a temple; is it also
 sacrilege to steal private property from a temple? It is adultery to lie
 with another man's wile in one's own house; is it adultery to do so in a
 brothel? It is tyrannicide to slay a tyrant; is it tyrannicide to force
 him to slay himself?

Consequently the syllogism, to which I shall return later, is virtually
 a weaker form of definition, since while definition seeks to determine
 whether one thing has the same name as another, syllogism seeks to
 determine whether one thing is to be regarded as identical with another.

There is moreover great variety in definitions. For instance, persons
 will give different verbal expression to things
 about which they are really in agreement: thus rhetoric is defined as
 the science of speaking well, as the science of
 correct conception or correct expression of what we have to say, as the science of
 speading in accordance with the excellence of an
 orator and again of speaking to the
 purpose. And we must take care to discover how it is that
 definitions, identical in meaning, differ in the form in which they are
 expressed. However, this is a subject for discussion and not for a
 quarrel.

Definition is sometimes required to explain rare or obscure words such
 as clarigatio 
 or erctum citum, 
 
 or again to explain familiar words such as penus 
 or litus. 
 This
 variety in definition has caused some writers to include it under
 conjecture, others under quality and others again under legal questions.

Some, on the other hand, entirely reject the elaborate and formal
 methods of reasoning employed by dialectic, regarding such ingenuity as
 suited rather to quibbles over words in philosophical discussions than
 as likely to carry much weight in the performance of the duties of an
 orator. For though in dialogue definition may serve to fetter the person
 who has got to reply in chains of his own making, or may force him to
 silence, or even to reluctant confession of a point which tells against
 himself, it is of less use in forensic cases.

For there we have to persuade the judge, who, even though he may be tied
 and bound with our words, will still dissent in silence, unless he is
 brought really into touch with the actual facts. And what need has a
 pleader for such precision of definition? Even if I do not say that man
 is an animal, mortal and rational, surely I shall still be able, by
 setting forth the numerous properties of his body
 and mind in more general terms, to distinguish him from gods or dumb
 beasts.

Again, may not the same thing be defined in more than one way, as Cicero
 does when he says, What do we mean when we say' commonly ':
 surely we mean 'by all men'? 
 May it not be given a wide and varied treatment such as is
 frequently employed by all orators? For it is rare to find orators
 falling victims to that form of slavery introduced from the practice of
 the philosophers and tying themselves down to certain definite words;
 indeed it is absolutely forbidden by Marcus Antonius in the de Oratore 
 
 of Cicero. For it is a most dangerous practice, since,

if we make a mistake in a single word, we are like to lose our whole
 case, and consequently the compromise adopted by Cicero in the pro Caecina 
 is the safest course to follow;
 this consists in setting forth the facts without running any risks over
 the exactness of our terminology. These are his words: Judges,
 the violence which threatens our lives and persons is not the only
 kind of violence: there is a much more serious form which by the
 threat of death fills our minds with panic and often turns them from
 their natural condition of stability.

Or again, we may prove before we define, as Cicero does in the Philippics, 
 where he proves that Servius
 Sulpicius was killed by Antony and introduces his definition at the
 conclusion in the following terms:— For assuredly the murderer
 was he who was the cause of his death. I would not, however,
 deny that such rules should be employed, if it will help our case, and
 that, if we can produce a definition which is at once strong and
 concise, it will be not merely an ornament to our speech, but will also
 produce the strongest impression, provided always
 that it cannot be overthrown.

The order to be followed in definition is invariable. We first ask what a thing is, and then, whether it is this. 
 And there is generally more difficulty in the establishment than
 in the application of a definition. In determining what a thing is,
 there are two things which require to be done: we must establish our own
 definition and destroy that of our opponent. Consequently in the
 schools,

where we ourselves imagine our opponent's reply, we have to introduce
 two definitions, which should suit the respective sides of the case as
 well as it is in our power to make them. But in the courts we must give
 careful consideration to the question whether our definition may not be
 superfluous and irrelevant or ambiguous or inconsistent or even of no
 less service to our opponents than to ourselves, since it will be the
 fault of the pleader if any of these errors occur. On the other hand, we
 shall ensure the right definition,

if we first make up our minds what it is precisely that we desire to
 effect: for, this done, we shall be able to suit our words to serve our
 purpose. To make my meaning clearer, I will follow my usual practice and
 quote a familiar example. A man who has stolen private money from
 a temple is accused of sacrilege.

There is no doubt about his guilt; the question is whether the name
 given by the law applies to the charge. It is therefore debated whether
 the act constitutes sacrilege. The accuser employs this term on the
 ground that the money was stolen from a temple: the accused denies that
 the act is sacrilege, on the ground that the money stolen was private
 property, but admits that it is theft. The
 prosecutor will therefore give the following definitions, It is
 sacrilege to steal anything from a sacred place. The accused
 will reply with another definition, It is sacrilege to steal
 something sacred. Each impugns the other's definition.

A definition may be overthrown on two grounds: it may be false or it may
 be too narrow. There is indeed a possible third ground, namely
 irrelevance, but this is a fault which no one save a fool will commit.

[It is a false definition if you say, A horse is a rational
 animal, for though the horse is an animal, it is irrational.
 Again, a thing which is common to something else cannot be a property of
 the thing defined.] In the case under discussion, then, the accused
 alleges that the definition given by the accuser is false, whereas the
 accuser cannot do the same by his opponent's definition, since to steal
 a sacred object is undoubtedly sacrilege. He therefore alleges that the
 definition is too narrow and requires the addition of the words
 or from a sacred place.

But the most effective method of establishing and refuting definitions
 is derived from the examination of properties and differences, and
 sometimes even from considerations of etymology, while all these
 considerations will, like others, find further support in equity and
 occasionally in conjecture. Etymology is rarely of assistance, but the following will
 provide an example of its use. For what else is a 'tumult' but a
 disturbance of such violence as to give rise to abnormal alarm? And
 the name itself is derived from this fact.

Great ingenuity may be exercised with regard to properties and
 differences, as for instance in the question whether a person assigned
 to his creditor for debt, 
 
 who is condemned by the law to remain in a state of servitude until he
 has paid his debt, is actually a slave. One party will advance the
 following definition, A slave is one who is legally in a state of
 servitude. The other will produce the definition, A
 slave is one who is in a state of servitude on the same terms as a
 slave (or, to use the older phrase, 'who serves as a slave').
 This definition, though it differs considerably from the other,
 will be quite useless unless it is supported by properties and
 differences.

For the opponent will say that the person in question is actually
 serving as a slave or is legally in a state of servitude. We must
 therefore look for properties and differences, to which in passing I
 devoted a brief discussion in my fifth book. A slave when manumitted becomes
 a freedman: a man who is assigned for debt becomes a free man on the
 restoration of his liberty. A slave cannot acquire his freedom without
 the consent of his master: a man assigned for debt can acquire it by
 paying his debt without the consent of his master being necessary. A
 slave is outside the law; a man assigned for debt is under the law.
 Turning to properties, we may note the following which are possessed by
 none save the free, the three names (praenomen, nomen and cognomen) and
 membership of a tribe, all of which are possessed by the man assigned
 for debt.

By settling what a thing is we have come near to determining its
 identity, for our purpose is to produce a definition that is applicable
 to our case. Now the most important element in a definition is provided
 by quality, as, for example, in the question whether love be a form of
 madness. To this point in our procedure belong
 those proofs which according to Cicero 
 are peculiar to definition, that is, proofs drawn from antecedents,
 consequents, adjuncts, contraries, causes, effects and similarities,
 with the nature of which I have already dealt.

I will, however, quote a passage from the pro
 Caecina 
 
 in which Cicero includes brief proofs drawn from origins, causes,
 effects, antecedents and consequents: Why then did they fly?
 Because they were afraid. What were they afraid of? Obviously of
 violence. Can you then deny the beginning, when you have admitted
 the end? But he also argued from similarity: 
 Shall not
 that which is called violence in war be called violence in peace as
 well Arguments may also be drawn from contraries, as for
 instance in the question whether a love-potion can be a poison, in view
 of the fact that a poison is not a love-potion. In order that my young
 students (and I call them mine, because the young student is always dear
 to me) may form a clearer conception of this second kind of definition,
 I will once more quote a fictitious controversial theme.

Some young men who were in the habit of making merry together
 decided to dine on the sea-shore. One of their party failed to put
 in an appearance, and they raised a tomb to him and inscribed his
 name thereon. His father on his return from overseas chanced to land
 at this point of the shore, read the name and hung himself. It is
 alleged that the youths were the cause of his death.

The definition produced by the accuser will run as follows: The
 man whose act leads to another's death is the cause of his
 death. The definition given by the accused will be, 
 He who wittingly commits an act which must necessarily lead to another's death, is the cause of his death.
 Without any formal definition it would be sufficient for the
 accuser to argue as follows: You were the cause of his death,
 for it was your act that led to his death: but for your act he would
 still be alive.

To which the accused might answer, It does not necessarily
 follow that the man whose act leads to another's death should be
 condemned forthwith. Were this so, the accuser, witnesses and judges
 in a capital case would all be liable to condemnation. Nor is the
 cause of death always a guilty cause. Take for instance the case of
 a man who persuades another to go on a journey or sends for his
 friend from overseas, with the result that the latter perishes in a
 shipwreck, or again the case of a man who invites another to dine,
 with the result that the guest dies of indigestion. Nor is the act of the young men to be
 regarded as the sole cause of death. The credulity of the old man
 and his inability to bear the shock of grief were contributory
 causes. Finally, had lie been wiser or made of sterner stuff, he
 would still be alive. Moreover the young men acted without the least
 thought of doing harm, and the father might have suspected from the
 position of the tomb and the traces of haste in its construction
 that it was not a genuine tomb. What ground then is there for
 condemning them, for everything else that constitutes homicide is
 lacking save only the contributory act?

Sometimes we have a settled definition on which both parties are agreed,
 as in the following example from Cicero: 
 Majesty resides in the dignity of the
 Roman power and the Roman people. The question however, is,
 whether that majesty has been impaired, as for
 example in the ease of Cornelius. But even
 although the case may seem to turn on definition, the point for decision
 is one of quality, since there is no doubt about the definition, and
 must be assigned to the qualitative basis. 
 It is a mere accident that I have
 come to mention quality at this moment, but in point of fact quality is
 the matter that comes next in order for discussion.

IV. In speaking of
 quality we sometimes use the word in its most general sense, which
 covers a number of different questions. For we enquire sometimes into
 the nature and form of things: as for instance whether the soul is
 immortal or whether god is to be conceived of in human form. Sometimes,
 on the other hand, the question turns on size and number, as, for
 instance, what is the size of the sun or whether there are more worlds
 than one. In all these cases we arrive at our conclusions by conjecture,
 yet each involves a question of quality.

Such questions are sometimes treated in deliberative themes: for
 example, if Caesar is deliberating whether to attack Britain, he must
 enquire into the nature of the Ocean, consider whether Britain is an
 island (a fact not then ascertained), and estimate its size and the
 number of troops which lie will require for the invasion. Under the same
 head of quality fall questions whether certain things should be done or
 not and certain objects sought or avoided: such topics are specially
 adapted for deliberative themes, but occur with some frequency in
 controversial themes as well, the only difference being that in the
 latter we deal with what is past and in the former with the future.

Similarly all the topics of demonstrative oratory involve a qualitative
 basis. 
 The facts are admitted, and the
 question turns on their quality, the dispute being entirely concerned
 with rewards or penalties or their quantity. The case is therefore of
 two kinds, simple or comparative, the former dealing with what is just,
 the latter with what is juster, or most just. When the point for
 decision is the penalty to be inflicted, the duty of the pleader will be
 to defend, extenuate or excuse the act on which the charge is based, or
 even, according to some, to plead for mercy.

By far the strongest line that can be taken in defence is to assert that
 the act which forms the subject of the charge is actually honourable. A
 man is disinherited because he went on military service, stood for
 office or married without his father's consent. We defend this act. This
 form of defence is called κατ᾽
 ἀντίληψιν by the followers of Hermagoras, that is, defence
 by objection, the term being used with reference to the purport of the
 defendant's plea. I can find no exact Latin translation of the term; we call it an
 absolute defence. But in such cases the question is concerned with the
 justice or injustice of the act alone.

Justice is either natural or conventional. Natural justice is found in
 actions of inherent worth.

Under this head come the virtues of piety, loyalty, self-control and the
 like. To these some add the rendering of like for like. But this view
 must not be adopted without consideration: for to retaliate, or meet
 violence with violence on the one hand, does not imply injustice on the
 part of the aggressor, while on the other hand it does not follow that
 the first act was just merely because the two acts were alike. In cases
 where there is justice on both sides, the two
 parties must both come under the same law and the same conditions, and
 it would not perhaps be untrue to say that things can never be spoken of
 as like if there is any point in which they are dissimilar. Convention,
 on the other hand, is to be found in laws, customs, legal precedents and
 agreements.

There is another form of defence by which we defend an act in itself
 indefensible by arguments drawn from without. This the
 Greeks call κατ᾽ ἀντίθεσιν by
 opposition. Here again there is no Latin equivalent, since we call it
 defence by assumption.

The strongest line to take in this form of defence is to defend the act
 forming the subject of the charge by appealing to its motive. An example
 of this is provided by the defence put forward on behalf of Orestes,
 Horatius or Milo. The term ἀντέγκλημα, 
 or counter-accusation, is employed when our defence consists entirely in
 accusing the person whom our opponents are seeking to vindicate.
 He was killed, but he was a robber; he was blinded, but he
 was a ravisher.

There is another form of defence based on an appeal to the motives of
 the act which is the opposite of that which I have just described It
 consists not in defending the act per se, as we
 do when we employ the absolute defence, nor in opposing another act to
 it, but in appealing to the interests of the State, of a number of
 persons, of our opponent himself or finally at times of ourselves,
 provided always that the act in question is such as we might lawfully do
 in our own interests. If, however, the accuser is a stranger and insists
 on the letter of the law, this form of defence will invariably be
 useless, though it may serve our turn if the
 dispute is of a domestic character.

For example, in a suit concerned with the question of disinheritance a
 father may, without reflecting on himself, say to his sons that his act
 was of importance to his own interests, and the same plea may be urged
 by a husband accused of cruelty by his wile or a son who alleges that
 his father is insane. But in such cases the position of the man who
 seeks to avoid loss is stronger than that of him who aims at positive
 advantage.

Precisely similar methods are also employed in questions that occur in
 real life. For the scholastic themes concerned with the disowning of
 children are on exactly the same footing as the cases of sons
 disinherited by their parents which are tried in the public courts, or
 of those claims for the recovery of property which are tried in the
 centum viral court: themes dealing with cruelty find an actual parallel
 in those cases in which the wife claims the restoration of her dowry,
 and the question is whose fault it was that led to the divorce: and
 again the theme where the son accuses his father of madness has its
 analogy in cases where a suit is brought for the appointment of a
 guardian.

Under the same heading as the appeal to public or personal interest
 comes the plea that the act in question prevented the occurrence of
 something worse. For in a comparison of evils the lesser evil must be
 regarded as a positive good: for example, Mancinus may defend the treaty
 made with the Numantines on the ground that it saved the army from
 annihilation. This form of defence is called ἀντίστασις by the Greeks, while we style it defence by
 comparison.

Such are the methods by which we may defend an act.
 If it is impossible to defend an act either on its merits or with the
 assistance of arguments from without, the next best course will be to
 shift the charge, if possible, to another. It is for this reason that
 the basis of competence 
 has been held to apply even to those who cannot plead the letter of the
 law in this connexion. In some cases,
 then, the blame will be thrown on a person: for example, Gracchus, when
 accused of making the treaty with the Numantines (and it was fear of
 this accusation that seems to have led him to bring forward the
 democratic laws of his tribuneship) may plead that he made it as the
 representative of his commander-in-chief.

At times, on the other hand, the blame may be shifted to some thing: for
 instance, a person who has failed to comply with some testamentary
 injunction may plead that the laws forbade such compliance. The Greek
 term for such shifting is μετάστασις. 
 If these methods of defence are out of the question, we must take refuge
 in making excuses. We may plead ignorance. For example, if a man has
 branded a runaway slave and the latter is subsequently adjudged to be a
 free man, he may deny that he was cognisant of the truth. Or we may
 plead necessity; for instance, if a soldier overstays his leave, he may
 plead that his return was delayed by floods or ill health.

Again, the blame is often cast upon fortune, while sometimes we assert
 that, although we undoubtedly did wrong, we did so with the best
 intentions. Instances of these two latter forms of excuse are, however,
 so numerous and obvious that there is no need for me to cite them here.
 If all the above-mentioned resources prove
 unavailable, we must see whether it may not be possible to extenuate the
 offence. It is here that what some call the quantitative basis 
 comes
 into play.

But when quantity is considered in reference to punishment or reward, it
 is determined by the quality of the act, and therefore in my opinion
 comes under the qualitative basis, as also does
 quantity which is used with reference to number by the Greeks, who
 distinguish between ποσότης and
 πηλικότης 
 : we, however, have only one name for the two.

In the last resort we may plead for mercy, a though most writers deny
 that this is ever admissible in the courts. 
 Indeed Cicero himself seems to support this view in his defence of
 Quintus Ligarius where he says, I have pleaded many causes,
 Caesar, some of them even in association with yourself, so long as
 your political ambitions prevented you from abandoning the bar, but
 never have I pleaded in words such as these, ' Forgive him,
 gentlemen, he erred, he made a slip, he did not think that it
 mattered, he will never do it again,' and so on.

On the other hand, in addressing the senate, the people, the emperor or
 any other authority who is in a position to show clemency, such pleas
 for mercy have a legitimate place. In such cases there are three points
 based on the circumstances of the accused which are most effective. The
 first is drawn from his previous life, if he has been blameless in his
 conduct and deserved well of the state, or if there is good hope that
 his conduct will be blameless for the future and likely to be of some
 use to his fellow men; the second is operative if it appears that he has
 been sufficiently punished already on the ground
 that he has suffered other misfortunes, or that his present peril is
 extreme, or that he has repented of his sin; while thirdly we may base
 his appeal on his external circumstances, his birth, his rank, his
 connexions, his friendships.

It is, however, on the judge that we shall pin our highest hopes, if the
 circumstances be such that acquittal will result in giving him a
 reputation for clemency rather than for regrettable weakness. But even
 in the ordinary courts appeals for mercy are frequently employed to a
 large extent, although they will not colour the whole of our pleading.
 For the following form of division is common:— Even if he had
 committed the offence, he would have deserved forgiveness, a
 plea which has often turned the balance in doubtful cases, while
 practically all perorations contain such appeals.

Sometimes indeed the whole case may rest on such considerations. For
 example, if a father has made an express declaration that he has
 disinherited his son because lie was in love with a woman of the town,
 will not the whole question turn on the point whether it was the
 father's duty to pardon such an offence and whether it is the duty of
 the centumviral court to overlook it? Nay, even in penal prosecutions
 governed by strict forms of law we raise two separate questions: first
 whether the penalty has been incurred, and secondly whether, if so, it
 ought to be inflicted. Still the view of the authorities to whom I have
 referred that an accused person cannot be saved from the clutches of the
 law by this method of defence is perfectly correct.

With regard to rewards, there are two questions which confront us:
 namely, whether the claimant is deserving of any
 reward, and, if so, whether he deserves so great a reward. If there are
 two claimants, we have to decide which is the more worthy of the two; if
 there are a number, who is the most worthy. The treatment of these
 questions turns on the kind of merit possessed by the claimants. And we
 must consider not merely the act (whether it has merely to be stated or
 has to be compared with the acts of others), but the person of the
 claimant as well. For it makes a great difference whether a tyrannicide
 be young or old, man or woman, a stranger or a connexion.

The place may also be discussed in a number of ways: was the city in
 which the tyrant was killed one inured to tyranny or one which had
 always been free? was he killed in the citadel or in his own house? The
 means, too, and the time call for consideration: was he killed by poison
 or the sword? was he killed in time of peace or war, when he was
 intending to lay aside his power or to venture on some fresh crime?

Further, in considering the question of merit, the danger and difficulty
 of the act will carry great weight, while with regard to liberality it
 will similarly be of importance to consider the character of the person
 from whom it proceeds. For liberality is more pleasing in a poor man
 than in a rich, in one who confers than in one who returns a benefit, in
 a father than in a childless man. Again, we must consider the immediate
 object of the gift, the occasion and the intention, that is to say,
 whether it was given in the hope of subsequent profit; and so on with a
 number of similar considerations. The question of quality therefore makes the highest demands on the resources
 of oratory, since it affords the utmost scope for a display of talent on
 either side, while there is no topic in which the
 emotional appeal is so effective.

For conjecture has often to introduce proofs from without and uses
 arguments drawn from the actual subject matter, whereas the real task of
 eloquence is to demonstrate quality: there lies
 its kingdom, there its power, and there its unique victory. Verginius
 includes under quality cases concerned with
 disinheritance, lunacy, cruelty to a wife, and claims of female orphans
 to marry relatives. The questions thus involved are, it is true,
 frequently questions of quality, while some
 writers style them questions of moral
 obligation.

But the laws governing these cases sometimes admit of other bases. For example, conjecture is involved in quite a number of such cases, as
 when the accused urges either that he did not commit the act or, if he
 did, acted with the best intentions. I could quote many examples of this
 kind. Again, it is definition which tells us what precisely is meant by
 lunacy or cruelty to a wife. For as a rule the laws cited in such
 themes involve certain legal questions, though not to such an extent as
 to determine the basis of the case.

But this notwithstanding, if the actual fact cannot be defended, we may
 in the last resort base our defence on legal grounds, in which case we
 shall consider how many and what cases there are in which a father may
 not disinherit his son, what charges fail to justify an action for
 cruelty, and under what circumstances a son is not allowed to accuse his
 father of lunacy.

Disinheritance may be of two kinds. In the first case it is for a
 completed crime: for example, the son who is disinherited may be a
 ravisher or an adulterer: in the second case it is for a crime which is
 still incomplete and terminable ; an instance of this
 will be the case where the son is disinherited because of disobedience
 to his father. The first form of disinheritance always demands a certain
 harshness when the father pleads his case, since the act is irrevocable,
 whereas in the latter his pleading will be of a kindly and almost
 persuasive nature, since he would prefer not to disinherit him. On the
 other hand, the pleading of the sons should in both cases be of a
 subdued character and couched in a conciliatory tone.

I know that those who delight in making covert attacks upon the father
 under the disguise of some figure of speech will disagree with me: and I
 would not deny that their procedure may sometimes be justifiable, since
 the theme may conceivably be such as to demand it; but it is certainly
 to be avoided wherever possible. However, I shall deal with the whole
 question of figures in a later book.

The treatment of the theme of cruelty to a wife is not unlike that of
 the theme of disinheritance; for both demand a certain moderation on the
 part of the accuser. Cases concerned with lunacy arise either out of
 what has been done or out of something which may or may not be done in
 the future.

In the former case the pleader is free to attack as he will, but must
 none the less do so in such a manner that, while denouncing the act, he
 will yet express pity for the father on the ground that he has erred by
 reason of his infirmity. On the other hand, in the latter case, where
 the act has not yet taken place and there is
 nothing to prevent the father changing his purpose, he must begin by a
 prolonged attempt to induce him to change his mind, and then, and only
 then, complain that it is madness and not depravity of character that
 prevents him from listening to the voice of reason; and the more he
 praises his past character, the easier will it be to prove the change
 which it has undergone owing to the inroads of the disease.

The accused, wherever possible, must assume a temperate tone in his
 defence, for the reason that as a rule anger and excitement are near
 akin to madness. All these cases have this much in common, that the
 accused does not always defend his act, but often pleads excuse and asks
 for pardon. For these are domestic quarrels, in which the fact that the
 offence is an isolated case, due to error and of a less serious
 character than alleged, will sometimes suffice to secure an acquittal.

There are, however, a number of other controversial themes involving quality, as, for example, cases of assault. In these, although at times the accused
 denies that he committed the assault, the pleading as a rule is
 concerned with fact and intention.

Then there are cases concerned with the appointment of
 a prosecutor, which are known as divinations. In this connexion Cicero, who was indicting
 Verres on the instruction of our Sicilian allies, adopts the following
 division-to the effect that the main point for consideration is, by whom
 those the redress of whose wrongs forms the subject of the trial would
 prefer to be represented, and by whom the accused would least desire
 them to be represented.

But in the great majority of cases the questions raised are, which
 claimant has the strongest motives for undertaking
 the role of accuser, which is likely to bring the greatest energy or
 talent to the task, and which is likely to press the charge with the
 greatest sincerity.

Next we may take cases concerned with guardianship, in which it is usual to enquire whether it is
 necessary to investigate anything save the accounts, and whether
 anything can be demanded of the guardian except the honest execution of
 his trust; his sagacity and the success of his administration being
 beside the mark. Cases of fraud on the part of an
 agent, which are styled cases of conduct of
 business when they occur in the actual courts, are of a similar
 nature, since they also are concerned with the administration of a
 trust.

In addition to these we have the fictitious cases of the schools which
 deal with crimes not covered by the law, where
 the question is as a rule either whether the crime is really not covered
 by the law or whether it is a crime, though on rare occasions both
 questions are raised. Cases of misconduct on the part
 of an ambassador are of frequent occurrence among the Greeks,
 even in actual life: in these the legal question is raised whether it is
 lawful to deviate at all from one's instructions and for how long the
 accused was technically an ambassador, since in some cases the
 ambassador's duty is to convey a communication to a foreign power and in
 others to bring one back. Take for example the case of Heius, who gave
 evidence against Verres after performing his duties as ambassador. But
 in such cases the most important question turns on the nature of the
 deed complained

of Next come cases of action contrary to the interests
 of the state. In these we meet with legal quibbles as to what
 is the meaning of action contrary to the 
 interests of the state, and whether the action of the
 accused was injurious or profitable, or whether the interests of the
 state suffered at his hands or merely on his account: but the most
 important question is that of fact. There are also cases of ingratitude; in these we raise the question
 whether the accused has really received any kindness. It is only rarely
 that the fact can be denied, as denial is in itself a sign of
 ingratitude. But there are the further questions as to the extent of the
 kindness and whether it has been repaid.

If it has not been repaid, does this necessarily involve ingratitude?
 Was it in his power to repay? Did he really owe the return which was
 demanded of him? What is his intention? Somewhat simpler are cases of
 unjust divorce, a form of controversy which
 has this peculiarity, that the accuser defends and the defendant
 accuses.

Further there are cases where a senator sets forth to the senate the reasons which determine him to commit
 suicide, 
 in which there is one legal question,
 namely, whether a man who desires to kill himself in order to escape the
 clutches of the law ought to be prevented from so doing, while the
 remaining questions are all concerned with quality. There are also fictitious cases concerned with wills, in which the only question raised is one
 of quality, as, for instance, in the
 controversial theme quoted above, where the philosopher,
 physician and orator all claim the fourth share which their father had
 left to the most worthy of his sons. The same is true of cases where
 suitors of equal rank claim the hand of an orphan and the question
 confronting her relatives is which is the most suitable.

I do not, however, intend to discuss every possible theme, since fresh ones can always be invented, nor yet to
 deal with all the questions to which they give rise, since these vary
 with circumstances. But I cannot help expressing my astonishment that
 Flavus, for whose
 authority I have the highest respect, restricted the range of quality to such an extent in the text-book which
 he composed for the special guidance of the schools.

Quantity also, as I have already stated, falls as a rule,
 though not always, under the head of quality, 
 whether it is concerned with measure or number. Measure, however,
 sometimes consists in the valuation of a deed with a view to determining
 the amount of guilt or the amount of benefit involved, while, on the
 other hand, it sometimes turns on a point of law, when the dispute is
 under what law a man is to be punished or rewarded.

For example is a ravisher to pay 10,000 sesterces 
 because that is the penalty appointed by law, or is he liable to capital
 punishment as a murderer because his victim hanged himself? In such
 cases those who plead as if there were a question between two laws, are
 wrong: for there is no dispute about the fine of 10,000, since it is not
 claimed by the prosecution.

The point on which judgment has to be delivered is whether the accused
 is guilty of causing his victim's death. The same type of case will also
 bring conjecture into play, when, for example,
 the question in dispute is whether the accused shall be punished with
 banishment for life or for five years. For the question then is whether
 he caused his death willingly or not.

Again, there are questions concerned with numerical quantity which turn
 on a point of law, such as the questions whether thirty rewards are due to Thrasybulus, or whether, when two thieves have stolen a sum of
 money, they are each to be required to refund fourfold or twofold. But
 in these cases, too, valuation of the act is necessary, and yet the
 point of law also turns on quality.

V. He who
 neither denies nor defends his act nor asserts that it was of a
 different nature from that alleged, must take his stand on some point of
 law that tells in his favour, a form of defence which generally turns on
 the legality of the action brought against him.

This question is not, however, as some have held, always raised before
 the commencement of the trial, like the elaborate deliberations of the
 praetor when there is a doubt as to whether the prosecutor has any legal
 standing, but frequently comes up during the course of the actual trial.
 Such discussions fall into two classes, according as the point in
 dispute arises from an argument advanced by the prosecution or from some
 prescription 
 
 (or demurrer) put forward by the defence. There have indeed been some
 writers who have held that there is a special prescriptive basis; but prescription is
 covered by precisely the same questions that cover all other laws.

When the dispute turns on prescription, there is
 no need to enquire into the facts of the case itself. For example, a son
 puts forward a demurrer against his father on the ground that his father
 has forfeited his civil rights. The only point which has to be decided
 is whether the demurrer can stand. Still, wherever possible, we should
 attempt to create a favourable impression in the judge as to the facts
 of the case as well, since, if this be done, he will be all the more
 disposed to give an indulgent hearing to our point
 of law: for example, in actions taking the form of a wager and arising
 out of interdicts, even though the question
 is concerned solely with actual possession, the question as to tile
 right to possession not being raised, it will be desirable to prove not
 merely that the property was actually in our possession, but that it was
 ours to possess.

On tile other hand, the question more frequently turns on intention.
 Take the law 
 Let a hero choose what reward he will. I deny
 that he is entitled to receive whatever he chooses. I cannot put forward
 any formal demurrer, but none the less I use the intention as against
 the letter of the law just as I should use a demurrer. In both cases the
 basis is the same.

Moreover every law either gives or takes away punishes or commands,
 forbids or permits, and involves a dispute either on its own account or
 on account of another law, while the question which it involves will
 turn either on the letter or the intention. The letter is either clear
 or obscure or ambiguous.

And what I say with reference to laws will apply equally to wills,
 agreements, contracts and every form of document; nay, it will apply
 even to verbal agreements. And since I have classified such cases under
 four questions or bases, I
 will deal with each in turn.

Lawyers frequently raise the question of the letter and the intention of
 the law, in fact a large proportion of legal disputes turn on these
 points. We need not therefore be surprised that such questions occur in
 the schools as well, where they are often invented with this special
 purpose. One form of this kind of question is found in cases where tile
 enquiry turns both on the letter and the spirit of
 a law.

Such questions arise when the law presents some obscurity. Under these
 circumstances both parties will seek to establish their own
 interpretation of the passage and to overthrow that advanced by their
 opponent. Take for example the following case. A thief shall
 refund four times the amount of his theft. Two thieves have jointly
 stolen 10,000 sesterces. 40,000 are claimed from each. They claim
 that they are liable only to pay 20,000 each. The accuser
 will urge that the sum which he claims is fourfold the amount stolen;
 the accused will urge that the sum which they offer to pay is fourfold.
 The intention of the law will be pleaded by both parties.

On the other hand, the dispute may turn on a passage of the law which is
 clear in one sense and doubtful in another. The son of a harlot
 shall not address the people. A woman who had a son became a
 prostitute. The youth is forbidden to address the people. 
 Here there is no doubt about the son of one who was a prostitute before
 his birth, but it is doubtful whether the law applies to the case of one
 born before his mother became a prostitute.

Another question which is not infrequently raised is as to the
 interpretation of the law forbidding an action to be brought twice on
 the same dispute, the problem being whether the word twice refers to the prosecutor or the prosecution. Such are
 the points arising out of the obscurity of the law. A second form of
 question turns on some passage where the meaning is clear. Those who
 have given exclusive attention to this class of question call it the basis concerned with the obvious expression of the law
 and its intention. In such circumstances one party will rest
 their case on the letter, the other on the
 intention of the law.

There are three different methods in which we may combat the letter. The
 first comes into play where it is clear that it is impossible always to
 observe the letter of the law. Children shall support their
 parents under penalty of imprisonment. It is clear, in the
 first place, that this cannot apply to an infant. At this point we shall
 turn to other possible exceptions and distinguish as follows. 
 Does this apply to everyone who refuses to support his parent? Has
 this particular individual incurred the penalty by this particular
 act?

The second arises in scholastic themes where no argument can be drawn
 from the particular law, but the question is concerned solely with the
 subject of the dispute. A foreigner who goes up on to the wall
 shall be liable to capital punishment. The enemy had scaled the wall
 and were driven back by a foreigner. His punishment is demanded.

In this case we shall not have two separate questions, namely, whether
 every foreigner who goes up on the wall is liable to the penalty, and
 whether this particular foreigner is liable, since no more forcible
 argument can be brought against the application of the letter of the law
 than the fact in dispute, but the only question to be raised will be
 whether a foreigner may not go on to the wall even for the purpose of
 saving the city. Therefore we shall rest our case on equity and the
 intention of the law. It is, however, sometimes possible to draw
 examples from other laws to show that we cannot always stand by the
 letter, as Cicero did in his defence of Caecina.

The third method becomes operative when we find something in the actual
 words of the law which enables us to prove that the intention of the
 legislator was different. The following theme will
 provide an example. Anyone who is caught at night with steel in
 his hands shall be thrown into prison. A man is found wearing a
 steel ring, and is imprisoned by the magistrate. In this
 case the use of the word caught is sufficient
 proof that the word steel was only intended by the law in the sense of a
 weapon of offence.

But just as the advocate who rests his case on the intention of the law
 must wherever possible impugn the letter of the law, so he who defends
 the letter of the law must also seek to gain support from the intention.
 Again, in cases concerned with wills it sometimes happens that the
 intention of the testator is clear, though it has not been expressed in
 writing: an example of this occurs in the trial of Curius, which gave
 rise to the well-known argument between Lucius Crassus and Scaevola.

A second heir had been appointed in the event of a posthumous son dying
 while a minor. No posthumous son was born. The next of kin claimed the
 property. Who could doubt that the intention of the testator was that
 the same man should inherit in the event of the son not being born who
 would have inherited in the event of his death? But he had not written
 this in his will.

Again, the opposite case, that is to say, when what is written is
 obviously contrary to tile intention of the writer, occurred quite
 recently. A man who had made a bequest of 5000 sesterces, on altering
 his will erased the word sesterces and inserted
 pounds of silver. 
 But it was clear that he had meant not 5000 but 5
 pounds of silver, because the weight of silver mentioned in the bequest
 was unparalleled and incredible.

The same basis includes such general questions as
 to whether we should stand by the letter or the
 intention of the document, and what was the purpose of the writer, while
 for the treatment of such questions we must have recourse to quality or conjecture, 
 with which I think I have dealt in sufficient detail.

The next subject which comes up for discussion is that of contrary laws.
 
 For all writers of text-books are agreed that in such cases there are
 two bases involving the letter and the intention
 of the law respectively. This view is justified by the fact that, when
 one law contradicts another, both parties attack the letter and raise
 the question of intention, while the point in dispute, as regards each
 law, is whether we should be guided by it at all.

But it is clear to everybody that one law cannot contradict another in
 principle (since if there were two different principles, one law would
 cancel the other), and that the laws in question are brought into
 collision purely by the accidents of chance. When two laws clash, they
 may be of a similar nature, as for instance if we have to compare two
 cases in which a tyrannicide and a brave man are given the choice of
 their reward, both being granted the privilege of choosing whatever they
 desire. In such a case we compare the deserts of the claimants, the
 occasions of the respective acts and the nature of the rewards claimed.

Or the same law may be in conflict with itself, as in the case where we
 have two brave men, two tyrannicides
 or two ravished women, when the question must turn either on time (that is, whose claim has priority) or on
 quality (that is, whose claim is the more
 just). Again, we may have a conflict between diverse, similar or
 dissimilar laws.

Diverse laws are those against which arguments may be brought without reference to any
 contradictory law. The following theme will provide an example. 
 A magistrate shall not quit the citadel. One who has rendered heroic
 service to his country may choose what reward he pleases. A
 magistrate who left his post and saved his country, demands an
 amnesty for his conduct. In this case, even though there be
 no other law covering the case, we may raise the question whether a hero
 ought to be granted anything he chooses to claim. Again, many conclusive
 arguments may be brought against the letter of the law restricting the
 movements of the magistrate: for example, a fire may have broken out in
 the citadel, or a sally against the enemy may have been necessary.

Laws are styled similar when nothing can be
 opposed to one except the other. Tyrannicides shall have their
 statues set up in the gymnasium. A statue of a woman shall not be
 set up in the gymnasium. A woman killed a tyrant. Here are
 two conflicting laws: for a woman's statue cannot under any other
 circumstances be erected in the gymnasium, while there is no other
 circumstance which can bar the erection of the statue of a tyrannicide
 in the gymnasium.

Laws are styled dissimilar when many arguments
 can be urged against one, while the only point which can be urged
 against the other is the actual subject of dispute. An example is
 provided by the case in which a brave man demands the pardon of a
 deserter as his reward. For there are many arguments, as I have shown
 above, which can be urged against the law permitting a hero to choose
 whatever reward he will, but the letter of the law dealing with the
 crime of desertion cannot be overthrown under any 
 circumstances save the choice of rewards to which I have just referred.

Again, the point of law is either admitted by both parties or disputed.
 If it be admitted, the questions which are raised will as a rule be such
 as the following. Which of the two laws is the most stringent? Does it
 concern gods or men, the state or private individuals, reward or
 punishment, great things or small? Does it permit, forbid or command?

Another common question is which of the two laws is the oldest; but the
 most important question is which of the two laws will suffer less by its
 contravention, as for example in the case of the hero and the deserter
 just mentioned, in which case, if the deserter is not put to death, the
 whole law is ignored, whereas, if he be put to death, the hero will
 still have another choice left open to him. It is, however, of the
 utmost importance to consider which course is best from the point of
 view of morality and justice, a problem for the solution of which no
 general rules can be laid down, as it will depend on the special
 circumstances of the case.

If, on the other hand, the point of law is disputed, either one party or
 both in turn will argue the point. Take the following case as an
 example. A father shall be empowered to arrest his son, and a
 patron to arrest his freedman. Freedmen shall be transferred to
 their patron's heir. A certain man appointed the son of a freedman
 as his heir. The son of the freedman and the freedman himself both
 claim the right to arrest the other. Here the father claims
 his right over the son, while the son, in virtue of his new position as
 patron, denies that his father possessed the rights of a father, because
 he was in the power of his patron.

Laws containing two provisions may conflict with themselves in exactly
 the same way as two laws may conflict. The following will serve as an
 illustration. The bastard born before a legitimate son shall
 rank as legitimate, the bastard born after the legitimate son shall
 only rank as a citizen. 
 All that I have said
 about laws will also apply to decrees of the senate. If decrees of the
 senate conflict with one another or with the laws, the basis will be the same as if laws only were concerned.

The syllogistic basis 
 has some resemblance to the basis concerned with the letter and
 intention of the law, since whenever it comes into play, one
 party rests his case on the letter: there is, however, this difference
 between the two bases, that in the latter we
 argue against the letter, in the present beyond the letter, while in the
 latter the party defending the letter aims at securing that in any case
 the letter may be carried into effect, whereas in the present his aim
 will be to prevent anything except the letter being carried into effect.
 The syllogism is sometimes employed in
 conjunction with definition: for often if the
 definition be weak it takes refuge in the syllogism. Assume a law to run
 as follows: A woman who is a
 poisoner shall be liable to capital punishment. A wife gave her
 husband a love-potion to cure him of his habit of beating her. She
 also divorced him. On being asked by her relatives to return to him,
 she refused. The husband hung himself. The woman is accused of
 poisoning. The strongest line for the accuser to take will
 be to assert that the love-potion was a poison. This involves
 definition. If it proves weak, we shall have recourse to the syllogism,
 to which we shall proceed after virtually dropping
 our previous argument, and which we shall employ to decide the question
 whether she does not deserve to be punished for administering the
 lovepotion no less than if she had caused her husband's death by poison.

The syllogistic basis, then, deduces from the
 letter of the law that which is uncertain; and since this conclusion is
 arrived at by reason, the basis is called ratiocinative. 
 It may be subdivided into the following species of question. If it is right to do a thing once, is it
 right to do it often? Example: A priestess found guilty of
 unchastity is thrown from the Tarpeian rock and survives. It is
 demanded that she shall be thrown down again. If the law
 grants a privilege with reference to one thing, does it grant it with
 reference to a number? Example: A man kills two tyrants together
 and claims two rewards.

If a thing is legal before a certain occurrence, is it legal after it?
 Example: The ravisher took refuge in flight. His victim married.
 The ravisher returned and the woman demands to be allowed her
 choice. 
 Is that which is lawful with regard to the
 whole, lawful with regard to a part? Example: It is forbidden to
 accept a plough as security. He accepted a ploughshare. Is
 that which is lawful with regard to a part, lawful with regard to the
 whole? Example: It is forbidden to export wool from Tarentum: he
 exported sheep.

In all these cases the syllogism rests on the letter of the law as well:
 for the accuser urges that the provisions of the law are precise. He
 will say, I demand that the priestess who has broken her vows be
 cast down: it is the law, or The ravished woman
 demands the exercise of the choice permitted
 her by law, or Wool grows on sheep, and so
 on.

But to this we may reply, The law does not prescribe that the
 condemned woman should be thrown down twice, that the ravished woman
 should exercise her choice under all circumstances, that the
 tyrannicide should receive two rewards, while it makes no mention of
 ploughshares or of sheep. Thus we infer what is doubtful
 from what is certain. It is a more difficult task to deduce from the
 letter of the law that which is not actually prescribed by the letter,
 and to argue because that is the case, so also is this. Take the
 following problems. The man who kills his father shall be sewn up
 in a sack. He killed his mother, or It is illegal to
 drag a man from his own house into the court. He dragged him from
 his tent.

Under this heading come questions such as the following: if there is not
 a special law applicable to the case, ought we to have recourse to an
 analogous law? is the point in question similar to what is contained in
 the letter of the law? Now it should be noted that what is similar may
 be greater, equal or less. In the first ease we enquire whether the
 provisions of the law are sufficient, or, if they are insufficient,
 whether we should have recourse to this other law. In both cases it is a
 question of the intention of the legislator. But the most effective form
 of treatment in such cases will be to appeal to equity.

I turn to tile discussion of ambiguity, which
 will be found to have countless species: indeed, in the opinion of
 certain philosophers, there is not a single word which has not a
 diversity of meanings. There are, however, very few genera, since ambiguity must occur either in a single word or
 in a group of words.

Single words give rise to error, when the same noun applies to a number
 of things or persons (the Greeks call this homonymy): for example, it is uncertain with regard to the
 word gallus whether it means a cock or a Gaul or
 a proper name or an emasculated priest of tybele; while Ajax may refer
 either to the son of Telamon or the son of Oileus. Again, verbs likewise
 may have different meanings, as, for example, cerno.

This ambiguity crops up in many ways, and gives rise to disputes, mole
 especially in connexion with wills, when two men of the same name claim
 their freedom or, it may be, an inheritance, or again, when the enquiry
 turns on the precise nature of the bequest.

There is another form of ambiguity where a word has one meaning when
 entire and another when divided, as, for example, ingenua, armameniam or Corvinum. 
 The disputes arising from such ambiguities are no more
 than childish quibbles, but nevertheless the Greeks are in the habit of
 making them the subject for controversial themes, as, for example, in
 the notorious case of the αὐλητρίς, 
 when the question is whether it is a hall which has fallen down three
 times ( αὔλη τρίς ) or a flute-player
 who fell down that is to be sold.

A third form of ambiguity is caused by the use of compound words; for
 example, if a man orders his body to be buried in a cultivated spot, and
 should direct, as is often done, a considerable space of land
 surrounding his tomb to be taken from the land left to his heirs with a
 view to preserving his ashes from outrage, an occasion for dispute may
 be afforded by the question whether the words mean in a
 cultivated place ( in culto loco ) or
 in an uncultivated place ( inculto
 loco ).

Thus arises the Greek theme about Leon and
 Pantaleon, who go to law because the handwriting of a will makes it
 uncertain whether the testator has left all his property to Leon or his
 property to Pantaleon. Groups of words give rise to more
 serious ambiguity. Such ambiguity may arise from doubt as to a case, as
 in the following passage: — 
 
 I say that you, O prince of Aeacus' line, 
 Rome can o'erthrow. 
 
 Or it may
 arise from the arrangement of the words,

which makes it doubtful what the exact reference of some word or words
 may be, more especially when there is a word in the middle of the
 sentence which may be referred either to what precedes or what follows,
 as in the line of Virgil which describes Troilus
 as 
 lora tenens tamen, 
 
 where it may be disputed whether the poet means that he is still holding
 the reins, or that, although he holds the reins, he is still dragged
 along.

The controversial theme, A certain man in his will ordered his
 heirs to erect statuam auream hastam
 tenentem,' 
 turns on a similar ambiguity; for it
 raises the question whether it is the statue holding the spear which is
 to be of gold, or whether the spear should be of gold and the statue of
 some other material. The same result is even more frequently produced by
 a mistaken inflexion of the voice, as in the line: 
 quinquaginta uhi erant centum inde
 occidit Achilles.

It is also often doubtful to which of two antecedents a phrase is to be
 referred. Hence we get such controversial themes
 as, My heir shall be bound to give my wife a hundred pounds of
 silver according to choice, where it is left uncertain which
 of the two is to make the choice. But in these examples of ambiguity,
 the first may be remedied by a change of case, the second by separating
 1 the words or altering their position, the third by some addition.

Ambiguity resulting from the use of two accusatives may be removed by
 the substitution of the ablative: for example, Lachetem audivi percussisse Demeam (I heard that Demea struck
 Laches, or that L. struck D.) may be rendered
 clear by writing a Lachete percussum Demeam (that
 D. was struck by L.). There is, however, a natural ambiguity in the
 ablative case itself, as I pointed out in the first book. For example,
 caelo decurrit aperto 
 leaves it doubtful whether the poet
 means he hastened down through the open sky, or
 when the sky was opened for him to pass.

Words may be separated by a breathing space or pause. We may, for
 instance, say statuam, and then, after a slight
 pause, add auream hastam, or the pause may come
 between statuam auream and haslam. The addition referred to above would take the form quod elegerit ipse, where ipse will show that the reference to the heir, or quod elegerit ipsa, making the reference to the
 wife. In cases where ambiguity is caused by the addition of a word, the
 difficulty may be eliminated by the removal of a word, as in the
 sentence nos flentes illos deprehendimus.

Where it is doubtful to what a word or phrase refers, and the word or
 phrase itself is ambiguous, we shall have to alter several words, as,
 for example, in the sentence, My heir shall be bound to give him
 all his own property, where his
 own is ambiguous. Cicero commits the same fault when he says
 of Gaius Fannius, 
 He following
 the instructions of his father-in-law, for whom, because he had not
 been elected to the college of augurs, he had no great affection,
 especially as he had given Quintus Scaevola, the younger of his
 sons-in-law, the preference over himself. . For over himself may refer either to his
 father-in-law or to Fannius.

Again, another source of ambiguity arises from leaving it doubtful in a
 written document whether a syllable is long or short. Cato, for example, means one thing in the nominative when its
 second syllable is short, and another in the dative or ablative when the
 same syllable is long. 
 There are also a number of other forms of ambiguity which it is
 unnecessary for me to describe at length.

Further, it is quite unimportant how ambiguity arises or how it is
 remedied. For it is clear in all cases that two interpretations are
 possible, and as far as the written or spoken word is concerned, it is
 equally important for both parties. It is therefore a perfectly futile
 rule which directs us to endeavour, in connexion with this basis, to turn the word in question to suit our
 own purpose, since, if this is feasible, there is no ambiguity.

In cases of ambiguity the only questions which confront us will be,
 sometimes which of the two interpretations is most natural, and always
 which interpretation is most equitable, and what was the intention of
 the person who wrote or uttered the words. I have, however, given
 sufficient instructions in the course of my remarks on conjecture and quality, as to the
 method of treating such questions, whether by the prosecution or the
 defence.

There is, however, a certain affinity between all these bases. 
 For in definition we
 enquire into the meaning of a term, and in the syllogism, which is closely connected with definition, 
 we consider what was the meaning of the writer,
 while it is obvious that in the case of contrary laws there are two bases, one concerned with the letter, and the other with the intention. Again, definition is in
 itself a kind of ambiguity, since it brings out
 two meanings in the same term.

The basis concerned with the letter and the intention of the law
 involves a legal question as regards the interpretation of the words,
 which is identical with the question arising out of contrary laws. Consequently some writers have asserted that
 all these bases may be resolved into those
 concerned with the letter and intention, while others hold that in all cases where the letter and the intention 
 of a document have to be considered, it is ambiguity that gives rise to the question at issue. But all
 these bases are really distinct, for an obscure
 point of law is not the same as an ambiguous point of law. Definition, then,

involves a general question as to the actual nature of a term, a
 question which may conceivably have no connexion whatsoever with the
 content of the case in point. In investigations as to the letter and the intention, 
 the dispute turns on the provisions contained in the law, whereas the
 syllogism deals with that which is not
 contained in the law. In disputes arising out of ambiguity we are led from the ambiguous phrase to its
 conflicting meanings, whereas in the case of contrary
 laws the fight starts from the conflict of their provisions.

The distinction between these bases has therefore
 been rightly accepted by the most learned of 
 rhetoricians, and is still adopted by the majority and the wisest of the
 teachers of to-day. It has not been possible in this connexion to give
 instructions which will cover the arrangement to be adopted in every
 case, though I have been able to give some.

There are other details concerning which I can give no instructions
 without a statement of the particular case on which the orator has to
 speak. For not only must the whole case be analysed into its component
 topics and questions, but these subdivisions themselves require to be
 arranged in the order which is appropriate to them. For example, in the
 exordium each part has its own special place,
 first, second and third, etc., while each question and topic requires to
 be suitably arranged, and the same is true even of isolated general questions.

For it will not, I imagine, be represented that sufficient skill in
 division is possessed by the man who, after resolving a controversial
 theme into questions such as the following, whether a hero is to be
 granted any reward that he may claim, whether he is allowed to claim
 private property, whether he may demand any woman in marriage, whether
 he may claim to marry a woman who already possesses a husband, or this
 particular woman, then, although it is his duty
 to deal with the first question first, proceeds to deal with them
 indiscriminately as each may happen to occur to him, and ignores the
 fact that the first point which should be discussed is whether we should
 stand by the letter or the intention of the law, and fails to follow the
 natural order,

which demands that after beginning with this question he should then
 proceed to introduce the subsidiary questions, thereby making the
 structure of his speech as regular as that of the
 human body, of which, for example, the hand is a part, while the fingers
 are parts of the hand, and the joints of the fingers. It is precisely this method
 of arrangement which it is impossible to demonstrate except with
 reference to some definite and specific case.

But it is clearly useless to take one or two cases, or even a hundred or
 a thousand, since their number is infinite. It is the duty of the
 teacher to demonstrate daily in one kind of case after another what is
 the natural order and connexion of the parts, so that little by little
 his pupils may gain the experience which will enable them to deal with
 other cases of the same character. For it is quite impossible to teach
 everything that can be accomplished by art.

For example, what painter has ever been taught to reproduce everything
 in nature? But once he has acquired the general principles of imitation,
 he will be able to copy whatever is given him. What vase-maker is there
 who has not succeeded in producing a vase of a type which he had never
 previously seen?

There are, however, some things which depend not on the teacher, but on
 the learner. For example, a physician will teach what treatment should
 be adopted for different diseases, what the dangers are against which he
 must be on his guard, and what the symptoms by which they may be
 recognised. But he will not be able to communicate to his pupil the gift
 of feeling the pulse, or appreciating the variations of colour,
 breathing and temperature: this will depend on the talent of the
 individual. Therefore, in most instances, we must rely on ourselves, and
 must study cases with the utmost care, never 
 forgetting that men discovered our art before ever they proceeded to
 teach it.

For the most effective, and what is justly styled most economical 
 arrangement of a
 case as a whole, is that which cannot be determined except when we have
 the specific facts before us. It consists in the power to determine when
 the exordium is necessary and when it should be
 omitted; when we should make our statement of facts continuous, and when
 we should subdivide it; when we should begin at the very beginning,
 when, like Homer, start at the middle or the end;

when we should omit the statement of facts altogether; when we should
 begin by dealing with the arguments advanced by our opponents, and when
 with our own; when we should place the strongest proofs first and when
 the weakest; in what cases we should prefix questions to the exordium, and what
 preparation is necessary to pave the way for these questions; what
 arguments the judge will accept at once, and to what he requires to be
 led by degrees; whether we should refute our opponent's arguments as a
 whole or in detail; whether we should reserve emotional appeals for the
 peroration or distribute them throughout the whole speech; whether we
 should speak first of law or of equity; whether we should first advance
 (or refute) charges as to past offences or the charges connected with
 the actual trial;

or, again, if the case is complicated, what order we should adopt, what
 evidence or documents of any kind should be read out in the course of
 our speech, and what reserved for a later stage. This gift of
 arrangement is to oratory what generalship is to war. The skilled
 commander will know how to distribute his forces 
 for battle, what troops he should keep back to garrison forts or guard
 cities, to secure supplies, or guard communications, and what
 dispositions to make by land and by sea.

But to possess this gift, our orator will require all the resources of
 nature, learning and industrious study. Therefore let no man hope that
 he can acquire eloquence merely by the labour of others. He must burn
 the midnight oil, persevere to the end and grow pale with study: he must
 form his own powers, his own experience, his own methods: he must not
 require to hunt for his weapons, but must have them ready for immediate
 use, as though they were born with him and not derived from the
 instruction of others.

The road may be pointed out, but our speed must be our own. Art has done
 enough in publishing the resources of eloquence, it is for us to know
 how to use them.

And it is not enough merely to arrange the various parts: each several
 part has its own internal economy, according to which one thought will
 come first, another second, another third, while we must struggle not
 merely to place these thoughts in their proper order, but to link them
 together and give them such cohesion that there will be no trace of any
 suture: they must form a body, not a congeries of limbs.

This end will be attained if we note what best suits each position, and
 take care that the words which we place together are such as will not
 clash, but will mutually harmonise. Thus different facts will not seem
 like perfect strangers thrust into uncongenial company from distant
 places, but will be united with what precedes and follows by an intimate
 bond of union, with the result that our speech will
 give the impression not merely of having been put together, but of
 natural continuity. I fear, however, that I have been lured on from one
 thing to another and have advanced somewhat too far, since I find myself
 gliding from the subject of arrangement to the discussion of the general
 rules of style, which will form the opening theme of the next book.

THE observations contained in the preceding five books approximately
 cover the method of invention and the arrangement of the material thus
 provided. It is absolutely necessary to acquire a thorough knowledge of
 this method in all its details, if we desire to become accomplished
 orators, but a simpler and briefer course of instruction is more
 suitable for beginners.

For they tend either to be deterred from study by the difficulties of so
 detailed and complicated a course, or lose heart at having to attempt
 tasks of such difficulty just at the very period when their minds need
 special nourishment and a more attractive form of diet, or think that
 when they have learned this much and no more, they are fully equipped
 for the tasks of eloquence, or finally, regarding themselves as fettered
 by certain fixed laws of oratory, shrink from making any effort on their
 own initiative.

Consequently, it has been held that those who have exercised the
 greatest care in writing text-books of rhetoric have been the furthest
 removed from genuine eloquence. Still, it is absolutely necessary to
 point out to beginners the road which they should follow, though this
 road must be smooth and easy not merely to enter, but to indicate.
 Consequently, our skilful instructor should select all that is best in the various writers on the subject
 and content himself for the moment with imparting those precepts of
 which he approves, without wasting time over the refutation of those
 which he does not approve. For thus your pupils will follow where you
 lead.

Later, as they acquire strength in speaking, their learning will grow in
 proportion. To begin with, they may be allowed to think that there is no
 other road than that on which we have set their feet, and it may be left
 to time to teach them what is actually the best. It is true that writers
 on rhetoric have, by the pertinacity with which they have defended their
 opinions, made the principles of the science which they profess somewhat
 complicated; but these principles are in reality neither obscure nor
 hard to understand.

Consequently, if we regard the treatment of the art as a whole, it is
 harder to decide what we should teach than to teach it, once the
 decision has been made. Above all, in the two departments which I have
 mentioned, the necessary rules are but few in number, and if the pupil
 gives them ready acceptance, he will find that the path to further
 accomplishment presents no difficulty.

I have, it is true, already expended much labour on this portion of my
 task; for I desired to make it clear that rhetoric is the science of
 speaking well, that it is useful, and further, that it is an art and a
 virtue. I wished also to show that its subject matter consists of
 everything on which an orator may be called to speak, and is, as a rule,
 to be found in three classes of oratory, demonstrative, deliberative,
 and forensic; that every speech is composed of matter and words, and
 that as regards matter we must study invention, as
 regards words, style, and as regards both, arrangement, all of which it
 is the task of memory to retain and delivery to render attractive.

I attempted to show that the duty of the orator is composed of
 instructing, moving and delighting his hearers, statement of facts and
 argument falling under the head of instruction, while emotional appeals
 are concerned with moving the audience and, although they may be
 employed throughout the case, are most effective at the beginning and
 end. As to the element of charm, I pointed out that, though it may
 reside both in facts and words, its special sphere is that of style.

I observed that there are two kinds of questions, the one indefinite,
 the other definite, and involving the consideration of persons and
 circumstances of time and place; further, that whatever our subject
 matter, there are three questions which we must ask, is it? what is it? and of what kind is
 it? To this I added that demonstrative oratory consists of
 praise and denunciation, and that in this connexion we must consider not
 merely the acts actually performed by the person of whom we were
 speaking, but what happened after his death. This task I showed to be
 concerned solely with what is honourable or expedient.

I remarked that in deliberative oratory there is a third department as
 well which depends on conjecture, for we have to consider whether the
 subject of deliberation is possible or likely to happen. At this point I
 emphasised the importance of considering who it is that is speaking,
 before whom he is speaking, and what he says. As regards forensic cases,
 I demonstrated that some turn on one point of dispute, others on
 several, and that whereas in some cases it is the
 attack, in others in is the defence that determines the basis; that every defence rests on denial, which
 is of two kinds, since we may either deny that the act was committed or
 that its nature was that alleged, while it further consists of
 justification and technical pleas to show that the action cannot stand.

I proceeded to show that questions must turn either on something written
 or something done: in the latter case we have to consider the truth of
 the facts together with their special character and quality; in the
 former we consider the meaning or the intention of the words, with
 reference to which we usually examine the nature of all cases, criminal
 or civil, which fall under the heads of the letter and intention, the syllogism, ambiguity or contrary lairs.

I went on to point out that in all forensic cases the speech consists of
 five parts, the exordium designed to conciliate
 the audience, the statement of facts designed to
 instruct him, the proof which confirms our own
 propositions, the refutation which overthrows the
 arguments of our opponents, and the peroration 
 which either refreshes the memory of our hearers or plays upon their
 emotions.

I then dealt with the sources of arguments and emotion, and indicated
 the means by which the judges should be excited, placated, or amused.
 Finally I demonstrated the method of division. But I would ask that the
 student who is really desirous of learning should believe that there are
 also a variety of subjects with regard to which nature itself should
 provide much of the requisite knowledge without any assistance from
 formal teaching, so that the precepts of which I have spoken may be
 regarded not so much as having been discovered by
 the professors of rhetoric as having been noted by them when they
 presented themselves.

The points which follow require greater care and industry. For I have
 now to discuss the theory of style, a subject which, as all orators
 agree, presents the greatest difficulty. For Marcus Antonius, whom I
 mentioned above, states that lie has seen many good, but no really
 eloquent speakers, and holds that, while to be a good speaker it is
 sufficient to say what is necessary, only the really eloquent speaker
 can do this in ornate and appropriate language.

And if this excellence was to be found in no orator up to his own day,
 and not even in himself or Lucius Crassus, we may regard it as certain
 that the reason why they and their predecessors lacked this gift was its
 extreme difficulty of acquisition. Again, Cicero holds that, while invention and arrangement are within the reach
 of any man of good sense, eloquence belongs to the orator alone, and
 consequently it was on the rules for the cultivation of eloquence that
 he expended the greatest care.

That he was justified in so doing is shown clearly by the actual name of
 the art of which I am speaking. For the verb eloqui means the production and communication to the audience
 of all that the speaker has conceived in his mind, and without this
 power all the preliminary accomplishments of oratory are as useless as a
 sword that is kept permanently concealed within its sheath.

Therefore it is on this that teachers of rhetoric concentrate their
 attention, since it cannot possibly be acquired without the assistance
 of the rules of artit is this which is the chief object of our study,
 the goal of all our exercises and all our efforts
 at imitation, and it is to this that we devote the energies of a
 lifetime; it is this that makes one orator surpass his rivals, this that
 makes one style of speaking preferable to another.

The failure of the orators of the Asiatic and other decadent schools did
 not lie in their inability to grasp or arrange the facts on which they
 had to speak, nor, on the other hand, were those who professed what we
 call the dry style of oratory either fools or incapable of understanding
 the cases in which they were engaged. No, the fault of the former was
 that they lacked taste and restraint in speaking, while the latter
 lacked power, whence it is clear that it is here that the real faults
 and virtues of oratory are to be found.

This does not, however, mean that we should devote ourselves to the
 study of words alone. For I am compelled to offer the most prompt and
 determined resistance to those who would at the very portals of this
 enquiry lay hold of the admissions I have just made and, disregarding
 the subject matter which, after all, is the backbone of any speech,
 devote themselves to the futile and crippling study of words in a vain
 desire to acquire the gift of elegance, a gift which I myself regard as
 the fairest of all the glories of oratory, but only when it is natural
 and unaffected.

Healthy bodies, enjoying a good circulation and strengthened by
 exercise, acquire grace from the same source that gives them strength,
 for they have a healthy complexion, firm flesh and shapely thews. But,
 on the other hand, the man who attempts to enhance these physical graces
 by the effeminate use of depilatories and cosmetics, succeeds merely in
 defacing them by the very care which he bestows on
 them.

Again, a tasteful and magnificent dress, as the Greek poet tells us,
 lends added dignity to its wearer: but effeminate and luxurious apparel
 fails to adorn the body and merely reveals the foulness of the mind.
 Similarly, a translucent and iridescent style merely serves to
 emasculate the subject which it arrays with such pomp of words.
 Therefore I would have the orator, while careful in his choice of words,
 be even more concerned about his subject matter.

For, as a rule, the best words are essentially suggested by the subject
 matter and are discovered by their own intrinsic light. But to-day we
 hunt for these words as though they were always hiding themselves and
 striving to elude our grasp. And thus we fail to realise that they are
 to be found in the subject of our speech, and seek them elsewhere, and,
 when we have found them, force them to suit their context.

It is with a more virile spirit that we should pursue eloquence, who, if
 only her whole body be sound, will never think it her duty to polish her
 nails and tire her hair. The usual result of over-attention to the
 niceties of style is the deterioration of our eloquence.

The main reason for this is that those words are best which are least
 far-fetched and give the impression of simplicity and reality. For those
 words which are obviously the result of careful search and even seem to
 parade their self-conscious art, fail to attain the grace at which they
 aim and lose all appearance of sincerity because they darken the sense
 and choke the good seed by their own luxuriant overgrowth.

For in our passion for words we paraphrase what might be said in plain
 language, repeat what we have already said at
 sufficient length, pile up a number of words where one would suffice,
 and regard allusion as better than directness of speech. So, too, all
 directness of speech is at a discount, and we think no phrase eloquent
 that another could conceivably have used.

We borrow figures and metaphors from the most decadent poets, and regard
 it as a real sign of genius that it should require a genius to
 understand our meaning. And yet Cicero long since laid down this rule in the clearest of language, that
 the worst fault in speaking is to adopt a style inconsistent with the
 idiom of ordinary speech and contrary to the common feeling of mankind.

But nowadays our rhetoricians regard Cicero as lacking both polish and
 learning; we are far superior, for we look upon everything that is
 dictated by nature as beneath our notice, and seek not for the true
 ornaments of speech, but for meretricious finery, as though there were
 any real virtue in words save in their power to represent facts. And if
 we have to spend all our life in the laborious effort to discover words
 which will at once be brilliant, appropriate and lucid, and to arrange
 them with exact precision, we lose all the fruit of our studies.

And yet we see the majority of modern speakers wasting their time over
 the discovery of single words and over the elaborate weighing and
 measurement of such words when once discovered. Even if the special aim
 of such a practice were always to secure the best words, such an
 ill-starred form of industry would be much to be deprecated, since it
 checks tile natural current of our speech and extinguishes the warmth of
 imagination by the delay and loss of self-confidence which it occasions.

For the orator who cannot endure to lose a single
 word is like a man plunged in griping poverty. On the other hand, if he
 will only first form a true conception of the principles of eloquence,
 accumulate a copious supply of words by wide and suitable reading, apply
 the art of arrangement to the words thus acquired, and finally, by
 continual exercise, develop strength to use his acquisitions so that
 every word is ready at hand and lies under his very eyes, he will never
 lose a single word.

For the man who follows these instructions will find that facts and
 words appropriate to their expression will present themselves
 spontaneously. But it must be remembered that a long course of
 preliminary study is necessary and that the requisite ability must not
 merely be acquired, but carefully stored for use; for the anxiety
 devoted to the search for words, to the exercise of the critical faculty
 and the power of comparison is in its place while we are learning, but
 not when we are speaking. Otherwise, the orator who has not given
 sufficient attention to preliminary study will be like a man who, having
 no fortune, lives from hand to mouth.

If, on the other hand, the powers of speech have been carefully
 cultivated beforehand, words will yield us ready service, not merely
 turning up when we search for them, but dwelling in our thoughts and
 following them as the shadow follows the body.

There are, however, limits even to this form of study; for when our
 words are good Latin, full of meaning, elegant and aptly arranged, why
 should we labour further? And yet there are some who are never weary of
 morbid self-criticism, who throw themselves into an agony of mind almost
 over separate syllables, and even when they have 
 discovered the best words for their purpose look for some word that is
 older, less familiar, and less obvious, since they cannot bring
 themselves to realise that when a speech is praised for its words, it
 implies that its sense is inadequate.

While, then, style calls for the utmost attention, we must always bear
 in mind that nothing should be done for the sake of words only, since
 words were invented merely to give expression to things: and those words
 are the most satisfactory which give the best expression to the thoughts
 of our mind and produce the effect which we desire upon the minds of the
 judges.

Such words will assuredly be productive of a style that will both give
 pleasure and awaken admiration; and the admiration will be of a kind far
 other than that which we bestow on portents, while the pleasure evoked
 by the charm will have nothing morbid about it, but will be praiseworthy
 and dignified.

I. What the Greeks call φράσιν we in Latin call elocuio or
 style. Style is revealed both in individual words and in groups of
 words. As regards the former, we must see that they are Latin, clear,
 elegant and well-adapted to produce the desired effect. As regards the
 latter, they must be correct, aptly placed and adorned with suitable
 figures.

I have already, in the portions of the first book dealing with the
 subject of grammar, said all that is necessary on the way to acquire
 idiomatic and correct speech. But there my remarks were restricted to
 the prevention of positive faults, and it is well that I should now
 point out that our words should have nothing provincial or foreign about
 them. For you will find that there are a number of
 writers by no means deficient in style whose language is precious rather
 than idiomatic. As an illustration of my meaning I would remind you of
 the story of the old woman at Athens, who, when Theophrastus, a man of
 no mean eloquence, used one solitary word in an affected way,
 immediately said that he was a foreigner, and on being asked how she
 detected it, replied that his language was too Attic for Athens. Again
 Asinius Pollio held that Livy,

for all his astounding eloquence, showed traces of the idiom of Padua.
 Therefore, if possible, our voice and all our words should be such as to
 reveal the native of this city, so that our speech may seem to be of
 genuine Roman origin, and not merely to have been presented with Roman
 citizenship.

Clearness results above all from propriety in the
 use of words. But propriety is capable of more
 than one interpretation. In its primary sense it means calling things by
 their right names, and is consequently sometimes to be avoided, for our
 language must not be obscene, unseemly or mean.

Language may be described as mean when it is beneath the dignity of the
 subject or the rank of the speaker. Some orators fall into serious error
 in their eagerness to avoid this fault, and are afraid of all words that
 are in ordinary use, even although they may be absolutely necessary for
 their purpose. There was, for example, the man who in the course of a
 speech spoke of Iberian grass, a meaningless phrase
 intelligible only to himself. Cassius Severus, however, by way of
 deriding his affectation, explained that he meant Spanish broom.

Nor do I see why a certain distinguished orator thought fishes
 conserved in brine a more elegant
 phrase than the word which he avoided. But while there is
 no special merit in the form of propriety which
 consists in calling things by their real names, it is a fault to fly to
 the opposite extreme. This fault we call impropriety,

while the Greeks call it ἄκυρον As
 examples I may cite the Virgilian, 
 Never could I have hoped for such great woe, 
 or the phrase, which I noted had been corrected by Cicero in a speech of
 Dolabella's, To bring death, or again, phrases of a kind
 that win praise from some of our contemporaries, such as, His
 words fell from the cross. 
 On the other hand, everything
 that lacks appropriateness will not necessarily suffer from the fault of
 positive impropriety, because there are, in the
 first place, many things which have no proper term either in Greek or
 Latin.

For example, the verb iaculari is specially used
 in the sense of to throw a javelin, whereas there is no
 special verb appropriated to the throwing of a ball or a stake. So, too,
 while lapidare has the obvious meaning of
 to stone, there is no special word to describe the
 throwing of clods or potsherds.

Hence abuse or catachresis of words becomes
 necessary, while metaphor, also, which is the supreme ornament of
 oratory, applies words to things with which they have strictly no
 connexion. Consequently propriety turns not on
 the actual term, but on the meaning of the term, and must be tested by
 the touchstone of the understanding, not of the ear.

The second sense in which the word propriety is
 used occurs when there are a number of things all called by the same
 name: in this case the original term from which the others are derived
 is styled the proper term. 
 For example, the word vertex means a whirl of
 water, or of anything else that is whirled in a like manner: then, owing
 to the fashion of coiling the hair, it comes to mean the top of the
 head, while finally, from this sense it derives the meaning of the
 highest point of a mountain. All these things may correctly be called
 vertices, but the proper use of the term is the first. So, too, solea and tuidus

are employed as names of fish, to mention no other cases. The third kind of propriety is found in the case where a thing
 which serves a number of purposes has a special name in some one
 particular context; for example, the proper term for a funeral song is naenia, and for
 the general's tent augurale. Again, a term which
 is common to a number of things may be applied in a proper or special sense to some one of them. Thus we use urbs in the special sense of Rome, venales in the special sense of newly-purchased
 slaves, and Corinthia in the special sense of
 bronzes, although there are other cities besides Rome, and many other
 things which may be styled venales besides
 slaves, and gold and silver are found at Corinth as well as bronze. But
 the use of such terms implies no special excellence in an orator.

There is, however, a form of propriety of speech
 which deserves the highest praise, that is to say, the employment of
 words with the maximum of significance, as, for instance, when Cato
 said that Caesar was thoroughly
 sober when he undertook the task of overthrowing the
 constitution, or as Virgil spoke
 of a thin-drawn strain, and Horace of the shrill pipe, and dread
 Hannibal.

Some also include under this head that form of propriety 
 which is derived from
 characteristic epithets, such as in the Virgilian phrases, sweet
 unfermented wine, or with white teeth. But of
 this sort of propriety I shall have to speak elsewhere.

Propriety is also made to include the appropriate
 use of words in metaphor, while at times the salient characteristic of
 an individual comes to be attached to him as a proper name: thus Fabius was called Cunctator, 
 the Delayer, on account of the most remarkable of his many military
 virtues. Some, perhaps, may think that words which mean more than they
 actually say deserve mention in connexion with clearness, since they
 assist the understanding. I, however, prefer to place emphasis 
 among the ornaments of oratory, since it does not make a
 thing intelligible, but merely more intelligible.

Obscurity, on the other hand, results from the employment of obsolete
 words, as, for instance, if an author should search the records of the
 priests, the earliest treaties and the works of long-forgotten writers
 with the deliberate design of collecting words that no man living
 understands. For there are persons who seek to gain a reputation for
 erudition by such means as this, in order that they may be regarded as
 the sole depositories of certain forms of knowledge.

Obscurity may also be produced by the use of words which are more
 familiar in certain districts than in others, or which are of a
 technical character, such as the wind called
 Atabalus, 
 or a sack-ship, 
 or in malo cosanum. Such expressions should be
 avoided if we are pleading before a judge who is ignorant of their
 meaning, or, if used, should be explained, as may have to be done in the
 case of what are called homonyms. For example, the
 word taurus may be unintelligible unless we make
 it clear whether we are speaking of a bull, or a mountain, or a
 constellation, or the name of a man, or the root of a tree.

A greater source of obscurity is, however, to be found in the
 construction and combination of words, and the ways in which this may
 occur are still more numerous. Therefore, a sentence should never be so
 long that it is impossible to follow its drift, nor should its
 conclusion be unduly postponed by transposition or an excessive use of
 hyperbaton. 
 Still worse is the
 result when the order of the words is confused as in the line 
 
 
 In the midmost
 sea 
 Rocks are there by Italians altars
 called. 
 
 Again,

parenthesis, so often employed by orators and historians, and consisting
 in the insertion of one sentence in the midst of another, may seriously
 hinder the understanding of a passage, unless the insertion is short.
 For example, in the passage where Vergil describes a colt, the words 
 
 Nor fears he empty noises, 
 
 are
 followed by a number of remarks of a totally different form, and it is
 only four lines later that the poet returns to the point and says,
 
 
 Then, if tile sound of
 arms be heard afar, 
 How to stand still he
 knows not. 
 
 Above all, ambiguity must be
 avoided,

and by ambiguity I mean not merely the kind of which I have already
 spoken, where the sense is uncertain, as in the clause Chremetem audivi percussisse Demean, 
 
 but
 also that form of ambiguity which, although it does not actually result
 in obscuring the sense, falls into the same verbal error as if a man
 should say visum a se hominem librum scribentem 
 (that he had seen a man writing a book). For although it is clear that
 the book was being written by the man, the sentence is badly put together, and its author
 has made it as ambiguous as he could.

Again, some writers introduce a whole host of useless words; for, in
 their eagerness to avoid ordinary methods of expression, and allured by
 false ideals of beauty they wrap up everything in a multitude of words
 simply and solely because they are unwilling to make a direct and simple
 statement of the facts: and then they link up and involve one of those
 long-winded clauses with others like it, and extend their periods to a
 length beyond the compass of mortal breath.

Some even expend an infinity of toil to acquire this vice, which, by the
 way, is nothing new: for I learn from the pages of Livy that there was one, a teacher,
 who instructed his pupils to make all they said obscure, using the Greek
 word σκότισον ( darken
 it. ) It was this same habit that gave rise to the famous
 words of praise, So much the better: even I could not understand
 you.

Others are consumed with a passion for brevity and omit words which are
 actually necessary to the sense, regarding it as a matter of complete
 indifference whether their meaning is intelligible to others, so long as
 they know what they mean themselves. For my own part, I regard as
 useless words which make such a demand upon the ingenuity of the hearer.
 Others, again, succeed in committing the same fault by a perverse misuse of figures.

Worst of all are the phrases which the Greeks call ἀδιανόητα, that is to say, expressions
 which, though their meaning is obvious enough on the surface, have a
 secret meaning, as for example in the phrase cum
 ductus est caecus secundam viam stare, or where the man, who is
 supposed in the scholastic theme to have torn his own limbs with his
 teeth, is said to have lain upon himself

Such expressions are regarded as ingenious, daring and eloquent, simply
 because of their ambiguity, and quite a number of persons have become
 infected by the belief that a passage which requires a commentator must
 for that very reason be a masterpiece of elegance. Nay, there is even a
 class of hearer who find a special pleasure in such passages; for the
 fact that they can provide an answer to the riddle fills them with an
 ecstasy of self-congratulation, as if they had not merely heard the
 phrase, but invented it.

For my own part, I regard clearness as the first essential of a good
 style: there must be propriety in our words, their order must be
 straightforward, the conclusion of the period must not be long
 postponed, there must be nothing lacking and nothing superfluous. Thus
 our language will be approved by the learned and clear to the
 uneducated. I am speaking solely of clearness in style, as I have
 already dealt with clearness in the presentation of facts in the rules I
 laid down for the statement of the case.

But the general method is the same in both. For if what we say is not
 less nor more than is required, and is clear and systematically
 arranged, the whole matter will be plain and obvious even to a not too
 attentive audience. For we must never forget that
 the attention of the judge is not always so keen that he will dispel
 obscurities without assistance, and bring the light of his intelligence
 to bear on the dark places of our speech. On the contrary, lie will have
 many other thoughts to distract him unless what we say is so clear that
 our words will thrust themselves into his mind even when he is not
 giving us his attention, just as the sunlight forces itself upon the
 eyes.

Therefore our aim must be not to put him in a position to understand our
 argument, but to force him to understand it. Consequently we shall
 frequently repeat anything which we think the judge has failed to take
 in as he should. We shall say, for example, I fear that this
 portion of our case has been somewhat obscurely stated: the fault is
 mine, and I will therefore re-state it in plainer and simpler
 language ; for the pretended admission of a fault on our
 part creates an excellent impression.

I now come to the subject of ornament, in which, more than in any other
 department, the orator undoubtedly allows himself the greatest
 indulgence. For a speaker wins but trifling praise if he does no more
 than speak with correctness and lucidity; in fact his speech seems
 rather to be free from blemish than to have any positive merit.

Even the untrained often possess the gift of invention, and no great
 learning need be assumed for the satisfactory arrangement of our matter,
 while if any more recondite art is required, it is generally concealed,
 since unconcealed it would cease to be an art, while all these qualities
 are employed solely to serve the interests of the actual case. On the
 other hand, by the employment of skilful ornament the orator commends himself at the same time, and whereas his
 other accomplishments appeal to the considered judgment of the learned,
 this gift appeals to the enthusiastic approval of the world at large,
 and the speaker who possesses it fights not merely with effective, but
 with flashing weapons.

If in his defence of Cornelius Cicero had confined himself merely to
 instructing the judge and speaking in clear and idiomatic Latin without
 a thought beyond the interests of his case, would he ever have compelled
 the Roman people to proclaim their admiration not merely by acclamation,
 but by thunders of applause? No, it was the sublimity and splendour, the
 brilliance and the weight of his eloquence that evoked such clamorous
 enthusiasm.

Nor, again, would his words have been greeted with such extraordinary
 approbation if his speech had been like the ordinary speeches of every
 day. In my opinion the audience did not know what they were doing, their
 applause sprang neither from their judgment nor their will; they were
 seized with a kind of frenzy and, unconscious of the place in which they
 stood, burst forth spontaneously into a perfect ecstasy of delight.

But rhetorical ornament contributes not a little to the furtherance of
 our case as well. For when our audience find it a pleasure to listen,
 their attention and their readiness to believe what they hear are both
 alike increased, while they are generally filled with delight, and
 sometimes even transported by admiration. The flash of the sword in
 itself strikes something of terror to the eye, and we should be less
 alarmed by the thunderbolt if we feared its violence alone, and not its
 flash as well.

Cicero was right when, in one of his letters to Brutus, he wrote, Eloquence which evokes no admiration
 is, in my opinion, unworthy of the name. Aristotle likewise thinks that the excitement of
 admiration should be one of our first aims. But such ornament must, as I
 have already said, be bold, manly and chaste,
 free from all effeminate smoothness and the false hues derived from
 artificial dyes, and must glow with health and vigour.

So true is this, that although, where ornament is concerned, vice and
 virtue are never far apart, those who employ a vicious style of
 embellishment disguise their vices with the name of virtue. Therefore
 let none of our decadents accuse me of being an enemy to those who speak
 with grace and finish. I do not deny the existence of such a virtue, I
 merely deny that they possess it.

Shall I regard a farm as a model of good cultivation because its owner
 shows me lilies and violets and anemones and fountains of living water
 in place of rich crops and vines bowed beneath their clusters? Shall I
 prefer the barren plane and myrtles trimly clipped, to the fruitful
 olive and the elm that weds the vine? No, let such luxuries delight the
 rich: but where would their wealth be if they had nought save these?

Again, is beauty an object of no consideration in the planting of fruit
 trees? Certainly not! For my trees must be planted in due order and at
 fixed intervals. What fairer sight is there than rows of trees planted
 in échelon 
 which present straight lines to the eye from whatever angle they be
 viewed? But it has an additional advantage, since this form of
 plantation enables every tree to derive an equal share of moisture from
 the soil.

When the tops of my olive trees rise too high, I lop them away, with the
 result that their growth expands laterally in a
 manner that is at once more pleasing to the eye and enables them to bear
 more fruit owing to the increase in the number of branches. A horse
 whose flanks are compact is not only better to look upon, but swifter in
 speed. The athlete whose muscles have been formed by exercise is a joy
 to the eye, but he is also better fitted for the contests in which he
 must engage.

In fact true beauty and usefulness always go hand in hand. It does not,
 however, require any special ability to discern the truth of this. It is
 more important to note that such seemly ornament must be varied to suit
 the nature of the material to which it is applied. To begin with the
 primary classification of oratory, the same form of ornament will not
 suit demonstrative, deliberative and forensic speeches. For the oratory
 of display aims solely at delighting the audience, and therefore
 develops all the resources of eloquence and deploys all its ornament,
 since it seeks not to steal its way into the mind nor to wrest the
 victory from its opponent, but aims solely at honour and glory.

Consequently the orator, like the hawker who displays his wares, will
 set forth before his audience for their inspection, nay, almost for
 their handling, all his most attractive reflexions, all the brilliance
 that language and the charm that figures can supply, together with all
 the magnificence of metaphor and the elaborate art of composition that
 is at his disposal. For his success concerns himself, and not his cause.

But when it is a question of facts, and he is confronted by the hard
 realities of battle, his last thought will be for his personal glory.
 Nay, it is even unseemly to trouble overmuch about words when the
 greatest interests are at stake. I would not assert
 that such themes afford no scope for ornament, but such ornament as is
 employed must be of a more severe, restrained and less obvious
 character; above all, it must be adapted to the matter in hand.

For whereas in deliberative oratory the senate demand a certain
 loftiness and the people a certain impetuosity of eloquence, the public
 cases of the courts and those involving capital punishment demand a more
 exact style. On the other hand, in private deliberations and lawsuits
 about trifling sums of money (and there are not a few of these) it is
 more appropriate to employ simple and apparently unstudied language. For
 we should be ashamed to demand the repayment of a loan in rolling
 periods, or to display poignant emotion in a case concerned with
 water-droppings, or to work ourselves into a perspiration over the
 return of a slave to the vendor. But I am wandering from the point.

Since rhetorical ornament, like clearness, may reside either in
 individual words or groups of words, we must consider the requirements
 of both cases. For although tile canon, that clearness mainly requires
 propriety of language and ornament the skilful use of metaphor, is
 perfectly sound, it is desirable that we should realise that without
 propriety ornament is impossible.

But as several words may often have the same meaning (they are called
 synonyms), some will be more distinguished, sublime, brilliant,
 attractive or euphonious than others. For as those syllables are the
 most pleasing to the ear which are composed of the more euphonious
 letters, thus words composed of such syllables will sound better than
 others, and the more vowel sounds they contain the more attractive they
 will be to hear. The same principle governs the
 linking of word with word; some arrangements will sound better than
 others.

But words require to be used in different ways. For example, horrible
 things are best described by words that are actually harsh to the ear.
 But as a general rule it may be laid down that the best words,
 considered individually, are those which are fullest or most agreeable
 in sound. Again, elegant words are always to be preferred to those which
 are coarse, and there is no room for low words in the speech of a
 cultivated man.

The choice of striking or sublime words will be determined by the matter
 in hand; for a word that in one context is magnificent may be turgid in
 another, and words which are all too mean to describe great things may
 be suitable enough when applied to subjects of less importance. And just
 as a mean word embedded in a brilliant passage attracts special
 attention, like a spot on a bright surface, so if our style be of a
 plain character, sublime and brilliant words will seem incongruous and
 tasteless excrescences on a flat surface.

In some cases instinct, and not reason, must supply the touchstone, as,
 for example, in the line: 
 
 
 A sow was slain to ratify their
 pacts. 
 
 Here the poet, by inventing the
 word porca, succeeded in producing an elegant
 impression, whereas if lie had used the masculine porcuis, the very reverse would have been the case. In some
 cases, however, the incongruity is obvious enough. It was only the other
 day that we laughed with good reason at the poet who wrote: 
 
 The youngling mice had
 gnawed 
 Within its chest the purple-bordered
 gown.

On the other hand, we admire Virgil 
 when he says: 
 
 Oft hath the
 tiny mouse, etc. 
 For here the epithet
 is appropriate and prevents our expecting too much, while the use of the
 singular instead of the plural, and the unusual monosyllabic conclusion
 of the line, both add to the pleasing effect. Horace accordingly imitated Virgil in both these points, when
 he wrote, 
 
 The fruit shall be
 a paltry mouse.

Again, our style need not always dwell on the heights: at times it is
 desirable that it should sink. For there are occasions when the very
 meanness of the words employed adds force to what we say. When Cicero,
 in his denunciation of Piso, says, When your
 whole family rolls up in a dray, do you think that his use
 of the word dray was accidental, and was not
 designedly used to increase his audience's contempt for the man he
 wished to bring to ruin? The same is true when he says elsewhere,
 You put down your head and butt him.

This device may also serve to carry off a jest, as in the passage of
 Cicero where he talks of the little sprat of a boy who slept with
 his elder sister, 
 or where he
 speaks of Flavius, who put out the eyes of crows, 
 or, again, in the pro
 Milone, 
 cries, Hi,
 there! Rufio! and talks of Erucius
 Antoniaster. 
 On the other hand, this practice becomes
 more obtrusive when employed in the schools, like the phrase that was so
 much praised in my boyhood, Give your father bread, or in
 the same declamation, You feed even your dog. 
 But such tricks do
 not always come off,

especially in the schools, and often turn the laugh
 against the speaker, particularly in the present day, when declamation
 has become so far removed from reality and labours under such an
 extravagant fastidiousness in the choice of words that it has excluded a
 good half of the language from its vocabulary.

Words are proper, newly-coined or metaphorical. 
 In the case of proper words there is a special
 dignity conferred by antiquity, since old words, which not everyone
 would think of using, give our style a venerable and majestic air: this
 is a form of ornament of which Virgil, with his perfect taste, has made
 unique use.

For his employment of words such as olli, 
 
 quianam, 
 
 moerus, 
 
 pone 
 and pellacia 
 gives his work that
 impressive air of antiquity which is so attractive in pictures, but
 which no art of man can counterfeit. But we must not overdo it, and such
 words must not be dragged out from the deepest darkness of the past. Quaeso is old enough: what need for us to say quaiso? 
 
 Oppido was still used by my older contemporaries, but I fear
 that no one would tolerate it now. At any rate, antegerio, 
 which means the same, would certainly never be used by
 anyone who was not possessed with a passion for notoriety.

What need have we of acrumnosum? 
 It is surely
 enough to call a thing horridum. Reor may be
 tolerated, autumo 
 smacks of tragedy, proles 
 has become a rarity, while prosapia 
 stamps the man who uses it as lacking taste. Need I
 say more Almost the whole language has changed.

But there are still some old words that are endeared to us by their antique sheen, while there are others that we
 cannot avoid using occasionally, such, for example, as nuncupare and fari: 
 there are
 yet others which it requires some daring to use, but which may still be
 employed so long as we avoid all appearance of that affectation which
 Virgil has derided so cleverly: 
 
 Britain's Thucydides,
 whose mad Attic brain
 
 Loved word-amalgams like Corinthian
 bronze, 
 First made a horrid blend of words
 from Gaul, 
 Tau, al, min, sil and God knows
 how much else, 
 Then mixed them in a potion
 for his brother! 
 
 This was a certain
 Cimber who killed his brother,

a fact which Cicero recorded in the words, Cimber has killed his
 brother German. 
 The
 epigram against Sallust is scarcely less well known: 
 
 Crispus, you, too, Jugurtha's
 fall who told, 
 And filched such store of
 words from Cato old.

It is a tiresome kind of affectation; any one can practise it, and it is
 made all the worse by the fact that the man who catches the infection
 will not choose his words to suit his facts, but will drag in irrelevant
 facts to provide an opportunity for the use of such words. The coining
 of new words is, as I stated in the first book, more permissible in Greek, for
 the Greeks did not hesitate to coin nouns to represent certain sounds
 and emotions, and in truth they were taking no greater liberty than was
 taken by the first men when they gave names to things.

Our own writers have ventured on a few attempts at composition and
 derivation, but have not met with much success. I
 remember in my young days there was a dispute between Pomponius and
 Seneca which even found its way into the prefaces of their works, as to
 whether gradus eliminate 
 was a phrase which ought to have been
 allowed in tragedy. But the ancients had no hesitation about using even
 expectorate 
 
 and, after all, it presents exactly the same formation as exanimat.

Of the coining of words by expansion and inflexion we have examples,
 such as the Ciceronian 
 beatitas and beatitudo, 
 forms which he feels to be somewhat harsh, though he thinks they may be
 softened by use. Derivatives may even be fashioned from proper names,
 quite apart from ordinary words, witness Sullaturit 
 in Cicero and Fimbriatus and Figulatus 
 in
 Asinius.

Many new words have been coined in imitation of the Greeks, more
 especially by Verginius Flavus, some of which, such as queens and essentia, are regarded as
 unduly harsh. But I see no reason why we should treat them with such
 contempt, except, perhaps, that we are highly self-critical and suffer
 in consequence from the poverty of our language. Some new formations do,
 however, succeed in establishing themselves.

For words which now are old, once were new, and there are some words in
 use which are of quite recent origin, such as reatus, 
 invented by Messala, and munerarius, 
 
 invented by Augustus. So, too, my own teachers still persisted in
 banning the use of words, such as piratica,
 musica and fabrica, while Cicero regards
 favor and urbanus as
 but newly introduced into the language. For in a letter to Brutus he
 says, eum amorer et eum, ut hoc 
 
 verbo utar, favored in consilium
 advocabo,

while to Appius Pulcher he writes, le hominem non
 solum sapientem, verum etiam, ut nunc loquimur, urbanum. 
 He also thinks that Terence was
 the first to use the word obsequium, while
 Caecilius asserts that Sisenna was the first to use the phrase albente caelo. 
 Hortensius seems to have been the first to
 use cervix in the singular, since the ancients
 confined themselves to the plural. We must not then be cowards, for I
 cannot agree with Celsus when he forbids orators to coin new words.

For some words, as Cicero says, are native,
 that is to say, are used in their original meaning, while others are
 derivative, that is to say, formed from the native. Granted then that we
 are not justified in coining entirely new words having no resemblance to
 the words invented by primitive man, I must still ask at what date we
 were first forbidden to form derivatives and to modify and compound
 words, processes which were undoubtedly permitted to later generations
 of mankind. If, however,

one of our inventions seems a little risky, we must take certain
 measures in advance to save it from censure, prefacing it by phrases
 such as so to speak, 
 if I may say
 so, 
 in a certain sense, or if you will
 allow me to make use of such a word. The same practice may
 be followed in the case of bold metaphors, and it is not too much to say
 that almost anything can be said with safety provided we show by the
 very fact of our anxiety that the word or phrase in question is not due
 to an error of judgment. The Greeks have a neat saying on this subject,
 advising us to be the first to blame our own hyperbole.

The metaphorical use of words cannot be recommended
 except in connected discourse. Enough has now been said on the subject
 of single words, which, as I have pointed out elsewhere, have no
 intrinsic value of their own. On the other hand, there is no word which
 is intrinsically ugly unless it be beneath the dignity of the subject on
 which we have to speak, excepting always such words as are nakedly
 obscene.

I would commend this remark to those who do not think it necessary to
 avoid obscenity on the ground that no word is indecent in itself and
 that, if a thing is revolting, its unpleasantness
 will be realised clearly enough by whatever name it is called.
 Accordingly, I shall content myself with following the good old rules of
 Roman modesty and, as I have already replied to such persons, shall
 vindicate the cause of decency by saying no more on this unpleasant
 subject.

Let us now pass to consider connected discourse. Its adornment may be
 effected, primarily, in two ways; that is to say, we must consider first
 our ideal of style, and secondly how we shall express this ideal in
 actual words. The first essential is to realise clearly what we wish to
 enhance or attenuate, to express with vigour or calm, in luxuriant or
 austere language, at length or with conciseness, with gentleness or
 asperity, magnificence or subtlety, gravity or wit.

The next essential is to decide by what kind of metaphor, figures,
 reflexions, methods and arrangement we may best produce the effect which
 we desire. But, before I discuss ornament, I must first touch upon its
 opposite, since the first of all virtues is the avoidance of faults.

Therefore we must not expect any speech to be ornate that is not, in the
 first place, acceptable. An acceptable style is
 defined by Cicero as one which is
 not over-elegant: not that our style does not require elegance and
 polish, which are essential parts of ornament, but that excess is always
 a vice.

He desires, therefore, that our words should have a certain weight about
 them, and that our thoughts should be of a serious cast or, at any rate,
 adapted to the opinions and character of mankind. These points once
 secured, we may proceed to employ those expressions which he regards as
 conferring distinction on style, that is to say, specially selected
 words and phrases, metaphor, hyperbole, appropriate epithets,
 repetitions, synonyms and all such language as may suit our case and
 provide an adequate representation of the facts.

But since my first task is to point out the faults to be avoided, I will
 begin by calling attention to the fault known as κακέμφατον, a term applied to the employment of language
 to which perverted usage has given an obscene meaning: take, for
 example, phrases such as ductare exercitus and patrare
 bellum, 
 which were
 employed by Sallust in their old and irreproachable sense, but, I regret
 to say, cause amusement in certain quarters to-day. This, however, is
 not, in my opinion, the fault of the writer, but of his readers;

still it is one to be avoided, for we have perverted the purity of
 language by our own corruption, and there is no course left to us but to
 give ground before the victorious advance of vice. The same term is also
 applied in the cases where an unfortunate collocation of words produces
 an obscene suggestion. For example, in the phrase cum
 hominibus notis loqui, unless hominibus 
 is placed between cum and notis, we shall commit ourselves to a phrase which will require some apology, since the final
 letter of the first syllable, which cannot be pronounced without closing
 the lips, will force us either to pause in a most unbecoming manner, or
 by assimilation to the n which follows will produce a
 most objectionable suggestion.

I might quote other collocations of words which are liable to the same
 objection, but to discuss them in detail would be to fall into that very
 fault which I have just said should be avoided. A similar offence
 against modesty may be caused by the division of words, as, for example,
 by the use of the nominative of intercapedinis.

And it is not merely in writing that this may occur, but you will find,
 unless you exercise the greatest care, that there are a number of
 persons who take pleasure in putting an indecent interpretation on
 words, thinking, as Ovid says: 
 
 that whatsoe'er is hid is best
 of all. 
 
 Nay, an obscene meaning may be
 extracted even from words which are as far removed from indecency as
 possible. Celsus, for example, detects an instance of κακέμφατον in the Virgilian phrase: 
 incipiunt
 agitata tumescere; 
 but if this point of view be
 accepted, it will be risky to say anything at all.

Next to indecency of expression comes meanness, styled ταπείνωσις, when the grandeur or dignity of
 anything is diminished by the words used, as in the line: 
 
 There is a rocky wart upon the
 mountain's brow. 
 
 
 The opposite fault, which is no less
 serious, consists in calling small things by
 extravagant names, though such a practice is permissible when
 deliberately designed to raise a laugh. Consequently we must not call a
 parricide a scamp, nor a man who keeps a harlot a villain, since the
 first epithet is too weak and the second too strong.

This fault will result in making our language dull, or coarse, jejune,
 heavy, unpleasing or slovenly, all of which faults are best realised by
 reference to the virtues which are their opposites, that is, point,
 polish, richness, liveliness, charm, and finish.

We must also avoid μείωσις a term
 applied to meagreness and inadequacy of expression, although it is a
 fault which characterises an obscure style rather than one which lacks
 ornament. But meiosis may be deliberately
 employed, and is then called a figure, as also is tautology, which means the repetition of a word or phrase.

The latter, though not avoided with special care even by the best
 authors, may sometimes be regarded as a fault: it is, in fact, a blemish
 into which Cicero not infrequently falls through indifference to such
 minor details: take, for example, the following passage, 
 Judges, this judgment was not merely
 unlike a judgment. It is sometimes given another name,
 ἐπανάληψις, under which
 appellation it is ranked among figures, of which I shall give examples
 when I come to the discussion of stylistic virtues.

A worse fault is ὁμοείδεια, or
 sameness, a term applied to a style which has no variety to relieve its
 tedium, and which presents a uniform monotony of hue. This is one of the
 surest signs of lack of art, and produces a uniquely unpleasing effect,
 not merely on the mind, but on the ear, on account of its sameness of thought, the uniformity of its figures,
 and the monotony of its structure.

We must also avoid macrology, that is, the
 employment of more words than are necessary, as, for instance, in the
 sentence of Livy, The ambassadors, having failed to obtain peace,
 went back home, whence they had come. 
 On the other hand, periphrasis, which is akin to this blemish, is regarded as a
 virtue. Another fault is pleonasm, when we
 overload our style with a superfluity of words, as in the phrase,
 I saw it with my eyes, where I saw it 
 would have been sufficient.

Cicero passed a witty comment on a fault of this kind in a declamation
 of Hirtius when he said that a child had been carried for ten months in
 his mother's womb. Oh, he said, I suppose other
 women carry them in their bags. 
 Sometimes, however, the
 form of pleonasm, of which I have just given an example, may have a
 pleasing effect when employed for the sake of emphasis, as in the
 Virgilian phrase : 
 
 With mine own ears his voice I
 heard. 
 
 But whenever the addition is not
 deliberate,

but merely tame and redundant, it must be regarded as a fault. There is
 also a fault entitled περιεργία, which
 I may perhaps translate by superfluous elaboration, which differs from
 its corresponding virtue much as fussiness differs from industry, and
 superstition from religion. Finally, every word which neither helps the
 sense nor the style may be regarded as faulty.

Cacozelia, or perverse affectation, is a fault in
 every kind of style: for it includes all that is turgid, trivial,
 luscious, redundant, far-fetched or extravagant, while the same name is
 also applied to virtues carried to excess, when the
 mind loses its critical sense and is misled by the false appearance of
 beauty, the worst of all offences against style, since other faults are
 due to carelessness, but this is deliberate.

This form of affectation, however, affects style alone. For the
 employment of arguments which might equally well be advanced by the
 other side, or are foolish, inconsistent or superfluous, are all faults
 of matter, whereas corruption of style is revealed in the employment of
 improper or redundant words, in obscurity of meaning, effeminacy of
 rhythm, or in the childish search for similar or ambiguous expressions.

Further, it always involves insincerity, even though all insincerity
 does not imply affectation. For it consists in saying something in an
 unnatural or unbecoming or superfluous manner. Style may, however, be
 corrupted in precisely the same number of ways that it may be adorned.
 But I have discussed this subject at greater length in another work,
 and
 have frequently called attention to it in this, while I shall have
 occasion to mention it continually in the remaining books. For in
 dealing with ornament, I shall occasionally speak of faults which have
 to be avoided, but which are hard to distinguish from virtues.

To these blemishes may be added faulty arrangement or ἀνοικονόμητον, the faulty use of figures or
 ἀσχημάτιστον, and the faulty
 collocation of words or κακοσύνθετον. 
 But, as I have already discussed arrangement, I will confine myself to
 the consideration of figures and structure. There is also a fault known
 as Σαρδισμὸς, which consists in the
 indiscriminate use of several different dialects, as, for instance,
 would result from mixing Doric, Ionic, and even
 Aeolic words with Attic.

A similar fault is found amongst ourselves, consisting in the
 indiscriminate mixture of grand words with mean, old with new, and
 poetic with colloquial, the result being a monstrous medley like that
 described by Horace in the opening portion of his Ars
 poetica, 
 
 
 
 If a painter choose 
 To
 place a man's head on a horse's neck, 
 
 
 and, be proceeds to say, should add other limbs from different animals.

The ornate is something that goes beyond what is merely lucid and
 acceptable. It consists firstly in forming a clear conception of what we
 wish to say, secondly in giving this adequate expression, and thirdly in
 lending it additional brilliance, a process which may correctly be
 termed embellishment. Consequently we must place among ornaments that
 ἐνάργεια which I mentioned in the
 rules which I laid down for the statement of facts, because
 vivid illustration, or, as some prefer to call it, representation, is
 something more than mere clearness, since the latter merely lets itself
 be seen, whereas the former thrusts itself upon our notice.

It is a great gift to be able to set forth the facts on which we are
 speaking clearly and vividly. For oratory fails of its full effect, and
 does not assert itself as it should, if its appeal is merely to the
 hearing, and if the judge merely feels that the facts on which he has to
 give his decision are being narrated to him, and not displayed in their
 living truth to the eyes of the mind.

But since different views have been held with regard to this art of
 representation, I shall not attempt to divide it into all its different departments, whose number is ostentatiously
 multiplied by certain writers, but shall content myself with touching on
 those which appear to me to be absolutely necessary. There is, then, to
 begin with, one form of vividness which consists in giving an actual
 word-picture of a scene, as in the passage beginning, 
 
 Forthwith each hero tiptoe
 stood erect. 
 
 
 Other details follow which give us such
 a picture of the two boxers confronting each other for the fight, that
 it could not have been clearer had we been actual spectators.

Cicero is supreme in this department, as in others. Is there anybody so
 incapable of forming a mental picture of a scene that, when he reads the
 following passage from the Verrines, he does not seem not
 merely to see the actors in the scene, the place itself and their very
 dress, but even to imagine to himself other details that the orator does
 not describe? There on the shore stood the praetor, the
 representative of the Roman people, with slippered feet, robed in a
 purple cloak, a tunic streaming to his heels, and leaning on the arm
 of this worthless woman.

For my own part, I seem to see before my eyes his face, his eyes, the
 unseemly blandishments of himself and his paramour, the silent loathing
 and frightened shame of those who viewed the scene.

At times, again, the picture which we endeavour to present is fuller in
 detail, as, for example, in the following description of a luxurious
 banquet, which is also from Cicero, since he by himself is capable of supplying
 admirable examples of every kind of oratorical ornament: I
 seemed to see some entering, some leaving the room, some reeling under the influence of the wine,
 others yawning with yesterday's potations. The floor was foul with
 wine-smears, covered with wreaths half-withered and littered with
 fishbones.

What more would any man have seen who had actually entered the room? So,
 too, we may move our hearers to tears by the picture of a captured town.
 For the mere statement that the town was stormed, while no doubt it
 embraces all that such a calamity involves, has all the curtness of a
 dispatch, and fails to penetrate to the emotions of the hearer.

But if we expand all that the one word stormed includes,
 we shall see the flames pouring from house and temple, and hear the
 crash of falling roofs and one confused clamour blent of many cries: we
 shall behold some in doubt whither to fly, others clinging to their
 nearest and dearest in one last embrace, while the wailing of women and
 children and the laments of old men that the cruelty of fate should have
 spared them to see that day will strike upon our ears.

Then will come the pillage of treasure sacred and profane, the hurrying
 to and fro of the plunderers as they carry off their booty or return to
 seek for more, the prisoners driven each before his own inhuman captor,
 the mother struggling to keep her child, and the victors fighting over
 the richest of the spoil. For though, as I have already said, the sack
 of a city includes all these things, it is less effective to tell the
 whole news at once than to recount it detail by detail.

And we shall secure the vividness we seek, if only our descriptions give
 the impression of truth, nay, we may even add fictitious incidents of
 the type which commonly occur. The same vivid impression may be produced
 also by the mention of the accidents of each situation: 
 
 
 Chill shudderings shake my limbs 
 And all my blood is curdled cold with
 fear; 
 
 
 Aen. iii. 29
 
 
 or 
 
 
 And trembling mothers clasped 
 Their children to their breast. 
 
 
 Aen. vii. 518.
 
 
 Though the attainment of such effects is,

in my opinion, the highest of all oratorical gifts, it is far from
 difficult of attainment. Fix your eyes on nature and follow her. All
 eloquence is concerned with the activities of life, while every man
 applies to himself what he hears from others, and the mind is always
 readiest to accept what it recognises to be true to nature.

The invention of similes has also provided an
 admirable means of illuminating our descriptions. Some of these are
 designed for insertion among our arguments to help our proof, while
 others are devised to make our pictures yet more vivid; it is with this
 latter class of simile that I am now specially concerned. The following
 are good examples:— 
 
 
 Thence like fierce wolves beneath the cloud
 of night, 
 
 Aen. ii. 355. 
 
 or 
 
 
 Like the bird that flies 
 Around the shore and the fish-haunted reef, 
 Skimming the deep. 
 
 Aen. iv. 254.

In employing this form of ornament we must be especially careful that
 the subject chosen for our simile is neither obscure nor unfamiliar: for
 anything that is selected for the purpose of illuminating something else must itself be clearer than that
 which it is designed to illustrate. Therefore while we may permit poets
 to employ such similes as:— 
 
 
 As when Apollo wintry Lycia leaves, 
 And Xanthus' streams, or visits Delos'
 isle, 
 His mother's home, 
 
 
 Aen. iv. 143.
 
 
 it would be quite unsuitable for an orator to
 illustrate something quite plain by such obscure allusions.

But even the type of simile which I discussed in connexion with
 arguments is an ornament to oratory, and serves to make it sublime, rich,
 attractive or striking, as the case may be. For the more remote the
 simile is from the subject to which it is applied, the greater will be
 the impression of novelty and the unexpected which it produces.

The following type may be regarded as commonplace and useful only as
 helping to create an impression of sincerity: As the soil is
 improved and rendered more fertile by culture, so is the mind by
 education, or As physicians amputate mortified
 limbs, so must we lop away foul and dangerous criminals, even though
 they be bound to us by ties of blood. Far finer is the
 following from Cicero's defence of
 Archias: Rock and deserts reply to the voice of man, savage
 beasts are oft-times tamed by the power of music and stay their
 onslaught, and the rest.

This type of simile has, however, sadly degenerated in the hands of some
 of our declaimers owing to the license of the schools. For they adopt
 false comparisons, and even then do not apply them as they should to the
 subjects to which they wish them to provide a parallel. Both these
 faults are exemplified in two similes which were on the lips of everyone
 when I was a young man, Even the sources
 of mighty rivers are navigable, and The generous tree
 bears fruit while it is yet a sapling.

In every comparison the simile either precedes or follows the subject
 which it illustrates. But sometimes it is free and detached, and
 sometimes, a far better arrangement, is attached to the subject which it
 illustrates, the correspondence between the resemblances being exact, an
 effect produced by reciprocal representation, 
 which the Greeks style ἀνταπόδοσις. 
 For example, the simile already quoted,

Thence like fierce wolves beneath the cloud
 of night, 
 
 
 Aen. ii. 355.
 
 
 precedes its subject. On the other hand, an example
 of the simile following its subject is to be found in the first Georgic, where, after the long lamentation over
 the wars civil and foreign that have afflicted Rome, there come the
 lines: 
 
 
 As when, their barriers down, the chariots
 speed 
 Lap after lap; in vain the
 charioteer 
 Tightens the curb: his steeds
 ungovernable 
 Sweep him away nor heeds the
 car the rein. 
 
 
 Georg. i. 512.
 
 
 There is, however, no antapodosis in these similes.

Such reciprocal representation places both
 subjects of comparison before our very eyes, displaying them side by
 side. Virgil provides many remarkable examples, but it will be better
 for me to quote from oratory. In the pro Murena 
 Cicero says, As among Greek
 musicians (for so they say), only those turn flute-players that
 cannot play the lyre, so here at Rome we see that those who cannot
 acquire the art of oratory betake themselves to the study of the law.

There is also another simile in the same speech, which is almost worthy of a poet, but in virtue of its reciprocal representation is better adapted for
 ornament: For as tempests are generally preceded by some
 premonitory signs in the heaven, but often, on the other hand, break
 forth for some obscure reason without any warning whatsoever, so in
 the tempests which sway the people at our Roman elections we are not
 seldom in a position to discern their origin, and yet, on the other
 hand, it is frequently so obscure that the storm seems to have burst
 without any apparent cause.

We find also shorter similes, such as Wandering like wild beasts
 through the woods, or the passage from Cicero's speech
 against Clodius: 
 He fled from the court like a man escaping naked
 from a fire. Similar examples from everyday speech will
 occur to everyone. Such comparisons reveal the gift not merely of
 placing a thing vividly before the eye, but of doing so with rapidity
 and without waste of detail.

The praise awarded to perfect brevity is well-deserved; but, on the
 other hand, brachylogy, which I shall deal with
 when I come to speak of figures, that is to say, the brevity that says
 nothing more than what is absolutely necessary, is less effective,
 although it may be employed with admirable results when it expresses a
 great deal in a very few words, as in Sallust's description of
 Mithridates as huge of stature, and armed to match. But
 unsuccessful attempts to imitate this form of terseness result merely in
 obscurity.

A virtue which closely resembles the last, but is on a grander scale, is
 emphasis, which succeeds 
 in revealing a deeper meaning than is actually expressed by the words.
 There are two kinds of emphasis: the one means
 more than it says, the other often means something which it does not
 actually say.

An example of the former is found in Homer, 
 where he makes Menelaus say that the Greeks descended into the Wooden Horse, indicating its size by a
 single verb. Or again, there is the following example by Virgil: 
 
 
 Descending
 by a rope let down, 
 
 a phrase which in a
 similar manner indicates the height of the horse. The same poet, when he says that the Cyclops lay stretched
 throughout the cave, by taking the room occupied as
 the standard of measure, gives an impression of the giant's immense
 bulk.

The second kind of emphasis consists either in
 the complete suppression of a word or in the deliberate omission to
 utter it. As an example of complete suppression I may quote the
 following passage from the pro Ligario, 4 where
 Cicero says: But if your exalted position were not matched by
 your goodness of heart, a quality which is all your own, your very
 own—I know well enough what I am saying—— Here he
 suppresses the fact, which is none the less clear enough to us, that he
 does not lack counsellors who would incite him to cruelty. The omission
 of a word is produced by aposiopesis, which,
 however, being a figure, shall be dealt with in its proper place.

Emphasis is also found in the phrases of every
 day, such as Be a man! or He is but
 mortal, or We must live! So like, as a rule,
 is nature to art. It is not, however, sufficient for eloquence to set
 forth its theme in brilliant and vivid
 language: there are many different ways of embellishing our style.

For even that absolute and unaffected simplicity which the Greeks call
 ἀφέλεια has in it a certain chaste
 ornateness such as we admire also in women, while a minute accuracy in
 securing propriety and precision in our words likewise produces an
 impression of neatness and delicacy. Again copiousness may consist
 either in wealth of thought or luxuriance of language.

Force, too, may be shown in different ways; for there will always be
 force in anything that is in its own way effective. Its most important
 exhibitions are to be found in the following: δείνωσις or a certain sublimity in the exaggerated
 denunciation of unworthy conduct, to mention no other topics; φαντασία or imagination, which assists us
 to form mental pictures of things; ἐξεργασία or finish, which produces completeness of
 effect; ἐπεξεργασία an intensified
 form of the preceding, which reasserts our proofs and clinches the
 argument by repetition;

and ἐνέργεια, or vigour, a near
 relative of all these qualities, which derives its name from action and
 finds its peculiar function in securing that nothing that we say is
 tame. Bitterness, which is generally employed in abuse, may be of
 service as in the following passage. from Cassius: What will you
 do when I invade your special province, that is, when I show that,
 as far as abuse is concerned, you are a mere ignoramus?
 
 Pungency also may be employed, as in the
 following remark of Crassus: Shall I regard you as a consul, when
 you refuse to regard me as a senator? But the real power of
 oratory lies in enhancing or attenuating the force 
 of words. Each of these departments has the same number of methods; I
 shall touch on the more important; those omitted will be of a like
 character, while all are concerned either with words or things. I have,
 however,

already dealt with the methods of invention and arrangement, and shall
 therefore now concern myself with the way in which style may elevate or
 depress the subject in hand.

IV. The first method of amplification or attenuation is to be
 found in the actual word employed to describe a thing. For example, we
 may say that a man who was beaten was murdered, or that a dishonest fellow is a robber, or, on
 the other hand, we may say that one who struck 
 another merely touched him, and that one who wounded another merely hurt him. The following passage from the pro
 Caelio, 
 provides examples of both: If a widow lives freely, if being by nature bold she throws
 restraint to the winds, makes wealth an excuse for luxury, and
 strong passions for playing the harlot, would this be a reason for
 my regarding a man who was somewhat free in his method of saluting
 her to be an adulterer?

For here he calls an immodest woman a harlot, and says that one who had
 long been her lover saluted her with a certain freedom. This sort of amplification may be strengthened and made more
 striking by pointing the comparison between words of stronger meaning
 and those for which we propose to substitute them, as Cicero does in
 denouncing Verres : I have
 brought before you, judges, not a thief, but a plunderer; not an
 adulterer, but a ravisher; not a mere committer of sacrilege, but
 the enemy of all religious observance and all holy things; not an
 assassin, but a bloodthirsty butcher who has
 slain our fellowcitizens and our allies.

In this passage the first epithets are bad enough, but are rendered
 still worse by those which follow. I consider, However, that there are
 four principal methods of implication: augmentation,
 comparison, reasoning and accumulation. Of these, augmentation is most impressive when it ends
 grandeur even to comparative insignificance. This may be effected either
 by one step or by everal, and may be carried not merely to the highest
 degree, but sometimes even beyond it.

A single example from Cicero will suffice
 to llustrate all these points. It is a sin to bind a Roman
 citizen, a crime to scourge him, little short if the most unnatural
 murder to put him to death; chat then shall I call his crucifixion?
 If he had merely been scourged, we should have had but one tep,
 indicated by the description even of the lesser offence as a sin, while if he had merely been killed,

we should have had several more steps; but after saying that it was
 little short of the most unatural murder to put him to
 death, and mentioning the worst of crimes, he adds,
 What then shall call his crucifixion? Consequently,
 since he had ready exhausted his vocabulary of crime, words must
 necessarily fail him to describe something still orse.

There is a second method of passing beond the highest degree,
 exemplified in Virgil's description of Lausus: 
 
 
 Than whom there
 was not one more fair 
 Saving Laurentian
 Turnus. 
 
 or here the words than
 whom there was not one more fair give
 us the superlative, on which the poet proceeds to superimpose a still
 higher degree.

There is also a third sort, which is not attained by gradation, a height
 which is not a degree beyond the superlative, but such that nothing
 greater can be conceived. You beat your mother. What more need I
 say? You beat your mother. For to make a thing so great as
 to be incapable of augmentation is in itself a kind of augmentation.

It is also possible to heighten our style less obviously, but perhaps
 yet more effectively, by introducing a continuous and unbroken series in
 which each word is stronger than the last, as Cicero does when he describes how Antony vomited 
 before an assembly of the Roman people, while performing a public
 duty, while Master of the Horse. Each phrase is more
 forcible than that which went before. Vomiting is an ugly thing in
 itself, even when there is no assembly to witness it; it is ugly when
 there is such an assembly, even though it be not an assembly of the
 people; ugly even though it be an assembly of the people and not the
 Roman people; ugly even though he were engaged on no business at the
 time, even if his business were not public business, even if lie were
 not Master of the Horse.

Another might have broken up the series and lingered over each step in
 the ascending scale, but Cicero hastens to his climax and reaches the
 height not by laborious effort, but by the impetus of his speed. Just as
 this form of amplification rises to a climax, so,
 too, the form which depends on comparison seeks
 to rise from the less to the greater, since by raising what is below it
 must necessarily exalt that which is above, as, for
 example: in the following passage:

If this had befallen you at the dinner-table in the midst of your
 amazing potations, who would not have thought it unseemly? But it
 occurred at an assembly of the Roman people. Or take this
 passage from the speech against Catiline: 
 In truth, if my slaves feared me as all your
 fellowcitizens fear you, I should think it wise to leave my house.

At times, again, we may advance a parallel to make something which we
 desire to exaggerate seem greater than ever, as Cicero does in the pro Cluentio, 
 
 where, after telling a story of a woman of Miletus who took a bribe from
 the reversionary heirs to prevent the birth of her expected child, lie
 cries, How much greater is the punishment deserved by Oppianicus
 for the same offence! For that woman, by doing violence to her own
 body did but torture herself, whereas he procured the same result by
 applying violence and torture to the body of another.

I would not, however, have anyone think that this method is identical
 with that used in argument, where the greater is inferred from the less,
 although there is a certain resemblance between the two. For in the
 latter case we are aiming at proof, in the former at amplification; for example, in the passage just cited about
 Oppianicus, the object of the comparison is not to show that his action
 was a crime, but that it was even worse than another crime. There is,
 however, a certain affinity between the two methods, and I will
 therefore repeata passage which I quoted there, although my present
 purpose is different.

For what I have now to demonstrate is that when amplification is our
 purpose we compare not merely whole with whole, but
 part with part, as in the following passage: 
 Did that
 illustrious citizen, the pontifex maximus, Publius Scipio, acting
 merely in his private capacity, kill Tiberius Gracchus when he
 introduced but slight changes for the worse that did not seriously
 impair the constitution of the state, and shall we as consuls suffer
 Catiline to live, whose aim was to lay waste the whole world with
 fire and sword?

Here Catiline is compared to Gracchus, the constitution of the state to
 the whole world, a slight change for the worse to fire and sword and
 desolation, and a private citizen to the consuls, all comparisons
 affording ample opportunity for further individual expansion, if anyone
 should desire so to do.

With regard to the amplificalion produced by reasoning, we must consider whether reasoning quite expresses my meaning. I am not a
 stickler for exact terminology, provided the sense is clear to any
 serious student. My motive in using this term was, however, this, that
 this form of amplification produces its effect at a point other than
 that where it is actually introduced. One thing is magnified in order to
 effect a corresponding augmentation elsewhere, and it is by reasoning
 that our hearers are then led on from the first point to the second
 which we desire to emplasise.

Cicero, when he is about to reproach Antony with his drunkenness and
 vomiting, says, 
 You with such a throat, such flanks,
 such burly strength in every limb of your prize-fighter's body,
 etc. What have his throat and flanks to do with his
 drunkenness? The reference is far from pointless: for by looking at them
 we are enabled to estimate the quantity of the wine
 which he drank at Hippias' wedding, and was unable to carry or digest in
 spite of the fact that his bodily strength was worthy of a prizefighter.
 Accordingly if, in such a case, one thing is inferred from another, the
 term reasoning is neither improper nor
 extraordinary, since it has been applied on similar grounds to one of
 the bases. 
 So,
 again,

amplification results from subsequent events, since the violence with
 which the wine burst from him was such that the vomiting was not
 accidental nor voluntary, but a matter of necessity, at a moment when it
 was specially unseemly, while the food was not recently swallowed, as is
 sometimes the case, but the residue of the revel of the preceding day.

On the other hand, amplification may equally
 result from antecedent circumstances; for example, when Juno made her
 request to Aeolus, the latter 
 
 "Turned his spear and smote 
 The mountain's caverned side, and forth the winds 
 Rushed in a throng," 
 whereby the poet shows
 what a mighty tempest will ensue.

Again, when we have depicted some horrible circumstance in such colours
 as to raise the detestation of our audience to its height, we then
 proceed to make light of them in order that what is to follow may seem
 still more horrible: consider the following passage from Cicero: 
 These are but trivial offences for so great
 a criminal. The captain of a warship from a famous city bought off'
 his threatened scourging for a price: a humane concession! Another
 paid down a sum of money to save his head from the axe: a perfectly ordinary circumstance!
 Does not the orator employ a process of
 reasoning to enable the audience to infer how great the implied crime
 must be when such actions were but humane and ordinary in comparison?
 So, again, one thing may be magnified by allusion to another: the valour
 of Scipio is magnified by extolling the fame of Hannibal as a general,
 and we are asked to marvel at the courage of the Germans and the Gauls
 in order to enhance the glory of Gaius Caesar.

There is a similar form of amplification which is
 effected by reference to something which appears to have been said with
 quite another purpose in view. The chiefs of Troy 
 think it no discredit that Trojan and Greek should endure so many woes
 for so many years all for the sake of Helen's beauty. How wondrous,
 then, must her beauty have been! For it is not Paris, her ravisher, that
 says this; it is not some youth or one of the common herd; no, it is the
 elders, the wisest of their folk, the counsellors of Priam.

Nay, even the king himself, worn out by a ten years' war, which had cost
 him the loss of so many of his sons, and threatened to lay his kingdom
 in the dust, the man who, above all, should have loathed and detested
 her beauty, the source of all those tears, hears these words, calls her
 his daughter, and places her by his side, excuses her guilt, and denies
 that she is the cause of his sorrows.

Again, when Plato in the Symposium makes Alcibiades confess how
 he had wished Socrates to treat him, he does not, I think, record these
 facts with a view to blaming Aleibiades, but rather to show the
 unconquerable self-control of Socrates, which would not yield even to
 the charms which the greatest beauty of his day so frankly placed at his
 disposal.

We are even given the means of realising the extraordinary stature of
 the heroes of old by the description of their weapons, such as the
 shield of Ajax and the spear-shaft of
 Achilles hewn in the forests of Pelion.
 Virgil also has made admirable use of this
 device in his description of the Cyclops. For what an image it gives us
 of the bulk of that body 
 
 
 Whose hand was propped by a branchless trunk of pine.
 
 
 So, too, what a giant must Demoleos have been,

Whose 
 
 corselet
 manifold 
 Scarce two men on their shoulders
 could uphold 
 
 And yet the hero buckled it
 upon him and 
 
 Drave the
 scattering Trojans at full speed. 
 
 And
 again, Cicero could hardly even have
 conceived of such luxury in Antony himself as he describes when he says,
 You might see beds in the chambers of his slaves strewn with
 the purple coverlets that had once been Pompey's own. 
 Slaves are using purple coverlets in their chambers, aye, and coverlets
 that had once been Pompey's! No more, surely, can be said than this, and
 yet it leaves us to infer how infinitely greater was the luxury of their
 master.

This form of amplification is near akin to emphasis: but emphasis derives its effect from
 the actual words, while in this case the effect is produced by inference
 from the facts, and is consequently far more impressive, inasmuch as
 facts are more impressive than words. 
 Accumulation of words and sentences identical in
 meaning may also be regarded under the head of amplification. For although the climax is not in this case
 reached by a series of steps, it is none the less attained by the piling
 up of words. Take the following example:

What was that sword of yours doing, Tubero, the sword you drew on
 the field of Pharsalus? Against whose body did you aim its point?
 What meant those arms you bore? Whither were your thoughts, your
 eyes, your hand, your fiery courage directed on that day? What
 passion, what desires were yours? This passage recalls the
 figure styled συναθροισμός 
 by the Greeks, but in that
 figure it is a number of different things that are accumulated, whereas
 in this passage all the accumulated details have but one reference. The
 heightening of effect may also be produced by making the words rise to a
 climax. 
 There stood the porter
 of the prison, the praetor's executioner, the death and terror of
 the citizens and allies of Rome, the lictor Sextius.

Attenuation is effected by the same method, since
 there are as many degrees of descent as ascent. I shall therefore
 content myself with quoting but one example, namely, the words used by
 Cicero to describe the speech of Rullus:
 A few, however, who stood nearest to him suspected that he
 had intended to say something about the agrarian law. This
 passage may be regarded as providing an example of attenuation or of augmentation, 
 according as we consider its literal meaning or fix our attention on the
 obscurity attributed to Rullus.

I know that some may perhaps regard hyperbole as
 a species of amplification, since hyperbole can be employed to
 create an effect in either direction. But as the name is also applied to
 one of the tropes, I must postpone its
 consideration for the present. I would proceed to the immediate
 discussion of this subject but for the fact that others have given
 separate treatment to this form of artifice, [which employs words not in
 their literal, but in a metaphorical sense ]. I shall therefore at this
 point indulge a desire now almost universal, and discuss a form of
 ornament which many regard as the chief, nay, almost the sole adornment
 of oratory.

V. When the ancients used the word sententia, they meant a feeling, or opinion. The word is
 frequently used in this sense by orators, and traces of this meaning are
 still found even in the speech of every day. For when we are going to
 take an oath we use the phrase ex animi nostri
 sententia (in accordance with what we hold is the solemn
 truth), and when we offer congratulations, we say that we do so ex sententia (with all our heart). The ancients,
 indeed, often expressed the same meaning by saying that they uttered
 their sensa; for they regarded senses as referring merely to the senses of the body.

But modern usage applies sensus to concepts of
 the mind, while sentcntia is applied to striking
 reflexions such as are more especially introduced at the close of our
 periods, a practice rare in earlier days, but carried even to excess in
 our own. Accordingly, I think that I ought to say something of the
 various forms which such reflexions may tale and the manner in which
 they should be used.

Although all the different forms are included under the same name, the
 oldest type of sententia, and that in which the
 term is most correctly applied, is the aphorism,
 called γνώμη by the Greeks. Both the
 Greek and the Latin names are derived from the fact that such utterances
 resemble the decrees or resolutions of public bodies. The term, however,
 is of wide application (indeed, such reflexions may be deserving of
 praise even when they have no reference to any special context), and is
 used in various ways. Sometimes it refers merely to things, as in the
 sentence: There is nothing that wins the affections of the
 people more than goodness of heart. 
 Occasionally, again, they may have a
 personal reference, as in the following utterance of Domitius Afer:
 The prince who would know all, must needs ignore
 much.

Some have called this form of reflexion a part of
 the enthymeme, others the major premise or
 conclusion of the epichireme, as it sometimes,
 though not invariably, is. More correct is the statement that at times
 it is simple, as in the example just quoted, while at other times a
 reason for the statement may be added, such as the following: 
 For in every struggle, the stronger
 seems not to suffer wrong, even when this is actually the case, but
 to inflict it, simply in virtue of his superior power. 
 Sometimes, again, it may be double, as in the statement that 
 
 
 Complaisance wins us friends, truth
 enmity. 
 
 
 Ter. Andr. I. i.
 41. 
 
 There are some even who classify them under ten heads, though the
 principle on which they make this division is such that it would justify
 a still larger number: they class them as based on interrogation,
 comparison, denial, similarity, admiration, and the like, for they can
 be treated under every kind of figure. A striking
 type is that which is produced by opposition: 
 
 
 Death is not bitter, but the approach to
 death. 
 
 Author unknown. 
 
 Others are cast in a form of a direct statement,

such as 
 
 
 The miser lacks 
 That which he
 has no less than what he has not. 
 
 Publil. Syr. Sent. 
 486. 
 
 But they acquire greater force by a change in the figure employed, as in the following: 
 
 
 Is it so bitter, then, to die? 
 
 
 Aen. xii. 646.
 
 
 For this is more vigorous than the simple statement,
 Death is not bitter. A similar effect may be produced
 by transference of' the statement from the general to the particular.
 For example, although the direct statement would be, To hurt is
 easy, but to do good is hard. Ovid gives
 this reflexion increased force when lie makes Medea say, 
 
 I had the power to save, and
 ask you then 
 If I have power to
 ruin?

Cicero again gives the general statement a
 personal turn when he says: Caesar, the splendour of your
 present fortune confers on you nothing greater than the power and
 nothing better than the will to save as many of your fellow-citizens
 as possible. For here he attributes to Caesar what was
 really attributable to the circumstances of his power. In this class of
 reflexion we must be careful, as always, not
 to employ them too frequently, nor at random, nor place them in the
 mouth of every kind of person, while we must make
 certain that they are not untrue, as is so often the case with those
 speakers who style them reflexions of universal
 application and recklessly employ whatever seems to support
 their case as though its truth were beyond question.

Such reflexions are best suited to those speakers whose authority is
 such that their character itself will lend weight to their words. For
 who would tolerate a boy, or a youth, or even a man of low birth who
 presumed to speak with all the authority of a judge and to thrust his
 precepts down our throats?

The term enthymeme may be applied to any concept
 of the mind, but in its strict sense means a reflexion drawn from contraries. Consequently, it has a
 supremacy among reflexions which we may compare
 to that of Homer among poets and Rome among cities.

I have already said enough on this topic in dealing with arguments.
 But the use of the enthymeme is not
 confined to proof, it may sometimes be employed for the purpose of
 ornament, as in the following instance: 
 Caesar, shall the language of those whom it is your
 glory to have spared goad you to imitate their own cruelty? 
 Cicero's motive in saying this is not that it introduces any fresh
 reason for clemency, but because he has already demonstrated by other
 arguments how unjust such conduct would be,

while he adds it at the period's close as an epiphonema, not by way of proof, but as a crowning insult to
 his opponents. For an epiphonema is an
 exclamation attached to the close of a statement or a proof by way of
 climax. Here are two examples: 
 
 
 Such toil it was to found the Roman
 race! 
 
 
 Aen. i. 33. 
 
 and The virtuous youth preferred to risk his
 life by slaying him to suffering such
 dishonour.

There is also what our modern rhetoricians call the noema, a term which may be taken to mean every kind of conception, but is employed by them in the
 special sense of things which they wish to be understood, though they
 are not actually said, as in the declamation where the sister defends
 herself against the brother whom she had often bought out from the
 gladiatorial school, when he brought an action against her demanding the
 infliction of a similar mutilation because she had cut off his thumb
 while he slept: You deserved, she cries, to have
 all your fingers, meaning thereby, You deserved to be
 a gladiator all your days.

There is also what is called a clausula. If this
 merely means a conclusion, it is a perfectly
 correct and sometimes a necessary device, as in the following case:
 You must, therefore, first confess your own offence before
 you accuse Ligarius of anything. 
 But to-day
 something more is meant, for our rhetoricians want every passage, every
 sentence to strike the ear by an impressive close.

In fact, they think it a disgrace, nay, almost a crime, to pause to
 breathe except at the end of a passage that is designed to call forth
 applause. The result is a number of tiny epigrams, affected, irrelevant
 and disjointed. For there are not enough striking reflexions in the
 world to provide a close to every period.

The following forms of reflexion are even more modern. There is the type
 which depends on surprise for its effect, as, for example, when Vibius
 Crispus, in denouncing the man who wore a breastplate when strolling in
 the forum and alleged that he did so because he feared for his life,
 cried, Who gave you leave to be such a
 coward? Another instance is the striking remark made by
 Africanus to Nero with reference to the death of Agrippina:
 Caesar, your provinces of Gaul entreat you to bear your good
 fortune with courage.

Others are of an allusive type: for example, Domitius Afer, in his
 defence of Cloatilla, whom Claudius had pardoned when she was accused of
 having buried her husband, who had been one of the rebels, addressed her
 sons in his peroration with the words: Nonetheless, it is your
 duty, boys, to give your mother burial. 
 Some, again,

depend on the fact that they are transferred from one context to another
 Crispus, in his defence of Spatale, whose lover had made her his heir
 and then proceeded to die at the age of eighteen, remarked: What
 a marvellous fellow to gratify his passion thus!

Another type of reflexion may be produced by the doubling of a phrase,
 as in the letter written by Seneca for Nero to be sent to the senate on
 the occasion of his mother's death, with a view to creating the
 impression that he had been in serious danger:— As yet I cannot
 believe or rejoice that I am safe. Better, however, is the
 type which relies for its effect on contrast of opposites, as I
 know from whom to fly, but whom to follow I know not; 
 or, What of the fact
 that the poor wretch, though he could not speak, could not keep silence? 
 But to produce the most striking effect
 this type should be given point by the introduction of a comparison,
 such as is made by Trachalus in his speech against Spatale, where he
 says: Is it your pleasure, then, ye laws, the faithful guardians
 of chastity, that wives should receive a title and harlots a quarter?
 
 In these instances, however, the
 reflexion may equally well be good or bad.

On the other hand, there are some which will always be bad, such as
 those which turn on play upon words, as in the following case: 
 Conscript fathers, for I must address you thus that you may remember
 the duty owed to fathers. Worse still, as being more unreal
 and far-fetched, is the remark made by the gladiator mentioned above in
 his prosecution of his sister: I have fought to the last
 finger.

There is another similar type, which is perhaps the worst of all, where
 the play upon words is combined with a false comparison. When I was a
 young man I heard a distinguished pleader, after handing a mother some
 splinters of bone taken from the head of her son (which he did merely to
 provide an occasion for his epigram), cry: Unhappiest of women,
 your son is not yet dead and yet you have gathered up his
 bones!

Moreover, most of our orators delight in devices of the pettiest kind,
 which seriously considered are merely ludicrous, but at the moment of
 their production flatter their authors by a superficial semblance of
 wit. Take, for instance, the exclamation from the scholastic theme,
 where a man, after being ruined by the barrenness of his land, is
 shipwrecked and hangs himself: Let him whom neither earth nor sea
 receives, hang in mid air.

A similar absurdity is to be found in the declamation, to which I have
 already referred, in which a father poisons his son who insists on
 tearing his flesh with his teeth: The man who eats such flesh,
 deserves such drink. Or again, take this passage from the
 theme of the luxurious man who is alleged to have pretended to starve
 himself to death: Tie a noose for yourself:
 you have good reason to be angry with your throat. 'rake poison: it
 is fit that a luxurious man should die of drink!

Others are merely fatuous, such as the remark of the declaimer who urges
 the courtiers of Alexander to provide him with a tomb by burning down
 Babylon. I am burying Alexander. Shall any man watch such a
 burial from his housetop? As if this were the climax of
 indignities! Others fail from sheer extravagance. For example, I once
 heard a rhetorician who was declaiming about the Germans, say: I
 know not where they carry their heads, 
 and again when belauding a hero, He beats back whole wars
 with the boss of his shield.

However, I shall never come to an end if I try to describe every
 possible form of this kind of absurdity. I will therefore turn to
 discuss a point of more importance. Rhetoricians are divided in opinion
 on this subject: some devote practically all their efforts to the
 elaboration of reflexions, while others condemn
 their employment altogether. I cannot agree entirely with either view.

If they are crowded too thick together, such reflexions merely stand in each other's way, just as in the
 case of crops and the fruits of trees lack of room to grow results in a
 stunted development. Again in pictures a definite outline is required to
 throw objects into relief, and consequently artists who include a number
 of objects in the same design separate them by intervals sufficient to
 prevent one casting a shadow on the other. Further,

this form of display breaks up our speeches into a number of detached
 sentences; every reflexion is isolated, and
 consequently a fresh start is necessary after each. This produces a
 discontinuous style, since our language is composed
 not of a system of limbs, but of a series of fragments: for your nicely
 rounded and polished phrases are incapable of cohesion. Further, the
 colour,

though bright enough, has no unity, but consists of a number of
 variegated splashes. A purple stripe appropriately applied lends
 brilliance to a dress, but a dress decorated with a quantity of patches
 can never be becoming to anybody.

Wherefore, although these ornaments may seem to stand out with a certain
 glitter of their own, they are rather to be compared to sparks flashing
 through the smoke than to the actual brilliance of flame: they are, in
 fact, invisible when the language is of uniform splendour, just as the
 stars are invisible in the light of day. And where eloquence seeks to
 secure elevation by frequent small efforts, it merely produces an uneven
 and broken surface which fails to win the admiration due to outstanding
 objects and lacks the charm that may be found in a smooth surface.

To this must be added the fact that those who devote themselves solely
 to the production of reflexions cannot avoid
 giving utterance to many that are trivial, flat or foolish. For their
 mere number will so embarrass their author that selection will be
 impossible. Consequently you will often find that such persons will
 produce a division or an argument as if it were an epigram, the only qualification
 necessary being that it should come toward the close of the period and
 be impressively delivered.

You killed your wife, though you were an adulterer yourself. I
 should loathe you even if you had only divorced her. Here
 we have a division. Do you wish me to prove that a love-philtre
 is a poison? The man would still be living, if he had not drunk it.
 This is an argument. There are, moreover,
 a number of speakers who not merely deliver many such epigrams, but
 utter everything as if it were an epigram.

Against these persons, on the other hand, must be set those who shun and
 dread all ornament of this kind, approving nothing that is not plain,
 humble and effortless, with the result that by their reluctance to climb
 for fear of falling they succeed merely in maintaining a perpetual
 flatness. What sin is there in a good epigram? Does it not help our
 case, or move the judge, or commend the speaker to his audience? It may
 be urged, perhaps,

that it is a form of ornament eschewed by the ancients. What do you mean
 by antiquity? If you go back to the earliest periods you will find that
 Demosthenes frequently employed methods that were known to none before
 him. How can we give our approval to Cicero, if we think that no change
 should be made from the methods of Cato and the Gracchi? And yet before
 the Gracchi and Cato the style of oratory was simpler still.

For my own part I regard these particular ornaments of oratory to be, as
 it were, the eyes of eloquence. On the other hand, I should not like to
 see the whole body full of eyes, for fear that it might cripple the
 functions of the other members, and, if I had no alternative, I should
 prefer the rudeness of ancient eloquence to the license of the moderns.
 But a middle course is open to us here no less than in the refinements
 of dress and mode of life, where there is a certain tasteful elegance
 that offends no one. Therefore let us as far as possible seek to
 increase the number of our virtues, although our first care must always
 be to keep ourselves free from vices, lest in seeking to make ourselves
 better than the ancients we succeed merely in
 making ourselves unlike them.

I will now proceed to the next subject for discussion, which is, as I
 have said, that of tropes, or modes, as the most distinguished Roman rhetoricians call them.
 Rules for their use are given by the teachers of literature as well. But
 I postponed the discussion of the subject when I was dealing with
 literary education, because it seemed to me that the theme would have
 greater importance if handled in connexion with the ornaments of
 oratory, and that it ought to be reserved for treatment on a larger
 scale.

By a trope is meant the artistic alteration of a
 word or phrase from its proper meaning to another. This is a subject
 which has given rise to interminable disputes among the teachers of
 literature, who have quarrelled no less violently with the philosophers
 than among themselves over the problem of the genera and species into which tropes may be divided, their number and their
 correct classification.

I propose to disregard such quibbles as in no wise concern the training
 of an orator, and to proceed to discuss those tropes which are most necessary and meet with most general
 acceptance, contenting myself merely with noting the fact that some tropes are employed to help out our meaning and
 others to adorn our style, that some arise from words used properly and others from words used metaphorically, and that the changes involved
 concern not merely individual words, but also our thoughts and the
 structure of our sentences.

In view of these facts I regard those writers as mistaken who have held
 that tropes necessarily involved the substitution
 of word for word. And I do not ignore the fact that 
 as a rule the tropes employed to express our
 meaning involve ornament as well, though the converse is not the case,
 since there are some which are intended solely for the purpose of
 embellishment.

Let us begin, then, with the commonest and by far the most beautiful of
 tropes, namely, metaphor, the Greek term for our translatio. It is not merely so natural a turn of speech that
 it is often employed unconsciously or by uneducated persons, but it is
 in itself so attractive and elegant that however distinguished the
 language in which it is embedded it shines forth with a light that is
 all its own.

For if it be correctly and appropriately applied, it is quite impossible
 for its effect to be commonplace, mean or unpleasing. It adds to the
 copiousness of language by the interchange of words and by borrowing,
 and finally succeeds in accomplishing the supremely difficult task of
 providing a name for everything. A noun or a verb is transferred from
 the place to which it properly belongs to another where there is either
 no literal term or the transferred is better than the literal.

We do this either because it is necessary or to make our meaning clearer
 or, as I have already said, to produce a decorative effect. When it
 secures none of these results, our metaphor will be out of place. As an
 example of a necessary metaphor I may quote the following usages in
 vogue with peasants when they call a vinebud gemma, a gem (what other term is there which they could use?),
 or speak of the crops being thirsty or the fruit suffering. For the same reason we speak of
 a hard or rough man, there
 being no literal term for these temperaments.

On the other hand, when we say that a man is kindled
 to anger or on fire with greed or that
 he has fallen into 
 
 error, we do so to enhance our meaning. For none
 of these things can be more literally described in its own words than in
 those which we import from elsewhere. But it is a purely ornamental
 metaphor when we speak of brilliance of style,
 splendour of birth, tempestuous public assemblies, thunderbolts of
 eloquence, to which I may add the phrase employed by Cicero
 in his defence of Milo where he
 speaks of Clodius as the fountain, and in another
 place as the fertile field and material of his
 client's glory.

It is even possible to express facts of a somewhat unseemly character by
 a judicious use of metaphor, as in the following passage: 
 
 
 This do they lest too much indulgence make 
 The field of generation slothful grow 
 And choke its idle furrows. 
 
 On
 the whole metaphor is a shorter form of simile, while there is this further difference,
 that in the latter we compare some object to the thing which we wish to
 describe, whereas in the former this object is actually substituted for
 the thing.

It is a comparison when I say that a man did something like a lion, it is a metaphor when I say of him, He is a lion. Metaphors fall into four classes.
 In the first we substitute one living thing for another, as in the
 passage where the poet, speaking of a charioteer, says, 
 
 The steersman then 
 With mighty effort wrenched his charger
 round. 
 
 or when Livy says that Scipio was
 continually barked at by Cato.

Secondly, inanimate things may be substituted for inanimate, as in the
 Virgilian. 
 
 
 And gave his fleet the rein, 
 
 
 Aen. vi. 1. 
 
 
 or inanimate may be substituted
 for animate, as in 
 
 
 Did the Argive bulwark fall by sword or
 fate? 
 
 From an unknown tragedian. 
 
 or animate for inanimate, as in the following lines:
 
 
 
 The shepherd sits unknowing on the
 height 
 Listening the roar from some far
 mountain brow. 
 
 
 Aen. ii. 307.

But, above all, effects of extraordinary sublimity are produced when the
 theme is exalted by a bold and almost hazardous metaphor and inanimate
 objects are given life and action, as in the phrase 
 
 
 Araxes' flood that scorns a
 bridge, 
 
 
 Aen. viii. 728.
 
 
 or in the passage of Cicero, already quoted,

where he cries, What was that sword of yours doing, Tubero, the
 sword you drew on the field of Pharsalus? Against whose body did you
 aim its point? What meant those arms you bore? Sometimes
 the effect is doubled, as in Virgil's. 
 
 
 And with venom arm the steel. 
 
 
 Aen. ix. 773.
 
 
 For both to arm the steel and
 to arm with venom are metaphors.

These four kinds of metaphor are further subdivided into a number of species, such as transference from rational
 beings to rational and from irrational to irrational and the reverse, in
 which the method is the same, and finally from the whole to its parts
 and from the parts to the whole. But I am not now teaching boys: my
 readers are old enough to discover the species 
 for themselves when once they have been given the genus.

While a temperate and timely use of metaphor is a
 real adornment to style, on the other hand, its frequent use serves
 merely to obscure our language and weary our audience, while if we
 introduce them in one continuous series, our language will become
 allegorical and enigmatic. There are also certain metaphors which fail
 from meanness, such as that of which I spoke above : 
 
 There is a rocky wart upon the
 mountain's 
 brow. 
 
 or they
 may even be coarse. For it does not follow that because Cicero was
 perfectly justified in talking of the sink of the
 state, 
 when he desired to
 indicate the foulness of certain men, we can approve the following
 passage from an ancient orator: You have lanced the boils of the
 state.

Indeed Cicero himself has
 demonstrated in the most admirable manner how important it is to avoid
 grossness in metaphor, such as is revealed by the following examples,
 which he quotes:— The state was gelded by the death of
 Africanus, or Glaucia, the excrement of the
 senate-house.

He also points out that a metaphor must not be too great for its subject
 or, as is more frequently the case, too little, and that it must not be
 inappropriate. Anyone who realises that these are faults, will be able
 to detect instances of them only too frequently. But excess in the use
 of metaphor is also a fault, more especially if they are of the same
 species.

Metaphors may also be harsh, that is, far-fetched, as in phrases like
 the snows of the head or 
 
 
 Jove with white snow the wintry Alps
 bespewed. 
 
 From Furius, an old epic poet of the
 second century (not Furius Bibaculus), cp. Hor. S. ii. v. 11. 
 
 
 The worst errors of all, however,
 originate in the fact that some authors regard it as permissible to use
 even in prose any metaphors that are allowed to poets, in spite of the
 fact that tile latter aim solely at pleasing their readers and are
 compelled in many cases to employ metaphor by sheer metrical necessity.

For my own part I should not regard a phrase like the shepherd of
 the people as admissible in pleading, although it has the
 authority of Homer, nor would I venture to say that winged creatures
 swim through the air, despite the fact that this
 metaphor has been most effectively employed by Virgil to describe the
 flight of bees and of Daedalus.1 For metaphor should always either
 occupy a place already vacant, or if it fills the room of something
 else, should be more impressive than that which it displaces.

What I have said above applies perhaps with even greater force to synecdocheè. For while metaphor is designed to move the feelings, give special
 distinction to things and place them vividly before the eye, synecdocheè has the power to give variety to our
 language by making us realise many things from one, the whole from a
 part, the genus from a species, things which follow from things which have preceded;
 or, on the other hand, the whole procedure may be reversed. It may,
 however, be more freely employed by poets than by orators.

For while in prose it is perfectly correct to use macro, the point, for the whole sword, and tectum, roof, for a whole house, we may not employ puppis, stern, to describe a ship, nor abies, fir, to describe planks; and again, though
 ferrunm, the steel, may be used to indicate a
 sword, quadrupes cannot be used in the sense of horse. It is where numbers are concerned
 that synecdocheè can be most freely employed in
 prose. For example, Livy frequently says, The Roman won the
 day, when he means that the Romans 
 were victorious; on the other hand, Cicero in a letter to Brutus 
 says, We have imposed on the people and are regarded as
 orators, when he is speaking of himself alone.

This form of trope is not only a rhetorical
 ornament, but is frequently employed in everyday speech. Some also apply
 the term synecdoche when something is assumed
 which has not actually been expressed, since one word is then discovered
 from other words, as in the sentence, 
 
 
 The Arcadians to the gates began to
 rush; 
 
 
 Aen. xi. 142. A
 false explanation of the historic infinitive as involving
 the omission of some such word as coeperunt. 
 
 
 when such omission creates a blemish, it is called an
 ellipse.

For my own part, I prefer to regard this as a figure, and shall
 therefore discuss it under that head. Again, one thing may be suggested
 by another, as in the line, 
 
 
 Behold, the steers 
 Bring back
 the plough suspended from the yoke, 
 
 
 Ed. ii. 61 
 
 from which we infer the approach of night. I am not
 sure whether this is permissible to an orator except in arguments, when
 it serves as an indication of some fact. However, this has nothing to do
 with the question of style.

It is but a short step from synecdocheè to metonymy, which consists in the substitution of
 one name for another, and, as Cicero 
 tells us, is called hypallage by the
 rhetoricians. These devices are employed to indicate an invention by
 substituting the name of the inventor, or a
 possession by substituting the name of the possessor. Virgil, for
 example, writes: 
 
 
 Ceres by water
 spoiled, 
 
 and Horace: 
 
 
 Neptune admitted to the land 
 Protects the fleets from blasts of Aquilo. 
 
 
 A. P. 63. 
 
 If, however, the process is reversed, the effect is
 harsh.

But it is important to enquire to what extent tropes of this kind should be employed by the orator. For
 though we often hear Vulcan used for fire and to say vario Marte pugnatum est for they fought
 with varying success is elegant and idiomatic, while Venus is a more decent expression than coitus, it would be too bold for the severe style
 demanded in the courts to speak of Liber and Ceres when we mean bread and wine. Again, while
 usage permits us to substitute that which contains for that which is
 contained, as in phrases such as civilised cities, or
 a cup was drunk to the lees, or a happy
 age,

the converse procedure would rarely be ventured on by any save a poet:
 take, for example, the phrase: 
 
 
 Ucalegon burns next. 
 
 
 Aen. ii. 311.
 
 
 It is, however, perhaps more permissible to describe
 what is possessed by reference to its possessor, as, for example, to say
 of a man whose estate is being squandered, the man is being eaten
 up. Of this form there are innumerable species.

For example, we say sixty thousand men were slain by Hannibal at
 Cannae, and speak of Virgil when we mean
 Virgil's poems ; again, we say that supplies have 
 come, when they have been
 brought, that a sacrilege, and not a
 sacrilegious man has been detected, and that a man
 possesses a knowledge of arms, not of the art of
 arms.

The type which indicates cause by effect is common both in poets and
 orators. As examples from poetry I may quote: 
 
 
 Pale death with equal foot knocks at the poor
 man's door 
 
 Hor. Od. I. iv.
 13. 
 
 and 
 
 
 There pale diseases dwell and sad old
 age; 
 
 
 Aen. vi. 275
 
 
 
 
 while the orator
 will speak of headlong anger , 
 
 cheerful youth or slothful
 ease .

The following type of trope has also some kinship
 with synecdochè. For when I speak of a man's
 looks instead of his look, I use the
 plural for the singular, but my aim is not to enable one thing to be
 inferred from many (for the sense is clear enough), but I merely vary
 the form of the word. Again, when I call a gilded roof a
 golden roof, I diverge a little from the truth,
 because gilding forms only a part of the roof. But to follow out these
 points is a task involving too much minute detail even for a work whose
 aim is not the training of an orator.

Antonomasia, which substitutes something else for
 a proper name, is very common in poets: it may be done in two ways: by
 the substitution of an epithet as equivalent to the name which it
 replaces, such as Tydides, 
 Pelides, 
 or by indicating the most striking
 characteristics of an individual, as in the phrase 
 
 
 Father of gods and king of men, 
 
 
 Aen. i. 65. 
 
 
 or from acts clearly indicating
 the individual, as in the phrase, 
 
 
 The arms which he, the traitor, left 
 Fixed on the chamber wall. 
 
 
 Aen. iv. 495. This
 third example does not correspond with the twofold division
 given by utroque and may be spurious.
 
 
 This form of trope is rare in
 oratory,

but is occasionally employed, For although an orator would not say
 Tydides or Pelides, he will speak of
 certain definite persons as the impious parricides, while
 I should have no hesitation in speaking of Scipio as the
 destroyer of Carthage and Numantia, or of Cicero as
 the prince of Roman orators. Cicero himself, at any
 rate, availed himself of this licence, as, for example, in the following
 case: Your faults are not many, said the old praeceptor to the
 hero, 
 where neither name is given, though both are clearly understood.

On the other hand, onomatopoea, that is to say,
 the creation of a word, although regarded with the highest approbation
 by the Greeks, is scarcely permissible to a Roman. It is true that many
 words were created in this way by the original founders of the language,
 who adapted them to suit the sensation which they expressed. For
 instance, mugitus, lowing, sibilus, a hiss, and murmur owe their
 origin to this practice.

But to-day we consider that all has been done that can be done in this
 line, and do not venture on fresh creations, in spite of the fact that
 many of the words thus formed in antiquity are daily becoming obsolete.
 Indeed, we scarcely permit ourselves to use new derivatives, so they are
 called, which are formed in various ways from words in common use, such
 as Sullaturit, 
 
 he wishes to be a second Sulla, or proscripturit, 
 he wishes to have a proscription, while laureati posies, 
 laurelled
 door-posts, for lauru
 coronati, 
 crowned with laurel, are similar
 formations.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

These facts make catachresis (of which abuse is a correct translation) all the more
 necessary. By this term is meant the practice of adapting the nearest
 available term to describe something for which no actual term exists, as
 in the line 
 
 
 A horse they build by Pallas' art
 divine, 
 
 
 Aen. II. xv. It is
 an abuse to say aedficant, which
 means literally "they make a house. 
 
 or as in the expression found in tragedy, 
 
 To Aigialeus 
 His
 sire bears funeral offerings, 
 
 
 The
 following examples are of a similar character.

Flasks are called acetabula, 
 whatever they
 contain, and caskets pyxides, 
 of whatever material they are made, while parricide includes the murder of a mother or a
 brother. We must be careful to distinguish between abuse and metaphor, since the former is
 employed where there is no proper term available, and the latter when
 there is another term available. As for poets, they indulge in the abuse
 of words even in cases where proper terms do exist, and substitute words
 of somewhat similar meaning. But this is rare in prose.

Some, indeed, would give the name of catachresis 
 even to cases such as where we call temerity valour or prodigality
 liberality. I, however, cannot agree with them; for in these instances word is not substituted for word, but
 thing for thing, since no one regards prodigality and liberality as
 meaning the same, but one man calls certain actions liberal and another
 prodigal, although neither for a moment doubts the difference between
 the two qualities.

There is but one of the tropes involving change
 of meaning which remains to be discussed, namely, metalepsis or transumption, which
 provides a transition from one trope to another.
 It is (if we except comedy) but rarely used in Latin, and is by no means
 to be commended, though it is not infrequently employed by the Greeks,
 who, for example, call Χείρων the
 centaur Ἥσσων 
 and substitute the epithet θοαί (swift) for ὄξειαι 
 
 in referring to sharp-pointed islands. But who would endure a Roman if
 he called Verres sus 
 or changed the
 name of Aelius Catus to Aelius doctus?

It is the nature of metalepsis to form a kind of
 intermediate step between the term transferred and the thing to which it
 is transferred, having no meaning in itself, but merely providing a
 transition. It is a trope with which to claim
 acquaintance, rather than one which we are ever likely to require to
 use. The commonest example is the following: cano 
 is a synonym for canto and canto 
 for dico, therefore cano is a synonym for dico, the intermediate step being provided by canto.

We need not waste any more time over it. I can see no use in it except,
 as I have already said, in comedy.

The remaining tropes are employed solely to adorn
 and enhance our style without any reference to the meaning. For the epithet, of which the correct translation is appositum, though some call it sequens, 
 is clearly an ornament. Poets
 employ it with special frequency and freedom, since for them it is
 sufficient that the epithet should suit the word to which it is applied:
 consequently we shall not blame them when they speak of white
 teeth or liquid wine. 
 
 But in oratory an epithet is redundant unless it has some point. Now it
 will only have point when it adds something to the meaning, as for
 instance in the following: O abominable crime, O hideous
 lust!

But its decorative effect is greatest when it is metaphorical, as in the
 phrases unbridled greed 
 or those mad piles of masonry. 
 The epithet is generally made into a trope by the addition of something to it, as when
 Virgil speaks of disgraceful poverty or sad old
 age. 
 But the
 nature of this form of embellishment is such that, while style is bare
 and inelegant without any epithets at all, it is overloaded when a large
 number are employed.

For then it becomes long-winded and cumbrous, in fact you might compare
 it to an army with as many camp-followers as soldiers, an army, that is
 to say, which has doubled its numbers without doubling its strength.
 None the less, not merely single epithets are employed, but we may find
 a number of them together, as in the following passage from Virgil:
 
 
 
 Anchises, worthy deigned 
 Of Venus' glorious
 bed, [beloved of heaven, 
 Twice rescued from
 the wreck of Pergamum.]

Be this as it may, two epithets directly attached to one noun are
 unbecoming even in verse. There are some writers who refuse to regard an
 epithet as a trope, on
 the ground that it involves no change. It is not
 always a trope, but if separated from the word to
 which it belongs, it has a significance of its own and forms an antonomasia. For if you say, The man who
 destroyed Numantia and Carthage, it will be an antonomasia, whereas, if you add the word
 Scipio, the phrase will be an epithet. An epithet therefore cannot stand by itself.

Allegory, which is translated in Latin by inversio, either presents one thing in words and
 another in meaning, or else something absolutely opposed to the meaning
 of the words. The first type is generally produced by a series of
 metaphors. Take as an example: 
 
 
 O ship, new waves will bear thee back to
 sea. 
 What dost thou? Make the haven, come
 what may, 
 
 Hor. Od. i. xiv. 1. 
 
 and the rest of the ode, in which Horace represents
 the state under the semblance of a ship, the civil wars as tempests, and
 peace and good-will as the haven.

Such, again, is the claim of Lucretius: 
 
 
 Pierian fields I
 range untrod by man, 
 
 and such again the
 passage where Virgil says, 
 
 
 But now 
 A mighty length of
 plain we have travelled o'er; 
 'Tis time
 to loose our horses' steaming necks. 
 
 Georg. II. 541.

On the other hand, in the Bucolics he
 introduces an allegory without any metaphor: 
 
 Truth, I had heard 
 Your
 loved Menalcas by his songs had saved 
 All
 those fair acres, where the hills begin 
 To
 sink and droop their ridge with easy slope 
 Down to the waterside and that old beech 
 With splintered crest.

For in this passage, with the exception of the proper name, the words
 bear no more than their literal meaning. But the name does not simply
 denote the shepherd Menalcas, but is a pseudonym for Virgil himself.
 Oratory makes frequent use of such allegory, but generally with this
 modification, that there is an admixture of plain speaking. We get
 allegory pure and unadulterated in the following passage of Cicero:
 
 What I marvel at and complain of is this, that
 there should exist any man so set on destroying his enemy as to
 scuttle the ship on which he himself is sailing.

The following is an example of the commonest type, namely, the mixed
 allegory: 
 I always thought that Milo
 would have other storms and tempests to weather, at least in the
 troubled waters of political meetings. Had he not added the
 words at least in the troubled waters of political
 meetings, we should have had pure allegory: their addition,
 however, converted it into a mixed allegory. In this type of allegory
 the ornamental element is provided by the metaphorical words and the
 meaning is indicated by those which are used literally.

But far the most ornamental effect is produced by the artistic admixture
 of simile, metaphor and allegory, as in the following example: 
 What strait, what tide-race, think you, is
 full of so many conflicting motions or vexed by such a variety of
 eddies, waves and fluctuations, as confuse our popular elections
 with their wild ebb and flow? The passing of one day, or the
 interval of a single night, will often throw everything into
 confusion, and one little breath of rumour will sometimes turn the
 whole trend of opinion. 
 
 For it is all-important to follow the principle illustrated by this
 passage and never to mix your metaphors. But there
 are many who, after beginning with a tempest, will end with a fire or a
 falling house, with the result that they produce a hideously incongruous
 effect.

For the rest, allegory is often used by men of little ability and in the
 conversation of everyday life. For those hackneyed phrases of forensic
 pleading, to fight hand to hand, 
 to attack the
 throat, or to let blood are all of them
 allegorical, although they do not strike the attention: for it is
 novelty and change that please in oratory, and what is unexpected always
 gives special delight. Consequently we have thrown all restraint to the
 wind in such matters, and have destroyed the charm of language by the
 extravagant efforts which we have made to attain it.

Illustrative examples also involve allegory if not preceded by an
 explanation; for there are numbers of sayings available for use like the
 Dionysius is at Corinth, 
 which is such a favourite
 with the Greeks. When, however, an allegory is too obscure, we call it a
 riddle: such riddles are, in my opinion, to be regarded as blemishes, in
 view of the fact that lucidity is a virtue; nevertheless they are used
 by poets, as, for example, by Virgil in the following lines: 
 
 Say in what land, and if thou
 tell me true, 
 I'll hold thee as Apollo's
 oracle, 
 Three ells will measure all the arch
 of heaven. 
 
 Even orators sometimes use
 them,

as when Caelius 
 speaks of the Clytemnestra who sold her favours for a farthing,
 who was a Coan in the dining-room and a Nolan in her bedroom.
 For although we know the answers, and although they were better
 known at the time when the words were uttered, they
 are riddles for all that; and other riddles are, after all, intelligible
 if you can get someone to explain them.

On the other hand, that class of allegory in which the meaning is
 contrary to that suggested by the words, involve an element of irony,
 or, as our rhetoricians call it, illusio. This is
 made evident to the understanding either by the delivery, the character
 of the speaker or the nature of the subject. For if any one of these
 three is out of keeping with the words, it at once becomes clear that
 the intention of the speaker is other than what he actually says In the
 majority of tropes it is, however,

important to bear in mind not merely what is said, but about whom it is
 said, since what is said may in another context be literally true. It is
 permissible to censure with counterfeited praise and praise under a
 pretence of blame. The following will serve as an example of the first.
 
 Since Gaius Verres,
 the urban praetor, being a man of energy and blameless character,
 had no record in his register of this substitution of this man for
 another on the panel. As an example of the reverse process
 we may take the following: 
 We are regarded as
 orators and have imposed on the people.

Sometimes, again, we may speak in mockery when we say the opposite of
 what we desire to be understood, as in Cicero's denunciation of Clodius
 : 
 Believe me, your well known integrity has cleared you of all blame,
 your modesty has saved you, your past life has been your salvation.

Further, we may employ allegory, and disguise
 bitter taunts in gentle words I y way of wit, or we may indicate our
 meaning by saying exactly the contrary or. . . If the Greek names for these 
 methods are unfamiliar to any of my readers, I would remind him that
 they are σαρκασμός, ἀστεϊσμός,
 ἀντίφρασις and παροιμία 
 (sarcasm, urbane wit, contradiction and proverbs).

There are, however, some writers who deny that these are species of allegory, and assert that they are actually tropes in themselves: for they argue shrewdly
 that allegory involves an element of obscurity, whereas in all these
 cases our meaning is perfectly obvious. To this may be added the fact
 that when a genus is divided into species, it ceases to have any peculiar
 properties of its own: for example, we may divide tree into its species,
 pine, olive, cypress, etc., leaving it no properties of its own, whereas
 allegory always has some property peculiar to itself. The only
 explanation of this fact is that it is itself a species. But this, of
 course, is a matter of indifference to those that use it.

To these the Greeks add μυκτηρισμός or
 mockery under the thinnest of disguises. When we use a number of words
 to describe something for which one, or at any rate only a few words of
 description would suffice, it is called periphrasis, that is, a circuitous mode of speech. It is
 sometimes necessary, being of special service when it conceals something
 which would be indecent, if expressed in so many words: compare the
 phrase To meet the demands of nature from Sallust.

But at times it is employed solely for decorative effect, a practice
 most frequent among the poets: 
 
 
 Now was the time 
 When the
 first sleep to weary mortals comes 
 Stealing its way, the sweetest boon of
 heaven. 
 
 
 Aen. ii. 268.

Still it is far from uncommon even in oratory, though in such cases it is always used with greater restraint. For whatever
 might have been expressed with greater brevity, but is expanded for
 purposes of ornament, is a periphrasis, to which
 we give the name circumlocution, though it is a
 term scarcely suitable to describe one of the virtues of oratory. But it
 is only called periphrasis so long as it produces
 a decorative effect: when it passes into excess, it is known as perissology: for whatever is not a help, is a
 positive hindrance.

Again, hyperbaton, that is, the transposition of
 a word, is often demanded by the structure of the sentence and the
 claims of elegance, and is consequently counted among the ornaments of
 style. For our language would often be harsh, rough, limp or disjointed,
 if the words were always arranged in their natural order and attached
 each to each just as they occur, despite the fact that there is no real
 bond of union. Consequently some words require to be postponed, others
 to be anticipated, each being set in its appropriate place.

For we are like those who build a wall of unhewn stone: we cannot hew or
 polish our words in order to make them fit more compactly, and so we
 must take them as they are and choose suitable positions for them.

Further, it is impossible to make our prose rhythmical except by
 artistic alterations in the order of words, and the reason why those
 four words in which Plato in the
 noblest of his works states that he had gone down to the Piraeus were
 found written in a number of different orders upon his wax tablets, was
 simply that he desired to make the rhythm as perfect as possible.

When, however, the transposition is confined to two words only, it is
 called anastrophe, that is, a reversal of order.
 This occurs in everyday speech in mecum and secure, while in orators and
 historians we meet with it in the phrase quibus de
 rebus. It is the transposition of a word to some distance from
 its original place, in order to secure an ornamental effect, that is
 strictly called hyperbaton: the following passage
 will provide an example: animadverti, indices, omnem accusatoris
 orationenm in duas divisam esse partes. 
 ( I noted, gentlemen, that the
 speech of the accuser was divided into two parts. ) In this
 case the strictly correct order would be in duas
 partes divisam esse, but this would have been harsh and ugly.

The poets even go so far as to secure this effect by the division of
 words, as in the line: 
 Hyperboreo
 septem subiecta trioni 
 
 ( Under the Hyperborean Wain ),
 
 a licence wholly inadmissible in oratory. Still there
 is good reason for calling such a transposition a trope, since the meaning is not complete until the two words
 have been put together.

On the other hand, when the transposition makes no alteration in the
 sense, and merely produces a variation in the structure, it is rather to
 be called a verbal figure, as indeed many
 authorities have held. Of the faults resulting from long or confused hyperbata have spoken in the appropriate place.
 I
 have kept hyperbole to the last, on the ground of
 its boldness. It means an elegant straining of the truth, and may be
 employed indifferently for exaggeration or attenuation. It can be used
 in various ways.

We may say more than the actual facts, as when Cicero says, "He vomited and filled his lap and the whole
 tribunal with fragments of food, or when Virgil speaks of 
 
 
 win rocks that threaten heaven. 
 
 
 Aen. i. 162.
 
 
 
 Again, we may exalt our theme by
 the use of simile, as in the phrase: 
 
 
 Thou wouldst have deemed 
 That
 Cyclad isles uprooted swam the deep. 
 
 
 Aen. viii. 691.

Or we may produce the same result by introducing a comparison, as in the
 phrase: 
 
 
 Swifter than the levin's wings; 
 
 
 Aen. v. 319.
 
 
 or by the use of indications, as in the lines: 
 
 
 She would fly 
 Even o'er the
 tops of the unsickled corn, 
 Nor as she
 ran would bruise the tender ears. 
 
 
 Aen. vii. 808.
 
 
 Or we may employ a metaphor, as the verb to fly is employed in the passage just quoted.

Sometimes, again, one hyperbole may be heightened
 by the addition of another, as when Cicero in denouncing Antony says:
 
 What Charybdis was ever
 so voracious? Charybdis, do I say? Nay, if Charybdis ever existed,
 she was but a single monster. By heaven, even Ocean's self,
 methinks, could scarce have engulfed so many things, so widely
 scattered in such distant places, in such a twinkling of the eye.

I think, too, that I am right in saying that I noted a brilliant example
 of the same kind in the Hymns of Pindar, the prince of lyric poets. For when
 he describes the onslaught made by Hercules upon the Meropes, the
 legendary inhabitants of the island of Cos, he speaks of the hero as
 like not to fire, winds or sea, but to the thunderbolt, making the
 latter the only true equivalent of his speed and power, the former being
 treated as quite inadequate.

Cicero has imitated his method in the following 
 passage from the Verrines: 
 After long lapse of years the Sicilians saw
 dwelling in their midst, not a second Dionysius or Phalaris (for
 that island has produced many a cruel tyrant in years gone by), but
 a new monster with all the old ferocity once familiar to those
 regions. For, to my thinking, neither Scylla nor Charybdis were ever
 such foes as he to the ships that sailed those same narrow seas.

The methods of hyperbole by attenuation are the same in number. Compare
 the Virgilian 
 
 Scarce cling they
 to their bones, 
 or the lines from a humorous work
 of
 Cicero's, 
 
 Fundum Vetto vocat
 quem possit mittere funda; 
 Ni tamen
 exciderit, qua cava funda patet. 
 
 
 
 Vetto gives the name of farm to an estate
 which might easily be hurled from a sling, though it might well
 fall through the hole in the hollow sling, so small is it.
 
 But even here a certain proportion must be
 observed. For although every hyperbole involves
 the incredible, it must not go too far in this direction, which provides
 the easiest road to extravagant affectation.

I shrink from recording the faults to which the lack of this sense of
 proportion has given rise, more especially as they are so well known and
 obvious. It is enough to say that hyperbole lies,
 though without any intention to deceive. We must therefore be all the
 more careful to consider how far we may go in exaggerating facts which
 our audience may refuse to believe. Again, hyperbole will often cause a laugh. If that was what the
 orator desired, we may give him credit for wit;
 otherwise we can only call him a fool.

Hyperbole is employed even by peasants and
 uneducated persons, for the good reason that everybody has an innate
 passion for exaggeration or attenuation of actual facts, and no one is
 ever contented with the simple truth. But such disregard of truth is
 pardonable, for it does not involve the definite assertion of the thing
 that is not. Hyperbole is, moreover, a virtue,

when the subject on which we have to speak is abnormal. For we are
 allowed to amplify, when the magnitude of the facts passes all words,
 and in such circumstances our language will be more effective if it goes
 beyond the truth than if it falls short of it. However, I have said
 enough on this topic, since I have already dealt with it in my work on
 the causes of the decline of oratory.

In my last book I spoke of tropes. I now come to
 figures, called σχήματα in Greek, a topic which is naturally and closely
 connected with the preceding.

For many authors have considered figures 
 identical with tropes, because whether it be that
 the latter derive their name from having a certain form or from the fact
 that they effect alterations in language (a view which has also led to
 their being styled motions ), it must be admitted
 that both these features are found in figures as
 well. Their employment is also the same. For they add force and charm to
 our matter. There are some again who call tropes
 figures, Artorius Proculus among them.

Further the resemblance between the two is so close that it is not easy
 to distinguish between them. For although certain kinds differ, while
 retaining a general resemblance (since both involve a departure from the
 simple and straightforward method of expression coupled with a certain
 rhetorical excellence), on the other hand some are distinguished by the
 narrowest possible dividing line: for example, while irony belongs to figures of thought 
 just as much as to tropes, 
 
 
 periphrasis, hyperbaton and onomatopoea 
 
 have been ranked by distinguished authors as figures
 of speech rather than tropes.

It is therefore all the more necessary to point out the distinction
 between the two. The name of trope 
 is applied to the transference of expressions from
 their natural and principal signification to another, with a view to the
 embellishment of style or, as the majority of grammarians define it, the
 transference of words and phrases from the place which is strictly
 theirs to another to which they do not properly belong. A figure, on the other hand, as is clear from the
 name itself, is the term employed when we give our language a
 conformation other than the obvious and ordinary.

Therefore the substitution of one word for another is placed among tropes, as for example in the case of metaphor, metonymy, antonomasia, metalepsis,
 synecdochè, catachresis, allegory 
 and, as a rule, hyperbole, which may, of course, be concerned
 either with words or things. Onomatopoea is the
 creation of a word and therefore involves substitution for the words
 which we should use but for such creation.

Again although periphrasis often includes the
 actual word whose place it supplies, it still uses a number of words in
 place of one. The epithet as a rule involves an
 element of antonomasia 
 and consequently
 becomes a trope on account of this affinity. Hyperbaton is a change of order and for this
 reason many exclude it from tropes. None the less
 it transfers a word or part of a word from its own place to another.

None of these can be called figures. For a figure does not necessarily involve any
 alteration either of the order or the strict sense of words. As regards
 irony, I shall show elsewhere how in some
 of its forms it is a trope, in others a figure. For I admit that the name is common to
 both and am aware of the complicated and minute discussions to which it
 has given rise. They, however, have no bearing on my present task. For
 it makes no difference by which name either is
 called, so long as its stylistic value is apparent, since the meaning of
 things is not altered by a change of name. For just as men remain the
 same,

even though they adopt a new name, so these artifices will produce
 exactly the same effect, whether they are styled tropes or figures, since their values
 lie not in their names, but in their effect. Similarly it makes no
 difference whether we call a basis conjectural or
 negative, or concerned with fact or substance, provided always that
 we know that the subject of enquiry is the same.

It is best therefore in dealing with these topics to adopt the generally
 accepted terms and to understand the actual thing, by whatever name it
 is called. But we must note the fact that trope 
 and figure are often combined in the expression
 of the same thought, since figures are introduced just as much by the
 metaphorical as by the literal use of words.

There is, however, a considerable difference of opinion among authors as
 to the meaning of the name, the number of genera and
 the nature and number of the species into which
 figures may be divided. The first point for consideration is, therefore,
 what is meant by a figure. For the term is used
 in two senses. In the first it is applied to any form in which thought
 is expressed, just as it is to bodies which, whatever their composition,
 must have some shape.

In the second and special sense, in which it is called a schema, it means a rational change in meaning or
 language from the ordinary and simple form, that is to say, a change
 analogous to that involved by sitting, lying down on something or
 looking back. Consequently when a student tends to
 continuous or at any rate excessive use of the same cases, tenses,
 rhythms or even feet, we are in the habit of instructing him to vary his
 figures with a view to the avoidance of
 monotony.

In so doing we speak as if every kind of language possessed a figure: for example cursitare and lectitare 
 are said to have the same figure, that is to say,
 they are identical in formation. Therefore in the first and common sense
 of the word everything is expressed by figures. 
 If we are content with this view, there is good reason for the opinion
 expressed by Apollodorus (if we may trust the statement of Caecilius on
 this point) to the effect that he found the rules laid down in this
 connexion quite incomprehensible.

If, on the other hand, the name is to be applied to certain attitudes,
 or I might say gestures of language, we must interpret schema in the sense of that which is poetically or
 rhetorically altered from the simple and obvious method of expression.
 It will then be true to distinguish between the style which is devoid of
 figures (or ἀσχημάτιστος ) and that
 which is adorned with figures (or ἐσχηματισμένη, ).

But Zoilus narrowed down the definition, since he restricted the term
 schema to cases when the speaker pretends to
 say something other than that which he actually does say. 1 know that
 this view meets with common acceptance: it is, in fact, for this reason
 that we speak of figured controversial themes, of
 which I shall shortly speak. We shall then take a figure to mean a form of expression to which a new aspect is
 given by art.

Some writers have held that there is only one kind of figure, although they differ as regards the reasons which lead
 them to adopt this view. For some of them, on the
 ground that a change of words causes a corresponding change in the
 sense, assert that all figures are concerned with
 words, while others hold that figures are
 concerned solely with the sense, on the ground that words are adapted to
 things. Both these views are obviously quibbling.

For the same things are often put in different ways and the sense
 remains unaltered though the words are changed, while a figure of thought may include several figures of speech. For the former lies in the
 conception, the latter in the expression of our thought. The two are
 frequently combined, however, as in the following passage: Now,
 Dolabella, [I have no pity] either for you or for your
 children : for
 the device by which he turns from the judges to Dolabella is a figure of thought, while iam
 iam ( 
 now ) and liberum (
 your children ) are figures of
 speech.

It is, however, to the best of my knowledge, generally agreed by the
 majority of authors that there are two classes of figure, namely figures of thought, that
 is of the mind, feeling or conceptions, since all these terms are used,
 and figures of speech, that is of words, diction,
 expression, language or style: the name by which they are known varies,
 but mere terminology is a matter of indifference. Cornelius Celsus,

however, to figures of thought and speech would add those produced by
 glosses ; but he has merely been led astray by an excessive
 passion for novelty. For who can suppose that so learned a man was
 ignorant of the fact that glosses and
 reflexions both come under the heading of thought? We
 may therefore conclude that, like language itself, figures are
 necessarily concerned with thought and with words.

As, however, in the natural course of things we conceive ideas before we
 express them, I must take figures of thought 
 first. Their utility is at once great and manifold, and is revealed with
 the utmost clearness in every product of oratory. For although it may
 seem that proof is infinitesimally affected by the
 figures employed, none the less those same figures lend credibility to our arguments and steal their way
 secretly into the minds of the judges.

For just as in sword-play it is easy to see, parry, and ward off' direct
 blows and simple and straightforward thrusts, while side-strokes and
 feints are less easy to observe and the task of the skilful swordsman is
 to give the impression that his design is quite other than it actually
 is, even so the oratory in which there is no guile fights by sheer
 weight and impetus alone; on the other hand, the fighter who feints and
 varies his assault is able to attack flank or back as he will, to lure
 his opponent's weapons from their guard and to outwit him by a slight
 inclination of the body. Further,

there is no more effective method of exciting the emotions than an apt
 use of figures. For if the expression of brow, eyes and hands has a
 powerful effect in stirring the passions, how much more effective must
 be the aspect of our style itself when composed to produce the result at
 which we aim? But, above all, figures serve to
 commend what we say to those that hear us, whether we seek to win
 approval for our character as pleaders, or to win favour for the cause
 which we plead, to relieve monotony by variation of our language, or to
 indicate our meaning in the safest or most seemly way.

But before I proceed to demonstrate what figures 
 best suit the different circumstances, I must point
 out that their number is far from being as great as some authorities
 make out. For I am not in the least disturbed by the various names which
 the Greeks more especially are so fond of inventing. First of all, then,

I must repudiate the views of those who hold that there are as many
 types of figure as there are kinds of emotion, on
 the ground, not that emotions are not qualities of the mind, but that a
 figure, in its strict, not its general sense, is not simply the
 expression of anything you choose to select. Consequently the expression
 in words of anger, grief, pity, fear, confidence or contempt is not a
 figure, any more than persuasion, threats,
 entreaty or excuse.

But superficial observers are deceived by the fact that they find figures in all passages dealing with such themes,
 and select examples of them from speeches; whereas in reality there is
 no department of oratory which does not admit such figures. But it is one thing to admit i>figure and another to be a figure; 
 I am not going to be frightened out of repeating the term with some
 frequency in my attempt to make the facts clear. My opponents will, I
 know,

direct my attention to special figures employed in expressing anger, in
 entreating for mercy, or appealing to pity, but it does not follow that
 expressions of anger, appeals to pity or entreaties for mercy are in
 themselves figures. Cicero, it is true, includes
 all ornaments of oratory under this head, and in so doing adopts, as it
 seems to me, a middle course. For he does not hold that all forms of
 expression are to be regarded as figures, nor, on
 the other hand, would he restrict the term merely to those expressions
 whose form varies from ordinary use. But he regards as figurative all those expressions which are
 especially striking and most effective in stirring the emotions of the
 audience. He sets forth this view in two of his works, and that my
 readers may have the opportunity of realising the judgment of so high an
 authority, I subjoin what he says verbatim.



In the third book of the de Oratore we find the
 following words: As regards the composition of continuous
 speech, as soon as we have acquired the smoothness of structure and
 rhythm of which I have spoken, we must proceed to lend brilliance to
 our style by frequent embellishments both of thought and words.
 For great effect may be
 produced by dwelling on a single point, and by setting forth our
 facts in such a striking manner that they seem to be placed before
 the eyes as vividly as if they were taking place in our actual
 presence. This is especially effective in stating a case or for the
 purpose of illuminating and amplifying the facts in course of
 statement, with a view to making our audience regard the point which
 we amplify as being as important as speech can make it. On the other hand, as opposed to this
 procedure we may often give a rapid summary, suggest more than is
 actually said, may express ourselves tersely in short, clean-cut
 sentences and disparage, or, what is much the same, mock our
 opponent in a manner not inconsistent with the precepts given us by
 Caesar. Or we may employ digressions and
 then, after thus delighting our audience, make a neat and elegant
 return to our main theme. We may set forth in advance what we
 propose to say, mark off the topics already treated from those which
 are to follow, return to our point, repeat it and draw our formal
 conclusions. Again, with a view to augmenting or attenuating
 the force of some point, we may exaggerate and overstate the truth:
 we may ask questions, or, what is much the same, enquire of others
 and set forth our own opinion. There is also available the device of
 dissimulation, when we say one thing and mean another, the most
 effective of all means of stealing into the minds of men and a most
 attractive device, so long as we adopt a conversational rather than
 a controversial tone. Hesitation
 may be expressed between two alternatives, our statement may be
 distributed in groups or we may correct ourselves, either before or
 after we have said something or when we repel some allegation
 against ourselves. We may defend ourselves by anticipation to secure
 the success of some point which we propose to make or may transfer
 the blame for some action to another. We may confer with our
 audience, admitting them as it were into our deliberations, may
 describe the life and character of persons either with or without
 mention of their names, a device which is one of the greatest
 embellishments of oratory and specially adapted to conciliate the
 feelings, as also frequently to excite them. Again by the introduction of fictitious
 personages we may bring into play the most forcible form of
 exaggeration. We may describe the results likely to follow some
 action, introduce topics to lead our hearers astray, move them to
 mirth or anticipate the arguments of our opponent. Comparisons and
 examples may be introduced, both of them most effective methods; we
 may divide, interrupt, contrast, suppress, commend. Our language may be free or even
 unbridled with a view to heighten our effects, 
 while anger, reproach, promises that we shall prove our case,
 entreaty, supplication, slight deviations from our proposed course
 (which must be distinguished from the longer digressions mentioned
 above), exculpation, conciliation, personal attacks, wishes and
 execrations are all of value. The
 above include practically all the devices of thought which may be
 employed for the adornment of our speech. As regards diction, this
 may either be employed like weapons for menace and attack, or
 handled merely for the purpose of display. For example, sometimes
 the repetition of words will produce an impression of force, at
 other times of grace. Again, slight changes and alterations may be
 made in words, the same word may be repeated sometimes at the
 beginning of a sentence and sometimes at the end, or the sentence
 may be made to open and close with the same phrase. One verb may be made to serve
 the purpose of a number of clauses, our words may be worked up to a
 climax, the same word may be repeated with a different meaning or
 reiterated at the opening of one sentence from the close of the
 preceding, while we may introduce words with similar terminations or
 in the same cases or balancing or resembling each other. Other effects may be obtained by the
 graduation or contrast of clauses, by the elegant inversion of
 words, by arguments drawn from opposites,
 asyndeton, paraleipsis, correction, exclamation, meiosis, the
 employment of a word in different cases, moods and tenses, the
 correspondence of subsequent particulars with others previously
 mentioned, the addition of a reason for what is advanced, the
 assignment of a reason for each distinct statement; again we may employ concession and
 another form of hesitation, introduction of the unexpected,
 distinction by heads, another form of correction, local
 distribution, rapid succession of clauses, interruption of clauses,
 imagery, answering our own questions, immutation, 
 the appropriate distinction of one proposition from another,
 effective arrangement, reference, digression and circumscription.
 These (and there may be yet
 more like them) are the various devices for the embellishment of our
 style, either by the cast of our thought or the conformation of our
 language. Most of these statements are repeated by Cicero
 in the Orator, 
 
 but not all, while his language is somewhat more precise, since after
 dealing with figures of speech and of thought he adds a third section,
 concerned, as he himself says, with the other excellences of style.

And those other embellishments which are derived from the
 arrangement of words contribute greatly to the adornment of our
 style. They may be compared to what we term the decorations of the
 forum or a richly-ornamented stage, since they not only adorn, but
 stand out conspicuously in the midst of other ornaments. The principle governing the use of
 embellishments and decorations of style is the same: words may be
 repeated and reiterated or reproduced with some slight change.
 Sentences may repeatedly commence or end with 
 the same word or may begin and end with the same phrase. The same
 word may be reiterated either at the
 beginning or at the conclusion, or may be repeated, but in a
 different sense. Words may have
 the same inflexion or termination or be placed in various
 antitheses, our language may rise by gradations to a climax, or a
 number of words may be placed together in asyndeton without
 connecting particles. Or we may omit something, while making clear
 the reason for such omission, or correct ourselves with apparent
 censure of our carelessness, may utter exclamations of admiration or
 grief, or introduce the same word repeatedly in different cases.
 The ornaments of thought are,
 however, more important. They are so frequently employed by
 Demosthenes that some critics have held that it is in them that the
 chief beauty of his style resides. And in truth there is hardly a
 topic in his speeches which is not distinguished by some artificial
 treatment of the thought, and it must be admitted that speaking
 involves the embellishment of all, or at any rate most of our
 thoughts with some form of ornament. As you, Brutus, have such an admirable
 knowledge of all these methods, it would be waste of time for me to
 cite all their names or to give illustrations. I shall therefore
 content myself merely with indicating this topic. Our ideal orator
 then will speak in such a manner that he will cast the same thought
 into a number of different forms, will dwell on one point and linger
 over the same idea. he will often
 attenuate some one point or deride his opponent, will diverge from
 his theme and give a bias to his thought, will set forth what he
 intends to say, after completing his argument will give a brief
 summary, will recall himself to the point which
 he has left, repeat what he has said, complete his proof by a formal
 conclusion, embarrass his opponent by asking questions or answer
 himself in reply to imaginary questions; will desire his words to be taken in a
 different sense from their literal meaning, will hesitate what
 argument or form of statement to prefer, will classify and divide,
 will deliberately omit and ignore some point, and defend himself by
 anticipation; will transfer the blame of some charge brought against
 him to his opponent, will often take his audience, and sometimes
 even his opponent into consultation, will describe the character and talk of
 particular persons, will put words into the mouths of inanimate
 objects, divert the minds of the audience from the point at issue,
 often move them to merriment or laughter, anticipate objections,
 introduce comparisons, cite precedents, assign and distribute
 different sentiments to different persons, silence interrupters,
 assert that there are certain things of which he prefers not to
 speak, warn his audience to be on their guard against certain
 things, or venture on a certain licence of speech. Again, he will
 wax angry, sometimes indulge in rebuke, entreaty or supplication,
 will clear away unfavourable impressions, swerve a little from his
 point, utter wishes or execrations, or address his audience in terms
 of familiar intimacy. There are
 also other virtues at which he should aim, such as brevity, if his
 theme demands it, while he will often set forth topics in such vivid
 language as almost to present them to the very eyes of his audience,
 or will exaggerate his subject beyond the bounds of possibility. His
 meaning will frequently be deeper than his words seem to indicate, his tone will often be cheerful, and
 he will often mimic life and character. In fact, as regards this
 department of oratory, of which I have given you the substance, lie
 must display eloquence in all its grandest forms.

The student who desires to give a wider consideration to figures of
 thought and speech will, therefore, have a guide to follow, and 1 would
 not venture to assert that he could have a better. But I would ask him
 to read these passages of Cicero with reference to my own views on this
 subject. For I intend to speak only of those figures of thought which
 depart from the direct method of statement, and I note that a similar
 procedure has been adopted by a number of learned scholars.

On the other hand, all those embellishments which differ in character
 from these are none the less virtues whose importance is such that
 without them all oratory will be little less than unintelligible. For
 how can the judge be adequately instructed unless lucidity characterise
 our performance of the following tasks: explanation, proposition,
 promise of proofs, definition, distinction, exposition of our own
 opinion, logical conclusion, defence by anticipation, introduction of
 comparisons or precedents, disposition and distribution, interruption,
 repression of those who interrupt us, antithesis, exculpation and
 personal attack?

Again, what would eloquence do if deprived of the artifices of
 amplification and its opposite? of which the first requires the gift of
 signifying more than we say, that is emphasis, 
 together with exaggeration and overstatement of the truth, while the
 latter requires the power to diminish and palliate. What scope is there
 for the stronger emotions if the orator is not allowed to give free rein
 to his speech, to flame out in anger, to
 reproach, to wish or execrate? Or for the milder emotions without the
 assistance of commendation, conciliation and humour?

What pleasure can an orator hope to produce, or what impression even of
 the most moderate learning, unless he knows how to fix one point in the
 minds of the audience by repetition, and another by dwelling on it, how
 to digress from and return to his theme, to divert the blame from
 himself and transfer it to another, or to decide what points to omit and
 what to ignore as negligible? It is qualities such as these that give
 life and vigour to oratory; without them it lies torpid like a body
 lacking the breath to stir its limbs.

But more than the mere possession of these qualities is required; they
 must be deployed, each in their proper place and with such variety that
 every sound may bewitch the hearer with all the charm of music. But
 these qualities are as a rule open and direct, manifesting themselves
 without disguise. They do, however, as I have said, admit of figures, as the instances to which I shall
 proceed will show.

What is more common than to ask or enquire? For both terms are used indifferently,
 although the one seems to imply a desire for knowledge, and the other a
 desire to prove something. But whichever term we use, the thing which
 they represent admits a variety of figures. We will begin with those
 which serve to increase the force and cogency of proof to which I assign
 the first place.

A simple question may be illustrated by the line: 
 
 
 But who
 are ye and from what shores are come? 
 
 On
 the other hand, a question involves a figure, 
 whenever it is employed not to get information, but to emphasise our
 point, as in the following examples: 
 What was that
 sword of yours doing, Tubero, that was drawn on the field of
 Pharsalus? and How long, Catiline, will you abuse our
 patience? and Do you not see that your plots are all
 laid bare? with the whole passage that follows.

How much greater is the fire of his words as they stand than if he had
 said, You have abused our patience a long time, and
 Your plots are all laid bare. We may also ask what
 cannot be denied, as Was Gaius Fidiculanius Falcula, I ask you,
 brought to justice? 
 Or we
 may put a question to which it is difficult to reply, as in the common
 forms, How is it possible? 
 
 How can that be?

Or we may ask a question with a view to throw odium on the person to
 whom it is addressed, as in the words placed by Seneca in the mouth of
 Medea: 
 
 
 What lands dost bid me seek? 
 
 Or
 our aim may be to excite pity, as is the case with the question asked by
 Sinon in Virgil: 
 
 
 Alas, what lands, lie cried, 
 What seas can now receive me? 
 
 
 Or to embarrass our opponent and to deprive him of the power to feign
 ignorance of our meaning, as Asinius does in the following sentence:
 Do you hear? The will which we impugn is the work of a
 madman, not of one who lacked natural affection. In fact
 questions admit of infinite variety.

They may serve our indignation, as in the line: 
 
 
 Are any left 
 That still adore
 Juno's divinity? 
 
 
 Aen. i. 48. 
 
 
 Or they may still express wonder,
 as in: 
 
 
 To what dost thou not drive the hearts of
 men, 
 Accursed greed of gold? 
 
 
 Aen. iii. 56.
 
 
 Again, at times they may express a sharp command,

as in: 
 
 
 Will they not rush to arms and follow
 forth 
 From all the city? 
 
 
 Aen. iv. 592.
 
 
 Or we may ask ourselves, as in the phrase of Terence,
 What, then, shall I do?

A figure is also involved in a reply, when one question is asked and
 another is answered, because it suits the respondent's purpose better to
 do so, or because it aggravates the charge brought against the accused.
 For example, a witness for the prosecution was asked whether he had been
 cudgelled by the plaintiff, and replied, And what is more, I had
 done him no harm. Or the purpose may be to elude a charge, a
 very common form of reply. The advocate says, I ask if you killed
 the man? The accused replies, He was a
 robber. The advocate asks, Have you occupied the
 farm? The accused replies, It was my own.

Again, the answer may be of such a kind as to make defence precede
 confession. For example, in the Eclogues 
 of Virgil, when one shepherd asks: 
 
 Did I not see you, villain,
 snare a goat 
 Of Damon's? 
 
 
 the other replies: 
 
 I
 vanquished him in song, and should he not 
 Pay
 me the prize, my due?

Akin to this kind of answer is the dissimulatory 
 reply, which is employed solely with the purpose of raising a laugh, and
 has therefore been treated in its appropriate place. If it were
 meant seriously, it would be tantamount to a confession. Further, there
 is the practice of putting the question and answering it oneself, which
 may have quite a pleasing effect. Take as an example the following
 passage from the pro Ligario, 
 where Cicero
 says, Before whom do I say this? Before one who, although he was
 aware of these facts, yet restored me to my country even before he
 had seen me.

A different form of fictitious question is to be found in the pro Caelio. 
 Some one will say, 'Is this
 your moral discipline? Is this the training you would give young
 men?' with the whole passage that follows. Then comes his
 reply, Gentlemen, if there were any man with such vigour of
 mind, with such innate virtue and self-control, etc. 
 A different method is to ask a
 question and not to wait for a reply, but to subjoin the reply at once
 yourself. For example, Had you no house? Yes, you had one. Had
 you money and to spare? No, you were in actual want. 
 This is a figure which some call suggestion.

Again, a question may involve comparison, as, for
 instance, Which of the two then could more easily assign a reason
 for his opinion? 
 There
 are other forms of question as well, some concise, some developed at
 greater length, some dealing with one thing only, others with several.
 Anticipation, or, as the Greeks call it,
 πρόληψις, whereby we forestall
 objections, is of extraordinary value in pleading; it is frequently
 employed in all parts of a speech, but is especially useful in the exordium.

However, it forms a genus in itself, and has
 several different species. One of these is the defence by anticipation,
 such as Cicero employs against Quintus Caecilius, where he points out that though previously he himself has always
 appeared for the defence, he is now undertaking a prosecution. Another
 is a form of confession, such as he introduces in
 his defence of Rabirius Postumus, where he admits that he
 himself regards his client as worthy of censure for lending money to the
 king. Another takes the form of prediction, as in
 the phrase, For I will say without any intention of aggravating
 the charge. Again, there is a form of self-correction, such as, I beg you to pardon me, if I
 have been carried too far. And, most frequent of all, there
 is preparation, whereby we state fully why we are
 going to do something or have done it.

Anticipation may also be employed to establish the
 meaning or propriety of words, as in the
 following case, Although that was not a punishment, but merely a
 prevention of crime, 
 while the
 same effect may be produced by qualification, as
 in the following sentence, Citizens, I say, if I may call them by
 that name.

Again, hesitation may lend an impression of truth to our statements,
 when, for example, we pretend to be at a loss, where to begin or end, or
 to decide what especially requires to be said or not to be said at all.
 All speeches are full of such instances, but for the present one will be
 enough. As for myself, I know not where to turn. Shall I deny
 that there was a scandalous rumour that the jury had been bribed,
 etc.?

This device may also be employed to cover the past; for we may equally
 pretend that we had felt hesitation on the
 subject. This figure is akin to that known as communication, 
 when we actually take our
 opponents into consultation, as Domitius Afer does in his defence of
 Cloatilla. She is so agitated that she does not know what is
 permitted to a woman or what becomes a wife. It may be that chance
 has brought you into contact with the unhappy woman in her helpless
 plight. What counsel do you give her, you her brother, and you, her
 father's friends?

Or we may admit the judges to our deliberations, a device which is
 frequently called into play. We may say, What do you
 advise? or, I ask you, or, What, then,
 should have been done? Cato, for example, says, Come
 now, if you had been in his place, what else would you have
 done? And in another passage, Imagine this to be a
 matter which concerns us all, and assume you have been placed in
 charge of the whole affair.

Sometimes, however, in such forms of communication we may add something
 unexpected, a device which is in itself a figure, 
 as Cicero does in the Verrines: 
 What then?
 What think you? Perhaps you expect to hear of some theft or
 plunder. 
 Then, after keeping the minds of the judges in suspense
 for a considerable time, he adds something much worse. This figure is
 termed suspension by Celsus. It has two forms.

For we may adopt exactly the opposite procedure to that just mentioned,
 and after raising expectation of a sequel of the most serious nature, we
 may drop to something which is of a trivial character, and may even
 imply no offence at all. But since this does not necessarily involve any
 form of communication, some have given it the
 name of paradox or surprise.

I do not agree with those who extend the name of
 figure to a statement that something has happened unexpectedly
 to the speaker himself, like the following passage
 from Pollio: Gentlemen, I never thought it would come to pass
 that, when Scaurus was the accused, I should have to entreat you not
 to allow influence to carry any weight on his behalf.

The figure known as concession springs from
 practically the same source as communication; it
 occurs when we leave some things to the judgment of the jury, or even in
 some cases of our opponents, as when Calvus says to Vatinius, 
 Summon all your assurance and assert that you have a better claim
 than Cato to be elected praetor.

The figures best adapted for intensifying emotion
 consist chiefly in simulation. For we may feign that we are angry, glad,
 afraid, filled with wonder, grief or indignation, or that we wish
 something, and so on. Hence we get passages like the following: I
 am free, I breathe again, 
 or, It is well, or, What madness is
 this? 
 or, Alas!
 for these degenerate days! 
 or,
 Woe is me; for though all my tears are shed my grief still
 clings to me deep-rooted in my heart, 
 
 or, 
 
 
 Gape now, wide earth. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 To this some give the name of exclamation,

and include it among figures of speech. When,
 however, such exclamations are genuine, they do not come under the head
 of our present topic: it is only those which are simulated and artfully
 designed which can with any certainty be regarded as figures. The same is true of free speech, which Corificius
 calls licence, and the Greeks παῤῥησία. For what has less of the figure about it than true freedom? On the other hand, freedom
 of speech may frequently be made a cloak for
 flattery.

For when Cicero in his defence for Ligarius says, After war had
 begun, Caesar, and was well on its way to a conclusion, I
 deliberately, of my own free will and under no compulsion, joined
 the forces of your opponents, 
 he has in his mind something more
 than a desire to serve the interests of Ligarius, for there is no better
 way of praising the clemency of the victor.

On the other hand, in the sentence, What else was our aim,
 Tubero, than that we might secure the power which he now
 holds? 
 he succeeds with admirable
 art in representing the cause of both parties as being good, and in so
 doing mollifies him whose cause was really bad. A bolder form of figure, which in Cicero's opinion demands greater effort, is impersonation, or προσωποποιΐα This is a device which lends wonderful
 variety and animation to oratory.

By this means we display the inner thoughts of our adversaries as though
 they were talking with themselves (but we shall only carry conviction if
 we represent them as uttering what they may reasonably be supposed to
 have had in their minds); or without sacrifice of credibility we may
 introduce conversations between ourselves and others, or of others among
 themselves, and put words of advice, reproach, complaint, praise or pity
 into the mouths of appropriate persons.

Nay, we are even allowed in this form of speech to bring down the gods
 from heaven and raise the dead, while cities also and peoples may find a
 voice. There are some authorities who restrict the term imepersonation to cases where both persons and
 words are fictitious, and prefer to call imaginary conversations between
 men by the Greek name of dialogue, which some
 translate by the Latin semnocinatio.

For my own part, I have included both under the same generally accepted
 term, since we cannot imagine a speech without we also imagine a person
 to utter it. But when we lend a voice to things to which nature has
 denied it, we may soften down the figure in the
 way illustrated by the following passage: For if my country,
 which is far dearer to me than life itself, if all Italy, if the
 whole commonwealth were to address me thus, 'Marcus Tullius, what
 dost thou? 
 A bolder figure of
 the same kind may be illustrated by the following: Your country,
 Catiline, pleads with you thus, and though she utters never a word,
 cries to you, 'For not a few years past no crime has come to pass
 save through your doing!'

It is also convenient at times to pretend that we have before our eyes
 the images of things, persons or utterances, or to marvel that the same
 is not the case with our adversaries or the judges; it is with this
 design that we use phrases such as It seems to me, or
 Does it not seem to you? But such devices make a
 great demand on our powers of eloquence. For with things which are false
 and incredible by nature there are but two alternatives: either they
 will move our hearers with exceptional force because they are beyond the
 truth, or they will be regarded as empty nothings because they are not
 the truth.

But we may introduce not only imaginary sayings, but imaginary writings
 as well, as is done by Asinius in his defence of Liburnia: Let
 my mother, who was the object of my love and my delight, who lived
 for me and gave me life twice in one day (and so on) inherit nought of my
 property. This is in itself a figure, and is doubly so
 whenever, as in the present case, it imitates a
 document produced by the opposing party.

For a will had been read out by the prosecution, in the following form:
 Let Publius Novanius Gallio, to whom as my benefactor I will
 and owe all that is good, as a testimony to the great affection
 which he has borne me (then follow other details) be my heir.
 In this case the figure borders on parody, a name drawn from songs sung in imitation
 of others, but employed by an abuse of language to designate imitation
 in verse or prose.

Again, we often personify the abstract, as Virgil 
 does with Fame, or as Xenophon records that
 Prodicus did with Virtue and Pleasure, or as Ennius does when, in one of
 his satires, he represents Life and Death contending with one another.
 We may also introduce some imaginary person without identifying him, as
 we do in the phrases, At this point some one will
 interpose, or, Some one will say.

Or speech may be inserted without any mention of the speaker, as in the
 line: 
 
 
 Here the Dolopian host 
 Camped, here the fierce Achilles pitched his
 tent. 
 
 This involves a mixture of figures, since to impersonalion we add the figure known
 as ellipse, which in this case consists in the
 omission of any indication as to who is speaking. At times impersonation takes the form of narrative. Thus
 we find indirect speeches in the historians, as at the opening of Livy's
 first book : That cities, like other things, spring
 from the humblest origins, and that those who are helped by their
 own valour and the favour of heaven subsequently win great power and
 a great name for themselves. 
 
 Apostrophe also,

which consists in the diversion of our address from the judge, is
 wonderfully stirring, whether we attack our adversary as in the passage,
 What was that sword of yours doing, Tubero, in the field of
 Pharsalus? 
 or turn to make some
 invocation such as, For I appeal to you, hills and groves of
 Alba, 
 or to entreaty
 that will bring odium on our opponents, as in the cry, O Porcian
 and Sempronian laws.

But the term apostrophe is also applied to
 utterances that divert the attention of the hearer from the question
 before them, as in the following passage: 
 
 
 I swore not with the Greeks 
 At
 Aulis to uproot the race of Troy. 
 
 
 Aen. iv. 425. Dido
 is urging Anna to approach Aeneas and induce Aeneas to
 postpone his departure. Dido is no enemy from whom he need
 fly. 
 
 There are a number of different figures by which this
 effect may be produced. We may, for instance, pretend that we expected
 something different or feared some greater disaster, or that the judges
 in their ignorance of the facts may regard some point as of more
 importance than it really is: an example of this latter device is to be
 found in the exordium to Cicero's defence of Caelius.

With regard to the figure which Cicero calls ocular denonstration, this comes
 into play when we do not restrict ourselves to mentioning that something
 was done, but proceed to show how it was done, and do so not merely on
 broad general lines, but in full detail. In the last book I classified this figure under the head of vivid illustration, while Celsus actually terms
 it by this name. Others give the name of ὑποτύπωσις to any representation of facts which is made
 in such vivid language that they appeal to the eye rather than the ear.
 The following will show what I mean: He
 came into the forum on fire with criminal madness: his eyes blazed
 and cruelty was written in every feature of his countenance.

Nor is it only past or present actions which we may imagine: we may
 equally well present a picture of what is likely to happen or might have
 happened. This is done with extraordinary skill by Cicero in his defence
 of Milo, where
 he shows what Clodius would have done, had he succeeded in securing the
 praetorship. But this transference of time, which
 is technically called μετάστασις was
 more modestly used in vivid description by the
 old orators. For they would preface it by words such as Imagine
 that you see : take, for example, the words of Cicero : Though you cannot see this with your bodily
 eyes, you can see it with the mind's eye.

Modern authors, however, more especially the declaimers, are bolder,
 indeed they show the utmost animation in giving rein to their
 imagination; witness the following passages from Seneca's treatment of
 the controversial theme in which a father, guided by one of his sons,
 finds another son in the act of adultery with his stepmother and kills
 both culprits. Lead me, I follow, take this old hand of mine and
 direct it where you will.

And a little later, See, he says, what for so long you refused
 to believe. As for myself, I cannot see, night and thick darkness
 veil my eyes. This figure is too dramatic: for the story
 seems to be acted, not narrated.

Some include the clear and vivid description of places under the same
 heading, while others call it topography. I have
 found some who speak of irony as dissimulation, but, in view of the fact that this
 latter name does not cover the whole range of this
 figure, I shall follow my general rule and rest content with the Greek
 term. Irony involving a figure does not differ from the irony 
 which is a trope, as far as its genus is concerned, since in both cases we understand
 something which is the opposite of what is actually said; on the other
 hand, a careful consideration of the species of
 irony will soon reveal the fact that they
 differ.

In the first place, the trope is franker in its
 meaning, and, despite the fact that it implies something other than it
 says, makes no pretence about it. For the context as a rule is perfectly
 clear, as, for example, in the following passage from the Catilinarian
 orations. 
 Rejected by him, you migrated to your
 boon-companion, that excellent gentleman Metellus. In this
 case the irony lies in two words, and is therefore a specially concise
 form of trope.

But in the figurative form of irony the speaker
 disguises his entire meaning, the disguise being apparent rather than
 confessed. For in the trope the conflict is
 purely verbal, while in the figure the meaning,
 and sometimes the whole aspect of our case, conflicts with the language
 and the tone of voice adopted; nay, a man's whole life may be coloured
 with irony, as was the case with Socrates, who
 was called an ironist because he assumed the role
 of an ignorant man lost in wonder at the wisdom of others. Thus, as
 continued metaphor develops into allegory, so a sustained series of tropes develops into this figure.

There are, however, certain kinds of this figure 
 which have no connexion with tropes. In the first
 place, there is the figure which derives its name
 from negation and is called by some ἀντίφρασις. Here is an example: I will not plead
 against you according to the rigour of the law,
 I will not press the point which I should perhaps be able to make
 good 
 ; or again, 
 Why should I mention his decrees, his acts of plunder, his
 acquisition, whether by cession or by force, of certain
 inheritances? 
 or I say
 nothing of the first wrong inflicted by his lust ; or
 I do not even propose to produce the evidence given
 concerning the 600,000 sesterces ;

or I might say, etc. 
 Such kinds of irony may even be sustained at times through whole
 sections of our argument, as, for instance, where Cicero says, If I were to plead
 on this point as though there were some real charge to refute, I
 should speak at greater length. It is also irony when we assume the tone of command or
 concession, as in Virgil's 
 
 
 Go! 
 Follow the winds to
 Italy;

or when we concede to our opponents qualities which we are unwilling
 that they should seem to possess. This is specially effective when we
 possess these qualities and they do not, as in the following passage,
 
 
 
 Brand me as coward, Drances, since thy sword 
 Has slain such hosts of
 Trojans. 
 
 A like result is produced by reversing
 this method when we pretend to own to faults which are not ours or which
 even recoil upon the heads of our opponents, as for example, 
 
 
 'Twas I that led the Dardan gallant on 
 To storm the bridal bed of Sparta's
 queen! 
 
 
 Aen. x. 92. Juno
 ironically pretends to have brought about the rape of Helen,
 which was in reality the work of Venus.

Further, this device of saying the opposite of what 
 we desire to imply is not merely restricted to persons, but may be
 extended to things, witness the whole of the exordium of the pro Ligario and
 disparaging phrases such as Forsooth, 
 ye great
 gods! or 
 
 
 Fit task, I ween, for gods! 
 
 
 Aen. iv,. 379. Dido
 mocks the excuse of Aeneas that he had received the direct
 command of heaven to leave Carthage.

Another example is provided by the following passage from the pro Oppio, 
 What wondrous love! what
 extraordinary benevolence! Akin to irony also are the following figures, 
 which have a strong family resemblance: confession of a kind that can do our case no harm, such as the
 following : You have now, Tubero, the
 advantage most desired by an accuser: the accused confesses his
 guilt ; secondly, concession, when
 we pretend to admit something actually unfavourable to ourselves by way
 of showing our confidence in our cause, as in the following passage
 : The commander of a
 ship from a distinguished city paid down a sum of money to rid
 himself of the fear of a scourging which hung over his head; it
 shows Verres' humanity ; or again, in the pro Cluentio, 
 where Cicero is
 speaking of the prejudice aroused against his client, Let it
 prevail in the public assembly, but be silent in the courts of
 law ; thirdly, agreement, as when
 Cicero, in the same speech, agrees that
 the jury was bribed.

This last form of figure becomes more striking
 when we agree to something which is really likely to tell in our favour;
 but such an opportunity can only occur through weakness on the part of
 our opponent Sometimes we may even praise some action of our opponent,
 as Cicero does in his prosecution of Verres when
 dealing with the charge in connexion with 
 Apollonius of Drepanum: Nay, it is a real pleasure to me to
 think that you took something from him, and I say that you never did
 a juster action in your life.

At times we may exaggerate charges against ourselves which we can easily
 refute or deny; this device is too common to require any illustration.
 At other times we may by this same method make the charges brought
 against us seem incredible just because of their gravity: thus Cicero in
 his defence of Roscius, by the sheer
 force of his eloquence, exaggerates the horror of parricide, despite the
 fact that it requires no demonstration.

Aposiopesis, which Cicero calls reticentia, Celsus obticentia, and some interruptio, is
 used to indicate passion or anger, as in the line: 
 
 
 Whom I— 
 But
 better first these billows to assuage. 
 
 
 Or it may serve to give an impression of anxiety or scruple, as in the
 following: 
 Would he have dared to mention
 this law of which Clodius boasts he was the author, while Milo was
 alive, I will not say was consul? For as regards all of us—I do not
 dare to complete the sentence. There is a similar instance
 in the exordium of Demosthenes' speech in defence of Ctesiphon.

Again it may be employed as a means of transition, as, for example,
 
 Cominius, however— nay,
 pardon me, gentlemen. This last instance also involves digression, if indeed digression is to be counted
 among figures, since some authorities regard it
 as forming one of the parts of a speech. 
 For at this point the orator diverges to sing the
 praises of Gnaeus Pompeius, which he might have done without any
 recourse to aposiopesis.

For as Cicero says, the shorter form of digression may be effected in a number of different ways. The
 following passages will, however, suffice as examples: Then
 Gaius Varenus, that is, the Varenus who was killed by the slaves of
 Ancharius:—I beg you, gentlemen, to give careful attention to what I
 am about to say ; the
 second is from the pro Milone : Then he turned on me that glance, which
 it was his wont to assume, when he threatened all the world with
 every kind of violence.

There is also another kind of figure, which is not aposiopesis, since
 that involves leaving a sentence unfinished, but consists in bringing
 our words to a close before the natural point for their conclusion. The
 following is an example : I am
 pressing my point too far; the young man appears to be moved 
 ; or 
 Why
 should I say more? you heard the young man tell the story
 himself. The imitation of other persons' characteristics,

which is styled ἠθοποιί͂α or, as some
 prefer μίμησις may be counted among
 the devices which serve to excite the gentler emotions. For it consists
 mainly in banter, though it may be concerned either with words or deeds.
 If concerned with the latter, it closely resembles ὑποτύπωσις while the following passage from
 Terence will illustrate it as applied to
 words: I didn't see your drift. 'A little girl was stolen from
 this place; my mother brought her up as her own daughter. She was
 known as my sister. I want to get her away to restore her to her
 relations.'

We may, however, imitate our own words and deeds in a similar fashion by
 relating some act or statement, though in such
 cases the speaker more frequently does so to assert his point than for
 the sake of banter, as, for example, in the following, 
 I said that they had Quintus Caecilius to
 conduct the prosecution. There are other devices also which
 are agreeable in themselves and serve not a little to commend our case
 both by the introduction of variety and by their intrinsic naturalness,
 since by giving our speech an appearance of simplicity and spontaneity
 they make the judges more ready to accept our statements without
 suspicion.

Thus we may feign repentance for what we have said, as in the pro Caelio, 
 where Cicero says, But why
 did I introduce so respectable a character? Or we may use
 some common phrase, such as, I didn't mean to say
 that. 
 Or we may pretend
 that we are searching for what we should say, as in the phrases,
 What else is there? or Have I left anything
 out? Or we may pretend to discover something suggested by
 the context, as when Cicero says,
 One more charge, too, of this sort still remains for me to
 deal with, or One thing suggests another.

Such methods will also provide us with elegant transitions, although
 transition is not itself to be ranked among figures: for example,
 Cicero, after telling the story of Piso,
 who ordered a goldsmith to make a ring before him in court, adds, as
 though this story had suggested it to him, This ring of Piso's
 reminds me of something which had entirely slipped my memory. How
 many gold rings do you think Verres has stripped from the fingers of
 honourable men? Or we may affect ignorance on certain
 points, as in the following passage 
 : But who was the sculptor who made those statues? Who was he? Thank you for prompting me, you are
 right; they said it was Polyclitus.

This device may serve for other purposes as well. For there are means of
 this kind whereby we may achieve an end quite other than that at which
 we appear to be aiming, as, for example, Cicero does in the passage just
 quoted. For while he taunts Verres with a morbid passion for acquiring
 statues and pictures, he succeeds in creating the impression that he
 personally has no interest in such subjects. So, too, when Demosthenes
 swears by those who fell at
 Marathon and Salamis, his object is to lessen the odium in which he was
 involved by the disaster at Chaeronea.

We may further lend charm to our speech by deferring the discussion of
 some points after just mentioning them, thus depositing them in the safe
 keeping of the judge's memory and afterwards reclaiming our deposit; or
 we may employ some figure to enable us to repeat certain points (for
 repetition is not in itself a figure) or may make especial mention of
 certain things and vary the aspect of our pleading. For eloquence
 delights in variety, and just as the eye is more strongly attracted by
 the sight of a number of different things, so oratory supplies a
 continuous series of novelties to rivet the attention of the mind.

Emphasis may be numbered among figures also, when
 some hidden meaning is extracted from some phrase, as in the following
 passage from Virgil: 
 
 
 Might I not have lived, 
 From
 wedlock free, a life without a stain, 
 Happy as beasts are happy? 
 
 
 Aen. iv. 550.
 
 
 For although Dido complains of marriage, yet her passionate outburst shows that she regards life
 without wedlock as no life for man, but for the beasts of the field. A
 different kind of emphasis is found in Ovid, where Zmyrna confesses to
 her nurse her passion for her father in the following words: 
 
 
 O mother, happy in thy spouse! 
 
 
 Met. x. 422.

Similar, if not identical with this figure is another, which is much in
 vogue at the present time. For I must now proceed to the discussion of a
 class of figure which is of the commonest occurrence and on which I
 think I shall be expected to make some comment. It is one whereby we
 excite some suspicion to indicate that our meaning is other than our
 words would seem to imply; but our meaning is not in this case contrary
 to that which we express, as is the case in ironq, but rather a hidden meaning which is left to the hearer
 to discover. As I have already pointed out, modern rhetoricians
 practically restrict the name of figure to this
 device, from the use of which figured 
 controversial themes derive their name.

This class of figure may be employed under three conditions: first, if
 it is unsafe to speak openly; secondly, if it is unseemly to speak
 openly; and thirdly, when it is employed solely with a view to the
 elegance of what we say, and gives greater pleasure by reason of the
 novelty and variety thus introduced than if our meaning had been
 expressed in straightforward language.

The first of the three is of common occurrence in the schools, where we
 imagine conditions laid down by tyrants on abdication and decrees passed
 by the senate after a civil war, and it is a capital offence to accuse a
 person with what is past, what is not expedient in
 the courts being actually prohibited in the schools. But the conditions
 governing the employment of figures differ in the two cases. For we may
 speak against the tyrants in question as openly as we please without
 loss of effect, provided always that what we say is susceptible of a
 different interpretation, since it is only danger to ourselves, and not
 offence to them, that we have to avoid.

And if the danger can be avoided by any ambiguity of expression, tile
 speaker's cunning will meet with universal approbation. On the other
 hand, the actual business of the courts has never yet involved such
 necessity for silence, though at times they require something not unlike
 it, which is much more embarrassing for the speaker, as, for example,
 when he is hampered by the existence of powerful personages, whom he
 must censure if he is to prove his case.

Consequently he must proceed with greater wariness and circumspection;
 since the actual manner in which offence is given is a matter of
 indifference, and if a figure is perfectly obvious, it ceases to be a
 figure. Therefore such devices are absolutely repudiated by some
 authorities, whether the meaning of the figure be intelligible or not.
 But it is possible to employ such figuress in
 moderation, the primary consideration being that they should not be too
 obvious. And this fault can be avoided, if the figre does not depend on the employment of words of doubtful
 or double meaning, such, for instance, as the words which occur in the
 theme of the suspected daughter-in-law: 
 I married the wife
 who pleased my father.

It is important, too, that the figure should not depend on ambiguous collocations of words (a
 trick which is far more foolish than the last); an example of this is to
 be found in the controversial theme, where a father, accused of a
 criminal passion for his unmarried daughter, asks her for the name of
 her ravisher. Who dishonoured you? he says. She replies:
 My father, do you not know?

The facts themselves must be allowed to excite the suspicions of the
 judge, and we must clear away all other points, leaving nothing save
 what will suggest the truth. In doing this we shall find emotional
 appeals, hesitation and words broken by silences most effective. For
 thus the judge will be led to seek out the secret which he would not
 perhaps believe if he heard it openly stated, and to believe in that
 which he thinks he has found out for himself. But however excellent our
 figures,

they must not be too numerous. For overcrowding will make them obvious,
 and they will become ineffective without becoming inoffensive, while the
 fact that we make no open accusation will seem to be due not to modesty,
 but to lack of confidence in our own cause. In fact, we may sum up the
 position thus: our figures will have most effect upon the judge when he
 thinks that we use them with reluctance.

I myself have come across persons whom it was impossible to convince by
 other means: I have even come across a much rarer thing, namely, a case
 which could only be proved by recourse to such devices. I was defending
 a woman who was alleged to have forged her husband's will, and the heirs
 were stated to have given a bond to the husband on his deathbed, which latter
 assertion was true.

For since the wife could not legally be appointed 
 his heir, this procedure was adopted to enable the property to be
 transferred to her by a secret conveyance in trust. Now it was easy for
 me to secure the woman's acquittal, by openly mentioning the existence
 of the bond; but this would have involved her loss of the inheritance. I
 had, therefore, to plead in such a way that the judges should understand
 that the bond had actually been given, but that informers might be
 unable to avail themselves of any statement of mine to that effect. And
 I was successful in both my aims. The fear of seeming to boast my own
 skill would have deterred me from mentioning this case, but for the fact
 that I wished to demonstrate that there was room for the employment of
 these figures even in the courts.

Some things, again, which cannot be proved, may, on the other hand, be
 suggested by the employment of some figure. For
 at times such hidden shafts will stick, and the fact that they are not
 noticed will prevent their being drawn out, whereas if the same point
 were stated openly, it would be denied by our opponents and would have
 to be proved.

When, however, it is respect for some person that hampers us (which I
 mentioned as the second condition under which such figures may be used), all the greater caution is
 required because the sense of shame is a stronger deterrent to all good
 men than fear. In such cases the judge must be impressed with the fact
 that we are hiding what we know and keeping back the words which our
 natural impulse to speak out the truth would cause to burst from our
 lips. For those against whom we are speaking, together with the judges
 and our audience, would assuredly be all the more
 incensed by such toying with detraction, if they thought that we were
 inspired by deliberate malice.

And what difference does it make how we express ourselves, when both the
 facts and our feelings are clearly understood? And what good shall we do
 by expressing ourselves thus except to make it clear that we are doing
 what we ourselves know ought not to be done? And yet in the days when I
 first began to teach rhetoric, this failing was only too common. For
 declaimers selected by preference those themes which attracted them by
 their apparent difficulty, although as a matter of fact they were much
 easier than many others.

For straightforward eloquence requires the highest gifts to commend
 itself to the audience, while these circuitous and indirect methods are
 merely the refuge of weakness, for those who use them are like men who,
 being unable to escape from their pursuers by speed, do so by doubling,
 since this method of expression, which is so much affected, is really
 not far removed from jesting. Indeed it is positively assisted by the
 tact that the hearer takes pleasure in detecting the speaker's concealed
 meaning, applauds his own penetration and regards another man's
 eloquence as a compliment to himself.

Consequently it was not merely in cases where respect for persons
 prevented direct speaking (a circumstance which as a rule calls for
 caution rather than figures ) that they would
 have recourse to figurative methods, but they
 made room for them even under circumstances where they were useless or
 morally inadmissible, as for example in a case where a father, who had
 secretly slain his son whom he suspected of incest with his mother, and was accused of ill-treating his wife, was made
 to bring indirect insinuations against his wife.

But what could be more discreditable to the accused than that he should
 have kept such a wife? What could be more damaging than that he who is
 accused because he appears to have harboured the darkest suspicions
 against his wife, should by his defence confirm the charge which he is
 required to refute? If such speakers had only placed themselves in the
 position of the judges, they would have realised how little disposed
 they would have been to put up with pleading on such lines, more
 especially in cases where the most abominable crimes were insinuated
 against parents.

However, since we have lighted on this topic, let us devote a little
 more time to considering the practice of the schools. For it is in the
 schools that the orator is trained, and the methods adopted in pleading
 ultimately depend on the methods employed in declamation. I must
 therefore say something of those numerous cases in which figures have been employed which were not merely
 harsh, but actually contrary to the interests of the case. A man
 condemned for attempting to establish himself as tyrant shall be
 tortured to make him reveal the names of his accomplices. The
 accuser shall choose what reward he pleases. A certain man has
 secured the condemnation of his father and demands as his reward
 that he should not be tortured. The father opposes his choice.

Everyone who pleaded for the father indulged in figurative insinuations against the son, on the assumption
 that the father would, when tortured, be likely to name him as one of
 his accomplices. But what could be more foolish? For as soon as the judges grasp their point, they will
 either refuse to put him to the torture in view of his motive for
 desiring to be tortured, or will refuse to believe any confession he may
 make under torture. But, it will be urged,

it is possible that this was his motive. May be. But he should then
 disguise his motive, in order that he may effect his purpose. But what
 will it profit us (and by us I mean the
 declaimers) to have realised this motive, unless we declare it as well?
 Well, then, if the case were being actually pleaded in the courts,
 should we have disclosed this secret motive in such a way? Again, if
 this is not the real motive, the condemned man may have other reasons
 for opposing his son; he may think that the law should be carried out or
 be unwilling to accept such a kindness from the hands of his accuser, or
 (and this is the line on which I personally should insist) he may intend
 to persist in declaring his innocence even under torture.

Consequently the usual excuse advanced by such declaimers to the effect
 that the inventor of the theme meant the defence to proceed on these
 lines, will not always serve their purpose. It is possible that this was
 not the inventor's wish. However, let us assume that it was. Are we then
 to speak like fools merely because he thought like a fool? Personally I
 hold that, even in actual cases, we should often disregard the wishes of
 the litigant.

Further, in such cases speakers fall into the frequent error of assuming
 that certain persons say one thing and mean another: this is more
 especially the case where it is assumed that a man asks permission to
 die. Take, for example, the following controversial theme. A man
 who had shown himself a heroic soldier in the
 past, on the occasion of a subsequent war demanded exemption from
 service in accordance with the law, on the ground that he was fifty
 years of age, but exemption being refused owing to the opposition of
 his son, he deserted on being compelled to go into the fight. The
 son, who had borne himself like a hero in the same battle, asks for
 his father's pardon as a reward. The father opposes his choice.
 
 Yes, they say, that is due not to his
 desire to die, but to bring odium on his son. For my part,

I laugh at the fears which they manifest on his behalf, as though they
 were in peril of death themselves, and at the way in which they allow
 their terror to influence their line of pleading; for they forget how
 many precedents there are for suicide and how many reasons there may be
 why a hero turned deserter should wish for death.

But it would be waste of time to expatiate on one controversial theme. I
 would lay it down as a general rule that an orator should never put
 forward a plea that is tantamount to collusion, and I cannot imagine a
 lawsuit arising in which both parties have the same design, nor conceive
 that any man who wishes to live could be such a fool as to put forward
 an absurd plea for death, when he might refrain from pleading for it at
 all. I do not, however,

deny that there are controversial themes of this kind where figures may legitimately be employed, as, for
 example, the following: A man was accused of unnatural murder on
 the ground that he had killed his brother, and it seemed probable
 that he would be condemned. His father gave evidence in his defence,
 stating that the murder had been committed on his orders. The son
 was acquitted, but disinherited by the father.
 For in this case he does not pardon his son entirely, but
 cannot openly withdraw the evidence that he gave in the first trial, and
 while he does not inflict any worse penalty than disinheritance, he does
 not shrink from that. Further, the employment of the figure tells more heavily against the father than is fair and
 less against the son.

But, while no one ever speaks against the view which he wishes to
 prevail, he may wish something of greater importance than what he
 actually says. Thus the disinherited son who asks his father to take
 back another son whom he had exposed, and who had been brought up by
 himself, on payment for his maintenance, while he may prefer that he
 himself should be reinstated, may all the same be perfectly sincere in
 his demand on behalf of his brother. Again, a kind of tacit hint may be
 employed, which,

while demanding the utmost rigour of the law from the judges, suggests a
 loophole for clemency, not openly, for that would imply a pledge on our
 part, but by giving a plausible suspicion of our meaning. This device is
 employed in a number of controversial themes, among them the following.
 A ravisher, unless within thirty days he secure pardon both
 from his own father and the father of the ravished girl, shall be
 put to death. A man who has succeeded in securing pardon from the
 father of the girl, but not from his own, accuses the latter of
 madness.

Here if the father pledges himself to pardon him, the dispute falls to
 the ground. If, on the other hand, he holds out no hope of pardon,
 though he will not necessarily be regarded as mad, he will certainly
 give the impression of cruelty and will prejudice the judge against him.
 Latro therefore showed admirable skill when he made
 the son say, You will kill me then? and the father reply,
 Yes, if I can. 
 
 The elder Gallio treats the theme with greater tenderness, as was
 natural to a man of his disposition. He makes the father say, Be
 firm, my heart, be firm. Yesterday you were made of sterner
 stuff.

Akin to this are those figures of which the
 Greeks are so fond, by means of which they give gentle expression to
 unpleasing facts. Themistocles, for example, is believed to have urged
 the Athenians to commit their city to the protection of heaven, because
 to urge them to abandon it would have been too brutal an expression.
 Again the statesman who advised that certain golden images of Victory
 should be melted down as a contribution to the war funds, modified his
 words by saying that they should make a proper use of their victories.
 But all such devices which consist in saying one thing, while intending
 something else to be understood, have a strong resemblance to allegory.

It has also been asked how figures may best be
 met. Some hold that they should always be exposed by the antagonist,
 just as hidden ulcers are laid open by the surgeon. It is true that this
 is often the right course, being the only means of refuting the charges
 which have been brought against us, and this is more especially the case
 when the question turns on the very point at which the figures are directed. But when the figures are merely employed as vehicles of abuse, it will
 sometimes even be wisest to show that we have a clear conscience by
 ignoring them.

Nay, even if too many figures have been used to permit us to take such a
 course, we may ask our opponents, if they have any
 confidence in the righteousness of their cause, to give frank and open
 expression to the charges which they have attempted to suggest by
 indirect hints, or at any rate to refrain from asking the judges not
 merely to understand, but even to believe things which they themselves
 are afraid to state in so many words.

It may even at times be found useful to pretend to misunderstand them;
 for which we may compare the well known story of the man who, when his
 opponent cried, Swear by the ashes of your father, 
 replied that he was ready to do so, whereupon the judge accepted
 the proposal, much to the indignation of the advocate, who protested
 that this would make the use of figures 
 absolutely impossible; we may therefore lay it down as a general rule
 that such figures should only be used with the
 utmost caution.

There remains the third class of figure designed merely to enhance the
 elegance of our style, for which reason Cicero expresses the opinion
 that such figures are independent of the subject
 in dispute. As an illustration I may quote the figure which he uses in his speech against Clodius: By these means he, being
 familiar with all our holy rites, thought that he might easily
 succeed in appeasing the gods.

Irony also is frequently employed in this
 connexion. But by far the most artistic device is
 to indicate one thing by allusion to another; take the case where a
 rival candidate speaks against an ex-tyrant who had abdicated on
 condition of his receiving an amnesty : I am not permitted to speak
 against you. Do you speak against me, as you may. But a little while
 ago I wished to kill you.

Another common device is to introduce an oath, like the speaker who, in
 defending a disinherited man, cried, So may I die leaving a son
 to be my heir. 
 But this is not a figure which is much to be recommended, for as a rule the
 introduction of an oath, unless it is absolutely necessary, is scarcely
 becoming to a self-respecting man. Seneca made a neat comment to this
 effect when he said that oaths were for the witness and not for the
 advocate. Again, the advocate who drags in an oath merely for the sake
 of some trivial rhetorical effect, does not deserve much credit, unless
 he can do this with the masterly effect achieved by Demosthenes, which I
 mentioned above.

But by far the most trivial form of figure is
 that which turns on a single word, although we find such a figure
 directed against Clodia by Cicero :
 Especially when everybody thought her the friend of all men
 rather than the enemy of any.

I note that comparison is also regarded as a figure, although at times it is a form of proof,
 and at others the whole case may turn upon
 it, while its form may be illustrated by the following passage from
 the pro Murena: 
 
 You pass wakeful nights that
 you may be able to reply to your clients; he that he and his army
 may arrive betimes at their destination. You are roused by cockcrow,
 he by the bugle's reveille, and so on.

I am not sure, however, whether it is so much a figure
 of thought as of speech. For the only
 difference lies in the fact that universals are not contrasted with
 universals, but particulars with particulars. Celsus, however, and that
 careful writer Visellius regard it as a figure of
 thought, while Rutilius Lupus regards it as belonging to both,
 and calls it antithesis.

To the figures placed by Cicero among the
 ornaments of thought Rutilius (following the views of Gorgias, a
 contemporary, whose four books he transferred to his own work, and who
 is not to be confused with Georgias of Leontini) and Celsus (who follows
 Rutilius) would add a number of others, such as:

concentration, which the Greek calls διαλλαγή 
 a term employed when a number
 of different arguments are used to establish one point: consequence, which Gorgias calls ἐπακολούθησις and which I have already
 discussed under the head of argument : inference, which Gorgias terms συλλογισμός 
 threats, that is,
 κατάπληξις 
 exhortation, or παραινετικόν 
 But all of these are perfectly straightforward methods of speaking,
 unless combined with some one of the figures 
 which I have discussed above.

Besides these, Celsus considers the following to be figures: exclusion, asseveration, refusal, excitement of the judge,
 the use of proverbs, the employment of quotations from poetry, jests,
 invidious remarks or invocation to intensify a charge (which is
 identical with δείνωσις ) flattery,
 pardon, disdain, admonition, apology, entreaty
 and rebuke.

He even includes partition, proposition, division and affinity between
 two separate things, by which latter he means that two things apparently
 different signify the same: for example, not only the man who murders
 another by administering a deadly draught is to be regarded as a
 poisoner, but also the man who deprives another of his wits by giving
 him some drug, a point which depends on definition.

To these Rutilius or Gorgias add ἀναγκαῖον that is, the representation of the necessity of
 a thing, ἀνάμνησις or reminding,
 ἀνθυποφορά that is, replying to
 anticipated objections, ἀντίῤῥησις or
 refutation, παραύξησις or
 amplification, προέκθεσις which means
 pointing out what ought to have been done, and then what actually has
 been done, ἐναντιότης, or arguments
 from opposites (whence we get enthymemes styled κατ᾽
 ἐναντίωσιν ), and even μετάληψις, which Hermagoras considers a basis. 
 Visellius, although he makes
 the number of figures but small, includes among
 them the enthymeme, which he calls commentum, and the epicheireme, which he calls ratio. 
 This view is also partially accepted by Celsus, who
 is in doubt whether consequence is not to be
 identified with the epicheireme.

Visellius also adds general reflexions to the
 list. I find others who would add to these διασκευή 
 or enhancement,
 ἀπαγόρευσις or prohibition, and
 παραδιήγησις or incidental
 narrative. But though these are not figures, there may be others which
 have slipped my notice, or are yet to be invented: still, they will be
 of the same nature as those of which I have spoken above.

III. Figures of speech have
 always been liable to change and are continually in process of change in
 accordance with the variations of usage. Consequently when we compare
 the language of our ancestors with our own, we find that practically
 everything we say nowadays is figurative. For
 example, we say invidere hac re for to
 grudge a thing, instead of hanc
 rem, which was the idiom of all the ancients, more especially
 Cicero, and incumbere illi (to lean upon him) for
 incumbere in ilium, plenum vino (full of
 wine) for plenum vini, and huic
 adulari (to flatter him) for hunc
 adulari. I might quote a thousand other examples, and only wish
 I could say that the changes were not often changes for the worse.

But to proceed, figures of speech fall into two
 main classes. One is defined as the form of language, while the other is
 mainly to be sought in the arrangement of words. Both are equally
 applicable in oratory, but we may style the former rather more
 grammatical and the latter more rhetorical. 
 The former originates from the same sources as errors of language. For
 every figure of this kind would be an error, if
 it were accidental and not deliberate.

But as a rule such figures are defended by
 authority, age and usage, and not infrequently by some reason as well.
 Consequently, although they involve a divergence from direct and simple
 language, they are to be regarded as excellences, provided always that
 they have some praiseworthy precedent to follow. They have one special
 merit, that they relieve the tedium of everyday stereotyped speech and
 save us from commonplace language.

If a speaker use them sparingly and only as occasion demands, they will
 serve as a seasoning to his style and increase its
 attractions. If, on the other hand, he strains after them overmuch, he
 will lose that very charm of variety which they confer. Some figures,
 however, are so generally accepted that they have almost ceased to be
 regarded as figures: consequently however frequently they may be used,
 they will make less impression on the ear, just because it has become
 habituated to them.

For abnormal figures lying outside the range of
 common speech, while they are for that very reason more striking, and
 stimulate the ear by their novelty, prove cloying if used too lavishly,
 and make it quite clear that they did not present themselves naturally
 to the speaker, but were hunted out by him, dragged from obscure corners
 and artificially piled together. Figures, then,

may be found in connexion with the gender of nouns; for we find oculis capti talpale 
 
 (blind moles) and timidi damae 
 (timid deer) in Virgil; but there is good reason
 for this, since in these cases both sexes are covered by a word of one
 gender, and there is no doubt that there are male moles and deer as well
 as female. Figures may also affect verbs: for
 example, we find such phrases as fabricatus est
 glatdium 
 or inimicum poenitus
 es.

This is the less surprising, since the nature of verbs is such that we
 often express the active by the passive form, as in the case of arbitror (think) and suspicor (suspect), and the passive by the active, as in the
 case of vapulo (am beaten). Consequently the
 interchange of the two forms is of common occurrence, and in many cases
 either form can be used: for example, we may say luxuriatur or luxuriat (luxuriate), fluctuatur or fluctuat 
 (fluctuate), adsentior or adsentio (agree). Figures also occur in
 connexion with number,

as when the plural follows the singular, as in the
 phrase gladio pugnacissima gens Romani (the
 Romans are a nation that fight fiercely with the sword); for gens is a singular noun indicating multitude. Or
 the singular may follow the plural, as in the following instance, 
 
 
 qui non risere parentes 
 nec
 deus hunc mensa dea nec dignata cubili est, 
 
 
 Ecl. iv. 62. 
 
 
 where he whom no goddess deems, etc.,
 is included among those who have never smiled, etc.

In a satire again we read, 
 
 
 nostrum istud vivere triste
 aspxei, 
 
 
 Pers. i. 9. 
 
 
 where the infinitive is used as a noun: for the poet
 by nostrum vivere means nostram
 vitam. We also at times use the verb for the participle, as in
 the phrase, 
 
 
 magnum dat ferre talentum, 
 
 
 Aen. v. 248. 
 
 
 where ferre is used for ferendum, or the participle may be used for the
 verb, as in the phrase volo datum (I wish to
 give).

At times, again, there may be some doubt as to the precise error which a
 figure resembles. Take, for example, the phrase 
 
 
 virtus est vitium fugere, 
 
 Hor. Ep. I. i. 41.
 
 
 
 where the writer has either changed the parts of
 speech (making his phrase a variant for virtus
 est 
 
 fuga vitiorum ),
 or the cases (in which case it will be a variant for virtutis est vitium fugere); but whichever be the case, the
 figure is far more vigorous than either. At
 times figures are joined, as in Sthenelus sciens pugnae, 
 which is
 substituted for Sthenelus scilus pugnandi. Tenses
 too are interchangeable.

For example, Timarchides negat esse ei periculum a
 seuri 
 the present negat is substituted for the past. Or one mood may be used for
 another, as in the phrase, hoc Ithacus
 velit. 
 In fact, to cut a long matter
 short, there is a figure corresponding to every
 form of solecism.

There is also a figure styled ἑτεροίωσις (i.e. alteration of the normal
 idiom), which bears a strong resemblance to ἐξαλλαγή. For example, we find in Sallust phrases such as
 neque ea res failsum me habuit 
 and duci probare. 
 Such figures as
 a rule aim not merely at novelty, but at conciseness as well. Hence we
 get further developments, such as non paeniturum 
 for not intending to repent, and visuros for sent to see, both found in the same
 author.

These may have been figures when Sallust made them; but it is a question
 whether they can now be so considered, since they have met with such
 general acceptance. For we are in the habit of accepting common parlance
 as sufficient authority where current phrases are concerned: for
 example, rebus agentibus in the sense of while this was going on, which Pollio rebukes
 Labienus for using, has become an accredited idiom, as has contumeliam fecit, which, as is well known, is stigmatised by Cicero :
 for in his day they said ad fici contumelia.

Figures may also be commended by their antiquity, for which Virgil had
 such a special passion. Compare his 
 
 
 vel cum se pavidum contra mea iurgia
 iactat 
 
 
 Aen. xi. 400. 
 
 
 or 
 
 
 progeniem sed enim Troiano a sanguine
 duci 
 audierat. 
 
 
 An. i. 19. 
 
 
 Numerous instances of the same kind might be cited
 from the old tragic and comic poets.

One word of this type has remained in common use, namely enimvero. I might further quote from the same
 author 
 
 
 nam quis te iuvenum
 confidentissime, 
 
 
 Georg. iv. 445.
 The
 figure consists in the opening of a speech with nam, or perhaps rather in saying nam quis for quisnam. 
 
 
 words which form the beginning of a speech: or 
 
 
 tam magis illa tremens et tristibus etffra
 flammis, 
 quam magis effuso crudescunt
 sanguine pugnae. 
 
 
 Aen. vii. 787.
 
 
 
 
 
 The more
 the strife with bloodshed rages wild, 
 The
 more it quivers and with baleful fire 
 Glows
 fiercer. 
 
 There the sentence inverts the
 natural order which may be illustrated by quam magis
 aerumna urgent, tam magis ad malefaciendumn viget.

Old writers are full of such usages. At the 
 beginning of the Eunuchus 
 of Terence we have quid igitur faciam, while another comic poet says
 ain tandem leno? 
 Catullus in his Epithalamium writes: 
 
 
 dum innupta manet, dum cara suis
 est, 
 
 Cat. lxii. 45. 
 
 
 where the first dum means while, and the second means so
 long.

Sallust, on the other hand, borrows a number of idioms from the Greek,
 such as vulgus amat fieri: 
 the same is
 true of Horace, who strongly approves of the practice. Compare his
 
 
 
 nec ciceris net longae invidit
 avenae. 
 
 
 Sat. II. vi. 83.
 The gen. of respect is regarded as a
 Graecism. 
 
 Virgil does
 the same in phrases such as 
 Tyrrhenum navigat aequor 
 or saucius pectus ( wounded at heart ), an idiom
 which has now become familiar in the public gazette.

Under the same class of figure falls that of addition, which, although
 the words added may be strictly superfluous, may still be far from
 inelegant. Take, for example, 
 
 
 nam neque Parnasi vobis iuga, nam neque
 Pindi, 
 
 
 Ecl. x. 11: 
 
 
 
 where the second nam might be omitted. And we find in Horace,
 
 
 Fabriciumcque, 
 hunc et intonsis Curium
 capillis. 
 Similarly, words are omitted, a device
 which may be either a blemish or a figure, 
 according to the context. The following is an example: 
 
 
 accede ad ignen, iam calesces plus
 satis; 
 
 Ter. Eun. I. ii.
 5. 
 
 
 for the full phrase would be plus
 quam satis. There is, however, another form of omission which
 requires treatment at greater length.

We frequently use the comparative for the positive, as, for example,
 when a man speaks of himself as being infirmior 
 (rather indisposed). Sometimes we join two comparatives, as in the
 following passage : si te,
 Catilina, comprehend, si interfici iussero, credo erit verendum
 mihi, ne non potius hoc ones boni serius a me qam quisquam crudelius
 factum esse dicat.

There are also figures like the following, which,
 though far from being solecisms, alter the number and are also usually
 included among tropes. We may speak of a single
 thing in the plural, as in the following instance :
 
 
 But we have travelled
 o'er a boundless space; 
 
 
 Or we may speak of the plural in the singular, as
 in the following case : 
 
 Like the fierce Roman in his
 country's arms.

There are others which belong to a diflfrent species, but the same
 genus, such as 
 
 
 Nor let thy vineyards slope toward the
 west, 
 
 
 Georg. ii. 298.
 
 
 or 
 
 
 In that hour 
 Be it not mine
 beneath the open sky 
 To court soft sleep
 nor on the forest ridge 
 Amid the grass to
 lie. 
 
 
 Georg. iii. 435.
 
 
 For in the first of these passages he is not advising
 some other person, nor exhorting himself in the second, his advice in
 both passages being meant for all. Sometimes, again, we speak of
 ourselves as though we were referring to others, as in phrases like,
 Servius asserts, Tullius denies it.

At other times we speak in the first person instead of in another, or
 substitute one person for another. Both devices are employed together in
 the pro Caecina, where Cicero, addressing Piso,
 the counsel for the prosecution, says, You asserted that you
 reinstated me: I deny that you did so in accordance with the
 praetor's edict. 
 The actual
 truth is that it was Aebutius who asserted that he had reinstated the
 defendant, and Caecina who denied that he had been restored in
 accordance with the praetor's edict. We may note also a further figure of speech in the contracted dixti, which has dropped one of its syllables.

The following also may be regarded as belonging to
 the same genus. The first is called interpositio or interclusio by us, and parenthesis or
 paremptosis by the Greeks, and consists in
 the interruption of the continuous flow of our language by the insertion
 of some remark. The following is an example: ego cum
 te (mecum enim saepissime loquilur ) patriae
 reddidissem.

To this they add hyperbaton, 
 which they refuse to
 include among tropes. A second figure of this kind is one closely resembling the figure of thought known as apostrophe, 
 but differing in this respect, that it changes the
 form of the language and not the sense. The following will illustrate my
 meaning: 
 
 
 The Decii too, 
 The Marii and
 Camilli, names of might, 
 The Scipios,
 stubborn warriors, aye, and thee, 
 Great
 Caesar. 
 
 
 Georg. ii. 169.
 (Rhoades' translation).

There is a still more striking example in the passage describing the
 death of Polydorus : 
 
 All faith he brake and
 Polydorus slew 
 Seizing his gold by force.
 Curst greed of gold, 
 To what wilt thou not
 drive the hearts of men? 
 
 'Those
 terminologists who delight in subtle distinctions call the last figure
 μετάβασις (transition), and hold
 that it may be employed in yet another way, as in Dido's 
 
 
 What do I say? Where am I? 
 
 
 Aen. iv. 595.

Virgil has combined apostrollphe and parenthesis in the well-known passage: 
 
 
 
 Next Mettus the swift cars asunder
 tore, 
 (Better, false Alban, hadst thou kept
 thy troth!) 
 And Tullus dragged the traitors'
 mangled limbs. . . 
 
 These figures and the
 like, which consist in change,

addition, omission, and the order of words, serve to attract the
 attention of the audience and do not allow it to flag, rousing it from
 time to time by some specially striking figure, while they derive
 something of their charm from their very resemblance to blemishes, just
 as a trace of bitterness in food will sometimes tickle the palate. But
 this result will only be obtained if figures are not excessive in number
 nor all of the same type or combined or closely packed, since economy in
 their use, no less than variety, will prevent the hearer being
 surfeited.

There is a more striking class of figure, which does not merely depend
 on the form of the language for its effect, but lends both charm and
 force to the thought as well. The first figure of this class which calls
 for notice is that which is produced by addition. 
 Of this there are various kinds. Words, for instance, may be doubled
 with a view to amplification, as in I have slain, I have slain,
 not Spurius Maelius 
 (where
 the first I have slain states what has been done,
 while the second emphasises it), or to excite pity, as in 
 
 
 Ah! Corydon, Corydon. 
 
 
 Ecl. ii. 69.

The same figure may also sometimes be employed ironically, with a view
 to disparagement. Similar to such doubling of words is repetition
 following a parenthesis, but the effect is
 stronger. I have seen the property alas! (for though all my
 tears are shed, my grief still clings to me
 deep-rooted in my heart), the property, I say, of Gnaeus Pompeius
 put up for sale by the cruel voice of the public crier.
 
 
 You still live, and live
 not to abate your audacity, but to increase it.

Again, a number of clauses may begin with the same word for the sake of
 force and emphasis. Were you unmoved by the guard set each night
 upon the Palatine, unmoved by the patrolling of the city, unmoved by
 the terror of the people, unmoved by the unanimity of all good
 citizens, unmoved by the choice of so strongly fortified a spot for
 the assembly of the senate, unmoved by the looks and faces of those
 here present to-day? 
 Or they may end with the same words. Who demanded them?
 Appius. Who produced them? Appius.

This last instance, however, comes under the head of another figure as
 well, where both opening and concluding words are identical, since the
 sentences open with who and end with
 Appius. Here is another example. Who are they
 who have so often broken treaties? The Carthaginians. Who are they
 who have waged war with such atrocious cruelty? The Carthaginians.
 Who are they who have laid Italy waste? The Carthaginians. Who are
 they who pray for pardon? The Carthaginians.

Again, in antitheses and comparisons the first words of alternate
 phrases are frequently repeated to produce correspondence, which was my
 reason for saying a little while back that this device
 came under the present topic rather than that which I was then
 discussing. You pass wakeful nights that you may be able to
 reply to your clients; he that he and his army may arrive betimes at
 their destination. You are roused by cockcrow,
 he by the bugle's reveillé. You draw up your legal pleas, he sets
 the battle in array. You are on the watch that your clients be not
 taken at a disadvantage, he that cities or camps be not so taken.

But the orator is not content with producing this effect, but proceeds
 to reverse the figure. He knows and understands how to keep off
 the forces of the enemy, you how to keep off the rainwater; he is
 skilled to extend boundaries, you to delimit them.

A similar correspondence may be produced between the middle and the
 opening of a sentence, as in the line: 
 
 
 te nemus Angitiae, vitrea te Fucinus
 unda. 
 
 
 Aen. vii. 759 
 
 
 Or the middle may correspond to the end, as in the
 following sentence: This ship, laden with the spoil of Sicily,
 while it was itself a portion of the spoil. 
 Nor will it be questioned that a like effect may
 be produced by the repetition of the middle of both clauses. Again, the
 end may correspond with the beginning. Many grievous afflictions
 were devised for parents and for kinsfolk many.

There is also another form of repetition which simultaneously reiterates
 things that have already been said, and draws distinctions between them.
 
 
 
 Iphitus too with me and Pelias came, 
 Iphitus bowed with age and Pelias 
 Slow-limping with the wound Ulysses
 gave. 
 
 
 Aen. ii. 435.
 
 
 This is styled ἐπάνοδος by the Greeks and regression by Roman writers.

Nor are words only repeated to reaffirm the same meaning, but the
 repetition may serve to mark a contrast, as in the following sentence.
 
 The reputation of the leaders was
 approximately equal, but that of their followers perhaps not so
 equal. 
 At times the cases
 and genders of the words repeated may be varied, as in Great is
 the toil of speaking, and great the task, etc. ; a similar instance is found in
 Rutilius, but in a long period. I therefore merely cite the beginnings
 of the clauses. Pater hic tuus? patrem nunc appellas?
 patris tui filius es?

This figure may also be effected solely by change of cases, a proceeding
 which the Greeks call πολύπτωτον It
 may also be produced in other ways, as in the pro
 Cluentio: 
 
 Quod autem tempus veneni dandi?
 illo die? illa frequentia? per quem porro datum? unde sumptum? quae
 porro interceptio poculi? cur non de integro autem datum?

The combination of different details is called μεταβολὴν by Caecilius, and may be exemplified by the
 following passage directed against Oppianicus in the pro Cluentio: 
 
 The local senate were unanimously of opinion that
 he had falsified the public registers at Larinum; no one would have
 any business dealings or make any contract with him, no one out of
 all his numerous relations and kinsfolk ever appointed him as
 guardian to his children, with much more to the same
 effect.

In this case the details are massed together, but they may equally be
 distributed or dissipated, as I think Cicero
 says. For example: 
 
 
 Here corn, there grapes, elsewhere the
 growth of trees 
 More freely
 rises, 
 
 
 Georg. i. 54.
 
 
 with the remainder of the passage.

A wonderful mixture of figures may be found in
 Cicero in the following passage, where the
 first word is repeated last after a long interval, while the middle
 corresponds with the beginning, and the concluding words with the
 middle. Yours is the work which we find here, conscript fathers,
 not mine, a fine piece of work too, but, as I have said, not mine,
 but yours. This frequent repetition, which,

as I have said, is produced by a mixture of figures, is called πλοκὴ by the Greeks: a letter of Cicero
 to Brutus
 will provide a further example. When I had made my peace with
 Appius Claudius and made it through the agency of Gnaeus Pompeius,
 when then I had made my peace, etc.

The like effect may be produced in the same sentence by repeating the
 same words in different forms, as in Persius: 
 
 
 Is then to know in thee 
 Nothing unless another know thou knowest? 
 
 i. 26. The translation is
 Watson's. 
 
 and in Cicero, where he says, For
 it was impossible for the judges as well to be condemned by their
 own judgement.

Whole sentences again end with the phrase with which they began. Take an
 example. He came from Asia. What a strange thing. A tribune of
 the people came from Asia. 
 Nay, the first word of this same period is
 actually repeated at its close, thus making its third appearance: for to
 the words just quoted the orator adds, Still for all that he
 came. Sometimes a whole clause is repeated, although the
 order of the words is altered, as, for example, Quid
 Cleomenes facere potuit non enin possum quemquam insimulare falso,
 quid, inquam, 
 
 magno opere
 potuit Cleomenes facere?

The first word of one clause is also frequently the same as the last of
 the preceding, a figure common in poetry. 
 
 
 And ye, 
 Pierian Muses, shall
 enhance their worth 
 For Gallus; Gallus,
 he for whom each hour 
 My love burns
 stronger. 
 
 
 Cat. I. i. 2.
 
 
 But it is not uncommon even in the orators. For
 example: Yet this man lives. Lives? Why he even came into the
 senate house.

Sometimes, as I remarked in connexion with the doubling of words, the beginnings and the conclusions of sentences are made to correspond
 by the use of other words with the same meaning. Here is an example of
 correspondence between the beginnings: I would have faced every
 kind of danger; I would have exposed myself to treacherous attacks;
 I would have delivered myself over to public hatred. 
 An example of the correspondence
 of conclusions is provided by another passage in the same speech which
 follows close on that just cited: For you have decided; you have
 passed sentence; you have given judgment. Some call this synonzmy, others disjunction: both terms, despite their difference, are
 correct. For the words are differentiated, but their meaning is
 identical. Sometimes, again, words of the same meaning are grouped
 together. For instance, Since this is so, Catiline, proceed on
 the path which you have entered; depart from the city, it is high
 time. The gates are open, get you forth.

Or take this example from another book of the orations against Catiline,
 He departed, he went hence; he burst
 forth, he was gone. 
 This is regarded as a case of
 pleonasm by Caecilius, that is to say, as
 language fuller than is absolutely required, like the phrase: 
 
 
 Myself before my very eyes I saw: 
 
 
 Aen. xii. 638.
 
 
 for myself is already implied by
 I saw. But when such language is over weighted by
 some purely superfluous addition, it is, as I have also pointed out
 elsewhere, a fault; whereas when, as in this case, it serves to make
 the sense stronger and more obvious, it is a merit. I
 saw, 
 myself, 
 before my very
 eyes, are so many appeals to the emotion.

I cannot therefore see why Caecilius should have stigmatised these words
 by such a name, since the doubling and repetition of words and all forms
 of addition may likewise be regarded as pleonasms. And it is not merely words that are thus grouped
 together. The same device may be applied to thoughts of similar content.
 The wild confusion of his thoughts, the thick darkness shed
 upon his soul by his crimes and the burning torches of the furies
 all drove him on.

Words of different meaning may likewise be grouped together, as for
 instance, The woman, the savage cruelty of the tyrant, love for
 his father, anger beyond control, the madness of blind daring
 ; or again, as in the following passage from Ovid,
 
 
 
 But the dread Nereids' power, 
 But
 horned Ammon, but that wild sea-beast 
 To feed
 upon my vitals that must come.

I have found some who call this also by the name of πλοκή: but I do not agree, as only one
 figure is involved. We may also find a mixture of
 words, some identical and others different in meaning; of this figure,
 which the Greeks style διαλλαγή, the
 following will provide an example: I ask my enemies whether
 these plots were investigated, discovered and laid bare, overthrown,
 crushed and destroyed by me. 
 In this sentence
 investigated, 
 discovered and
 laid bare are different in meaning, while
 overthrown, 
 crushed and
 destroyed are similar in meaning to each other, but
 different from the three previous.

But both the last example and the last but one involve a different figure as well, which, owing to the absence of
 connecting particles, is called dissolution ( asyndeton ), and is useful when we are speaking
 with special vigour: for it at once impresses the details on the mind
 and makes them seem more numerous than they really are. Consequently, we
 apply this figure not merely to single words, but
 to whole sentences, as, for instance, is done by Cicero in his reply
 to the speech which Metellus made to the public
 assembly: I ordered those against whom information was laid, to
 be summoned, guarded, brought before the senate: they were led into
 the senate, while the rest of the passage is constructed on
 similar lines. This kind of figure is also called
 brachylogy, which may be regarded as
 detachment without loss of connexion. The opposite of this figure of asyndeton is polyxyndeton, 
 which is characterised by the number of connecting particles employed.

In this figure we may repeat the same connecting particle a number of
 times, as in the following instance: 
 
 
 
 His house and home and arms 
 And Amyclean hound and Cretan quiver; 
 
 
 Georg. iii. 344.
 
 
 or they may be different,

as in the case of arma virumque followed by multum ille et terris and multa
 quoque.

Adverbs and pronouns also may be varied, as in the following instance:
 
 lic ilium vidi
 iunvenem followed by bis senos cui nostra
 dies and hic mihi responsum primus dedit
 ille petenti. But both these cases involve the massing together
 of words and phrases either in asyndeton or polysyndeton.

Writers have given special names to all the different forms, but the
 names vary with the caprice of the inventor. The origin of these figures is one and the same, namely that they
 make our utterances more vigorous and emphatic and produce animpression
 of vehemence such as might spring from repeated outbursts of emotion.
 Gradation, which the Greeks call climax, necessitates a more obvious and less
 natural application of art and should therefore be more sparingly
 employed. Moreover, it involves addition,

since it repeats what has already been said and, before passing to a new
 point, dwells on those which precede. I will translate a very famous
 instance from the Greek. 
 I did
 not say this, without making a formal proposal to that effect, I did
 not make that proposal without undertaking the embassy, nor
 undertake the embassy without persuading the Thebans.

There are, however, examples of the same thing in Latin authors. 
 It was the energy of Africanus that gave him his peculiar
 excellence, his excellence that gave him glory, his glory that gave
 him rivals. 
 Calvus again
 writes, Consequently this means the abolition of trials for treason no less than for extortion, for offences
 covered by the Plautian law no less than for treason, for bribery no
 less than for those offences, and for all breaches of every law no
 less than for bribery, etc.

It is also to be found in poets, as in the passage in Homer describing the sceptre which he traces from the hands
 of Jupiter down to those of Agamemnon, and in the following from one of
 our own tragedians: 
 
 
 From
 Jove, so runs the tale, was Tantalus sprung, 
 From Tantalus Pelops, and of Pelops' seed 
 Sprang Atreus, who is sire of all our
 line.

As regards the figures produced by omission, they rely for their charm
 in the main on conciseness and novelty. There is one of these which I
 mentioned in the last book with reference to synecdoche, and postponed discussing until such time as I came
 to deal with figures: it occurs when the word
 omitted may be clearly gathered from the context: an example may be
 found in Caelius' denunciation of Antony: stupere
 gaudio Graecus: 
 for
 we must clearly supply coepit. Or take the
 following passage from a letter of Cicero to Brutus: Serno nullus scilicet
 nisi de te: quid enim potius? turn Flavius, cras, inquit,
 tabellarii, et ego ibidem has inter cenum exaravi.

Of a similar kind, at any rate in my opinion, are those passages in
 which words are decently omitted to spare our modesty. 
 
 
 You—while the goats looked goatish-we know
 who, 
 And in what chapel—(but the
 kind Nymphs laughed). 
 
 
 Ecl. iii. 8.
 
 
 
 Some regard this as an aposiopesis, but wrongly.

For in aposiopesis it is either uncertain or at
 least requires an explanation of some length to show what is suppressed,
 whereas in the present case only one word, and that of an obvious
 character, is missing. If this, then, is an aposiopesis, all omissions will have a claim to the title.

I would not even allow the name of aposiopesis to
 all cases where what is omitted is left to be understood, as for example
 the following phrase from Cicero's letters, 
 Data Lupercalibus quo die Antonius Caesari: for
 there, there is no real suppression: the omission is merely playful, for
 there is but one way of completing the sentence, namely with the words
 diadema imposuit.

Another figure produced by omission is that of which I have just spoken,
 when the
 connecting particles are omitted. A third is the figure known as
 ἐπεζευγμένον in which a number of
 clauses are all completed by the same verb, which would be required by
 each singly if they stood alone. In such cases the verb to which the
 rest of the sentence refers may come first, as in the following
 instance: Vicit pudorem lilido, timiorem audacia,
 rationem amentia. 
 Or it may
 come last, closing a number of clauses, as in the following: 
 Neque enim is es,
 Catilina, ut te aut pudor unquam a turpitudine ant meites a periculo
 aut ratio a furore revocaverit.

The verb may even be placed in the middle so as to serve both what
 precedes and what follows. The same figure may join different sexes, as
 for example when we speak of a male and female child under the
 comprehensive term of sons ; or it may interchange singular and plural.

But these devices are so common that they can scarcely lay claim to
 involve the art essential to figures. On the
 other hand it is quite obviously figure, when two
 different constructions are combined as in the following case: 
 
 
 Sociis tunc arma capessant 
 Edico et dira bellum cum gene gerendumn. 
 
 
 Aen. iii. 234; participio = gerundive ( gerendum ). 
 
 (I bid my comrades straight to seize their arms And
 war be waged against a savage race.) For although the portion of the
 sentence following bellum ends with a participle,
 both clauses of the sentence are correctly governed by edico. Another form of connexion, which does not necessarily
 involve omission, is called συνοικείωσις, because it connects two different things,
 for example: 
 
 
 The miser lacks 
 That which he
 has no less than what he has not. 
 
 
 Syrus 486
 (Ribbeck).

To this figure is opposed distinction, which they
 call παραδιαστολή, by which we
 distinguish between similar things, as in this sentence: 
 When you call yourself wise instead of astute,
 brave instead of rash, economical instead of mean. But this
 is entirely dependent on definition, and therefore I have my doubts
 whether it can be called a figure. Its opposite occurs when we pass at a
 bound from one thing to something different, as though from like to
 like; for example: 
 
 
 I labour to be brief, I turn
 obscure, 
 
 Hor A.P. 25.
 
 
 with what follows.

There is a third class of figures which attracts
 the ear of the audience and excites their attention by some resemblance,
 equality or contrast of words. To this class belongs paronomasia, which we call adnominatio. 
 This may be effected in different ways. It may depend on the resemblance
 of one word to another which has preceded, although the words are in
 different cases. Take the following passage from Domitius Afer's defence
 of Cloatilla: Mulier omnium rerum imiperita, in
 omnnibus rebus infelix.

Or the same word may be repeated with greater meaning, as quando homo, hostis homno. 
 But although I have used these examples to
 illustrate something quite different, one of them involves both emphasis and reiteration. 
 The opposite of parononasia occurs when one word
 is proved to be false by repetition; for instance, This law did
 not seem to be a law to private individuals. 
 Akin to this is that syled ἀντανάκλασις,

where the same word is used in two different meanings. When Proculeius
 reproached his son with waiting for his death, and the son replied that
 he was not waiting for it, the former retorted, Well
 then, I ask you to wait for it. Sometimes such difference in
 meaning is obtained not by using the same word, but one like it, as for
 example by saying that a man whom you think dignus
 supplicatione (worthy of supplication) is supplicio adficiendus.

There are also other ways in which the same words may be used in
 different senses or altered by the lengthening or shortening of a syllable: this is a poor trick even when employed
 in jest, and I am surprised that it should be included in the
 text-books: the instances which I quote are therefore given as examples
 for avoidance, not for imitation. Here they are:

Amari iucundum est, si curetur ne quid insit
 amari, 
 and Avium dulcedo
 ad avium ducit; 
 and again this jest from Ovid, 
 
 Cur ego non
 dicam, Furia, te furiam? 
 Cornificius calls this traductio,

that is the transference of the meaning of one word to another. It has,
 however, greater elegance when it is employed to distinguish the exact
 meanings of things, as in the following example: This curse to
 the state could be repressed for a time, but not suppressed for
 ever; 
 the same is true when
 the meaning of verbs is reversed by a change in the preposition with
 which they are compounded: for example, Non emissus ex
 urbe, sed immissus in urbem esse videatur. 
 The effect
 is better still and more emphatic when our pleasure is derived both from
 the figurative form and the excellence of the sense, as in the following
 instance: emit morte immortalitatem.

A more trivial effect is produced by the following: Non Pisonum, sed pistorum, 
 and Ex oratore
 arator, 
 while phrases such as Ne patres conscripti videantur
 circumscripti, 
 or raro evenit, sed vehenenter venit, 
 are
 the worst of all. It does, however, sometimes happen that a bold and
 vigorous conception may derive a certain charm from the contrast between
 two words not dissimilar in sound.

I do not know that there is any reason why modesty
 should prevent me from illustrating this point from my own family. My
 father, in the course of a declamation against a man who had said he
 would die on his embassy and then returned after a few days' absence
 without accomplishing anything, said, non exigo ut
 immoriaris legationi: immorare. 
 For the sense is
 forcible and the sound of the two words, which are so very different in
 meaning, is pleasant, more especially since the assonance is not far
 fetched, but presents itself quite naturally, one word being of the
 speaker's own selection, while the other is supplied by his opponent.

The old orators were at great pains to achieve elegance in the use of
 words similar or opposite in sound. Gorgias carried the practice to an
 extravagant pitch, while Isocrates, at any rate in his early days, was
 much addicted to it. Even Cicero delighted in it, but showed some
 restraint in the employment of a device which is not unattractive save
 when carried to excess, and, further, by the weight of his thought lent
 dignity to what would otherwise have been mere trivialities. For in
 itself this artifice is a flat and foolish affectation, but when it goes
 hand in hand with vigour of thought, it gives the impression of natural
 charm, which the speaker has not had to go far to find.

There are some four different forms of play upon verbal resemblances.
 The first occurs when we select some word which is not very unlike
 another, as in the line of Virgil 
 
 
 vuppesque tuae pubesque tuorum, 
 
 
 Aen. i. 399. 
 
 
 or, sic in hac calamitosa fama
 quasi in aliqua perniciosissim flamma, 
 and non enim tarn spes laudanda quam 
 
 res est. 
 Or at any rate the words
 selected will be of equal length and will have similar terminations, as
 in non verbis, sed armis.

A good effect may also be produced by an artifice such as the following,
 so long as the thought which it expresses be vigorous: quantum possis, in eo semper experire ut prosis. 
 The
 name commonly applied to this is πάροσον though the Stoic Theon thinks that in cases of
 πάρισον the correspondence between
 the clauses must be exact.

The second form occurs when clauses conclude alike, the same syllables
 being placed at the end of each; this correspondence in the ending of
 two or more sentences is called homoeoteleuton. 
 Here is an example: Non modo ad salutem eius
 exstinguendam sed etiam gloriam per tales viros infringendam.
 
 This figure is usually, though not
 invariably, found in the groups of three clauses, styled τρίκωλα, of which the following may be
 cited as an illustration: vicit pudorem libido,
 timorem audacia, rationed amentia. 
 But the device may be applied
 to four clauses or more. The effect may even be produced by single
 words; for example, Hecuba hoc dolet, pudet,
 piget, 
 or abiit, excessit,
 erupit, evasit.

In the third form the correspondence is produced by the use of similar
 cases; it is known as ὁμοιόπτωτον But
 this name, though it implies a certain similarity, does not necessarily
 involve identity in termination, since it means no more than similarity
 of case, irrespective of the fact that words may be differently
 declined, and does not always occur at the end of a sentence; the
 correspondence may occur at the beginning, middle or end of clauses, or may be varied so that the middle of one clause
 corresponds with the beginning of another and the end with the middle:
 in fact, any arrangement of correspondences is permissible.

Nor need the words which correspond consist of the same number of
 syllables. For example, we find the following sentence in Domitius Afer:
 Amisso nuper infelicis aulae, 
 
 si non
 praesidio inter pericula, tamen solacio inter adversa. The best
 form of this figure is that in which the beginnings and ends of the
 clauses correspond (as in this case praesidio 
 corresponds with solacio and pericula with adversa ), in such a way
 that there is a close resemblance between the words, while cadence and
 termination are virtually identical.

It is also desirable that the clauses should be of equal length,
 although as a matter of fact this forms the fourth figure of this class, and is known as ἰσόκωλον The following will serve as an example, being
 both ἰσόκωλον and ὁμοιόπτωτον: 
 Si, quantum
 in agro locisque desertis audacia potest, tantum in foro atque
 iudiciis impudentia valeret; continuing, it combines ἰσόκωλον, ὁμοιόπτωτον, and ὁμοιοτέλευτον. :—non minus nunc in causa cederet Aulus Caecina Sexti Aebutii
 imnpudentiae, quam turn in vi facienda cessit audaciae. 
 
 This passage derives an additional elegance from the figure which I
 mentioned above as consisting in the repetition
 of words with an alteration of case, tense, mood, etc., to be found in
 this instance in the words non minus cederet quam
 cessit. The following, on the other hand,
 combines homoeoteleuton and 
 paronomasia: Neminem alteri posse dare in matrinonium, nisi penes
 quem sit patrimonium.

Antithesis, which Roman writers call either contrapositum or contentio, may be effected in more than one way. Single words
 may be contrasted with single, as in the passage recently quoted, Vicit pudorem libido, timorem audacia, 
 or the contrast
 may be between pairs of words, as in non nostri
 ingenii, vestri auxilii est, 
 or sentence may be contrasted with
 sentence, as in dominetur in contionibus, iaceat in
 iudiciis.

Next to this another form may appropriately be placed, namely that which
 we have styled distinction and of which the
 following is an example: Odit populus Romanus privaiam
 luxuriam, publicam magoificentiam diligit. 
 
 The same is true of the figure by which words of similar termination,
 but of different meaning are placed at the end of corresponding clauses,
 as in ut quod in tempore mali fuit, nihil obsit, quod
 in causa boni fruit, prosit.

Nor is the contrasted phrase always placed immediately after that to
 which it is opposed, as it is in the following instance: est igitur haec, indices, non scripta, sed nala
 lex: 
 but, as
 Cicero 
 says, we may have correspondence between subsequent particulars and
 others previously mentioned, as in the passage which immediately follows
 that just quoted: quam non didicimus, accepimus,
 leginmus, verum ex natura ipsa arrptluimus, hauusimus, epressimus.

Again the contrast is not always expressed
 antithetically, as is shown by the following passage from Rutilius: nobis primis dii immortales fruges dedelunt, nos,
 quod soli accepimus, in omnes terras distribuimus.

Antithesis may also be effected by employing that figure, known as ἀντιμεταβολή by which words are repeated in different
 cases, tenses, moods, etc., as for instance when we say, non ut edam, vivo, sed ut vivam, edo (I do not
 live to eat, but eat to live). There is an instance of this in Cicero,
 where he has managed, while changing the
 case, to secure similarity of termination: ut et sine
 inridia culpa plectatur et sine culpa invidia ponatur.

Again the clauses may end with the same word, as when Cicero says of
 Sextus Roscius: etenim cum artifex eiusmodi est ut
 solus videatur dignus qui in scena spectetur, turn vir eiusmodi est
 ut solus dignus esse videatur qui eo non accedat. 
 There is also a special elegance which
 may be secured by placing names in antithesis, as in the following
 instance, Si consul Antonius, Brutus hostis; si
 conservator rei publicae Brutus, hostis Antonius.

I have already said more than was necessary on the subject of figures. But there will still be some who
 think that the following (which they call ἀνθυποφορὰ is a figure: Incredibile
 est, quod dico, sed verum: 
 they say the same of Aliquis hoc semel tubit, neno bis, ego ter 
 (which they style διέξοδος ), and of Longius evects sum, sed redeo ad propositumr, 
 which they call
 
 ἄφοδος.

There are some figures of speech which differ
 little from figures of thought, as for example
 that of hesitation. For when we hesitate over a thing, it belongs to the
 former class, whereas when we hesitate over a word, it must be assigned
 to the latter, as for instance if we say, I do not know whether
 to call this wickedness or folly.

The same consideration applies to correction. For correction emends,
 where hesitation expresses a doubt. Some have even held that it applies
 to personification as well; they think, for example, that Avarice is the mother of cruelly, Sallust's O Romulus of Arpinum in his speech against Cicero,
 and the Thriasian Oedipus 
 of Menander are figures
 of speech. All these points have been discussed in full detail
 by those who have not given this subject merely incidental treatment as
 a portion of a larger theme, but have devoted whole books to the
 discussion of the topic: I allude to writers such as Caecilius,
 Dionysius, Rutilius, Cornificius, Visellius and not a few others,
 although there are living authors who will be no less famous than they.

Now though I am ready to admit that more figures of
 speech may perhaps be discovered by certain writers, I cannot
 agree that such figures are better than those which have been laid down
 by high authorities. Above all I would point out that Cicero has
 included a number of figures in the third book of the de Oratore, 
 which in his later work, the Orator, he has
 omitted, thereby seeming to indicate that he condemned them. Some of
 these are figures of thought rather than of speech, such as meiosis, the introduction of
 the unexpected, imagery, answering our own questions, digression,
 permission, arguments drawn from opposites (for I suppose that by 
 contrarium 
 
 he means what is elsewhere styled ἐναντιότης ), and proof borrowed from an opponent. There
 are some again which are not figures at all,

such as arrangement, distinction by headings, and circumscription,
 whether this latter term be intended to signify the concise expression
 of thought or definition, which is actually regarded by Cornificius and
 Rutilius as a figure of speech. With regard to
 the elegant transposition of words, that is, hyperbaton, which Caecilius also thinks is a figure, I have included it among tropes. As for mutation

of the kind which Rutilius calls ἀλλοίωσις its function is to point out the differences
 between men, things and deeds: if it is used on an extended scale, it is
 not a figure, if on a narrower scale, it is mere
 antithesis, while if it is intended to mean
 hypallage, enough has already been said on
 the subject.

Again what sort of a figure is this addition of a
 reason, for what is advanced, which Rutilius calls αἰτιολογία ? It may also be doubted whether
 the assignment of a reason for each distinct
 statement, with which Rutilius opens his discussion
 of figures, is really a figure.

He calls it προσαπόδοσις and states
 that strictly it applies to a number of propositions, since the
 reason is either attached to each proposition separately, as in the
 following passage from Gaius Antonius: 
 But I do not fear him as an accuser, for I am
 innocent; I do not dread him as a rival candidate, for I am
 Antonius; I do not expect to see him consul, for he is Cicero
 ;

or, after two or three propositions have been stated, the reasons for
 them may be given continuously in the same order, as for example in the
 words that Brutus uses of Gnaeus Pompeius:
 For it is better to rule no man than to be the slave to any
 man: since one may live with honour without ruling, whereas life is
 no life for the slave.

But a number of reasons may also be assigned for one statement, as in
 the lines of Virgil: 
 
 
 Whether that
 earth there from some hidden strength 
 And fattening food derives, or that the tire 
 Bakes every blemish out, etc. 
 Or that the
 heat unlocks new passages. . . . 
 Or that it
 hardens more, etc. 
 
 As to what Cicero
 means by reference,

I am in the dark: if he means ἀνάκλασις 
 or ἐπάνοδος 
 or ἀντιμεταβολή, 
 I have already discussed
 them. But whatever its meaning may be, he does not mention it in the
 Orator any more than the other terms I have just mentioned. The only
 figure of speech mentioned in that work, which I should prefer to regard
 as a figure of thought owing to its emotional character, is exclamation. I agree with him about all the rest.
 To these Caecilius adds periphrasis,

of which I have already spoken,5 while Cornificius adds interrogation, reasoning,
 suggestion, transition, concealment, and further, sentence, clause,
 isolated words, interpretation and conclusion. Of these the first (down
 to and including concealment) are figures of
 thought, while the remainder are not figures at all.

Rutilius also in addition to the figures found in other authors adds,
 παρομολογία 
 
 ἀναγκαῖον 
 
 ἠθοποιΐα 
 
 
 δικαιολογία, 
 
 πρόληψις, 
 
 χαρακτηρισμός 
 
 βραχυλογία, 
 
 παρασιώπησις 
 
 παῤῥησία 
 of
 which I say the same. I will pass by those authors who set no limit to
 their craze for inventing technical terms and even include among figures what really comes under the head of
 arguments.

With regard to genuine figures, I would briefly
 add that, while, suitably placed, they are a real ornament to style,
 they become perfectly fatuous when sought after overmuch. There are some
 who pay no consideration to the weight of their matter or the force of
 their thoughts and think themselves supreme artists, if only they
 succeed in forcing even the emptiest of words into figurative form, with the result that they are never tired of
 stringing figures together, despite the fact that
 it is as ridiculous to hunt for figures without
 reference to the matter as it is to discuss dress and gesture without
 reference to the body.

But even perfectly correct figures must not be
 packed too closely together. Changes of facial expression and glances of
 the eyes are most effective in pleading, but if the orator never ceases
 to distort his face with affected grimaces or to wag his head and roll
 his eyes, he becomes a laughing-stock. So too oratory possesses a
 natural mien, which while it is far from demanding a stolid and
 immovable rigidity should as far as possible restrict itself to the
 expression with which it is endowed by nature.

But it is of the first importance that we should know what are the
 requirements of time, place and character on each occasion of speaking.
 For the majority of these figures aim at delighting the hearer. But when
 terror, hatred and pity are the weapons called for
 in the fray, who will endure the orator who expresses his anger, his
 sorrow or his entreaties in neat antitheses, balanced cadences and exact
 correspondences? Too much care for our words under such circumstances
 weakens the impression of emotional sincerity, and wherever the orator
 displays his art unveiled, the hearer says, The truth is not in
 him.

IV. I should not venture to speak of artistic structure
 after what Cicero has said upon
 the subject (for there is I think no topic to which he has devoted such
 elaborate discussion) but for the fact that his own contemporaries
 ventured to traverse his theories on this subject even in letters which
 they addressed to him, while a number of later writers have left on
 record numerous observations on the same topic.

Accordingly on a large number of questions I shall be found in agreement
 with Cicero and shall deal more briefly with those points which admit of
 no dispute, while there will be certain subjects on which I shall
 express a certain amount of disagreement. For, though I intend to make
 my own views clear, I shall leave my readers free to hold their own
 opinion.

I am well aware that there are certain writers who would absolutely bar
 all study of artistic structure and contend that language as it chances
 to present itself in the rough is more natural and even more manly. If
 by this they mean that only that is natural which originated with nature
 and has never received any subsequent cultivation, there is an end to
 the whole art of oratory.

For the first men did not speak with the care demanded by that art nor
 in accordance with the rules that it lays down.
 They knew nothing of introducing their case by means of an exordium, of
 instructing the jury by a statement of facts, of proving by argument or
 of arousing the emotions. They lacked all these qualifications as
 completely as they lacked all knowledge of the theory of artistic
 structure. But if they were to be forbidden all progress in this
 respect, they ought equally to have been forbidden to exchange their
 huts for houses, their cloaks of skin for civilised raiment and their
 mountains and forests for cities.

What art was ever born fullgrown? What does not ripen with cultivation?
 Why do we train the vine? Why dig it? We clear the fields of brambles,
 and they too are natural products of the soil. We tame animals, and yet
 they are born wild. No, that which is most natural is that which nature
 permits to be done to the greatest perfection.

How can a style which lacks orderly structure be stronger than one that
 is welded together and artistically arranged? It must not be regarded as
 the fault of the study of structure that the employment of feet
 consisting of short syllables such as characterise the Sotadean and
 Galliambic metres and certain prose rhythms closely resembling them in
 wildness, weakens the force of our matter.

Just as river-currents are more violent when they run along a sloping
 bed, that presents no obstacles to check their course, than when their
 waters are broken and baffled by rocks that obstruct the channel, so a
 style which flows in a continuous stream with all the full development
 of its force is better than one which is rough and broken. Why then
 should it be thought that polish is inevitably prejudicial to vigour,
 when the truth is that nothing can attain its full strength without the assistance of art, and that art is
 always productive of beauty?

Is it not the fact that grace always goes with the highest skill in
 throwing the spear, and that the truer the archer's aim, the more comely
 is his attitude? Again in fencing and all the contests of the wrestling
 school, what one of all the tricks of attack and defence is there, that
 does not require movements and firmness of foot such as can only be
 acquired by art?

Consequently in my opinion artistic structure gives force and direction
 to our thoughts just as the throwing-thong and the bowstring do to the
 spear and the arrow. And for this reason all the best scholars are
 convinced that the study of structure is of the utmost value, not merely
 for charming the ear, but for stirring the soul.

For in the first place nothing can penetrate to the emotions that
 stumbles at the portals of the ear, and secondly man is naturally
 attracted by harmonious sounds. Otherwise it would not be the case that
 musical instruments, in spite of the fact that their sounds are
 inarticulate, still succeed in exciting a variety of different emotions
 in the hearer.

In the sacred games different methods are employed to excite and calm
 the soul, different melodies are required for the war-song and the
 entreaty sung by the suppliant on bended knee, while the war-note of the
 trumpet that leads the army forth to battle has no resemblance to the
 call that sounds the retreat.

It was the undoubted custom of the Pythagoreans, when they woke from
 slumber, to rouse their souls with the music of the lyre, that they
 might be more alert for action, and before they retired to rest, to
 soothe their minds by melodies from the same instrument, in order that
 all restlessness of thought might be lulled to
 orderly repose.

But if there is such secret power in rhythm and melody alone, this power
 is found at its strongest in eloquence, and, however important the
 selection of words for the expression of our thoughts, the structural
 art which welds them together in the body of a period or rounds them off
 at the close, has at least an equal claim to importance. For there are
 some things which, despite triviality of thought and mediocrity of
 language, may achieve distinction in virtue of this excellence alone.

In fact, if we break up and disarrange any sentence that may have struck
 us as vigorous, charming or elegant, we shall find that all its force,
 attraction and grace have disappeared. Cicero in his Orator breaks up some of his own utterances in this way:
 
 Neque me divitiae movent, quibus omnes
 Africanos et Laelios multi venalicii mercatoresque superarunt.
 Change the order but a little so that it will run multi superarunt mercatores
 venaliciique, 
 
 and so
 on. Disarrange these periods in such a manner, and you will find that
 the shafts you have hurled are broken or wide of the mark.

Cicero also corrects passages in the speeches of Gracchus where the
 structure appears to him to be harsh. For Cicero this is becoming
 enough, but we may content ourselves with testing our own power of
 welding together in artistic form the disconnected words and phrases
 which present themselves to us. For why should we seek elsewhere for
 examples of faults which we may all of us find in our own work? One
 point, however, it is enough simply to notice—that the more beautiful in
 thought and language the sentence which you deprive of such structural
 cohesion, the more hideous will be the effect upon
 the style, for the very brilliance of the words at once exposes the
 carelessness of their arrangement.

Accordingly, although I admit that artistic structure, at any rate in
 perfection, was the last accomplishment to be attained by oratory, I
 still hold that even primitive orators regarded it as one of the objects
 of their study, as far at least as the rudeness of their attainments
 permitted. For even Cicero for all his greatness will never persuade me
 that Lysias, Herodotus and Thucydides were careless in this respect.

They may not perhaps have pursued the same ideals as Demosthenes and
 Plato, and even these latter differed in their methods. For it would
 never have done to spoil the fine and delicate texture of Lysias by the
 introduction of richer rhythms, since he would thus have lost all that
 surpassing grace which he derives from his simple and unaffected tone,
 while he would also have sacrificed the impression of sincerity which he
 now creates. For it must be remembered that he wrote his speeches for
 others to deliver, so that it was right that they should suggest a lack
 of form and artistic structure: indeed his success in producing this
 effect actually shows his mastery of structure.

Again history, which should move with speed and impetuosity, would have
 been ill-suited by the halts imposed by the rounding off of the period,
 by the pauses for breath inevitable in oratory, and the elaborate
 methods of opening sentences and bringing them to a close. It is however
 true that in the speeches inserted by historians we may note something
 in the way of balanced cadences and antitheses. As regards Herodotus,
 while his flow, in my opinion, is always gentle, his dialect has such a sweetness of its own that it even seems to contain
 a certain rhythmical power hidden within itself.

However I shall speak of the different ideals a little later: my
 immediate task is to teach the student elementary rules which are
 essential if correctness of structure is to be attained. There are then
 in the first place two kinds of style: the one is closely welded and
 woven together, while the other is of a looser texture such as is found
 in dialogues and letters, except when they deal with some subject above
 their natural level, such as philosophy, politics or the like.

In saying this, I do not mean to deny that even this looser texture has
 its own peculiar rhythms which are perhaps the most difficult of all to
 analyse. For dialogues and letters do not demand continual hiatus between vowels or absence of rhythm, but
 on the other hand they have not the flow or the compactness of other
 styles, nor does one word lead up so inexorably to another, the
 structural cohesion being loose rather than non-existent.

Again in legal cases of minor importance a similar simplicity will be
 found to be most becoming, a simplicity, that is to say, that does not
 dispense with rhythm altogether, but uses rhythms of a different kind,
 conceals them and employs a certain secrecy in their construction.

But the more closely welded style is composed of three elements: the comma, or as we call it incisum, the colon, or in Latin menbrum, and the period, 
 which Roman writers call ambitus, circumductum, continuatio or conclusio. Further, in all artistic structure there are three
 necessary qualities, order, connexion and rhythm. 
 Of these we will
 first discuss order,

which must be considered in connexion with words taken both singly and
 in conjunction. Words taken singly are known as asyndeta (unconnected). In dealing with them we must take care
 that our style does not diminish in force through the fact that a weaker
 word is made to follow a stronger: as, for example, if after calling a
 man a despoiler of temples we were to speak of him as a thief, or after
 styling him a highwayman were to dub him an insolent fellow. For
 sentences should rise and grow in force: of this an excellent example is
 provided by Cicero, where he says,
 You, with that throat, those lungs, that strength, that
 would do credit to a prizefighter, in every limb of your body
 ; for there each phrase is followed by one stronger than the
 last, whereas, if he had begun by referring to his whole body, he could
 scarcely have gone on to speak of his lungs and throat without an
 anticlimax. There is also another species of order which may be entitled
 natural, as for example when we speak of men and
 women, 
 day and night, 
 rising and
 setting, in preference to the reverse order.

In some cases a change in the order will make a word superfluous: for
 example, we write fratres gemini rather than gemini fratres (twin-brothers), since if gemini came first, there would be no necessity to
 add fratres. The rule which some have sought to
 enforce that nouns should precede verbs, and verbs adverbs, while
 epithets and pronouns should follow their substantives, is a mere
 extravagance, since the reverse order is often adopted with excellent
 effect.

Another piece of extravagant pedantry is to insist that the first place
 should always be occupied by what is first in order
 of time: such an order is no doubt often the best, but merely because
 previous events are often the most important and should consequently be
 placed before matters of more trivial import.

If the demands of artistic structure permit, it is far best to end the
 sentence with a verb: for it is in verbs that the real strength of
 language resides. But if it results in harshness of sound, this
 principle must give way before the demands of rhythm, as is frequently
 the case in the best authors of Rome and Greece. Of course, in every
 case where a verb does not end the sentence, we shall have an hyperbaton, 
 but hyperbaton is an admitted trope or figure, and therefore is to be
 regarded as an adornment.

For words are not cut to suit metrical feet, and are therefore
 transferred from place to place to form the most suitable combinations,
 just as in the case of unhewn stones their very irregularity is the
 means of suggesting what other stones they will best fit and what will
 supply them with the surest resting-place. On the other hand, the
 happiest effects of language are produced when it is found possible to
 employ the natural order, apt connexion and appropriate rhythm.

Some transpositions are too long, as I have pointed out in previous
 books, while at times they involve faulty structure,
 although some writers actually aim at this vicious type of
 transposition, in order to create an appearance of freedom and license,
 as in the following phrases from Maecenas, sole et
 aurora rubent plurima ; 
 inter se sacra movit aqua fraxinos ;
 
 ne
 exequias quidem unus inter miserrimos viderem meas. 
 The worst feature in these examples, is that
 he plays pranks with his structure while dealing
 with a sad theme. It is, however,

not infrequently possible to give special significance to a word by
 placing it at the close of the sentence and thereby stamping and
 impressing it on the mind of the hearer, whereas if it were placed in
 the middle of the sentence, it would remain unnoticed, escape the
 attention and be obscured by its surroundings; the following passage
 from Cicero will illustrate what I mean: ut tibi
 necesse esset in conspectu populi Romani vomere postridie.

Transfer the
 last word to some other position and the effect will be decreased. For
 the whole passage is made to converge to a point at the end; the
 disgraceful circumstance of his being forced to vomit has been mentioned
 and the audience expect nothing more, when the orator adds yet a further
 revolting feature of the case, namely that he was still unable to retain
 his food the day after the carouse.

Domitius Afer was in the habit of transferring words at the cadence of
 the sentence solely for the purpose of harshening his rhythm, more
 especially in his exordia, as, for example, in
 his defence of Cloatilla, where he says gratias again
 continuo, 
 and in his defence of
 Laelia, where he says, eis utrisque apud te iudicem
 periclitatur Laelia. 
 To
 such an extent did he avoid the voluptuous effect of soft and delicate
 rhythm, that he actually interposed obstacles to break the natural
 harmonies of his language.

There is a further drawback resulting from the faulty arrangement of
 words, with which we are all familiar, namely, that it leads to
 ambiguity. The above remarks will, I think, suffice as a brief summary
 of the points which require notice in connexion with order. If the order
 is faulty, our language will be deservedly liable
 to the charge of lacking artistic construction, however compact and
 rhythmical it may be. The next point for consideration is connexion,
 that is to say connexion between words, commata,
 cola and periods. For all these have merits and defects which turn on the
 way in which they are linked together.

I will follow the natural order and will begin by pointing out that
 there are some blemishes so obvious that even the uneducated regard them
 as worthy of censure; I refer to occasions when two consecutive words
 form some unseemly expression by the coalescence of the last syllable of
 the first word and the first of the second. 
 Again, there are occasions when vowels clash. When this happens, the
 language is broken by gaps and interstices and seems to labour. The most
 unpleasing effects of sound will be produced by the juxtaposition of the
 same long vowels, while the worst hiatus occurs
 between vowels which are pronounced hollow- or open-mouthed.

E has a flatter, i a narrower sound, and
 consequently such blemishes are less noticeable where they are
 concerned. It is a less serious fault to place short vowels after long,
 a statement which applies even more strongly to placing short vowels
 before long. But the least unsatisfactory combination is that of two
 short vowels. And in all conjunctions of vowels, the resulting sound
 will be proportionately soft or harsh according as they resemble or
 differ from each other in the method of utterance.

On the other hand, hiatus is not to be regarded
 as so very terrible a crime: in fact I do not know which is the worse
 fault in this connexion, carelessness or a pedantic 
 solicitude for correctness. For anxiety on this score is bound to check
 the flow of our language and to divert us from more important
 considerations. Therefore while it is a sign of carelessness to admit
 hiatus here, there and everywhere, it is a
 symptom of grovelling timidity to be continually in terror of it, and
 there is good reason for the view that all the followers of Isocrates
 and more especially Theopompus pay accessive attention to the avoidance
 of this detect.

On the other hand Demosthenes and Cicero show a sense of proportion in
 the way in which they face the problem. For the coalescence of two
 letters, known as συναλοιφή, may make
 our language run more smoothly than if every word closed with its own
 vowel, while sometimes hiatus may even prove
 becoming and create an impression of grandeur, as in the following case,
 pulchra oratione ista iacta te. 
 For syllables which are
 naturally long and rich in sound gain something from the time which
 intervenes between two vowels, as though there were a perceptible pause.

I cannot do better than quote the words of Cicero on
 this subject. Hiatus, he says, 
 and the meeting of vowels produce a certain softness of effect, such
 as to suggest a not unpleasing carelessness on the part of the
 orator, as though he were more anxious about his matter than his
 words. But consonants also are liable to conflict at the
 juncture of words, more especially those letters which are comparatively
 harsh in sound; as for instance when the final s 
 of one word clashes with x at the opening of the
 next. Still more unpleasing is the hissing sound produced by the
 collision between a pair of these consonants, as in the phrase ars studiorum.

This was the reason why Servius, as he himself has
 observed, dropped the final s, whenever the next word began with a
 consonant, a practice for which Luranius takes him to task, while
 Messala defends him. For he thinks that Lucilius did not pronounce the
 final s in phrases such as, Aeserninus fuit and dignus locoque, 
 while Cicero in his Orator 
 
 records that this was the practice with many of the ancients.

Hence we get forms such as belligerare and pomeridiem, to which the diee
 hanc 
 of Cato the Censor, where the final m is softened into an e, 
 presents an analogy. Unlearned readers are apt to alter such forms when
 they come across them in old books, and in their desire to decry the
 ignorance of the scribes convict themselves of the same fault.

On the other hand, whenever this same letter m 
 comes at the end of a word and is brought into contact with the opening
 vowel of the next word in such a manner as to render coalescence
 possible, it is, although written, so faintly pronounced ( e.g. in phrases such as nultum
 ille and quantum erat ) that it may
 almost be regarded as producing the sound of a new letter. 
 For it is not elided, but merely obscured, and may be considered as a
 symbol occurring between two vowels simply to prevent their coalescence.

Care must also be taken that the last syllables of one word are not
 identical with the opening syllables of the next. In case any of my
 readers should wonder that I think it worth while to lay down such a
 rule, I may point out that Cicero makes such a slip in his Letters, in
 the sentence res mihi invisae
 visae sunt, Brute, 
 and in the following line of verse,
 
 
 
 Ofortunatam natam me consule
 Romam. 
 
 See XI. i. 24.

Again it is a blemish to have too many monosyllables in succession,
 since the inevitable result is that, owing to the frequency of the
 pauses, the rhythm degenerates into a series of jerks. For the same
 reason we must avoid placing a number of short verbs and nouns in
 succession; the converse also is true as regards long syllables, since
 their accumulation makes our rhythm drag. It is a fault of the same
 class to end a number of successive sentences with similar cadences,
 terminations and inflexions.

It is likewise inartistic to accumulate long series of verbs, nouns or
 other parts of speech, since even merits produce tedium unless they have
 the saving grace of variety.

The principles by which the connexion of words is guided are not
 sufficient in the case of commata and cola, though even here beginnings and ends should
 harmonise; but our structural effect will very largely depend on the
 relative order of these two types of clause. For in the following
 instance 
 vomens frustis esculentis
 gremium suum el totum tribunal implevit [the order is
 satisfactory, since the fact of his having filled the whole judgement
 seat with his vomiting is the more important of the two]. On the other
 hand (for I shall repeat the same illustrations for different purposes
 to make them more familiar) in the following passage, 
 saxa alque
 solitudines voci respondent, bestiae 
 
 saepe immanes cantu flectuntur atque consistunt, 
 the gradation would be improved, if it were reversed: for it is a
 greater miracle to move rocks than wild beasts: but the claims of
 structural grace have carried the day. However, let us pass to the
 consideration of rhythm.

All combination, arrangement and connexion of words involves either
 rhythms (which we call numeri ), or metres, that
 is, a certain measure. Now though both rhythm and metre consist of feet,
 they differ in more than one respect. 
 For in the first place rhythm consists of certain lengths of time, while
 metre is determined by the order in which these lengths are arranged.
 Consequently the one seems to be concerned with quantity and the other
 with quality. Rhythm may depend on equal balance,

as in the case of dactylic rhythm, where one long
 syllable balances two short, (there are it is true other feet of which
 this statement is equally true, but the title of dactylic has been
 currently applied to all, 
 while even boys are well aware that a long syllable is equivalent to two
 beats and a short to one) or it may consist of feet in which one portion
 is half as long again as the other, as is the case with paeanic rhythm (a paean 
 being composed of one long followed by three shorts, three shorts
 followed by one long or with any other arrangement preserving the
 proportion of three beats to two) or finally one part of the foot may be
 twice the length of the other, as in the case of the iambus, which is composed of a short followed by a long, or of
 the choreus consisting of a long followed by a
 short.

These feet are also employed by metre, but with this difference, that in
 rhythm it does not matter whether the two shorts of the dactyl precede or follow the
 long; for rhythm merely takes into account the measurement of the time,
 that is to say, it insists on the time taken from its rise to its fall
 being the same. The measure of verse on the other hand is quite
 different; the anapaest (u u _) or spondee (_ _) cannot be substituted at will for
 the dactyl, nor is it a matter of indifference
 whether the paean begins or ends with short
 syllables.

Further, the laws of metre not merely refuse the substitution of one
 foot for another, but will not even admit the arbitrary substitution of
 any dactyl or spondee for
 any other dactyl or spondee. For example, in the line 
 
 
 Panditur snterea domus omnipotentis
 Olympi 
 
 
 Aen. x. 1. 
 
 
 the alteration of the order of the dactyls would destroy the verse.

There are also the following differences, that rhythm has unlimited
 space over which it may range, whereas the spaces of metre are confined,
 and that, whereas metre has certain definite cadences, rhythm may run on
 as it commenced until it reaches the point of μεταβολή, or transition to another type of rhythm:
 further, metre is concerned with words alone, while rhythm extends also
 to the motion of the body.

Again rhythm more readily admits of rests 
 although they are found in metre as well.
 Greater license is, however, admitted when the time is measured by the
 beat of the feet or fingers, and the intervals
 are distinguished by certain symbols indicating the number of shorts
 contained within a given space: hence we speak of four or five time (
 τετράσημοι, or πεντάσημοι ) and others longer still, the
 Greek σημεῖον indicating a single
 beat.

In prose the rhythm should be more definite and 
 obvious to all. Consequently, it depends on feet, by which I mean
 metrical feet, which occur in oratory to such an extent that we often
 let slip verses of every kind without being conscious of the fact, while
 everything written in prose can be shown by analysis to consist of short
 lines of verse of certain kinds or sections of the same.

For example, I have come across tiresome grammarians who attempted to
 force prose into definite metres, as though it were a species of lyric
 poetry. Cicero, indeed, frequently asserts that the whole art of
 prose-structure consists in rhythm and is consequently censured by some
 critics on the ground that he would fetter our style by the laws of
 rhythm.

For these numeri, as he himself expressly
 asserts, are identical with rhythm, and he is followed in this by
 Virgil, who writes, 
 
 
 Numeros memini, si verba tenerem 
 
 
 Ecl. ix. 45. 
 
 
 and Horace, who says, 
 
 
 Numerisquefertur 
 Lege
 solutis. 
 
 
 Odes. IV. ii. 11.

Among others they attack Cicero's 
 statement that the thunderbolts of Demosthenes would
 not have such force but for the rhythm with which they are whirled
 and sped upon their way. If by rhythmis
 contorta he really means what his critics assert, I do not
 agree with him. For rhythms have, as I have said, no fixed limit or
 variety of structure, but run on with the same rise
 and fall till they reach their end, and the style of oratory will not
 stoop to be measured by the beat of the foot or the fingers.

This fact is clearly understood by Cicero, who frequently shows that the
 sense in which he desires that prose should be rhythmical is rather that
 it should not lack rhythm, a deficiency which would stamp the author as
 a man of no taste or refinement, than that it should be tied by definite
 rhythmical laws, like poetry; just as, although we may not wish certain
 persons to be professional gymnasts, we still do not wish them to be
 absolutely ignorant of the art of gynmastics.

But the rounding of the period to an appropriate close which is produced
 by the combination of feet requires some name; and what name is there
 more suitable than rhythm, that is to say, the rhythm of oratory, just
 as the enthymeme 
 is the syllogism of
 oratory? For my own part, to avoid incurring the calumny, from which
 even Cicero was not free, I ask my reader, whenever I speak of the
 rhythm of artistic structure (as I have done on every occasion), to
 understand that I refer to the rhythm of oratory, not of verse.

It is the task of collocation to link together the words which have been
 selected, approved and handed over to its custody. For even harsh
 connexions are better than those which are absolutely valueless. None
 the less I should allow the orator to select certain words for their
 euphony, provided always that their force and meaning are the same as
 those of the alternative words. He may also be permitted to add words,
 provided they are not superfluous, and to omit them, provided they are
 not essential to the sense, while he may employ figures to alter case
 and number, since such variety is attractive in itself, quite apart from the fact that it is frequently
 adopted for the sake of the rhythm.

Again if reason demand one form and usage another, the claims of rhythm
 will decide our choice between the two, e.g. 
 between vitavisse and vitasse or between deprehendere and deprendere. Further I do not object to the
 coalescence of syllables or anything that does no injury either to sense
 or style.

The most important task, however, is to know what word is best fitted to
 any given place. And the most accomplished artist will be the man who
 does not arrange his words solely with a view to rhythmic effect. On the
 other hand the management of feet is far more difficult in prose than in
 verse, first because there are but few feet in a single line of verse
 which is far shorter than the lengthy periods of prose; secondly because
 each line of verse is always uniform and its movement is determined by a
 single definite scheme, whereas the structure of prose must be varied if
 it is to avoid giving offence by its monotony and standing convicted of
 affectation.

Rhythm pervades the whole body of prose through all its extent. For we
 cannot speak without employing the long and short syllables of which
 feet are composed. Its presence is, however, most necessary and most
 apparent at the conclusion of the period, firstly because every group of
 connected thoughts has its natural limit and demands a reasonable
 interval to divide it from the commencement of what is to follow:
 secondly because the ear, after following the unbroken flow of the voice
 and being carried along down the stream of oratory, finds its best
 opportunity of forming a sound judgement on what it has heard, when the
 rush of words comes to a halt and gives it time for
 consideration.

Consequently all harshness and abruptness must be avoided at this point,
 where the mind takes breath and recovers its energy. It is there that
 style has its citadel, it is this point that excites the eager
 expectation of the audience, it is from this that the declaimer wins all
 his glory. Next to the conclusion of the period, it is the beginning
 which claims the most care: for the audience have their attention fixed
 on this as well.

But the opening of the sentence presents less difficulty, since it is
 independent and is not the slave of what has preceded. It merely takes
 what has preceded as a starting point, whereas the conclusion coheres
 with what has preceded, and however carefully constructed, its elegance
 will be wasted, if the path which leads up to it be interrupted. Hence
 it is that although the rhythmical structure adopted by Demosthenes in
 the passage τοῖς φεοῖς εὔχομαι πᾶσι καὶ
 πάσαις; 
 and again in another passage (approved
 by all, I think, except Brutus) κἄν μήπω βάλλῃ
 μηδὲ τοξεύῃ,

is regarded as severely correct, Cicero is criticised for passages such
 as familiaris coeperat esse balneatori 
 and for the not less unpleasing archipiratae. 
 For although balneatori and archipiratae give exactly the same cadence as
 πᾶσι καὶ πάσαις and μηδὲ τοξεύῃ the former are more severely
 correct.

There is also something in the fact that in the passages from Cicero two
 feet are contained in one word, a practice which even in verse produces
 an unduly effeminate effect, and that not merely when the line ends with
 a five-syllable word as in fortissima
 Tyndaridarum 
 but also in
 four-syllable endings such as Appnnino, 
 
 armamentis 
 
 and Oreione.

Consequently we must also avoid ending our periods with words containing
 too many syllables. With regard to the middle portions of our periods we
 must take care not merely that they possess internal cohesion, but also
 that the rhythm is neither sluggish nor long, and above all that we do
 not fall into the now fashionable fault of placing a number of short
 syllables together with the result that we produce an effect not unlike
 the sound of a child's rattle.

For while the beginnings and conclusions of periods, where the sense
 begins or ends, are the most important, it is none the less the fact
 that the middle portion may involve some special efforts which
 necessitate slight pauses. Remember that the feet of a runner, even
 though they do not linger where they fall, still leave a footprint.
 Consequently not only must commata and cola begin and end becomingly, but even in parts
 which are absolutely continuous without a breathing space, there must be
 such almost imperceptible pauses.

Who, for example, can doubt that there is but one thought in the
 following passage and that it should be pronounced without a halt for
 breath? Animadverti, idlices, omnem accusatoris
 oralionem in duas divisan esse parties 
 Still the
 groups formed by the first two words, the next three, and then again by
 the next two and three, have each their own special rhythms and cause a
 slight check in our breathing: at least such is the opinion of
 specialists in rhythm.

And just in proportion as these small segments of the period are grave
 or vigorous, slow or rapid, languid or the reverse, so will the periods
 which they go to form be severe or luxuriant, compact or loose.

Again, the conclusions of clauses sometimes seem to
 halt or hang, if they are regarded apart from their context, but are
 usually caught up and supported by what follows, so that what seemed a
 faulty cadence is corrected by the continuation. Non
 vult populus Romanus obsoletis criminibus accusari Verrem would
 be harsh in rhythm, if the sentence ended there; but when it is
 continued with what follows, nova postulat, inaudita
 desiderat, 
 although the words are separate in meaning, the
 rhythmical effect is preserved.

Ut adeas, tantum dabis would be a bad conclusion,
 for it forms the last portion of an iambic trimeter: but it is followed
 by ut cibum vestitumque introferre liceat,
 tantum: 
 the rhythm is still abrupt but is
 strengthened and supported by the last phrase of all, nemo recusabat.

The appearance of a complete verse in prose has a most uncouth effect,
 but even a portion of a verse is ugly, especially if the last half of a
 verse occurs in the cadence of a period or the first half at the
 beginning. The reverse order may on the other hand often be positively
 pleasing, since at times the first half of a verse will make an
 excellent conclusion, provided that it does not cover more than a few
 syllables.

This is especially the case with the senarnis or
 octonarius. 
 
 In Aliica fuisse is the opening of a
 senarius and closes the first clause of the
 pro Ligario: esse videatur, with which we are
 now only too familiar as a conclusion, is the beginning of an ocionarius. Similar effects are to be found in
 Demosthenes, as for example πᾶσι καὶ
 πάσαις and πᾶσιν ὑμῖν 
 and throughout almost the whole exordium of that speech. The ends of verses are also excellently suited to the
 beginning of a period:

etsi vereor, 
 
 iudices, 
 for example and animadverti, iudices. 
 But the opening feet of a
 verse are not suited to the opening phrases of prose: Livy provides an
 example of this in his preface, which begins with the first half of a
 hexameter, 'Facturusne operae premium sim:' 
 for these are the words as he wrote them, and they are better so than as
 they have been corrected. Again,

the cadence of a verse is not suitable to the cadence of a period:
 compare the phrase of Cicero, Quo me vertam,
 nescio, 
 which is the end of a trimeter. It matters not whether we speak of a
 trimeter or of a senarius, since the line has six feet and three beats. The end
 of a hexameter forms a yet worse conclusion;
 compare the following passage from the letters of Brutus: neque illi malunt halbere tutores aut defensores,
 quoniam causam sciunt placuiisse Catoni.

Iambic endings are less noticeable, because that metre is near akin to
 prose. Consequently such lines often slip from us unawares: they are
 specially common in Brutus as a result of his passion for severity of
 style; they are not infrequent in Asinius, and are sometimes even found
 in Cicero, as for example at the very beginning of his speech against
 Lucius Piso: Pro di immortales, qui hic nunc illuxit
 dies?

Equal care must however be taken to avoid any phrase of a definitely
 metrical character, such as the following passage from Sallust: Falso queritur de natura sua. 
 For
 although the language of prose is bound by certain laws, it should
 appear to be free. None the less Plato, despite the care which he
 devotes to his rhythm, has not succeeded in avoiding this fault at the very opening of the Timaeus,

where we are met at the very outset with the opening of a hexameter, which is followed by a colon which can be scanned as an Anacreontic, or
 if you like, as a trimeter, while it is also possible to form what the
 Greeks call a πενθημιμερὲς (that is a
 portion of the hexameter composed of two feet and a part of a third):
 and all these instances occur within the space of three lines. Again
 Thucydides has allowed to slip from his pen a phrase of the most
 effeminate rhythm in ὑπὲρ ἥμισυ Κᾶρες
 ἐφάνησαν

But, having stated that all prose rhythm consists of feet, I must say
 something on these as well. Different names are given to these feet, and
 it is necessary to determine what we shall call each of them. For my
 part I propose to follow Cicero 
 (for he himself followed the most eminent Greek authorities), with this
 exception, that in my opinion a foot is never more than three syllables
 long, whereas Cicero includes the paean 
 and the dochmiac (u – – u –), of which the former has four and the
 latter as many as five syllables.

He does not, however, conceal the fact that some regard these as rhythms
 rather than feet: and they are right in so doing, since whatever is
 longer than three syllables involves more than one foot. Since then
 there are four feet which consist of two syllables, and eight composed
 of three, I shall call them by the following names: two long syllables
 make a spondee; the pyrrhic or pariambus, as some call it,
 is composed of two shorts; the iambus of a short
 followed by a long; its opposite, that is a long followed by a short, is
 a choreus, for I prefer that term to the name of
 trochee which is given it by others.

Of trisyllabic feet the dactyl consists of a long followed by two shorts, while its
 opposite, which has the same time-length, is called an anapaest. A short between two longs makes an amphimacer, although it is more often called a cretic, while a long between two shorts produces
 its opposite, the amphibruachys. Two long
 syllables following a short make a bacchius,

whereas, if the long syllables come first the foot is called a palimbacchius. Three shorts make a trochee, although those who give that name to the
 choreus call it a tribrach: three longs make a molossus.

Every one of these feet is employed in prose, but those which take a
 greater time to utter and derive a certain stability from the length of
 their syllables produce a weightier style, short syllables being best
 adapted for a nimble and rapid style. Both types are useful in their
 proper place: for weight and slowness are rightly condemned in passages
 where speed is required, as are jerkiness and excessive speed in
 passages which call for weight.

It may also be important to remark that there are degrees of length in
 long syllables and of shortness in short. Consequently, although
 syllables may be thought never to involve more than two time-beats or
 less than one, and although for that reason in metre all shorts and all
 longs are regarded as equal to other shorts and longs, they none the
 less possess some undefinable and secret quality, which makes some seem
 longer and others shorter than the normal. Verse, on the other hand, has
 its own peculiar features, and consequently some syllables may be either
 long or short.

Indeed, since strict law allows a vowel to be long or short, as the case
 may be, when it stands alone, no less than when one or more consonants precede it, there can be no doubt,
 when it comes to the measuring of feet, that a short syllable, followed
 by another which is either long or short, but is preceded by two
 consonants, is lengthened, as for example in the phrase agrestem tenui musam.

For both a and gres are short, but the latter
 lengthens the former, thereby transferring to it something of its own
 time-length. But how can it do this, unless it possesses greater length
 than is the portion of the shortest syllables, to which it would itself
 belong if the consonants st were removed? As it
 is, it lends one time-length to the preceding syllable, and subtracts
 one from that which follows. Thus two syllables which are naturally short have
 their time-value doubled by position.

I am, however, surprised that scholars of the highest learning should
 have held the view that some feet should be specially selected and
 others condemned for the purposes of prose, as if there were any foot
 which must not inevitably be found in prose. Ephorus may express a
 preference for the paean (which was discovered by
 Thrasymachus and approved by Aristotle) and for the dactyl also, on the ground that both these feet provide a
 happy mixture of long and short; and may avoid the spondee and the trochee,

condemning the one as too slow and the other as too rapid; Aristotle
 may regard the heroic foot, which is another name for the dactyl, as too dignified and the iambus 
 as too commonplace, and may damn the trochee as 
 too hasty and dub it the cancan; Theodectes and Theophrastus may agree with him, and a
 later critic, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, may adopt a similar view;

but for all they say, these feet will force themselves upon them against
 their will, and it will not always be possible for them to employ the
 dactyl or their beloved paean, which they select for special praise because it so
 rarely forms part of a verse rhythm. It is not, however, the words which
 cause some feet to be of more common occurrence than others; for the
 words cannot be increased or diminished in bulk, nor yet can they, like
 the notes in music, be made short or long at will; everything depends on
 transposition and arrangement.

For a large proportion of feet are formed by the connexion or separation
 of words, which is the reason why several different verses can be made
 out of the same words: for example, I remember that a poet of no small
 distinction writing the following line: 
 Astra tenet caelum, mare classes, area messem, 
 
 a line which, if the order of
 the words be reversed, becomes a Sotadean; again, the following
 Sotadean, if reversed, reads as as an iambic
 trimeter: 
 
 caput exeruit
 mobile pinus repelita. 
 
 Feet therefore should be mixed,

while care must be taken that the majority are of a pleasing character,
 and that the inferior feet are lost in the surrounding crowd of their
 superior kindred. The nature of letters and syllables cannot be changed,
 but their adaptability to each other is a consideration of no small
 importance. Long syllables, as I have said, carry
 the greater dignity and weight, while short syllables create an
 impression of speed: if the latter are intermixed with a few long
 syllables, their gait will be a run, but a gallop if they are
 continuous.

When a short syllable is followed by a long the effect is one of
 vigorous ascent, while a long followed by a short produces a gentler
 impression and suggests descent. It is therefore best to begin with long
 syllables, though at times it may be correct to begin with short, as in
 the phrase novum crimen: 
 a
 gentler effect is created, if we commence with two shorts, as in the
 phrase animadverti iudices: but this opening,
 which comes from the pro Cluentio, is perfectly
 correct, since that speech begins with something similar to partition,
 which requires speed.

Similarly the conclusion of a sentence is stronger when long syllables
 preponderate, but it may also be formed of short syllables, although the
 quantity of the final syllable is regarded as indifferent. I am aware
 that a concluding short syllable is usually regarded as equivalent to a
 long, because the time-length which it lacks appears to be supplied from
 that which follows. But when I consult my own ears I find that it makes
 a great difference whether the final syllable is really long or only
 treated as the equivalent of a long. For there is not the same fullness
 of rhythm in diccre incipieniem timere 
 as
 there is in ausus est confiteri.

But if it makes no difference whether the final syllable be long or
 short, the concluding feet in these two instances must be identical: and
 yet somehow or other one gives the impression of sitting down and the
 other of a simple halt. This fact has led some critics to allow three
 timebeats for a final long syllable, adding the extra time-length which a short syllable derives from its position at the
 end of a sentence to the long syllable as well. And it not merely makes
 a difference with what foot a sentence ends, but the penultimate foot is
 also of importance.

It is not, however, necessary to go back further than three feet, and
 only that if the feet contain less than three syllables, for we must
 avoid the exactitude of verse: on the other hand, we must not go back
 less than two: otherwise we shall be dealing with a foot and not with
 rhythm. But in this connexion the dichoreus may
 be regarded as one foot, if indeed a foot consisting of two chorei can be considered as a single foot.

The same is true of the paean composed of the choreus and a pyrrhic, a
 foot which is regarded as specially suitable to the beginning of a
 sentence, or of the other paean, formed of three
 shorts followed by a long, to which the conclusion is specially
 dedicated. It is of these two forms that writers on rhythm generally
 speak. Some, however, call all feet containing three short syllables and
 a long by the name of paean, irrespective of the
 position of the long syllable, and merely taking into account the total
 number of time-lengths that it contains.

The dochmiac, again, which consists of a bacchius and an iambus, or
 of an iambus and a cretic, 
 forms a solid and severe conclusion. The spondee, 
 so frequently employed in this position by Demosthenes, is used with
 varying effect. It is most impressive when preceded by a cretic, as in the following instance: De qua ego nihil dicam, nisi depellendi criminis
 causa. 
 Again there is a point, of the importance
 of which I spoke above, namely that it makes a considerable difference
 whether two feet are contained in a single word or
 whether they are both detached. Thus criminis
 causa makes a strong and archipiratae 
 a weak ending, while tile weakness is still further
 increased if the first foot be a tribrach, as for
 instance in words like facilitates or temeritates.

For the mere fact that words are separated from each other involves an
 imperceptible length of time: for instance, the spondee forming the middle foot of a pentameter must consist of the last syllable of one word and
 the first of another, otherwise the verse is no verse at all. It is
 permissible, though less satisfactory, for the spondee to be preceded by an anapaest: 
 e.g. muliere non solum nobili, verum etiami
 nota.

Andit may also, in addition to the anapaest and
 cretic, be preceded by the iambus, which is a syllable less in length than both of them,
 thus making one short syllable precede three long. But it is also
 perfectly correct to place a spondee before an
 iambus, as in armis
 fui, or it may be preceded by a bacchius 
 instead of a spondee, e.g. in
 armis fui, 
 thereby making the last foot a dochmiac.

From this it follows that the molossus also is
 adapted for use in the conclusion provided that it be preceded by a
 short syllable, though it does not matter to what foot the latter
 belongs: e.g. illud scimus, ubicunque sunt, esse pro
 nobis.

The effect of the spondee is less weighty, if it
 be preceded by a palimbacchius and pyrrhic, as in iudicii
 Iuniani. 
 Still worse is the rhythm when the spondee is preceded by a paean, as in
 Brute, dubitavi, 
 although this phrase may, if
 we prefer, be regarded as consisting of a dactyl and a bacchius. As
 a rule, endings composed of two spondees, a
 termination which causes comment even in a verse, are to be deprecated,
 unless the phrase is composed of three separate members, as in cur de perfiigis nostris copias comparat is contra
 nos? 
 
 where we have a word of two syllables preceded and followed by a
 monosyllable.

Even the dactyl ought not to precede a final spondee, since we condemn verse-endings at the
 period's close. The bacchius is employed at the
 conclusion, sometimes in conjunction with itself as in venenum timerss 
 while it is also effective when a
 choreus and spondee 
 are placed before it as in ut venenum timeres. 
 Its opposite, the palimbacchius, is also employed
 as a conclusion (unless, of course, we insist that the last syllable of
 a sentence is always long), and is best preceded by a molossus, as in civis Romanus sum,
 or by a bacchius, as in quod hie potest, nos
 possemus.

It would, however, be truer to say that in such cases the conclusion
 consists of a choreus preceded by a spondee, for the rhythm is concentrated in nos possemus and Romanus
 sum. The dichoreus, which is the
 repetition of one and the same foot, may also form the conclusion, and
 was much beloved by the Asiatic school: Cicero illustrates it by Patris dictum sapiens temeritasfilii
 comprobavit.

The choreus may also be preceded by a pyrrhic, as in omnes prope
 cives virtute, gloria, digitiate superabat. 
 The dactyl also may come at the close, unless indeed it be held
 that, when it forms the final foot, it is transformed into a cretic: e.g. muliercula nixus
 in litore. 
 The effect will be
 good if it is preceded by a cretic or an iambus, but unsatisfactory if it is preceded by a
 
 spondee, and worse still
 if by a choreus. 
 The amphibrachys may close the cadence, as in Q. Ligarium in Africa fuisse, 
 
 although in that case some will prefer to call it a bacchius. The trochee 
 is one of the less good endings, if any final syllable
 is to be regarded as short, as it undoubtedly must be. Otherwise how can
 we end with the dichoreus, so dear to many
 orators? Of course, if it be insisted that the final syllable is long,
 the trochee becomes an anapaest.

If preceded by a long syllable, the trochee 
 becomes a paean, as is the case with phrases such
 as sipotero, or dirit hoc
 Cicero, or obstat invidia. But this form
 of paean is specially allotted to the beginnings
 of sentences. The pyrrhic may close a sentence if
 preceded by a choreus, thereby forming a paean. 
 
 But all these feet which end in short syllables will lack the stability
 required for the cadence, and should as a rule only be employed in cases
 where speed is required and there is no marked pause at the ends of the
 sentences.

The cretic is excellent, both at the beginning
 (e.g. quod precatus a diis immortalibus sum 
 ) and at the close (e.g. in conspeclu populi Romani vomere postridie ).
 The last example makes it clear
 what a good effect is produced when it is preceded by an anapaest or by that form of paean which is regarded as best suited to the end of a
 sentence. But the cretic may be preceded by a cretic, as in servare quam
 plurinos. 
 It is better thus
 than when it is preceded by a chores, as in quis non turpe duceret? 
 assuming that we treat the final short syllable as long.
 However, for the sake of argument, let us substitute duceres for duceret.

Here, however, we get the rest of which I spoke: for we make a short pause between
 the last word and the last but one, thus slightly lengthening the final
 syllable of turpe; otherwise quis non turpe duceret? will give us a jerky rhythm resembling
 the end of an iambic trimeter. So, too, if you
 pronounce ore excipere liceret 
 without a pause,
 you will reproduce the rhythm of a licentious metre, whereas if triply
 punctuated and thus provided with what are practically three separate
 beginnings, the phrase is full of dignity.

In specifying the feet above-mentioned, I do not mean to lay it down as
 an absolute law that no others can be used, but merely wish to indicate
 the usual practice and the principles that are best suited for present
 needs. I may add that two consecutive anapaests 
 should be avoided, since they form the conclusion of a pentameter or reproduce the rhythm of the anapaestic metre, as in the passage, nam ubi
 libido dominatur, innocentiae leve praesidinun est, 
 where elision makes the last two syllables
 sound as one.

The anapaest should preferably be preceded by a
 spondee or a bacchius, 
 as, for instance, if you alter the order of words in the passage just
 quoted to leve innocentiae praesidium est. 
 Personally, although I know that in this I am in disagreement with great
 writers, I am not attracted by the paean 
 consisting of three shorts followed by a long: for it is no more than an
 anapaest with the addition of another short
 syllable (e.g. facilitas, agilitas ). Why it
 should have been so popular, I cannot see, unless it be that those who
 gave it their approval were students of the language of common life
 rather than of oratory. It is preferably preceded by short syllables,

such as are provided by the pyrrhic or the choreus (e.g. 
 mea facilitas, nostra facilitas); on the other
 hand, if it be preceded by a spondee, we have the
 conclusion of an iambic trimeter, as indeed we
 have in the paean considered alone. The opposite
 form of paean is deservedly commended as an
 opening: for the first syllable gives it stability and the next three
 speed. None the less I think that there are other feet which are better
 suited for this purpose than even this paean.

My purpose in discussing this topic at length is not to lead the orator
 to enfeeble his style by pedantic measurement of feet and weighing of
 syllables: for oratory should possess a vigorous flow, and such
 solicitude is worthy only of a wretched pedant, absorbed in trivial
 detail:

since the man who exhausts himself by such painful diligence will have
 no time for more important considerations; for he will disregard the
 weight of his subject matter, despise true beauty of style and, as
 Lucilius says, will construct a tesselated pavement of
 phrases nicely dovetailed together in intricate patterns. 
 The inevitable result will be that his
 passions will cool and his energy be wasted, just as our dandies destroy
 their horses' capacity for speed by training them to shorten their
 paces.

Prose-structure, of course, existed before rhythms were discovered in
 it, just as poetry was originally the outcome of a natural impulse and
 was created by the instinctive feeling of the ear for quantity and the
 observation of time and rhythm, while the discovery of feet came later.
 Consequently assiduous practice in writing will be sufficient to enable
 us to produce similar rhythmical effects when speaking extempore.

Further it is not so important for us to consider the actual feet as the
 general rhythmical effect of the period, just
 as the poet in writing a verse considers the metre as a whole, and does
 not concentrate his attention on the six or five individual feet that
 constitute the verse. For poetry originated before the laws which govern
 it, a fact which explains Ennius' statement 
 that Fauns and prophets sang.

Therefore rhythmical structure will hold the same place in prose that is
 held by versification in poetry. The best judge as to rhythm is the ear,
 which appreciates fullness of rhythm or feels the lack of it, is
 offended by harshness, soothed by smooth and excited by impetuous
 movement, and approves stability, while it detects limping measures and
 rejects those that are excessive and extravagant. It is for this reason
 that those who have received a thorough training understand the theory
 of artistic structure, while even the untrained derive pleasure from it.

There are some points, it is true, which are beyond the power of art to
 inculcate. For example if the case, tense or mood with which we have
 begun, produces a harsh rhythm, it must be changed. But is it possible
 to lay down any definite rule as to what the change of case, tense or
 mood should be? It is often possible to help out the rhythm when it is
 in difficulties by introducing variety through the agency of a figure. But what is this figure to be? A figure of speech or a
 figure of thought? Can we give any general
 ruling on the subject? In such cases opportunism is our only salvation,
 and we must be guided by consideration of the special circumstances.

Further with regard to the time-lengths, which are of such importance
 where rhythm is concerned, what standard is there by which they can be
 regulated save that of the ear? Why do some
 sentences produce a full rhythmical effect, although the words which
 they contain are few, whereas others containing a greater number are
 abrupt and short in rhythm? Why again in periods do we get an impression
 of incompleteness, despite the fact that the sense is complete?

Consider the following example: neminem vestrum
 ignorare arbitror, iudices, hunc per hosce dies sermonem vulgi atque
 hanc opinionem populi Romani fiisse. 
 Why is hosce preferable to hos, 
 although the latter presents no harshness? I am not sure that I can give
 the reason, but none the less I feel that hosce 
 is better. Why is it not enough to say sermonem
 vulgifuisse, which would have satisfied the bare demands of
 rhythm? I cannot tell, and yet my ear tells me that the rhythm would
 have lacked fullness without the reduplication of the phrase.

The answer is that in such cases we must rely on feeling. It is possible
 to have an inadequate understanding of what it is precisely that makes
 for severity or charm, but yet to produce the required effect better by
 taking nature for our guide in place of art: none the less there will
 always be some principle of art underlying the promptings of nature.

It is, however, the special duty of the orator to realise when to employ
 the different kinds of rhythm. There are two points which call for
 consideration if he is to do this with success. The one is concerned
 with feet, the other with the general rhythm of the period which is
 produced by their combination. I will deal with the latter first. We
 speak of commata, cola and periods.

A comma, in my opinion, may be defined as the
 expression of a thought lacking rhythmical 
 completeness; on the other hand, most writers regard it merely as a
 portion of the colon. As an example I may cite
 the following from Cicero: Domus tibi deerat? at
 habebas: pecunia superabat? at egebas. 
 But a comma may also consist
 of a single word, as in the following instance where diximnus is a comma: Diximus, testes dare
 volumus.

A colon, on the other hand, is the expression of
 a thought which is rhythmically complete, but is meaningless if detached
 from the whole body of the sentence. For example O callidos homines 
 is complete in itself, but is useless if removed
 from the rest of the sentence, as the hand, foot or head if separated
 from the body. He goes on, O rein excogitatam. At
 what point do the members begin to form a body? Only when the conclusion
 is added: quem, quaeso, nostrum fefellit, id vos ita
 esse facturos? a sentence which Cicero regards as unusually
 concise. Thus as a rule commata and cola are fragmentary and require a conclusion.

The period is given a number of different names by Cicero, who calls it ambitus, circuitus,
 comprehensio, continuatio and circumscriptio. It has two forms.
 The one is simple, and consists of one thought expressed in a number of
 words, duly rounded to a close. The other consists of commata and cola, comprising a number
 of different thoughts: for example, aderat ianitor
 carceris, carnriex praetoris 
 and the rest.

The period must have at least two cola. The
 average number would appear to be four, but it
 often contains even more. According to Cicero, its length should be restricted to the
 equivalent of four senarii or to the compass of a
 single breath. It is further essential that it should complete the
 thought which it expresses. It must be clear and intelligible and must
 not be too long to be carried in the memory. A
 colon, if too long, makes the sentence drag,
 while on the other hand, if it be too short it gives an impression of
 instability.

Wherever it is essential to speak with force, energy and pugnacity, we
 shall make free use of commata and cola, since this is most effective, and our
 rhythmical structure must be so closely conformed to our matter, that
 violent themes should be expressed in violent rhythms to enable the
 audience to share the horror felt by the speaker.

On the other hand we shall employ cola by
 preference when narrating facts, or relax the texture of our periods by
 considerable pauses and looser connexions, always excepting those
 passages in which narration is designed for decorative effect and not
 merely for the instruction of the audience, as for example the passage
 in the Verrines where Cicero tells the story of the Rape of
 Proserpine: for in such cases a smooth and flowing texture is required.

The full periodic style is well adapted to the exordium of important cases, where the theme requires the
 orator to express anxiety, admiration or pity: the same is true of commonplaces and all kinds of amplification. But it should be severe when we are prosecuting
 and expansive in panegyric. It is also most effective in the peroration.

But we must only employ this form of rhythmical structure in its full
 development, when the judge has not merely got a grasp of the matter,
 but has been charmed by our style, surrendered himself to the pleader
 and is ready to be led whither we will, by the delight which he
 experiences. History does not so much demand full, rounded rhythms as a
 certain continuity of motion and connexion of style. For all its cola are closely linked 
 together, while the fluidity of its style gives it great variety of
 movement; we may compare its motion to that of men, who link hands to
 steady their steps, and lend each other mutual support.

The demonstrative type of oratory requires freer
 and more expansive rhythms, while forensic and
 deliberative oratory will vary the
 arrangement of their words in conformity with the variety of their
 themes. I must now turn to discuss the first of the two points which I
 mentioned above. No one will deny that some portions of our speech
 require a gentle flow of language, while others demand speed, sublimity,
 pugnacity, ornateness or simplicity, as the case may be,

or that long syllables are best adapted to express dignity, sublimity
 and ornateness. That is to say, while the gentler form of utterance
 requires length of vowel sounds, sublime and ornate language demands
 sonority as well. On the other hand, passages of an opposite character,
 such as those in which we argue, distinguish, jest or use language
 approximating to colloquial speech, are better served by short
 syllables.

Consequently in the exordium we shall vary our
 structure to suit the thought. For I cannot agree with Celsus, when he
 would impose a single stereotyped form upon the exordium and asserts that the best example of the structure
 required for this purpose is to be found in Asinius: e. g., si, Caesar, ex omnibus mortalibus, qui sunt ac
 fuerunt, posset huic causae disceptator legi, non quisquam te potius
 optandus nobis fuit.

I do not for a moment deny that the structure of this passage is
 excellent, but I refuse to admit that the form of rhythmical structure
 which it exemplifies should be forced on all exordia. For there are various ways in which the judge's mind may be prepared for what is to come:
 at times we appeal for pity, at others take up a modest attitude, while
 we may assume an air of energy or dignity, flatter our audience, attempt
 to alter their opinions and exhort them to give us their best attention,
 according as the situation may demand. And as all these methods are
 different by nature, so each requires a different rhythmical treatment.
 Did Cicero employ similar rhythms in his exordia 
 to the pro Milone, the pro
 Cluentio and the pro Ligario?

The statement of fact as a rule requires slower
 and what I may be allowed to call more modest feet; and the different
 kinds of feet should, as far as possible, be intermixed. For while the
 style of this portion of our speech is generally marked by restraint of
 language, there are occasions when it is called upon to soar to greater
 heights, although on the other hand its aim will at all times be to
 instruct the audience and impress the facts upon their minds, a task
 which must not be carried out in a hurry. Indeed my personal opinion is
 that the statement of fact should be composed of
 long cola and short periods. Arguments,

inasmuch as they are characterised by energy and speed, will employ the
 feet best adapted to these qualities. They will not however acquire
 rapidity at the expense of force by employing trochees, 
 but will rather make
 use of those feet which consist of a mixture of long and short
 syllables, though the long should not outnumber the short. Lofty
 passages,

which employ long and sonorous vowels, are specially well served by the
 amplitude of the dactyl and the paean, feet which, although they contain a majority of short
 syllables, are yet not deficient in time-length. On the other hand,
 where violence is required, the requisite energy
 will be best secured by the employment of the iambus, not merely because that foot contains but two
 syllables, with the result that its beat is more frequent, making it
 unsuited to gentle language, but also because every foot gives the
 effect of an ascent, as they climb and swell from short to long, a fact
 which renders them superior to the choreus, which
 sinks from long to short.

Subdued passages, such as occur in the peroration, also require slow syllables, which must, however,
 be less sonorous. Celsus insists that there is a special form of
 rhythmical structure which produces a particularly stately effect: I do
 not know to what he refers and, if I did, should not teach it, since it
 must inevitably be slow and flat, that is to say unless this quality is
 derived from the words and thoughts expressed. If it is to be sought for
 its own sake, independent of such considerations, I cannot sufficiently
 condemn it. But, to bring this discussion to a close,

I would remark that our rhythm must be designed to suit our delivery. Is
 not our tone subdued as a rule in the exordium, 
 except of course in cases of accusation where we have to rouse the judge
 or fill him with indignation, full and clear in the statement of fact, in argument impetuous and rapid not merely
 in our language, but in our motions as well, expansive and fluent in commonplaces and descriptions and, as a rule,
 submissive and downcast in the peroration?

But the motions of the body also have their own appropriate rhythms,
 while the musical theory of rhythm determines the value of metrical feet
 no less for dancing than for tunes. Again, do we not adapt our voice and
 gesture to the nature of the themes on which we are
 speaking? There is, therefore, all the less reason for wonder that the
 same is true of the feet employed in prose, since it is natural that
 what is sublime should have a stately stride, that what is gentle should
 seem to be led along, that what is violent should seem to run and what
 is tender to flow.

Consequently, where necessary, we must borrow the pompous effect
 produced by the spondees and iambi which compose the greater portion of the rhythms of
 tragedy, as in the line, 
 
 
 En, impero Argis, sceptra mi liquit
 Pelops. 
 
 From an unknown tragedian. 
 
 
 But the comic senarius, styled trochaic, contains a number of pyrrhics 
 and trochees, which others call tribrachs, but loses in dignity what it gains in speed,

as for example in the line, 
 
 
 quid igiturfaciam? non earn, ne nunc
 quidem? 
 
 
 Ter. Eun. I. i. 1.
 The
 pyrrhic never forms a separate
 foot, but does form part of the anapaest,
 tribrach and dactyl and it
 is in this connexion that it is mentioned by Quintilian.
 
 
 Violent and abusive language, on the other hand, even
 in verse, as I have said, employs the iambic for
 its attack: e.g., 
 
 
 
 Quis hoc potest videre, quis potest
 pati, 
 nisi impudicus et vorax et
 aleo? 
 
 Cat. xxix. 1. 
 
 
 As a general rule, however,

if the choice were forced upon me, I should prefer my rhythm to be harsh
 and violent rather than nerveless and effeminate, as it is in so many
 writers, more especially in our own day, when it trips along in wanton
 measures that suggest the accompaniment of castanets. Nor will any
 rhythm ever be so admirable that it ought to be 
 continued with the same recurrence of feet.

For we shall really be indulging in a species of versification if we
 seek to lay down one law for all varieties of speech: further, to do so
 would lay us open to the charge of the most obvious affectation, a fault
 of which we should avoid even the smallest suspicion, while we should
 also weary and cloy our audience by the resulting monotony; the sweeter
 the rhythm, the sooner the orator who is detected in a studied adherence
 to its employment, will cease to carry conviction or to stir the
 passions and emotions. The judge will refuse to believe him or to allow
 him to excite his compassion or his anger, if he thinks that he has
 leisure for this species of refinement.

It will therefore be desirable from time to time that in certain
 passages the rhythm should be deliberately dissolved: this is a task of
 no small difficulty, if the appearance of effort is to be avoided. In so
 doing we must not come to the assistance of the rhythm by introducing
 bhyperhata 
 of
 extravagant length, for fear that we should betray the purpose of our
 action: and we should certainly never in our search for smoothness
 abandon for another any word that is apt and appropriate to our theme.

As a matter of fact no word will be so intractable as to baffle all our
 attempts to find it a suitable position; but it must be remembered that
 when we avoid such words, we do so not to enhance the charm of our
 rhythm, but to evade a difficulty. I am not, however, surprised that
 Latin writers have paid more attention to rhythmical structure than the
 Athenians, since Latin words possess less correctness and charm.

Nor again do I account it a fault in Cicero that, in this respect, he
 diverged to some extent from the practice of 
 Demosthenes. However, my final book will explain the nature of the
 difference between our language and that of Greece. But I must bring
 this book to a conclusion without more delay, since it has already
 exceeded the limits designed for it. To sum up then, artistic structure
 must be decorous, pleasing and varied.

It consists of three parts, order, connexion and rhythm. The method of
 its achievement lies in addition, subtraction and alteration of words.
 Its practice will depend upon the nature of our theme. The care which it
 demands is great, but, still, less than that demanded by expression and
 thought. Above all it is necessary to conceal the care expended upon it
 so that our rhythms may seem to possess a spontaneous flow, not to have
 been the result of elaborate search or compulsion.

But these rules of style, while part of the student's theoretical
 knowledge, are not in themselves sufficient to give him oratorical
 power. In addition he will require that assured facility which the
 Greeks call ἕξις I know that many have
 raised the question as to whether this is best acquired by writing,
 reading or speaking, and it would indeed be a question calling for
 serious consideration, if we could rest content with any one of the
 three.

But they are so intimately and inseparably connected, that if one of
 them be neglected, we shall but waste the labour which we have devoted
 to the others. For eloquence will never attain to its full development
 or robust health, unless it acquires strength by frequent practice in
 writing, while such practice without the models supplied by reading will
 be like a ship drifting aimlessly without a steersman. Again, he who
 knows what he ought to say and how he should say it, will be like a
 miser brooding over his hoarded treasure, unless he has the weapons of
 his eloquence ready for battle and prepared to deal with every
 emergency.

But the degree in which a thing is essential does not
 necessarily make it of immediate and supreme importance for the
 formation of the ideal orator. For obviously the power of speech is the
 first essential, since therein lies the primary task of the orator, and
 it is obvious that it was with this that the art of oratory began, and
 that the power of imitation comes next, and third and last diligent
 practice in writing.

But as perfection cannot be attained without starting at the very
 beginning, the points which come first in time will, as our training
 proceeds, become of quite trivial importance. Now we have reached a
 stage in our enquiry where we are no longer considering the preliminary
 training of our orator; for I think the instructions already given
 should suffice for that; they are in any case as good as I could make
 them. Our present task is to consider how our athlete who has learnt all
 the technique of his art from his trainer, is to be prepared by actual
 practice for the contests in which he will have to engage. Consequently,
 we must assume that our student has learned how to conceive and dispose
 his subject matter and understands how to choose and arrange his words,
 and must proceed to instruct him how to make the best and readiest use
 of the knowledge which he has acquired.

There can then be no doubt that he must accumulate a certain store of
 resources, to be employed whenever they may be required. The resources
 of which I speak consist in a copious supply of words and matter.

But while the matter is necessarily either peculiar to the individual
 case, or at best common to only a few, words must be acquired to suit
 all and every case. Now, if there were special words
 adapted to each individual thing, they would require less care, since
 they would automatically be suggested by the matter in hand. But since
 some words are more literal, more ornate, more significant or euphonious
 than others, our orator must not merely be acquainted with all of them,
 but must have them at his fingers' ends and before his very eyes, so
 that when they present themselves for his critical selection, he will
 find it easy to make the appropriate choice.

I know that some speakers make a practice of learning lists of synonyms
 by heart, in order that one word out of the several available may at
 once present itself to them, and that if, after using one word, they
 find that it is wanted again after a brief interval, they may be able to
 select another word with the same meaning and so avoid the necessity of
 repetition. But this practice is childish and involves thankless labour,
 while it is really of very little use, as it merely results in the
 assembly of a disorderly crowd of words, for the speaker to snatch the
 first that comes to hand.

On the contrary, discrimination is necessary in the acquisition of our
 stock of words; for we are aiming at true oratory, not at the fluency of
 a cheapjack. And we shall attain our aim by reading and listening to the
 best writers and orators, since we shall thus learn not merely the words
 by which things are to be called, but when each particular word is most
 appropriate.

For there is a place in oratory for almost every word, with the
 exception only of a very few, which are not sufficiently seemly. Such
 words are indeed often praised when they occur in writers of iambics
 
 or of the old comedy, but we need do no more than
 consider our own special task. All words, with these exceptions, may be
 admirably employed in some place or other. For sometimes we shall even
 require low and common words, while those which would seem coarse if
 introduced in the more elegant portions of our speech may, under certain
 circumstances, be appropriate enough.

Now to acquire a knowledge of these words and to be acquainted not
 merely with their meaning, but with their forms and rhythmical values,
 so that they may seem appropriate wherever employed, we shall need to
 read and listen diligently, since all language is received first through
 the ear. It was owing to this fact that the children who, by order of a
 king, were brought up by a dumb nurse in a desert place, although they
 are said to have uttered certain words, lacked the power of speech.

There are, however, some words of such a nature that they express the
 same sense by different sounds, so that it makes no difference to the
 meaning which we use, as, for instance, gladius 
 and ensis, which may be used indifferently when
 we have to speak of a sword. Others, again, although properly applied to
 specific objects, are used by means of a trope to
 express the same sense, as, for example, ferrum 
 (steel) and muro (point), which are both used in the sense of sword.

Thus, by the figure known as abuse, 
 we call all those who commit a murder with any weapon whatsoever
 sicarii (poniarders). In other cases we
 express our meaning periphrastically, as, for instance, when Virgil
 describes cheese as 
 
 Abundance of pressed
 milk. 
 
 
 On the other hand, in a
 number of instances we employ figures 
 and substitute one expression for another. Instead of
 I know, we say I am not ignorant, or
 the fact does not escape me, or I have not
 forgotten, or who does not know? or it
 can be doubted by none.

But we may also borrow from a word of cognate meaning. For I
 understand, or I feel or I see 
 are often equivalent to I know. Reading will provide us
 with a rich store of expressions such as these, and will enable us not
 merely to use them when they occur to us, but also in the appropriate
 manner. For they are not always interchangeable:

for example, though I may be perfectly correct in saying, I
 see for I understand, it does not follow that
 I can say I understand for my eyes have
 seen, and though mucro may be
 employed to describe a sword, a sword does not necessarily mean the same
 as mucro (point).

But, although a store of words may be acquired by these means, we must
 not read or listen to orators merely for the sake of acquiring words.
 For in everything which we teach examples are more effective even than
 the rules which are taught in the schools, so long as the student has
 reached a stage when he can appreciate such examples without the
 assistance of a teacher, and can rely on his own powers to imitate them.
 And the reason is this, that the professor of rhetoric lays down rules,
 while the orator gives a practical demonstration.

But the advantages conferred by reading and listening are not identical.
 The speaker stimulates us by the animation of his delivery, and kindles
 the imagination, not by presenting us with an elaborate picture, but by bringing us into actual touch with
 the things themselves. Then all is life and movement, and we receive the
 new-born offspring of his imagination with enthusiastic approval. We are
 moved not merely by the actual issue of the trial, but by all that the
 orator himself has at stake.

Moreover his voice, the grace of his gestures, the adaptation of his
 delivery (which is of supreme importance in oratory), and, in a word,
 all his excellences in combination, have their educative effect. In
 reading, on the other hand, the critical faculty is a surer guide,
 inasmuch as the listener's judgment is often swept away by his
 preference for a particular speaker, or by the applause of an
 enthusiastic audience.

For we are ashamed to disagree with them, and an unconscious modesty
 prevents us from ranking our own opinion above theirs, though all the
 time the taste of the majority is vicious, and the claque may praise even what does not really deserve approval.

On the other hand, it will sometimes also happen that an audience whose
 taste is bad will fail to award the praise which is due to the most
 admirable utterances. Reading, however, is free, and does not hurry past
 us with the speed of oral delivery; we can reread a passage again and
 again if we are in doubt about it or wish to fix it in the memory. We
 must return to what we have read and reconsider it with care, while,
 just as we do not swallow our food till we have chewed it and reduced it
 almost to a state of liquefaction to assist the process of digestion, so
 what we read must not be committed to the memory for subsequent
 imitation while it is still in a crude state, but must be softened and,
 if I may use the phrase, reduced to a pulp by frequent re-perusal.

For a long time also we should read none save the best authors and such
 as are least likely to betray our trust in then, while our reading must
 be almost as thorough as if we were actually transcribing what we read.
 Nor must we study it merely in parts, but must read through the whole
 work from cover to cover and then read it afresh, a precept which
 applies more especially to speeches, whose merits are often deliberately
 disguised.

For the orator frequently prepares his audience for what is to come,
 dissembles and sets a trap for them and makes remarks at the opening of
 his speech which will not have their full force till the conclusion.
 Consequently what he says will often seem comparatively ineffective
 where it actually occurs, since we do not realise his motive and it will
 be necessary to re-read the speech after we have acquainted ourselves
 with all that it contains.

Above all, it is most desirable that we should familiarise ourselves
 with the facts of the case with which the speech deals, and it will be
 well also, wherever possible, to read the speeches delivered on both
 sides, such as those of Aeschines and Demosthenes in the case of
 Ctesiphon, of Servius Sulpicius and Messala for and against Aufidia,
 of Pollio and Cassius in the case of Asprenas, and many others.

And even if such speeches seem unequal in point of merit, we shall still
 do well to study them carefully with a view to understanding the
 problems raised by the cases with which they deal: for example, we
 should compare the speeches delivered by Tubero against Ligarius and by
 Hortensius in defence of Verres with those of Cicero for the opposite
 side, while it will also be useful to know how different orators pleaded
 the same case. For example, Calidius spoke on the
 subject of Cicero's house, Brutus wrote a declamation in defence of
 Milo, which Cornelius Celsus wrongly believes to have been actually
 delivered in court, and Pollio and Messalla defended the same
 clients, while in my boyhood remarkable speeches delivered by
 Domitius Afer, Crispus Passienus and
 Decimis Laelius in defence of Volusenus were in circulation.

The reader must not, however, jump to the conclusion that all that was
 uttered by the best authors is necessarily perfect. At times they lapse
 and stagger beneath the weight of their task, indulge their bent or
 relax their efforts. Sometimes, again, they give the impression of
 weariness: for example, Cicero thinks that Demosthenes
 sometimes nods, and Horace says the same of Homer
 himself.

For despite their greatness they are still but mortal men, and it will
 sometimes happen that their reader assumes that anything which he finds
 in them may be taken as a canon of style, with the result that he
 imitates their defects (and it is always easier to do this than to
 imitate their excellences) and thinks himself a perfect replica if he
 succeeds in copying the blemishes of great men.

But modesty and circumspection are required in pronouncing judgment on
 such great men, since there is always the risk of falling into the
 common fault of condemning what one does not understand. And, if it is
 necessary to err on one side or the other, I should prefer that the
 reader should approve of everything than that he should disapprove of
 much.

Theophrastus says that the reading of poets is
 of great service to the orator, and has rightly been followed in this
 view by many. For the poets will give us inspiration
 as regards the matter, sublimity of language, the power to excite every
 kind of emotion, and the appropriate treatment of character, while minds
 that have become jaded owing to the daily wear and tear of the courts
 will find refreshment in such agreeable study. Consequently Cicero recommends the relaxation provided by the reading of
 poetry.

We should, however, remember that the orator must not follow the poets
 in everything, more especially in their freedom of language and their
 license in the use of figures. Poetry has been compared to the oratory
 of display, and further aims solely at giving pleasure, which it seeks
 to secure by inventing what is not merely untrue, but sometimes even
 incredible.

Further, we must bear in mind that it can be defended on the ground that
 it is tied by certain metrical necessities and consequently cannot
 always use straightforward and literal language, but is driven from the
 direct road to take refuge in certain by-ways of expression; and
 compelled not merely to change certain words, but to lengthen, contract,
 transpose or divide them, whereas the orator stands armed in the
 forefront of the battle, fights for a high stake and devotes all his
 effort to winning the victory.

And yet I would not have his weapons defaced by mould and rust, but
 would have them shine with a splendour that shall strike terror to the
 heart of the foe, like the flashing steel that dazzles heart and eye at
 once, not like the gleam of gold or silver, which has no warlike
 efficacy and is even a positive peril to its wearer.

History, also, may provide the orator with a nutriment which we may
 compare to some rich and pleasant juice. But when we read it, we must
 remember that many of the excellences of the
 historian require to be shunned by the orator. For history has a certain
 affinity to poetry and may be regarded as a kind of prose poem, while it
 is written for the purpose of narrative, not of proof, and designed from
 beginning to end not for immediate effect or the instant necessities of
 forensic strife, but to record events for the benefit of posterity and
 to win glory for its author. Consequently, to avoid monotony of
 narrative, it employs unusual words and indulges in a freer use of
 figures.

Therefore, as I have already said, the famous brevity of
 Sallust, than which nothing can be more pleasing to the leisured ear of
 the scholar, is a style to be avoided by the orator in view of the fact
 that his words are addressed to a judge who has his mind occupied by a
 number of thoughts and is also frequently uneducated, while, on the
 other hand, the milky fullness of Livy is hardly of a kind to instruct a
 listener who looks not for beauty of exposition, but for truth and
 credibility.

We must also remember that Cicero thinks that not even 'Thucydidcs or Xenophon
 will be of much service to an orator, although he regards the style of
 the former as a veritable call to arms and considers that the latter was
 the mouthpiece of the Muses. It is, however, occasionally permissible to
 borrow the graces of history to embellish our digressions, provided
 always that we remember that in those portions of our speech which deal
 with the actual question at issue we require not the swelling thews of
 the athlete, but the wiry sinews of the soldier, and that the cloak of
 many colours which Demetrius of Phalerum was
 said to wear is but little suited to the dust and heat of the forum.

There is, it is true, another advantage which we may
 derive from the historians, which, however, despite its great
 importance, has no bearing on our present topic; I refer to the
 advantage derived from the knowledge of historical facts and precedents,
 with which it is most desirable that our orator should be acquainted;
 for such knowledge will save him from having to acquire all his evidence
 from his client and will enable him to draw much that is germane to his
 case from the careful study of antiquity. And such arguments will be all
 the more effective, since they alone will be above suspicion of
 prejudice or partiality.

The fact that there is so much for which we must have recourse to the
 study of the philosophers is the fault of orators who have abandoned
 to them the fullest
 portion of their own task. The Stoics more especially discourse and
 argue with great keenness on what is just, honourable, expedient and the
 reverse, as well as on the problems of theology, while the Socratics
 give the future orator a first-rate preparation for forensic debates and
 the examination of witnesses.

But we must use the same critical caution in studying the philosophers
 that we require in reading history or poetry; that is to say, we must
 bear in mind that, even when we are dealing with the same subjects,
 there is a wide difference between forensic disputes and philosophical
 discussions, between the law-courts and the lecture-room, between the
 precepts of theory and the perils of the bar.

Most of my readers will, I think, demand that, since I attach so much
 importance to reading, I should include in this work some instructions
 as to what authors should be read and what their special excellences may be. To do this in detail would be an
 endless task.

Remember that Cicero in his Brutus, after writing
 pages and pages on the subject of Roman orators alone, says nothing of
 his own contemporaries with the exception of Caesar and Marcellus. What
 limit, then, would there be to my labours if I were to attempt to deal
 with them and with their successors and all the orators of Greece as
 well?

No, it was a safer course that Livy adopted in his letter to his son,
 where he writes that he should read Cicero and Demosthenes and then such
 orators as most resembled them. Still,

I must not conceal my own personal convictions on this subject. I
 believe that there are few, indeed scarcely a single one of those
 authors who have stood the test of time who will not be of some use or
 other to judicious students, since even Cicero himself admits that he
 owes a great debt even to the earliest writers, who for all their talent
 were totally devoid of art.

And my opinion about the moderns is much the same. For how few of them
 are so utterly crazy as not to have the least shadow of hope that some
 portion or other of their work may have claims upon the memory of
 posterity? If there is such an one, he will be detected before we have
 perused many lines of his writings, and we shall escape from him before
 the experiment of reading him has cost us any serious loss of time.

On the other hand, not everything that has some bearing on some
 department of knowledge will necessarily be of service for the formation
 of style, with which we are for the moment concerned. Before, however, I
 begin to speak of individual authors, I must make a few general remarks
 about the variety of judgments which have been passed upon them.

For there are some who think that only the ancients should be read and
 hold that they are the sole possessors of natural eloquence and manly
 vigour; while others revel in the voluptuous and affected style of
 to-day, in which everything is designed to charm the ears of the
 uneducated majority.

And even if we turn to those who desire to follow the correct methods of
 style, we shall find that some think that the only healthy and genuinely
 Attic style is to be found in language which is restrained and simple
 and as little removed as possible from the speech of every day, while
 others are attracted by a style which is more elevated and full of
 energy and animation. There are, too, not a few who are devoted to a
 gentle, elegant and harmonious style. Of these different ideals I shall
 speak in greater detail, when I come to discuss the question of the
 particular styles best suited to oratory. 
 For the moment I shall restrict myself to touching briefly on what the
 student who desires to consolidate his powers of speaking should seek in
 his reading and to what kind of reading he should devote his attention.
 My design is merely to select a few of the most eminent authors for
 consideration.

It will be easy for the student to decide for himself what authors most
 nearly resemble these: consequently, no one will have any right to
 complain if I pass over some of his favourites. For I will readily admit
 that there are more authors worth reading than those whom I propose to
 mention. But I will now proceed to deal with the various classes of
 reading which I consider most suitable for those who are ambitious of
 becoming orators.

I shall, I think, be right in following the principle laid down by Aratus in the line, With
 Jove let us begin, and in beginning with Homer. He is like
 his own conception of Ocean, which he describes
 as the source of every stream and river; for he has given us a model and
 an inspiration for every department of eloquence. It will be generally
 admitted that no one has ever surpassed him in the sublimity with which
 he invests great themes or the propriety with which he handles small. He
 is at once luxuriant and concise, sprightly and serious, remarkable at
 once for his fullness and his brevity, and supreme not merely for
 poetic, but for oratorical power as well.

For, to say nothing of his eloquence, which he shows in praise,
 exhortation and consolation, do not the ninth book containing the
 embassy to Achilles, the first describing the quarrel between the
 chiefs, or the speeches delivered by the counsellors in the second,
 display all the rules of art to be followed in forensic or deliberative
 oratory?

As regards the emotions, there can be no one so illeducated as to deny
 that the poet was the master of all, tender and vehement alike. Again,
 in the few lines with which he introduces both of his epics, has he not,
 I will not say observed, but actually established the law which should
 govern the composition of the exordium? For, by his invocation of the
 goddesses believed to preside over poetry he wins the goodwill of his
 audience, by his statement of the greatness of his themes he excites
 their attention and renders them receptive by the briefness of his
 summary.

Who can narrate more briefly than the hero who brings the news of Patroclus' death, or more vividly
 than he who describes the battle
 between the Curetes and the Aetolians? Then consider his similes, his amplifications, his illustrations,
 digressions, indications of fact, inferences, and all the other methods
 of proof and refutation which he employs. They are so numerous that the
 majority of writers on the principles of rhetoric have gone to his works
 for examples of all these things.

And as for perorations, what can ever be equal to the prayers which
 Priam addresses to Achilles when he comes to beg for the body of his son?
 Again, does he not transcend the limits of human genius in his choice of
 words, his reflexions, figures, and the arrangement of his whole work,
 with the result that it requires a powerful mind, I will not say to
 imitate, for that is impossible, but even to appreciate his excellences?

But he has in truth outdistanced all that have come after him in every
 department of eloquence, above all, he has outstripped all other writers
 of epic, the contrast in their case being especially striking owing to
 the similarity of the material with which they deal.

Hesiod rarely rises to any height, while a great part of his works is
 filled almost entirely with names : none the less, his maxims of moral wisdom
 provide a useful model, the smooth flow of his words and structure merit
 our approval, and he is assigned the first place among writers of the
 intermediate style.

On the other hand, Antimachus deserves praise for the vigour,
 dignity and elevation of his language. But although practically all
 teachers of literature rank him second among epic poets, he is deficient
 in emotional power, charm, and arrangement of matter, and totally devoid
 of real art. No better example can be found to show what a vast
 difference there is to being near another writer and being second to
 him.

Panyasis is regarded as
 combining the qualities of the last two poets, being their inferior in
 point of style, but surpassing Hesiod in the choice of his subject and
 Antimachus in its arrangement. Apollonius is not admitted to the lists drawn up by the
 professors of literature, because the critics, Aristarchus and
 Aristophanes, included no contemporary poets. None the less, his
 work is by no means to be despised, being distinguished by the
 consistency with which he maintains his level as a representative of the
 intermediate type.

The subject chosen by Aratus is lifeless and monotonous, affording no
 scope for pathos, description of character, or eloquent speeches.
 However, he is adequate for the task to which he felt himself equal.
 Theocritus is admirable in his own way, but the rustic and pastoral muse
 shrinks not merely from the forum, but from town-life of every kind.

I think I hear my readers on all sides suggesting the names of hosts of
 other poets. What? Did not Pisandros tell the story of Hercules in admirable style? Were
 there not good reasons for Virgil and Macer taking Nicander as a model? Are we to ignore Euphorion?
 Unless Virgil
 had admired him, he would never have mentioned 
 
 verses written in Chalcidic
 strain 
 
 in the Eclogues. Again, had Horace no justification for coupling the
 name of Tyrtacus with that of Homer?

To which I reply, that there is no one so ignorant of poetic literature
 that he could not, if he chose, copy a catalogue of such poets from some
 library for insertion in his own treatises. I
 can therefore assure my readers that I am well aware of the existence of
 the poets whom I pass over in silence, and am far from condemning them,
 since I have already said that some profit may be derived from every
 author.

But we must wait till our powers have been developed and established to
 the full before we turn to these poets, just as at banquets we take our
 fill of the best fare and then turn to other food which, in spite of its
 comparative inferiority, is still attractive owing to its variety. Not
 until our taste is formed shall we have leisure to study the elegiac
 poets as well. Of these, Callimachus is regarded as the best, the second
 place being, according to the verdict of most critics, occupied by
 Philetas.

But until we have acquired that assured facility of which I spoke, we must
 familiarise ourselves with the best writers only and must form our minds
 and develop an appropriate tone by reading that is deep rather than
 wide. Consequently, of the three writers of iambics approved by the judgment of Aristarchus, Archilochus
 will be far the most useful for the formation of the facility in
 question.

For he has a most forcible style, is full of vigorous, terse and pungent
 reflexions, and overflowing with life and energy: indeed, some critics
 think that it is due solely to the nature of his subjects, and not to
 his genius, that any poets are to be ranked above him.

Of the nine lyric poets Pindar is by far the greatest, in virtue of his
 inspired magnificence, the beauty of his thoughts and figures, the rich
 exuberance of his language and matter, and his rolling flood of
 eloquence, characteristics which, as Horace 
 rightly held, make him inimitable.

The greatness of the genius of Stesichorus is shown by his choice of subject: for he sings of the
 greatest wars and the most glorious of chieftains, and the music of his
 lyre is equal to the weighty themes of epic poetry. For both in speech
 and action he invests his characters with the dignity which is their
 due, and if he had only been capable of exercising a little more
 restraint, he might, perhaps, have proved a serious rival to Homer. But
 he is redundant and diffuse, a fault which, while deserving of censure,
 is nevertheless a defect springing from the very fullness of his genius.

Alcaeus has deserved the compliment of being said to make music with quill of gold 
 in that portion of his works in which he attacks the tyrants of
 his day and shows himself a real moral force. He is, moreover, terse and
 magnificent in style, while the vigour of his diction resembles that of
 oratory. But he also wrote poetry of a more sportive nature and stooped
 to erotic poetry, despite his aptitude for loftier themes.

Simonides wrote in a simple style, but may be
 recommended for the propriety and charm of his language. His chief
 merit, however, lies in his power to excite pity, so much so, in fact,
 that some rank him in this respect above all writers of this class of
 poetry.

The old comedy is almost the only form of poetry which preserves intact
 the true grace of Attic diction, while it is characterized by the most
 eloquent freedom of speech, and shows especial power in the denunciation
 of vice; but it reveals great force in other departments as well. For
 its style is at once lofty, elegant and graceful, and if we except
 Homer, who, like Achilles among warriors, is beyond
 all comparison, I am not sure that there is any style which bears a
 closer resemblance to oratory or is better adapted for forming the
 orator.

There are a number of writers of the old comedy, but the best are
 Aristophanes, Eupolis and Cratinus. Aeschylus was
 the first to bring tragedy into prominence: he is lofty, dignified,
 grandiloquent often to a fault, but frequently uncouth and inharmonious.
 Consequently, the Athenians allowed later poets to revise his tragedies
 and to produce them in the dramatic contests, and many succeeded in
 winning the prize by such means.

Sophocles and Euripides, however, brought tragedy to far greater
 perfection: they differ in style, but it is much disputed as to which
 should be awarded the supremacy, a question which, as it has no bearing
 on my present theme, I shall make no attempt to decide. But this much is
 certain and incontrovertible, that Euripides will be found of far
 greater service to those who are training themselves for pleading in
 court.

For his language, although actually censured by those who regard the
 dignity, the stately stride and sonorous utterance of Sophocles as being
 more sublime, has a closer affinity to that of oratory, while he is full
 of striking reflexions, in which, indeed, in their special sphere, he
 rivals the philosophers themselves, and for defence and attack may be
 compared with any orator that has won renown in the courts. Finally,
 although admirable in every kind of emotional appeal, he is easily
 supreme in the power to excite pity.

Menander, as he often testifies in his works, had a profound admiration
 for Euripides, and imitated him, although in a different type of work.
 Now, the careful study of Menander alone would, in
 my opinion, be sufficient to develop all those qualities with the
 production of which my present work is concerned; so perfect is his
 representation of actual life, so rich is his power of invention and his
 gift of style, so perfectly does he adapt himself to every kind of
 circumstance, character and emotion.

Indeed, those critics are no fools who think the speeches attributed to
 Charisius were in reality written by
 Menander. But I consider that he shows his power as an orator far more
 clearly in his comedies; since assuredly we can find no more perfect
 models of every oratorical quality than the judicial pleadings of his
 Epitrepontes, Epicleros
 and Locri, or the declamatory speeches in the Psophodes, Nomothetes. and
 Hypobolimaeus.

Still, for my own part, I think that he will be found even more useful
 by declaimers, in view of the fact that they have, according to the
 nature of the various controversial themes, to undertake a number of
 different roles and to impersonate fathers, sons, soldiers, peasants,
 rich men and poor, the angry man and the suppliant, the gentle and the
 harsh. And all these characters are treated by this poet with consummate
 appropriateness.

Indeed, such is his supremacy that he has scarce left a name to other
 writers of the new comedy, and has cast them into darkness by the
 splendour of his own renown. Still, you will find something of value in
 the other comic poets as well, if you read them in not too critical a
 spirit; above all, profit may be derived from the study of Philemon,
 who, although it
 was a depraved taste which caused his contemporaries
 often to prefer him to Menander, has none the less deserved the second
 place which posterity has been unanimous in awarding him.

If we turn to history, we shall find a number of distinguished writers;
 but there are two who must undoubtedly be set far above all their
 rivals: their excellences are different in kind, but have won almost
 equal praise. Thucydides is compact in texture, terse and ever eager to
 press forward: Herodotus is pleasant, lucid and diffuse: the former
 excels in vigour, speeches and the expression of the stronger passions;
 the latter in charm, conversations and the delineation of the gentler
 emotions.

Theopompus comes next, and
 though as a historian he is inferior to the authors just mentioned, his
 style has a greater resemblance to oratory, which is not surprising, as
 he was an orator before he was urged to turn to history. Philistus also deserves
 special distinction among the crowd of later historians, good though
 they may have been: he was an imitator of Thucydides, and though far his
 inferior, was somewhat more lucid. Ephorus, 
 according to Isocrates, needed the spur.

Clitarchus has won approval by his talent, but his
 accuracy has been impugned. Timagenes was born long
 after these authors, but deserves our praise for the very fact that he
 revived the credit of history, the writing of which had fallen into
 neglect. I have not forgotten Xenophon, but he will find his place among
 the philosophers.

There follows a vast army of orators, Athens alone having produced ten
 remarkable orators 
 in the same generation. Of these Dermosthenes is far the greatest:
 indeed he came to be regarded almost as the sole pattern of oratory.
 Such is the force and compactness of his language, so muscular his
 style, so free from tameness and so self-controlled, that you will find
 nothing in him that is either too much or too little.

The style of Aesehines is fuller and more diffuse, while his lack of
 restraint gives an appearance of grandeur. But he has more flesh and
 less muscle. Hyperides has extraordinary charm and point, but is better
 qualified, not to say more useful, for cases of minor importance.

Lysias belongs to an earlier generation than those whom I have just
 mentioned. He has subtlety and elegance and, if the orator's sole duty
 were merely to instruct, it would be impossible to conceive greater
 perfection. For there is nothing irrelevant or far-fetched in his
 speeches. None the less I would compare him to a clear spring rather
 than to a mighty river.

Isocrates was an exponent of a different style of oratory: he is neat
 and polished and better suited to the fencingschool than to the
 battlefield. He elaborated all the graces of style, nor was he without
 justification. For lie had trained himself for the lecture-room and not
 the law-courts. He is ready in invention, his moral ideals are high and
 the care which he bestows upon his rhythm is such as to be a positive
 fault.

I do not regard these as the sole merits of the orators of whom I have
 spoken, but have selected what seemed to me their chief excellences,
 while those whom I have passed over in silence were far from being
 indifferent. In fact, I will readily admit that the 
 famous Demetrius of Phalerum, who is said to have been the
 first to set oratory on the downward path, was a man of great talent and
 eloquence and deserves to be remembered, if only for the fact that he is
 almost the last of the Attic school who can be called an orator: indeed
 Cicero prefers him to all other orators of the intermediate school.

Proceeding to the philosophers, from whom Cicero acknowledges that he
 derived such a large portion of his eloquence, we shall all admit that
 Plato is supreme whether in acuteness or perception or in virtue of his
 divine gift of style, which is worthy of Homer. For he soars high above
 the levels of ordinary prose or, as the Greeks call it, pedestrian
 language, and seems to me to be inspired not by mere human genius, but,
 as it were, by the oracles of the god of Delphi.

Why should I speak of the unaffected charm of Xenophon, so far beyond
 the power of affectation to attain? The Graces themselves seem to have
 moulded his style, and we may with the utmost justice say of him, what
 the writer of the old comedy said of Pericles, that the goddess of
 persuasion sat enthroned upon his lips.

Why should I dwell on the elegance of the rest of the Socratics? or on
 Aristotle, with regard to whom I hesitate whether to praise
 him more for his knowledge, for the multitude of his writings, the
 sweetness of his style, the penetration revealed by his discoveries or
 the variety of the tasks which he essayed? In
 Theophrastus we find such a superhuman
 brilliance of style that his name is said to be derived therefrom.

The ancient Stoics indulged their eloquence comparatively little. Still,
 they pleaded the cause of virtue, and the rules which they laid down for
 argument and proof have been of the utmost value. But they showed
 themselves shrewd thinkers rather than striking orators, which indeed
 they never aimed at being.

I now come to Roman authors, and shall follow the same order in dealing
 with them. As among Greek authors Homer provided us with the most
 auspicious opening, so will Virgil among our own. For of all epic poets,
 Greek or Roman, he, without doubt, most nearly approaches to Homer.

I will repeat the words which I heard Domitius Afer use in my young
 days. I asked what poet in his opinion came nearest to Homer, and he
 replied, Virgil comes second, but is nearer first than
 third. And in truth, although we must needs bow before the
 immortal and superhuman genius of Homer, there is greater diligence and
 exactness in the work of Virgil just because his task was harder. And
 perhaps the superior uniformity of the Roman's excellence balances
 Homer's pre-eminence in his outstanding passages.

All our other poets follow a long way in the rear. Macer and Lucretius
 are, it is true, worth reading, but not for the purpose of forming
 style, that is to say, the body of eloquence: both deal elegantly with
 their themes, but the former is tame and the latter difficult. The poems
 by which Varro of Atax 
 gained his reputation were translations, but he is by no means to be
 despised, although his diction is not sufficiently rich to be of much
 service in developing the resources of
 eloquence.

Ennius deserves our reverence, but only as those groves whose age has
 made them sacred, but whose huge and ancient trunks inspire us with
 religious awe rather than with admiration for their beauty. There are
 other poets who are nearer in point of time and more useful for our
 present purpose. Ovid has a lack of seriousness even when he writes epic
 and is unduly enamoured of his own gifts, but portions of his work merit
 our praise.

On the other hand, although Cornelius Severus is a better versifier than
 poet, yet if, as has been said, he had written his poem on the Sicilian
 war in the same style throughout as his first book, he would have had a
 just claim to the second place. A premature death prevented the powers
 of Serranus from ripening to perfection,
 but his youthful works reveal the highest talent and a devotion to the
 true ideal of poetry, which is remarkable in one so young.

We have suffered serious loss in the recent death of Valerius Flaccus.
 Saleius Bassus showed an ardent and genuinely poetic genius, but, like that of
 Serranus, it was not mellowed by years. Rabirius and Pedo deserve to be studied by those who
 have the time. Lucan is fiery and passionate and remarkable for the
 grandeur of his general reflexions, but, to be frank, I consider that he
 is more suitable for imitation by the orator than by the poet.

I have restricted my list of poets to these names, because Germanicus
 Augustus has been distracted from the
 study of poetry on which he had embarked by his care for the governance
 of the world, and the gods have thought it scarce worthy of his powers
 that he should be the greatest of poets. But what can be more sublime,
 more learned, more perfect in every detail than those works to which he
 devoted himself in the seclusion to which he retired after conferring
 the supreme power upon his father and his brother? Who could sing of war
 better than he who wages it with such skill? To whom would the goddesses
 that preside over literature sooner lend an ear? To whom would Minerva,
 his familiar deity, more readily reveal
 her secrets?

Future ages shall tell of these things more fully; to-day his glory as a
 poet is dimmed by the splendour of his other virtues. But you will
 forgive us, Caesar, who worship at the shrine of literature, if we
 refuse to pass by your achievements in silence and insist on testifying
 at least that, as Virgil sings, 
 
 
 The ivy creeps amid your victor
 bays 
 
 
 Ecl. viii. 13.

We also challenge the supremacy of the Greeks in elegy. Of our elegiac
 poets Tibullus seems to me to be the most terse and elegant. There are,
 however, some who prefer Propertius. Ovid is more sportive than either,
 while Gallus is more severe. Satire, on the other hand, is
 all our own. The first of our poets to win renown in this connexion was
 Lucilius, some of whose devotees are so enthusiastic that they do not
 hesitate to prefer him not merely to all other satirists, but even to
 all other poets. I disagree with them as much as I do with Horace,

who holds that Lucilius' verse has a muddy flow, and that there is always something in him that
 might well be dispensed with. For his learning is as
 remarkable as his freedom of speech, and it is this latter quality that
 gives so sharp an edge and such abundance of wit to his satire. Horace
 is far terser and purer in style, and must be awarded the first place,
 unless my judgment is led astray by my affection for his work. Persius
 also, although he wrote but one book, has acquired a high and
 well-deserved reputation, while there are other distinguished satirists
 still living whose praises will be sung by posterity.

There is, however, another and even older type of satire which derives
 its variety not merely from verse, but from an admixture of prose as
 well. Such were the satires composed by Terentius Varro, the most learned of all
 Romans. He composed a vast number of erudite works, and possessed an
 extraordinary knowledge of the Latin language, of all antiquity and of
 the history of Greece and Rome. But he is an author likely to contribute
 more to the knowledge of the student than to his eloquence.

The iambic has not been popular with Roman poets as a separate form of
 composition, but is found mixed up with other forms of verse. It may be found in all
 its bitterness in Catullus, Bibaculus and
 Horace, although in the last-named the iambic is interrupted by the
 epode. Of our lyric writers Horace is almost the sole
 poet worth reading: for he rises at times to a lofty grandeur and is
 full of sprightliness and charm, while there is great variety in his
 figures, and his boldness in the choice of words is only equalled by his
 felicity. If any other lyric poet is to be mentioned, it will be Caesius
 Bassus, who has but lately passed from us. But he is
 far surpassed in talent by poets still living.

Among writers of tragedy Accius and Pacuvius are
 most remarkable for the force of their general reflexions, the weight of
 their words and the dignity of their characters. But they lack polish,
 and filed to put the finishing touches on their works, although the
 fault was perhaps rather that of the times in which they lived than of
 themselves. Accius is generally regarded as the most vigorous, while
 those who lay claim to learning regard Pacuvius as the more learned of
 the two.

The Thyestes of Varius is a match for any Greek tragedy, and the Medea of Ovid shows,
 in my opinion, to what heights that poet might have risen if he had been
 ready to curb his talents instead of indulging them. Of the tragic
 writers whom I myself have seen, Pomponius Secundus 
 is by far the best: his older critics thought him insufficiently tragic,
 but admitted his eminence as far as learning and polish were concerned.

Comedy is our weakest point. Although Varro quotes Aelius Stilo as saying that if the Muses wished to speak
 Latin, they would use the language of Plautus, although the ancients
 extol Caecilius, and although
 Scipio Africanus is credited with the works of Terence (which are the
 most elegant of their kind, and would be still more graceful if the poet
 had confined himself to the iambic trimeter),

we still scarcely succeed in reproducing even a faint shadow of the
 charm of Greek comedy. Indeed, it seems to me as though the language of
 Rome were incapable of reproducing that graceful wit which was granted to Athens alone, and was beyond the reach of
 other Greek dialects to achieve. Afranius excels in the purely Roman comedy, but it is to be
 regretted that he revealed his own character by defiling his plots with
 the introduction of indecent paederastic intrigues.

In history, however, we hold our own with the Greeks. I should not
 hesitate to match Saillst against Thucydides, nor would Herodotus resent
 Titus Livius being placed on the same level as himself. For the latter
 has a wonderful charm and transparency in narrative, while his speeches
 are eloquent beyond description; so admirably adapted is all that is
 said both to the circumstances and the speaker; and as regards the
 emotions, especially the more pleasing of them, I may sum him up by
 saying that no historian has ever depicted them to greater perfection.

Thus it is that, although by different means, he has acquired no less
 fame than has been awarded to the immortal rapidity of Sallust. For I
 strongly approve of the saying of Servilius Nonianus, that these
 historians were equal rather than alike. Servilius, whom I myself have
 heard, is himself remarkable for the force of his intellect, and is full
 of general reflexions, but he is less restrained than the dignity of
 history demands.

But that dignity is admirably maintained, thanks to his style, by
 Aufidius Bassus, a slightly earlier
 writer, especially in his work on the German war: he is always
 praiseworthy, though at times he fails to do his powers full justice.

But there still survives to add lustre to this glorious age a man worthy to be remembered through all time: he is
 appreciated today, but after generations shall declare his name aloud. The bold utterances of Crenutius also have their admirers, and deserve
 their fame, though the passages which brought him to his ruin have been
 expurgated; still that which is left reveals a rich store of lofty
 animation and fearless reflexions upon life. There are other good
 writers as well, but I am merely selecting from the different
 departments of literature, not reviewing complete libraries.

But it is our orators, above all, who enable us to match our Roman
 eloquence against that of Greece. For I would set Cicero against any one
 of their orators without fear of refutation. I know well enough what a
 storm I shall raise by this assertion, more especially since I do not
 propose for the moment to compare him with Demosthenes;
 for there would be no point in such a comparison, as I consider that
 Demosthenes should be the object of special study, and not merely
 studied, but even committed to memory.

I regard the excellences of these two orators as being for the most part
 similar, that is to say, their judgment, their gift of arrangement,
 their methods of division, preparation and proof, as well as everything
 concerned with invention. In their actual style there is some
 difference. Demosthenes is more concentrated, Cicero more diffuse;
 Demosthenes makes his periods shorter than Cicero, and his weapon is the
 rapier, whereas Cicero's periods are longer, and at times he employs the
 bludgeon as well: nothing can be taken from the former, nor added to the
 latter; the Greek reveals a more studied, the Roman a more natural art.

As regards wit and the power of exciting pity, the two most powerful
 instruments where the feelings are concerned, we have the advantage.
 Again, it is possible that Demosthenes was deprived
 by national custom of
 the opportunity of producing powerful perorations, but against this may
 be set the fact that the different character of the Latin language
 debars us from the attainment of those qualities which are so much
 admired by the adherents of the Attic school. As regards their letters,
 which have in both cases survived, and dialogues, which Demosthenes
 never attempted, there can be no comparison between the two.

But, on the other hand, there is one point in which the Greek has the
 undoubted superiority: he comes first in point of time, and it was
 largely due to him that Cicero was able to attain greatness. For it
 seems to me that Cicero, who devoted himself heart and soul to the
 imitation of the Greeks, succeeded in reproducing the force of
 Demosthenes, the copious flow of Plato, and the charm of Isocrates.

But he did something more than reproduce the best elements in each of
 these authors by dint of careful study; it was to himself that he owed
 most of, or rather all his excellences, which spring from the
 extraordinary fertility of his immortal genius. For he does not, as
 Pindar says, collect the rain
 from heaven, but wells forth with living water, since
 Providence at his birth conferred this special privilege upon him, that
 eloquence should make trial of all her powers in him.

For who can instruct with greater thoroughness, or more deeply stir the
 emotions? Who has ever possessed such a gift of charm? He seems to
 obtain as a boon what in reality he extorts by force, and when he wrests
 the judge from the path of his own judgment, the latter seems not to be
 swept away, but merely to follow.

Further, there is such weight in all that he says
 that his audience feel ashamed to disagree with him, and the zeal of the
 advocate is so transfigured that it has the effect of the sworn evidence
 of a witness, or the verdict of a judge. And at the same time all these
 excellences, of which scarce one could be attained by the ordinary man
 even by the most concentrated effort, flow from him with every
 appearance of spontaneity, and his style, although no fairer has ever
 fallen on the ears of men, none the less displays the utmost felicity
 and ease.

It was not, therefore, without good reason that his own contemporaries
 spoke of his sovereignty at the bar, and that for
 posterity the name of Cicero has come to be regarded not as the name of
 a man, but as the name of eloquence itself. Let us, therefore, fix our
 eyes on him, take him as our pattern, and let the student realise that
 he has made real progress if he is a passionate admirer of Cicero.

Asinius Pollio had great gifts of invention and great
 precision of language (indeed, some think him too precise), while his
 judgment and spirit were fully adequate. But he is so far from equalling
 the polish and charm of Cicero that he might have been born a generation
 before him. Messala, on the other hand, is polished
 and transparent and displays his nobility in his utterance, but he fails
 to do his powers full justice.

As for Gaius Caesar, if he had had leisure to devote himself to the
 courts, he would have been the one orator who could have been considered
 a serious rival to Cicero. Such are his force, his penetration and his
 energy that we realise that he was as vigorous in speech as in his
 conduct of war. And yet all these qualities are enhanced by a marvellous
 elegance of language, of which he was an exceptionally zealous student.

Caelius has much natural talent and much wit, more especially when
 speaking for the prosecution, and deserved a wiser mind and a longer
 life. I have come across some critics who preferred Calvus to all other
 orators, and others again who agreed with Cicero that too severe
 self-criticism had robbed him of his natural vigour. But he was the
 possessor of a solemn, weighty and chastened style, which was also
 capable at times of genuine vehemence. He was an adherent of the Attic
 school and an untimely death deprived him of his full meed of honour, at
 least if we regard him as likely to have acquired fresh qualities.

Servius Sulpicius 
 acquired a great and well-deserved reputation by his three speeches.
 Cassius Severus, if read with
 discrimination, will provide much that is worthy of imitation: if to his
 other merits he had added appropriateness of tone and dignity of style,

he would deserve a place among the greatest. For his natural talents are
 great, his gift of bitterness, wit and passion remarkable, but he
 allowed the sharpness of his temper to prevail over his judgment.
 Moreover, though his jests are pungent enough, this very pungency often
 turned the laugh against himself.

There are many other clever speakers, but it would be a long task to
 deal with them all. Domitius Afer and Julius Africanus are by far the most distinguished. The former
 is superior in art and in every department of oratory, indeed he may he
 ranked with the old orators without fear of 
 contradiction. The latter shows greater energy, but is too great a
 precisian in the choice of words, prone to tediously long periods and
 somewhat extravagant in his metaphors. There have been distinguished
 talents even of more recent date.

For example, Trachalus was, as a rule, elevated and sufficiently clear in his
 language: one realised that his aims were high, but he was better to
 listen to than to read. For his voice was, in my experience, unique in
 its beauty of tone, while his delivery would have done credit to an
 actor, his action was full of grace and he possessed every external
 advantage in profusion. Vibius Crispus, 
 again, was well-balanced, agreeable and born to charm, though he was
 better in private than in public cases.

Julius Secundus, had he lived longer, would undoubtedly have attained a great and
 enduring reputation. For he would have acquired, as he was actually
 acquiring, all that was lacking to his qualities, namely, a far greater
 pugnacity and a closer attention to substance as well as form.

But, in spite of the untimeliness of his end, he occupies a high place,
 thanks to his fluency, the grace with which he set forth whatever he
 desired, the lucidity, smoothness and beauty of his speech, the
 propriety revealed in the use of words, even when employed figuratively,
 and the point which characterises even his most hazardous expressions.

Subsequent writers on the history of oratory will find abundant material
 for praise among the orators who flourish to-day: for the law courts can
 boast a glorious wealth of talent. Indeed, the consummate advocates of
 the present day are serious rivals of the ancients, while enthusiastic
 effort and lofty ideals lead many a young student to
 tread in their footsteps and imitate their excellence.

I have still to deal with writers on philosophy, of whom Rome has so far
 produced but few who are distinguished for their style. But Cicero, who
 is great in every department of literature, stands out as the rival of
 Plato in this department as well. Brutus was an admirable writer on such themes, in which he
 distinguished himself far more than in his speeches: he is equal to the
 serious nature of his subject, and the reader realises that he feels
 what he says.

Cornelius Celsus, a follower of the Sextii,
 wrote a number of
 philosophical works, which have considerable grace and polish. Among the
 Stoics Plautus is
 useful as giving a knowledge of the subject.

Among the Epicureans Catius is agreeable to read, though lacking in
 weight. I have deliberately postponed the discussion of Seneca in
 connexion with the various departments of literature owing to the fact
 that there is a general, though false, impression that I condemn and
 even detest him. It is true that I had occasion to pass censure upon him
 when I was endeavouring to recall students from a depraved style,
 weakened by every kind of error, to a severer standard of taste.

But at that time Seneca's works were in the hands of every young man,
 and my aim was not to ban his reading altogether, but to prevent his
 being preferred to authors superior to himself, but whom he was never
 tired of disparaging; for, being conscious of the fact that his own
 style was very different from theirs, he was afraid
 that he would fail to please those who admired them. But the young men
 loved him rather than imitated him, and fell as far below him as he fell
 below the ancients.

For I only wish they had equalled or at least approached his level. But
 he pleased them for his faults alone, and each individual sought to
 imitate such of those faults as lay within his capacity to reproduce:
 and then brought reproach on his master by boasting that he spoke in the
 genuine Senecan manner.

Seneca had many excellent qualities, a quick and fertile intelligence
 with great industry and wide knowledge, though as regards the last
 quality he was often led into error by those whom he had entrusted with
 the task of investigating certain subjects on his behalf.

He dealt with almost every department of knowledge; for speeches, poems,
 letters and dialogues all circulate under his name. In philosophy he
 showed a lack of critical power, but was none the less quite admirable
 in his denunciations of vice. His works contain a number of striking
 general reflexions and much that is worth reading for edification; but
 his style is for the most part corrupt and exceedingly dangerous, for
 the very reason that its vices are so many and attractive.

One could wish that, while he relied on his own intelligence, he had
 allowed himself to be guided by the taste of others. For if he had only
 despised all unnatural expressions and had not been so passionately fond
 of all that was incorrect, if he had not felt such affection for all
 that was his own, and had not impaired the solidity of his matter by
 striving after epigrammatic brevity, he would have won the approval of
 the learned instead of the enthusiasm of boys.

But even as it is, he deserves to be read by those whose powers have
 been formed and firmly moulded on the standards of a severer taste, if
 only because he will exercise their critical faculties in distinguishing
 between his merits and his defects. For, as I have said, there is much
 in him which we may approve, much even that we may admire. Only we must
 be careful in our selection: would he had been as careful himself. For
 his genius deserved to be devoted to better aims, since what it does
 actually aim at, it succeeds in achieving.

II. It is from these and
 other authors worthy of our study that we must draw our stock of words,
 the variety of our figures and our methods of composition, while we must
 form our minds on the model of every excellence. For there can be no
 doubt that in art no small portion of our task lies in imitation, since,
 although invention came first and is all-important, it is expedient to
 imitate whatever has been invented with success.

And it is a universal rule of life that we should wish to copy what we
 approve in others. It is for this reason that boys copy the shapes of
 letters that they may learn to write, and that musicians take the voices
 of their teachers, painters the works of their predecessors, and
 peasants the principles of agriculture which have been proved in
 practice, as models for their imitation. In fact, we may note that the
 elementary study of every branch of learning is directed by reference to
 some definite standard that is placed before the learner.

We must, in fact, either be like or unlike those who have proved their
 excellence. It is rare for nature to produce such resemblance, which is
 more often the result of imitation. But the very fact that in every subject the procedure to be followed is so
 much more easy for us than it was for those who had no model to guide
 them, is a positive drawback, unless we use this dubious advantage with
 caution and judgment.

The first point, then, that we must realise is that imitation alone is
 not sufficient, if only for the reason that a sluggish nature is only
 too ready to rest content with the inventions of others. For what would
 have happened in the days when models were not, if men had decided to do
 and think of nothing that they did not know already? The answer is
 obvious: nothing would ever have been discovered.

Why, then, is it a crime for us to discover something new? Were
 primitive men led to make so many discoveries simply by the natural
 force of their imagination, and shall we not then be spurred on to
 search for novelty by the very knowledge that those who sought of old
 were rewarded by success?

And seeing that they, who had none to teach them anything, have handed
 down such store of knowledge to posterity, shall we refuse to employ the
 experience which we possess of some things, to discover yet other
 things, and possess nought that is not owed to the beneficent activity
 of others? Shall we follow the example of those painters whose sole aim
 is to be able to copy pictures by using the ruler and the measuring rod?

It is a positive disgrace to be content to owe all our achievement to
 imitation. For what, I ask again, would have been the result if no one
 had done more than his predecessors? Livius Andronicus would mark
 our supreme achievement in poetry and the annals of the Pontifices 
 would be our ne plus ultra in history. We 
 should still be sailing on rafts, and the art of painting would be
 restricted to tracing a line round a shadow thrown in the sunlight.

Cast your eyes over the whole of history; you will find that no art has
 remained just as it was when it was discovered, nor come to a standstill
 at its very birth, unless indeed we are ready to pass special
 condensation on our own generation on the ground that it is so barren of
 invention that no further development is possible; and it is undoubtedly
 true that no development is possible for those who restrict themselves
 to imitation.

But if we are forbidden to add anything to the existing stock of
 knowledge, how can we ever hope for the birth of our ideal orator? For
 of all the greatest orators with whom we are as yet acquainted, there is
 not one who has not some deficiency or blemish. And even those who do
 not aim at supreme excellence, ought to press toward the mark rather
 than be content to follow in the tracks of others.

For the man whose aim is to prove himself better than another, even if
 he does not surpass him, may hope to equal him. But he can never hope to
 equal him, if he thinks it his duty merely to tread in his footsteps:
 for the mere follower must always lag behind. Further, it is generally
 easier to make some advance than to repeat what has been done by others,
 since there is nothing harder than to produce an exact likeness, and
 nature herself has so far failed in this endeavour that there is always
 some difference which enables us to distinguish even the things which
 seem most like and most equal to one another.

Again, whatever is like another object, must necessarily be inferior to
 the object of its imitation, just as the shadow is
 inferior to the substance, the portrait to the features which it
 portrays, and the acting of the player to the feelings which he
 endeavours to reproduce. The same is true of oratory. For the models
 which we select for imitation have a genuine and natural force, whereas
 all imitation is artificial and moulded to a purpose which was not that
 of the original orator.

This is the reason why declamations have less life and vigour than
 actual speeches, since the subject is fictitious in the one and real in
 the other. Again, the greatest qualities of the orator are beyond all
 imitation, by which I mean, talent, invention, force, facility and all
 the qualities which are independent of art.

Consequently, there are many who, after excerpting certain words from
 published speeches or borrowing certain particular rhythms, think that
 they have produced a perfect copy of the works which they have read,
 despite the fact that words become obsolete or current with the lapse of
 years, the one sure standard being contemporary usage; and they are not
 good or bad in virtue of their inherent nature (for in themselves they
 are no more than mere sounds), but solely in virtue of the aptitude and
 propriety (or the reverse) with which they are arranged, while
 rhythmical composition must be adapted to the theme in hand and will
 derive its main charm from its variety.

Consequently the nicest judgment is required in the examination of
 everything connected with this department of study. First we must
 consider whom to imitate. For there are many who have shown a passionate
 desire to imitate the worst and most decadent authors. Secondly, we must
 consider what it is that we should set ourselves to
 imitate in the authors thus chosen.

For even great authors have their blemishes, for which they have been
 censured by competent critics and have even reproached each other. I
 only wish that imitators were more likely to improve on the good things
 than to exaggerate the blemishes of the authors whom they seek to copy.
 And even those who have sufficient critical acumen to avoid the faults
 of their models will not find it sufficient to produce a copy of their
 merits, amounting to no more than a superficial resemblance, or rather
 recalling those sloughs which, according to Epicurus, are continually
 given off by material things.

But this is just what happens to those who mould themselves on the first
 impressions derived from the style of their model, without devoting
 themselves to a thorough investigation of its good qualities, and,
 despite the brilliance of their imitation and the close resemblance of
 their language and rhythm, not only fail absolutely to attain the force
 of style and invention possessed by the original, but as a rule
 degenerate into something worse, and achieve merely those faults which
 are hardest to distinguish from virtues: they are turgid instead of
 grand, bald instead of concise, and rash instead of courageous, while
 extravagance takes the place of wealth, over-emphasis the place of
 harmony and negligence of simplicity.

As a result, those who flaunt tasteless and insipid thoughts, couched in
 an uncouth and inharmonious form, think that they are the equals of the
 ancients; those who lack ornament and epigram, pose as Attic; those who
 darken their meaning by the abruptness with which they close their
 periods, count themselves the superiors of Sallust and Thucydides; those
 who are dreary and jejune, think that they are
 serious rivals to Pollio, while those who are tame and listless, if only
 they can produce long enough periods, swear that this is just the manner
 in which Cicero would have spoken.

I have known some who thought that they had produced a brilliant
 imitation of the style of that divine orator, by ending their periods
 with the phrase esse videatur. 
 Consequently it is of the first importance that every student
 should realise what it is that he is to imitate, and should know why it
 is good.

The next step is for each student to consult his own powers when he
 shoulders his burden. For there are some things which, though capable of
 imitation, may be beyond the capacity of any given individual, either
 because his natural gifts are insufficient or of a different character.
 The man whose talent is for the plain style should not seek only what is
 bold and rugged, nor yet should he who has vigour without control suffer
 himself through love of subtlety at once to waste his natural energy and
 fail to attain the elegance at which he aims: for there is nothing so
 unbecoming as delicacy wedded to ruggedness.

True, I did express the opinion that the instructor whose portrait I
 painted in my second book, should not confine himself to teaching those things for
 which he perceived his individual pupils to have most aptitude. For it
 is his further duty to foster whatever good qualities he may perceive in
 his pupils, to make good their deficiencies as far as may be, to correct
 their faults and turn them to better things. For he is the guide and
 director of the minds of others. It is a harder task to mould one's own
 nature.

But not even our ideal teacher, however much he may
 desire that everything that is correct should prevail in his school to
 the fullest extent, will waste his labour in attempting to develop
 qualities to the attainment of which he perceives nature's gifts to be
 opposed. It is also necessary to avoid the fault to which the majority
 of students are so prone, namely, the idea that in composing speeches we
 should imitate the poets and historians, and in writing history or
 poetry should copy orators and declaimers.

Each branch of literature has its own laws and its own appropriate
 character. Comedy does not seek to increase its height by the buskin and
 tragedy does not wear the slipper of comedy. But all forms of eloquence
 have something in common, and it is to the imitation of this common
 element that our efforts should be confined.

There is a further fault to which those persons are liable who devote
 themselves entirely to the imitation of one particular style: if the
 rude vigour of some particular author takes their fancy, they cling to
 it even when the case on which they are engaged calls for an easy and
 flowing style; if, on the other hand, it is a simple or agreeable style
 that claims their devotion, they fail to meet the heavy demands of
 severe and weighty cases. For not only do cases differ in their general
 aspect, but one part of a case may differ from another, and some things
 require a gentle and others a violent style, some require an impetuous
 and others a calm diction, while in some cases it is necessary to
 instruct and in others to move the audience, in all these instances
 dissimilar and different methods being necessary.

Consequently I should be reluctant even to advise a 
 student to select one particular author to follow through thick and
 thin. Demosthenes is by far the most perfect of Greek orators, yet there
 are some things which others have said better in some contexts as
 against the many things which he has said better than others. But it
 does not follow that because we should select one author for special
 imitation, he should be our only model. What then?

Is it not sufficient to model our every utterance on Cicero? For my own
 part, I should consider it sufficient, if I could always imitate him
 successfully. But what harm is there in occasionally borrowing the
 vigour of Caesar, the vehemence of Caelius, the precision of Pollio or
 the sound judgment of Calvus?

For quite apart from the fact that a wise man should always, if
 possible, make whatever is best in each individual author his own, we
 shall find that, in view of the extreme difficulty of our subject, those
 who fix their eyes on one model only will always find some one quality
 which it is almost impossible to acquire therefrom. Consequently, since
 it is practically impossible for mortal powers to produce a perfect and
 complete copy of any one chosen author, we shall do well to keep a
 number of different excellences before our eyes, so that different
 qualities from different authors may impress themselves on our minds, to
 be adopted for use in the place that becomes them best.

But imitation (for I must repeat this point again and again) should not
 be confined merely to words. We must consider the appropriateness with
 which those orators handle the circumstances and persons involved in the
 various cases in which they were engaged, and observe the judgment and
 powers of arrangement which they reveal, and the manner in which everything they say, not excepting those
 portions of their speeches which seem designed merely to delight their
 audience, is concentrated on securing the victory over their opponents.
 We must note their procedure in the exordium, the method and variety of
 their statement of facts, the power displayed in proof and refutation,
 the skill revealed in their appeal to every kind of emotion, and the
 manner in which they make use of popular applause to serve their case,
 applause which is most honourable when it is spontaneous and not
 deliberately courted. If we have thoroughly appreciated all these
 points, we shall be able to imitate our models with accuracy.

But the man who to these good qualities adds his own, that is to say,
 who makes good deficiencies and cuts down whatever is redundant, will be
 the perfect orator of our search; and it is now above all times that
 such perfection should be attained when there are before us so many more
 models of oratorical excellence than were available for those who have
 thus far achieved the highest success. For this glory also shall be
 theirs, that men shall say of them that while they surpassed their
 predecessors, they also taught those who came after.

Such are the aids which we may derive from external sources; as regards
 those which we must supply for ourselves, it is the pen which brings at
 once the most labour and the most profit. Cicero is fully justified in
 describing it as the best producer and teacher of eloquence, and it may
 be noted that in the de Oratore 
 he supports his own judgment by the authority of Lucius
 Crassus, in whose mouth he places this remark.

We must therefore write as much as possible and with
 the utmost care. For as deep ploughing makes the soil more fertile for
 the production and support of crops, so, if we improve our minds by
 something more than mere superficial study, we shall produce a richer
 growth of knowledge and shall retain it with greater accuracy. For
 without the consciousness of such preliminary study our powers of
 speaking extempore will give us nothing but an empty flow of words,
 springing from the lips and not from the brain.

It is in writing that eloquence has its roots and foundations, it is
 writing that provides that holy of holies where the wealth of oratory is
 stored, and whence it is produced to meet the demands of sudden
 emergencies. It is of the first importance that we should develop such
 strength as will not faint under the toil of forensic strife nor be
 exhausted by continual use.

For it is an ordinance of nature that nothing great can be achieved in a
 moment, and that all the fairest tasks are attended with difficulty,
 while on births as well she has imposed this law, that the larger the
 animal, the longer should be the period of gestation. There are,
 however, two questions which present themselves in this connexion,
 namely, what should be our method and what the subjects on which we
 write, and I propose to treat them in this order.

At first, our pen must be slow yet sure: we must search for what is best
 and refuse to give a joyful welcome to every thought the moment that it
 presents itself; we must first criticise the fruits of our imagination,
 and then, once approved, arrange them with care. For we must select both
 thoughts and words and weigh them one by one. This done, we must consider the order in which they should be
 placed, and must examine all the possible varieties of rhythm, refusing
 necessarily to place each word in the order in which it occurs to us.

In order to do this with the utmost care, we must frequently revise what
 we have just written. For beside the fact that thus we secure a better
 connexion between what follows and what precedes, the warmth of thought
 which has cooled down while we were writing is revived anew, and gathers
 fresh impetus from going over the ground again. We may compare this
 protess with what occurs in jumping matches. The competitors take a
 longer run and go at full speed to clear the distance which they aim at
 covering; similarly, in throwing the javelin, we draw back our arms, and
 in archery pull back the bow-string to propel the shaft.

At times, however, we may spread our sails before the favouring breeze,
 but we must beware that this indulgence does not lead us into error. For
 we love all the offspring of our thought at the moment of their birth;
 were that not so, we should never commit them to writing. But we must
 give them a critical revision, and go carefully over any passage where
 we have reason to regard our fluency with suspicion.

It is thus, we are told, that Sallust wrote, and certainly his works
 give clear evidence of the labour which he expended on them. Again, we
 learn from Varius that Virgil composed but a very small number of verses
 every day.

It is true that with orators the case is somewhat different, and it is
 for this reason that I enjoin such slowness of speed and such anxious
 care at the outset. For the first aim which we must fix in our minds and
 insist on carrying into execution is to write as
 well as possible; speed will come with practice. Gradually thoughts will
 suggest themselves with increasing readiness, the words will answer to
 our call and rhythmical arrangement will follow, till everything will be
 found fulfilling its proper function as in a well-ordered household. The
 sum of the whole matter is this:

write quickly and you will never write well, write well and you will
 soon write quickly. But it is just when we have acquired this facility
 that we must pause awhile to look ahead and, if I may use the metaphor,
 curb the horses that would run away with us. This will not delay our
 progress so much as lend us fresh vigour. For I do not think that those
 who have acquired a certain power in writing should be condemned to the
 barren pains of false self-criticism.

How can anyone fulfil his duties as an advocate if he wastes his time in
 putting unnecessary finish on each portion of his pleadings? There are
 some who are never satisfied. They wish to change everything they have
 written and to put it in other words. They are a diffident folk, and
 deserve but ill of their own talents, who think it a mark of precision
 to cast obstacles in the way of their own writing.

Nor is it easy to say which are the most serious offenders, those who
 are satisfied with everything or those who are satisfied with nothing
 that they write. For it is of common occurrence with young men, however
 talented they may be, to waste their gifts by superfluous elaboration,
 and to sink into silence through an excessive desire to speak well. I
 remember in this connexion a story that Julius Secundus, my
 contemporary, and, as is well known, my very dear friend, a man with
 remarkable powers of eloquence, but with an infinite
 passion for precision, told me of the words once used to him by his
 uncle,

Julius Florus, the leading orator of Gaul, for it was there that he
 practised, a man eloquent as but few have ever been, and worthy of his
 nephew. He once noticed that Secundus, who was still a student, was
 looking depressed, and asked him the meaning of his frowns. The youth
 made no concealment of the reason:

he had been working for three days, and had been unable, in spite of all
 his efforts, to devise an exordium for the theme which he had been given
 to write, with the result that he was not only vexed over his immediate
 difficulty, but had lost all hope of future success. Florus smiled and
 said, Do you really want to speak better than you
 can?

There lies the truth of the whole matter. We must aim at speaking as
 well as we can, but must not try to speak better than our nature will
 permit. For to make any real advance we need study, not selfaccusation.
 And it is not merely practice that will enable us to write at greater
 length and with increased fluency, although doubtless practice is most
 important. We need judgement as well. So long as we do not he back with
 eyes turned up to the ceiling, trying to fire our imagination by
 muttering to ourselves, in the hope that something will present itself,
 but turn our thoughts to consider what the circumstances of the case
 demand, what suits the characters involved, what is the nature of the
 occasion and the temper of the judge, we shall acquire the power of
 writing by rational means. It is thus that nature herself bids us begin
 and pursue our studies once well begun.

For most points are of a definite character and, if we keep our eyes
 open, will spontaneously present themselves. That
 is the reason why peasants and uneducated persons do not beat about the
 bush to discover with what they should begin, and our hesitation is all
 the more shameful if it is simply the result of education. We must not,
 therefore, persist in thinking that what is hard to find is necessarily
 best; for, if it seems to us that there is nothing to be said except
 that which we are unable to find, we must say nothing at all.

On the other hand, there is a fault which is precisely the opposite of
 this, into which those fall who insist on first making a rapid draft of
 their subject with the utmost speed of which their pen is capable, and
 write in the heat and impulse of the moment. They call this their rough
 copy. They then revise what they have written, and arrange their hasty
 outpourings. But while the words and the rhythm may be corrected, the
 matter is still marked by the superficiality resulting from the speed
 with which it was thrown together.

The more correct method is, therefore, to exercise care from the very
 beginning, and to form the work from the outset in such a manner that it
 merely requires to be chiselled into shape, not fashioned anew.
 Sometimes, however, we must follow the stream of our emotions, since
 their warmth will give us more than any diligence can secure.

The condemnation which I have passed on such carelessness in writing
 will make it pretty clear what my views are on the luxury of dictation
 which is now so fashionable. For, when we write, however great our
 speed, the fact that the hand cannot follow the rapidity of our thoughts
 gives us time to think, whereas the presence of our
 amanuensis hurries us on, and at times we feel ashamed to hesitate or
 pause, or make some alteration, as though we were afraid to display such
 weakness before a witness.

As a result our language tends not merely to be haphazard and formless,
 but in our desire to produce a continuous flow we let slip positive
 improprieties of diction, which show neither the precision of the writer
 nor the impetuosity of the speaker. Again, if the amanuensis is a slow
 writer, or lacking in intelligence, he becomes a stumbling-block, our
 speed is checked, and the thread of our ideas is interrupted by the
 delay or even perhaps by the loss of temper to which it gives rise.

Moreover, the gestures which accompany strong feeling, and sometimes
 even serve to stimulate the mind, the waving of the hand, the
 contraction of the brow, the occasional striking of forehead or side,
 and those which Persius notes when he describes a trivial style as one that
 
 
 Thumps not the desk nor
 smacks of bitten nails, 
 
 all these become
 ridiculous, unless we are alone, Finally,

we come to the most important consideration of all, that the advantages
 of privacy are lost when we dictate. Everyone, however, will agree that
 the absence of company and deep silence are most conducive to writing,
 though I would not go so far as to concur in the opinion of those who
 think woods and groves the most suitable localities for the purpose, on
 the ground that the freedom of the sky and the charm of the surroundings
 produce sublimity of thought and wealth of inspiration.

Personally I regard such an environment as a 
 pleasant luxury rather than a stimulus to study. For whatever causes us
 delight, must necessarily distract us from the concentration due to our
 work. The mind cannot devote its undivided and sincere attention to a
 number of things at the same time, and wherever it turns its gaze it
 must cease to contemplate its appointed task.

Therefore, the charm of the woods, the gliding of the stream, the breeze
 that murmurs in the branches, the song of birds, and the very freedom
 with which our eyes may range, are mere distractions, and in my opinion
 the pleasure which they excite is more likely to relax than to
 concentrate our attention.

Demosthenes took a wiser view; for he would retire to a place where no voice was to
 be heard, and no prospect greeted the sight, for fear that his eyes
 might force his mind to neglect its duty. Therefore, let the burner of
 the midnight oil seclude himself in the silence of night, within closed
 doors, with but a solitary lamp to light his labours.

But for every kind of study, and more especially for night work, good
 health and its chief source, simple living, are essential; for we have
 fallen into the habit of devoting to relentless labour the hour which
 nature has appointed for rest and relaxation. From those hours we must
 take only such time as is superfluous for sleep, and will not be missed.

For fatigue will make us careless in writing, and the hours of daylight
 are amply sufficient for one who has no other distractions. It is only
 the busy man who is driven to encroach on the hours of darkness.
 Nevertheless, night work, so long as we come to it fiesh and untired,
 provides by far the best form of privacy.

But although silence and seclusion and absolute freedom of mind are
 devoutly to be desired, they are not always within our power to attain.
 Consequently we must not fling aside our book at once, if disturbed by
 some noise, and lament that we have lost a day: on the contrary, we must
 make a firm stand against such inconveniences, and train ourselves so to
 concentrate our thoughts as to rise superior to all impediments to
 study. If only you direct all your attention to the work which you have
 in hand, no sight or sound will ever penetrate to your mind.

If even casual thoughts often occupy us to such an extent that we do not
 see passers-by, or even stray from our path, surely we can obtain the
 same result by the exercise of our will. We must not give way to
 pretexts for sloth. For unless we make up our mind that we must be
 fresh, cheerful and free from all other care when we approach our
 studies, we shall always find some excuse for idleness.

Therefore, whether we be in a crowd, on a journey, or even at some
 festive gathering, our thoughts should always have some inner sanctuary
 of their own to which they may retire. Otherwise what shall we do when
 we are suddenly called upon to deliver a set speech in the midst of the
 forum, with lawsuits in progress on every side, and with the sound of
 quarrels and even casual outcries in our ears, if we need absolute
 privacy to discover the thoughts which we jot down upon our tablets? It
 was for this reason that Demosthenes, the passionate lover of seclusion,
 used to study on the seashore amid the roar of the breakers that they
 might teach him not to be unnerved by the uproar of the public assembly.

There are also certain minor details which deserve 
 our attention, for there is nothing too minute for the student. It is
 best to write on wax owing to the facility which it offers for erasure,
 though weak sight may make it desirable to employ parchment by
 preference. The latter, however, although of assistance to the eye,
 delays the hand and interrupts the stream of thought owing to the
 frequency with which the pen has to be supplied with ink.

But whichever we employ, we must leave blank pages that we may be free
 to make additions when we will. For lack of space at times gives rise to
 a reluctance to make corrections, or, at any rate, is liable to cause
 confusion when new matter is inserted. The wax tablets should not be
 unduly wide; for I have known a young and over-zealous student write his
 compositions at undue length, because he measured them by the number of
 lines, a fault which persisted, in spite of frequent admonition, until
 his tablets were changed, when it disappeared.

Space must also be left for jotting down the thoughts which occur to the
 writer out of due order, that is to say, which refer to subjects other
 than those in hand. For sometimes the most admirable thoughts break in
 upon us which cannot be inserted in what we are writing, but which, on
 the other hand, it is unsafe to put by, since they are at times
 forgotten, and at times cling to the memory so persistently as to divert
 us from some other line of thought. They are, therefore, best kept in
 store.

The next point which we have to consider is the correction of our work,
 which is by far the most useful portion of our study: for there is good
 reason for the view that erasure is quite as important a function of the pen as actual writing. Correction
 takes the form of addition, excision and alteration. But it is a
 comparatively simple and easy task to decide what is to be added or
 excised. On the other hand, to prune what is turgid, to elevate what is
 mean, to repress exuberance, arrange what is disorderly, introduce
 rhythm where it is lacking, and modify it where it is too emphatic,
 involves a twofold labour. For we have to condemn what had previously
 satisfied us and discover what had escaped our notice.

There can be no doubt that the best method of correction is to put aside
 what we have written for a certain time, so that when we return to it
 after an interval it will have the air of novelty and of being another's
 handiwork; for thus we may prevent ourselves from regarding our writings
 with all the affection that we lavish on a newborn child.

But this is not always possible, especially in the case of an orator who
 most frequently has to write for immediate use, while some limit, after
 all, must be set to correction. For there are some who return to
 everything they write with the presumption that it is full of faults
 and, assuming that a first draft must necessarily be incorrect, think
 every change an improvement and make some alteration as often as they
 have the manuscript in their hands: they are, in fact, like doctors who
 use the knife even where the flesh is perfectly healthy. The result of
 their critical activities is that the finished work is full of scars,
 bloodless, and all the worse for their anxious care.

No! let there be something in all our writing which, if it does not
 actually please us, at least passes muster, so that the file may only
 polish our work, not wear it away. There must also
 be a limit to the time which we spend on its revision. For the fact that
 Cinna took nine years to write his Smyrna, and
 that Isocrates required ten years, at the lowest estimate, to complete
 his Panegyric does not concern the orator, whose assistance will be of
 no use, if it is so long delayed.

My next task is to indicate what those should write whose aim is to
 acquire facility. At this part of my work there is no necessity for me
 to set forth the subjects which should be selected for writing, or the
 order in which they should be approached, since I have already done this
 in the first book, where I prescribed the sequence of studies for boys, and
 in the second book, where I did the same for young men. The point which
 concerns me now is to show from what sources copiousness and facility
 may most easily be derived. Our earlier orators thought highly of
 translation from Greek into Latin.

In the de Oratore 
 of Cicero, Lucius Crassus says
 that he practised this continually, while Cicero himself advocates it
 again and again, nay, he actually published translations of Xenophon and
 Plato, which were the result of this form of exercise. Messala likewise
 gave it his approval, and we have a number of translations of speeches
 from his hand; he even succeeded in coping with the delicacy of
 Hyperides' speech in defence of Phryne, a task of exceeding difficulty
 for a Roman.

The purpose of this form of exercise is obvious. For Greek authors are
 conspicuous for the variety of their matter, and there is much art in
 all their eloquence, while, when we translate them, we are at liberty to
 use the best words available, since all that we use
 are our very own. As regards figures, too, which
 are the chief ornament of oratory, it is necessary to think out a great
 number and variety for ourselves, since in this respect the Roman idiom
 differs largely from the Greek.

But paraphrase from the Latin will also be of much assistance, while I
 think we shall all agree that this is specially valuable with regard to
 poetry; indeed, it is said that the paraphrase of poetry was the sole
 form of exercise employed by Sulpicius. For the lofty inspiration of
 verse serves to elevate the orator's style and the bold license of
 poetic language does not preclude 
 our attempting to render the same words in the language natural to
 prose. Nay, we may add the vigour of oratory to the thoughts expressed
 by the poet, make good his omissions, and prune his diffuseness.

But I would not have paraphrase restrict itself to the bare
 interpretation of the original: its duty is rather to rival and vie with
 the original in the expression of the same thoughts. Consequently, I
 disagree with those who forbid the student to parahrase speeches of our
 own orators, on the ground that, since all the best expressions have
 already been appropriated, whatever we express differently must
 necessarily be a change for the worse. For it is always possible that we
 may discover expressions which are an improvement on those which have
 already been used, and nature did not make eloquence such a poor and
 starveling thing, that there should be only one adequate expression for
 any one theme.

It can hardly be argued that, while the gestures of the actor are
 capable of imparting a wealth of varied meaning to
 the same words, the power of oratory is restricted to a narrower scope,
 so that when a thing has once been said, it is impossible to say
 anything else on the same theme. Why, even if it be granted that no new
 expression we discover can be better than or even equal to the old, it
 may, at any rate, be a good second.

Do we not often speak twice, or even more frequently, on the same
 subject, sometimes even to the extent of a number of sentences in
 succession? It will scarce be asserted that we must not match ourselves
 against others when we are permitted to match ourselves against
 ourselves. For if there were only one way in which anything could be
 satisfactorily expressed, we should be justified in thinking that the
 path to success had been sealed to us by our predecessors. But, as a
 matter of fact, the methods of expression still left us are innumerable,
 and many roads lead us to the same goal.

Brevity and copiousness each have their own peculiar grace, the merits
 of metaphor are one thing and of literalness another, and, while direct
 expression is most effective in one case, in another the best result is
 gained by a use of figures. Further, the exercise is valuable in virtue
 of its difficulty; and again, there is no better way of acquiring a
 thorough understanding of the greatest authors. For, instead of
 hurriedly running a careless eye over their writings, we handle each
 separate phrase and are forced to give it close examination, and we come
 to realise the greatness of their excellence from the very fact that we
 cannot imitate them.

Nor is it only the paraphrase of the works of others that we shall find
 of advantage: much may be gained from paraphrasing
 our own words in a number of different ways: for instance, we may
 specially select certain thoughts and recast them in the greatest
 variety of forms, just as a sculptor will fashion a number of different
 images from the same piece of wax.

But it is the simplest subjects which, in my opinion, will serve us best
 in our attempt to acquire facility. For our lack of talent may easily
 shelter itself behind the complicated mass of detail presented by
 persons, cases, circumstances of time and place, words and deeds, since
 the subjects which present themselves on all sides are so many that it
 will always be possible to lay hold of some one or other.

True merit is revealed by the power to expand what is naturally
 compressed, to amplify what is small, to lend variety to sameness, charm
 to the commonplace, and to say a quantity of good things about a very
 limited number of subjects. For this purpose indefinite questions, of the kind we call theses, will be found of the utmost service: in fact, Cicero
 still exercised himself upon such
 themes after he had become the leading man in the state.

Akin to these are the proof or refutation of general statements. For
 such statements are a kind of decree or rule, and whatever problem may
 arise from the thing, may equally arise from the decision passed upon
 the thing. Then there are commonplaces, which, as we
 know, have often been written by orators as a form of exercise. The man
 who has practised himself in giving full treatment to such simple and
 uncomplicated themes, will assuredly find his fluency increased in those
 subjects which admit of varied digression, and will be prepared to deal with any case that may confront
 him, since all cases ultimately turn upon general questions.

For what difference is there between the special case where Cornelius,
 the tribune of the people, is
 charged with reading the text of a proposed law, and the general
 question whether it is lése-majestè for a
 magistrate himself to read the law which he proposes to the people; what
 does it matter whether we have to decide whether Milo was justified in
 killing Clodius, or whether it is justifiable to kill a man who has set
 an ambush for his slayer, or a citizen whose existence is a danger to
 the state, even though he has set no such ambush? What difference is
 there between the question whether it was an honourable act on the part
 of Cato to make over Marcia to Hortensius, or whether such an action is
 becoming to a virtuous man? It is on the guilt or innocence of specific
 persons that judgement is given, but it is on general principles that
 the case ultimately rests.

As for declamations of the kind delivered in the schools of the
 rhetoricians, so long as they are in keeping with actual life and
 resemble speeches, they are most profitable to the student, not merely
 while he is still immature, for the reason that they
 simultaneously exercise the powers both of invention and arrangement,
 but even when he has finished his education and acquired a reputation in
 the courts. For they provide a richer diet from which eloquence derives
 nourishment and brilliance of complexion, and at the same time afford a
 refreshing variety after the continuous fatigues of forensic disputes.

For the same reason, the wealth of language that marks the historian
 should be from time to time imported into portions of our written exercises, and we should indulge in the easy
 freedom of dialogue. Nay, it may even be advantageous to amuse ourselves
 with the writing of verse, just as athletes occasionally drop the severe
 regime of diet and exercise to which they are subjected and refresh
 themselves by taking a rest and indulging in more dainty and agreeable
 viands.

Indeed, in my opinion, one of the reasons why Cicero was enabled to shed
 such glory upon the art of speaking is to be found in his excursions to
 such bypaths of study. For if all our material was drawn solely from
 actions at law, our eloquence must needs lose its gloss, our limbs grow
 stiff, and the keen edge of the intellect be blunted by its daily
 combats.

But although those who find their practice in the contests of forensic
 warfare derive fresh strength and repair their forces by means of this
 rich fare of eloquence, the young should not be kept too long at these
 false semblances of reality, nor should they be allowed to become so
 familiar with these empty shadows that it is difficult for them to leave
 them: otherwise there is always the danger that, owing to the seclusion
 in which they have almost grown old, they will shrink in terror from the
 real perils of public life, like men dazzled by the unfamiliar sunlight.

Indeed it is recorded that this fate actually befell Marcus Porcius
 Latro, the first professor of rhetoric to make a name for himself; for
 when, at the height of his fame in the schools, he was called upon to
 plead a case in the forum, he put forward the most earnest request that
 the court should be transferred to some public hall. He was so
 unaccustomed to speak in the open air that all his eloquence seemed to
 reside within the compass of a roof and four walls.

For this reason a young man who has acquired a thorough knowledge from
 his instructors of the methods of invention and style (which is not by
 any means an endless task, if those instructors have the knowledge and
 the will to teach), and who has also managed to obtain a reasonable
 amount of practice in the art, should follow the custom in vogue with
 our ancestors, and select some one orator to follow and imitate. He
 should attend as many trials as possible and be a frequent spectator of
 the conflicts in which he is destined to take part.

Next he should write out speeches of his own dealing either with the
 cases which he has actually heard pleaded or with others, provided
 always they be actual cases, and should argue them from both sides,
 training himself with the real weapons of his warfare, just as
 gladiators do or as Brutus did in that speech in defence of Milo which I
 have already mentioned. This is better than writing replies to
 old speeches, as Cestius did to Cicero's defence of Milo in spite of the
 fact that, his knowledge being confined to what was said for the
 defence, he could not have possessed sufficient acquaintance with the
 other side of the case.

The young man, however, whom his instructor has compelled to be as
 realistic as possible in declamation, and to deal with every class of
 subject, instead of merely selecting the easiest and most attractive
 cases, as is done at present, will thus qualify himself much more
 rapidly for actual forensic practice. Under existing circumstances the
 practice of the principle which I mentioned second is, as a rule,
 hampered by the large size of the classes and the practice of allotting
 certain days for recitation, to which must be added 
 the contributory circumstance that the boys' parents are more interested
 in the number of their sons' recitations than their quality.

But, as I think I said in the first book, the really good teacher will
 not burden himself with a larger number of pupils than he can manage,
 and will prune any tendency to excessive loquacity, limiting their
 remarks to the actual points involved by the subject of the declamation
 and forbidding them to range, as some would have them do, over every
 subject in heaven and earth: further, he will either extend the period
 within which he insists on their speaking, or will permit them to divide
 their themes into several portions.

The thorough treatment of one theme will be more profitable than the
 sketchy and superficial treatment of a number of subjects. For the
 latter practice has the result that nothing is put in its proper place
 and that the opening of the declamation exceeds all reasonable bounds,
 since the young orator crams all the flowers of eloquence which belong
 to all the different portions of the theme into that portion which he
 has to deliver, and fearing to lose what should naturally come later,
 introduces wild confusion into the earlier portions of his speech.

Having dealt with writing, the next point which claims our attention is
 premeditation, which itself derives force from the practice of writing
 and forms an intermediate stage between the labours of the pen and the
 more precarious fortunes of improvisation; indeed I am not sure that it
 is not more frequently of use than either. For there are places and
 occasions where writing is impossible, while both are available in
 abundance for premeditation. For but a few hours'
 thought will suffice to cover all the points even of cases of
 importance; if we wake at night, the very darkness will assist us, while
 even in the midst of legal proceedings our mind will find some vacant
 space for meditation, and will refuse to remain inactive.

Again, this practice will not merely secure the proper arrangement of
 our matter without any recourse to writing, which in itself is no small
 achievement, but will also set the words which we are going to use in
 their proper order, and bring the general texture of our speech to such
 a stage of completion that nothing further is required beyond the
 finishing touches. And as a rule the memory is more retentive of
 thoughts when the attention has not been relaxed by the fancied security
 which results from committing them to writing. But the concentration
 which this requires cannot be attained in a moment or even quickly.

For, in the first place, we must write much before we can form that
 ideal of style which must always be present to our minds even when
 engaged in premeditation. Secondly, we must gradually acquire the habit
 of thought: to begin with, we shall content ourselves with covering but
 a few details, which our minds are capable of reproducing with accuracy;
 then by advances so gradual that our labour is not sensibly increased we
 must develop our powers and confirm them by frequent practice, a task in
 which the most important part is played by the memory.

For this reason I must postpone some of my remarks to the portion of
 this work reserved for the treatment of that topic. At length, however, our powers will have
 developed so far that the man who is not hampered by lack of natural
 ability will by dint of persistent study be
 enabled, when it comes to speaking, to rely no less on what he has
 thought out than what he has written out and learnt by heart. At any
 rate, Cicero records that Metrodorus of Scepsis, Empylus of Rhodes, and our own Hortensius
 were able to reproduce what they had
 thought out word for word when it came to actual pleading.

If, however, some brilliant improvisation should occur to us while
 speaking, we must not cling superstitiously to our premeditated scheme.
 For premeditation is not so accurate as to leave no room for happy
 inspiration: even when writing we often insert thoughts which occur to
 us on the spur of the moment. Consequently this form of preparation must
 be conceived on such lines that we shall find no difficulty either in
 departing from it or returning to it at will.

For, although it is essential to bring with us into court a supply of
 eloquence which has been prepared in advance in the study and on which
 we can confidently rely, there is no greater folly than the rejection of
 the gifts of the moment. Therefore our premeditation should be such that
 fortune may never be able to fool us, but may, on the contrary, be able
 to assist us. This end will be obtained by developing the power of
 memory so that our conceptions may flow from us without fear of
 disaster, and that we may be enabled to look ahead without anxious
 backward glances or the feeling that we are absolutely dependent on what
 we can call to mind. Otherwise I prefer the rashness of improvisation to
 the coherence given by premeditation.

For such backward glances place us at a disadvantage, because our search
 for our premeditated ideas makes us miss others, and we draw our matter from our memory rather than from the
 subject on which we are speaking. And even if we are to rely on our
 memory and our subject alike, there are more things that may be
 discovered than ever yet have been.

But the crown of all our study and the highest reward of our long
 labours is the power of improvisation. The man who fails to acquire this
 had better, in my opinion, abandon the task of advocacy and devote his
 powers of writing to other branches of literature. For it is scarcely
 decent for an honourable man to promise assistance to the public at
 large which he may be unable to provide in the most serious emergencies,
 or to attempt to enter a harbour which his ship cannot hope to make save
 when sailing before a gentle breeze.

For there are countless occasions when the sudden necessity may be
 imposed upon him of speaking without preparation before the magistrates
 or in a trial which comes on unexpectedly. And if any such sudden
 emergency befalls, I will not say any innocent citizen, but some one of
 the orator's friends or connexions, is he to stand tongue-tied and, in
 answer to those who seek salvation in his eloquence and are doomed,
 unless they secure assistance, to ask for delay of proceedings and time
 for silent and secluded study, till such moment as he can piece together
 the words that fail him, commit them to memory and prepare his voice and
 lungs for the effort?

What theory of the duties of an orator is there which permits him to
 ignore such sudden issues? What will happen when he has to reply to his
 opponent? For often the expected arguments to which we have written a
 reply fail us and the whole aspect of the case undergoes a sudden change; consequently the variation to
 which cases are liable makes it as necessary for us to change our
 methods as it is for a pilot to change his course before the oncoming
 storm.

Again, what use is much writing, assiduous reading and long years of
 study, if the difficulty is to remain as great as it was in the
 beginning? The man who is always faced with the same labour can only
 confess that his past labour has been spent in vain. I do not ask him to
 prefer to speak extempore, but merely that lie should be able to do so.
 And this capacity is best acquired by the following method.

In the first place, we must note the direction which the argument is
 likely to take, since we cannot run our race unless we know the goal and
 the course. It is not enough to know what are the parts into
 which forensic pleadings are divided or the principles determining the
 order of the various questions, important though these points are. We
 must realise what should come first, second, and so on, in the several
 parts; for these points are so closely linked together by the very
 nature of things that they cannot be separated, nor their order changed,
 without giving rise to confusion.

The orator, who speaks methodically, will above all take the actual
 sequence of the various points as his guide, and it is for this reason
 that even but moderately trained speakers find it easiest to keep the
 natural order in the statement of facts. 
 Secondly, the orator must know what to look for in each portion of his
 case: he must not beat about the bush or allow himself to be thrown off
 the track by thoughts which suggest themselves from irrelevant quarters,
 or produce a speech which is a confused mass of incongruities, owing to his habit of leaping this way and that,
 and never sticking to any one point.

Finally, he must confine himself to certain definite bounds, and for
 this division is absolutely necessary. When to
 the best of his ability he has dealt fully with all the points which he
 has advanced, he will know that he has reached his goal. The precepts
 just given are dependent on theory. Those to which I now come depend on
 individual study. We must acquire a store of the best words and phrases
 on lines that I have already laid down, while our style must be formed
 by continuous and conscientious practice in writing, so that even our
 improvisations may reproduce the tone of our writing, and after writing
 much, we must give ourselves frequent practice in speaking.

For facility is mainly the result of habit and exercise and, if it be
 lost only for a brief time, the result will be not merely that we fall
 short of the requisite rapidity, but that our lips will become clogged
 and slow to open. For although we need to possess a certain natural
 nimbleness of mind to enable us, while we are saying what the instant
 demands, to build up what is to follow and to secure that there will
 always be some thought formed and conceived in advance ready to serve
 our voice, none the less,

it is scarcely possible either for natural gifts or for methodic art to
 enable the mind to grapple simultaneously with such manifold duties, and
 to be equal at one and the same time to the tasks of invention,
 arrangement, and style, together with what we are uttering at the
 moment, what we have got to say next and what we have to look to still
 further on, not to mention the fact that it is
 necessary all the time to give close attention to voice, delivery and
 gesture.

For our mental activities must range far ahead and pursue the ideas
 which are still in front, and in proportion as the speaker pays out what
 he has in hand, he must make advances to himself from his reserve funds,
 in order that, until we reach our conclusion, our mind's eye may urge
 its gaze forward, keeping time with our advance: otherwise we shall halt
 and stumble, and pour forth short and broken phrases, like persons who
 can only gasp out what they have to say.

There is, therefore, a certain mechanical knack, which the Greeks call
 ἄλογος τριβή, which enables the
 hand to go on scribbling, while the eye takes in whole lines at once as
 it reads, observes the intonations and the stops, and sees what is
 coming before the reader has articulated to himself what precedes. It is
 a similar knack which makes possible those miraculous tricks which we
 see jugglers and masters of sleight of hand perform upon the stage, in
 such a manner that the spectator can scarcely help believing that the
 objects which they throw into the air come to hand of their own accord,
 and run where they are bidden.

But this knack will only be of real service if it be preceded by the art
 of which we have spoken, so that what is irrational in itself will nevertheless
 be founded on reason. For unless a man speaks in an orderly, ornate and
 fluent manner, I refuse to dignify his utterance with the name of
 speech, but consider it the merest rant.

Nor again shall I ever be induced to admire a continuous flow of random
 talk, such as I note streams in torrents even from the lips of women
 when they quarrel, although, if a speaker is swept away by warmth of feeling and genuine inspiration, it
 frequently happens that he attains a success from improvisation which
 would have been beyond the reach of the most careful preparation.

When this occurred, the old orators, such as Cicero, used to say that some god had inspired
 the speaker. But the reason is obvious. For profound emotion and vivid
 imagination sweep on with unbroken force, whereas, if retarded by the
 slowness of the pen, they are liable to grow cold and, it put off for
 the moment, may never return. Above all, if we add to these obstacles an
 unhealthy tendency to quibble over the choice of words, and check our
 advance at each step, the vehemence of our onset loses its impetus;
 while even though our choice of individual words may be of the happiest,
 the style will be a mere patchwork with no regular pattern.

Consequently those vivid conceptions of which I spoke and which, as
 I remarked, are called φαντασίαι, 
 together with everything that we intend to say, the persons and
 questions involved, and the hopes and fears to which they give rise,
 must be kept clearly before our eyes and admitted to our hearts: for it
 is feeling and force of imagination that make us eloquent. It is for
 this reason that even the uneducated have no difficulty in finding words
 to express their meaning, if only they are stirred by some strong
 emotion.

Further the attention of the mind must be directed not to some one
 thing, but simultaneously to a number of things in continuous sequence.
 The result will be the same as when we cast our eyes along some straight
 road and see at once all that is on and near it, obtaining a view not
 merely of its end, but of the whole way there. Dread of the shame of
 failure is also a powerful stimulant to oratory, 
 and it may be regarded as a matter for wonder that, whereas when writing
 we delight in privacy and shrink from the presence of witnesses, in
 extempore pleading a large audience has an encouraging effect, like that
 which the sight of the massed standards has on the soldier.

For the sheer necessity of speaking thrusts forward and forces out our
 labouring thought, and the desire to win approbation kindles and fosters
 our efforts. So true is it that there is nothing which does not look for
 some reward, that eloquence, despite the fact that its activity is in
 itself productive of a strong feeling of pleasure, is influenced by
 nothing so much as the immediate acquisition of praise and renown.

Nor should any man put such trust in his native ability as to hope that
 this power will present itself to him at the outset of his career as an
 orator; for the precepts which I laid down for premeditation apply to
 improvisation also; we must develop it by gradual stages from small
 beginnings, until we have reached that perfection which can only be
 produced and maintained by practice.

Moreover, the orator should reach such a pitch of excellence that, while
 premeditation may still be the safer method, it will not necessarily be
 the better, since many have acquired the gift of improvisation not
 merely in prose, but in verse as well, as, for example, Antipater of
 Sidon and Licinius Archias (for whose powers we have the unquestionable
 authority of Cicero ), not to mention the fact that
 there are many, even in our own day, who have done this and are still
 doing it. I do not, however, regard this accomplishment as being
 particularly valuable in itself, for it is both unpractical and
 unnecessary, but mention it as a useful example to encourage students
 training for the bar, in the hope that they may
 be able to acquire this accomplishment.

Still our confidence in our power of speaking extempore should never be
 so great that we should neglect to devote a few minutes to the
 consideration of what we are going to say. There will but rarely be
 occasions when this is impossible, while in the lawsuits of the courts
 there is always some time allowed for the purpose. For no one can plead
 a cause with the facts of which be is unacquainted.

Some declaimers, it is true, are led by a perverse ambition to attempt
 to speak the moment their theme has been given them, and even ask for a
 word with which to start, an affectation which is in the worst and most
 theatrical taste. But eloquence has, in her turn, nothing but derision
 for those that insult her thus, and speakers who wish to seem learned to
 fools are merely regarded as fools by the learned.

If, however, chance should impose the necessity upon us of pleading a
 case at such short notice, we shall require to develop special mental
 agility, to give all our attention to the subject, and to make a
 temporary sacrifice of our care for the niceties of language, if we find
 it impossible to secure both. On such occasions a slower delivery and a
 style of speaking suggestive of a certain indecision and doubt will
 secure us time to think, but we must be careful to do this in such a way
 as to give the impression of thought, not of hesitation.

This precaution may be employed while we are clearing harbour, if the
 wind drive us forward before all our tackle is ready. Afterwards, as we
 proceed upon our course, we shall trim our sails, arrange our ropes, and
 pray that the breeze may fill our sails. Such a procedure is preferable to yielding ourselves to an empty
 torrent of words, that the storm may sweep us where it will.

But it requires no less careful study to maintain than to acquire this
 facility. Theory once mastered is not forgotten, and the pen loses but
 little of its speed by disuse: but this promptitude and readiness for
 action can be maintained by practice only. The best form of exercise is
 to speak daily before an audience of several persons, who should, as far
 as possible, be selected from those whose judgement and good opinion we
 value, since it is rare for anyone to be sufficiently critical of
 himself. It is even better to speak alone than not at all.

There is yet another method of exercising this faculty: it consists in
 going over our subjects in their entirety in silent thought, although we
 must all the time formulate the words to ourselves: such practice is
 possible at any moment or place that finds us unoccupied, and is, in
 some respects, more useful than that which I have just mentioned;

for we are more careful about our composition than when we are actually
 speaking and in momentary fear of interrupting the continuous flow of
 our language. On the other hand, the first method is more valuable for
 certain purposes, as it gives strength to our voice, fluency to our
 tongue and vigour to our gesture; and the latter, as I have already
 remarked, 
 in itself excites the orator and spurs him on, as he waves his hand or
 stamps his foot: he is, in fact, like the lion, that is said to lash
 himself to fury with his tail. But we must study always and everywhere.

For there is scarce a single day in our lives that is so full of
 occupations that we may not, at some moment or other, snatch a few
 precious minutes, as Cicero records that Brutus was
 wont to do, either for writing or reading or
 speaking; Gaius Carbo, for example, was in the habit of indulging in such exercises
 even in his tent.

I must also mention the precept (which again has the approval of Cicero
 ) that we should never be careless about our language.
 Whatever we say, under whatever circumstances, should be perfect in its
 way. As regards writing, this is certainly never more necessary than
 when we have frequently to speak extempore. For it maintains the
 solidity of our speech and gives depth to superficial facility. We may
 compare the practice of husbandmen who cut away the uppermost roots of
 their vines, which run close to the surface of the soil, that the
 taproots may strike deeper and gain in strength.

Indeed I am not sure that, if we practise both with care and assiduity,
 mutual profit will not result, and writing will give us greater
 precision of speech, while speaking will make us write with greater
 facility. We must write, therefore, whenever possible; if we cannot
 write, we must meditate: if both are out of the question, we must still
 speak in such a manner that we shall not seem to be taken unawares nor
 our client to be left in the lurch.

It is, however, a common practice with those who have many cases to
 plead to write out the most necessary portions, more especially the
 beginnings of their speeches, to cover the remainder of that which they
 are able to prepare by careful premeditation and to trust to
 improvisation in emergency, a practice regularly adopted by Cicero, as
 is clear from his note-books. But the notes of other orators are also in
 circulation; some have been discovered by chance, just as they were
 jotted down previous to a speech, while others have been edited in book
 form, as in the case of the speeches delivered in
 the courts by Servius Sulpicius, of whose works only three speeches
 survive. These memoranda, however, of which I am speaking are so
 carefully drawn up that they seem to me to have been composed by himself
 for the benefit of posterity.

But Cicero's notes were originally intended merely to meet the
 requirements of the moment, and were afterwards collected by Tiro. In making this apology I do not mean
 to imply that I disapprove of them, but merely wish to make them more
 worthy of admiration. And in this connexion I must state that I admit
 the use of brief memoranda and note-books, which may even be held in the
 hand and referred to from time to time.

But I disapprove of the advice given by Laenas, that we should set down
 in our note-books, duly tabulated under the appropriate headings,
 summaries of what we propose to say, even in cases where we have already
 written it out in full. For reliance on such notes as these makes us
 careless in learning what we have written and mutilates and deforms our
 style. For my own part I think that we should never write out anything
 which we do not intend to commit to memory. For if we do, our thoughts
 will run back to what we have elaborated in writing and will not permit
 us to try the fortune of the moment.

Consequently, the mind will waver in doubt between the two alternatives,
 having forgotten what was committed to writing and being unable to think
 of anything fresh to say. However, as the topic of memory will be
 discussed in the next book, I will not introduce it here, as there are
 other points which require to be dealt with first.

After acquiring the power of writing and thinking, as described in the
 preceding book, and also of pleading extempore, if occasion demand, our
 next task will be to ensure that appropriateness of speech, which Cicero
 shows to be the fourth department
 of style, and which is, in my opinion, highly necessary.

For since the ornaments of style are varied and manifold and suited for
 different purposes, they will, unless adapted to the matter and the
 persons concerned, not merely fail to give our style distinction, but
 will even destroy its effect and produce a result quite the reverse of
 that which our matter should produce. For what profit is it that our
 words should be Latin, significant and graceful, and be further
 embellished with elaborate figures and rhythms, unless all these
 qualities are in harmony with the views to which we seek to lead the
 judge and mould his opinions?

What use is it if we employ a lofty tone in cases of trivial import, a
 slight and refined style in cases of great moment, a cheerful tone when
 our matter calls for sadness, a gentle tone when it demands vehemence,
 threatening language when supplication, and submissive when energy is
 required, or fierceness and violence when our theme is one that asks for
 charm? Such incongruities are as unbecoming as it is for men to wear
 necklaces and pearls and flowing raiment which are the natural
 adornments of women, or for women to robe 
 themselves in the garb of triumph, than which there can be conceived no
 more majestic raiment.

This topic is discussed by Cicero in the third book of the de Oratore, 
 and, although he touches on
 it but lightly, he really covers the whole subject when he says, One single style of oratory is not suited to every
 case, nor to every audience, nor every speaker, nor every occasion.
 And he says the same at scarcely greater length in the Orator. 
 But in the first of
 these works Lucius Crassus, since he is speaking in the presence of men
 distinguished alike for their learning and their eloquence, thinks it
 sufficient merely to indicate this topic to his audience for their
 recognition;

while in the latter work Cicero asserts that, as these facts are
 familiar to Brutus, to whom that treatise is addressed, they will be
 given briefer treatment, despite the fact that the subject is a wide one
 and is discussed at greater length by the philosophers. 1, on the other
 hand, have undertaken the education of an orator, and, consequently, am
 speaking not merely to those that know, but also to learners; I shall,
 therefore, have some claim to forgiveness if I discuss the topic in
 greater detail.

For this reason, it is of the first importance that we should know what
 style is most suitable for conciliating, instructing or moving the
 judge, and what effects we should aim at in different parts of our
 speech. Thus we shall eschew antique, metaphorical and newly-coined
 words in our exordium, statement of facts and arguments, as we shall avoid flowing periods
 woven with elaborate grace, when the case has to be divided and
 distinguished under its various heads, while, on the other hand, we
 shall not employ mean or colloquial language, devoid of all artistic structure, in the peroration, nor, when the theme calls for compassion, attempt
 to dry the tears of our audience with jests.

For all ornament derives its effect not from its own qualities so much
 as from the circumstances in which it is applied, and the occasion
 chosen for saying anything is at least as important a consideration as
 what is actually said. But the whole of this question of appropriate
 language turns on something more than our choice of style, for it has
 much in common with invention. For if words can produce such an
 impression, how much greater must that be which is created by the facts
 themselves. But I have already laid down rules for the treatment of the
 latter in various portions of this work.

Too much insistence cannot be laid upon the point that no one can be
 said to speak appropriately who has not considered not merely what it is
 expedient, but also what it is becoming to say. I am well aware that
 these two considerations generally go hand in hand. For whatever is
 becoming is, as a rule, useful, and there is nothing that does more to
 conciliate the good-will of the judge than the observance or to alienate
 it than the disregard of these considerations.

Sometimes, however, the two are at variance. Now, whenever this occurs,
 expediency must yield to the demands of what is becoming. Who is there
 who does not realise that nothing would have contributed more to secure
 the acquittal of Socrates than if he had employed the ordinary forensic
 methods of defence and had conciliated the minds of his judges by
 adopting a submissive tone and had devoted his attention to refuting the
 actual charge against him?

But such a course would have been unworthy of his character, and, therefore, he pleaded as one who would account
 the penalty to which he might be sentenced as the highest of honours.
 The wisest of men preferred to sacrifice the remnant of his days rather
 than to cancel all his past life. And since he was but ill understood by
 the men of his own day, he reserved his case for the approval of
 posterity and at the cost of a few last declining years achieved through
 all the ages life everlasting.

And so although Lysias, who was accounted the first orator of that time,
 offered him a written defence, he refused to make use of it, since,
 though he recognised its excellence, he regarded it as unbecoming to
 himself. This instance alone shows that the end which the orator must
 keep in view is not persuasion, but speaking well, since there are
 occasions when to persuade would be a blot upon his honour. The line
 adopted by Socrates was useless to secure his acquittal, but was of real
 service to him as a man; and that is by far the greater consideration.

In drawing this distinction between what is expedient and what is
 becoming, I have followed rather the usage of common speech than the
 strict law of truth; unless, indeed, the elder Africanus is to be regarded as having failed to
 consult his true interests, when he retired into exile sooner than
 wrangle over his own innocence with a contemptible tribune of the
 people, or unless it be alleged that Publius Rutilius was
 ignorant of his true advantage both on the occasion when he adopted a
 defence which may almost be compared with that of Socrates, and when he
 preferred to remain in exile rather than return at Sulla's bidding.

No, these great men regarded all those trifles that the most abject
 natures regard as advantageous, as being
 contemptible if weighed in the balance with virtue, and for this reason
 they have their reward in the deathless praise of all generations. Let
 not us, then, be so poor spirited as to regard the acts, which we extol,
 as being inexpedient.

However, it is but rarely that this distinction, such as it is, is
 called into play. As I have said, the expedient and the becoming will,
 as a rule, be identical in every kind of case. Still, there are two
 things which will be becoming to all men at all times and in all places,
 namely, to act and speak as befits a man of honour, and it will never at
 any time beseem any man to speak or act dishonourably. On the other
 hand, things of minor importance and occupying something like a middle
 position between the two are generally of such a nature that they may be
 conceded to some, but not to others, while it will depend on the
 character of the speaker and the circumstances of time, place and motive
 whether we regard them as more or less excusable or reprehensible.

When, however, we are speaking of our own affairs or those of others, we
 must distinguish between the expedient and the becoming, while
 recognising that the majority of the points which we have to consider
 will fall under neither head. In the first place, then, all kinds of
 boasting are a mistake, above all, it is an error for an orator to
 praise his own eloquence, and, further, not merely wearies, but in the
 majority of cases disgusts the audience.

For there is ever in the mind of man a certain element of lofty and
 unbending pride that will not brook superiority: and for this reason we
 take delight in raising the humble and submissive to their feet, since
 such an act gives us a consciousness of our 
 superiority, and as soon as all sense of rivalry disappears, its place
 is taken by a feeling of humanity. But the man who exalts himself beyond
 reason is looked upon as depreciating and showing a contempt for others
 and as making them seem small rather than himself seem great.

As a result, those who are beneath him feel a grudge against him (for
 those who are unwilling to yield and yet have not the strength to hold
 their own are always liable to this failing), while his superiors laugh
 at him and the good disapprove. Indeed, as a rule, you will find that
 arrogance implies a false self-esteem, whereas those who possess true
 merit find satisfaction enough in the consciousness of possession.
 Cicero has been severely censured in this connexion, although he was far
 more given to boasting of his political achievements than of his
 eloquence, at any rate, in his speeches.

And as a rule he had some sound reason for his self-praise. For he was
 either defending those who had assisted him to crush the conspiracy of
 Catiline, or was replying to attacks made upon him by those who envied
 his position; attacks which he was so far unable to withstand that he
 suffered exile as the penalty for having saved his country.
 Consequently, we may regard his frequent reference to the deeds
 accomplished in his consulship as being due quite as much to the
 necessities of defence as to the promptings of vainglory.

As regards his own eloquence, he never made immoderate claims for it in
 his pleading, while he always paid a handsome tribute to the eloquence
 of the advocate, who opposed him. For example, there are passages such
 as the following: If there be aught of talent in me, and I am
 only too conscious how little it is,
 
 and, In default of talent,
 I turned to industry for aid.

Again, in his speech against Caecilius on the selection of an accuser
 for Verres, despite the fact that the question as to which was the most
 capable pleader, was a factor of great importance, he rather depreciated
 his opponent's eloquence than exalted his own, and asserted that he had
 done all in his power to make himself an orator, though he knew he had not succeeded.

In his letters to intimate friends, it is true, and occasionally in his
 dialogues, he tells the truth of his own eloquence, though in the latter
 case he is careful always to place the remarks in question in the mouth
 of some other character. And yet I am not sure that open boasting is not
 more tolerable, owing to its sheer straightforwardness, than that
 perverted form of self-praise, which makes the millionaire say that he
 is not a poor man, the man of mark describe himself as obscure, the
 powerful pose as weak, and the eloquent as unskilled and even
 inarticulate.

But the most ostentatious kind of boasting takes the form of actual
 self-derision. Let us therefore leave it to others to praise us. For it
 beseems us, as Demosthenes says, to blush even when we are praised by
 others. I do not mean to deny that there are occasions when an orator
 may speak of his own achievements, as Demosthenes himself does in his
 defence of Ctesiphon. But on that occasion he
 qualified his statements in such a way as to show that he was compelled
 by necessity to do so, and to throw the odium attaching to such a
 proceeding on the man who had forced him to it.

Again, Cicero often speaks of his suppression of the Catilinarian
 conspiracy, but either attributes his success to the courage shown by the senate or to the providence of the immortal
 gods. If he puts forward stronger claims to merit, it is generally when
 speaking against his enemies and detractors; for he was bound to defend
 his actions when they were denounced as discreditable.

One could only wish that he had shown greater restraint in his poems,
 which those who love him not are never weary of criticising. I refer to
 passages such as: 
 
 
 Let arms before the peaceful toga yield, 
 Laurels to eloquence resign the
 field, 
 
 or 
 
 O happy Rome, born in my
 consulship! 
 
 together with that Jupiter,
 by whom he is summoned to the assembly of the gods, and the
 Minerva that taught him her accomplishments ;
 extravagances which he permitted himself in imitation of certain
 precedents in Greek literature.

But while it is unseemly to make a boast of one's eloquence, it is,
 however, at times permissible to express confidence in it. Who, for
 instance, can blame the following? 
 What, then, am I to think? That I am held in
 contempt? I see nothing either in my past life, or my position, or
 such poor talents as I may possess, that Antony can afford to
 despise. And a little later he speaks yet more openly:

Or did he wish to challenge me to a contest of eloquence? I could
 wish for nothing better. For what ampler or richer theme could I
 hope to find than to speak at once for myself and against Antony?

Another form of arrogance is displayed by those who declare that they
 have come to a clear conviction of the justice of
 their cause, which they would not otherwise have undertaken. For the
 judges give but a reluctant hearing to such as presume to anticipate
 their verdict, and the orator cannot hope that his opponents will regard
 his ipse dixit with the veneration accorded by
 the Pythagoreans to that of their master. But this fault will vary in
 seriousness according to the character of the orator who uses such
 language.

For such assertions may to some extent be justified by the age, rank,
 and authority of the speaker. But scarcely any orator is possessed of
 these advantages to such an extent as to exempt him from the duty of
 tempering such assertions by a certain show of modesty, a remark which
 also applies to all passages in which the advocate draws any of his
 arguments from his own person. What could have been more presumptuous
 than if Cicero had asserted that the fact that a man was the son of a
 Roman knight should never be regarded as a serious charge, in a case in
 which he was appearing for the defence? But he
 succeeded in giving this very argument a favourable turn by associating
 his own rank with that of the judges, and saying, 
 The fact of a man being the son of a Roman knight
 should never have been put forward as a charge by the prosecution
 when these gentlemen were in the jury-box and I was appearing for
 the defendant.

An impudent, disorderly, or angry tone is always unseemly, no matter who
 it be that assumes it; and it becomes all the more reprehensible in
 proportion to the age, rank, and experience of the speaker. But we are
 familiar with the sight of certain brawling advocates who are restrained
 neither by respect for the court nor by the recognised methods and manners of pleading. The obvious inference from
 this attitude of mind is that they are utterly reckless both in
 undertaking cases and in pleading them.

For a man's character is generally revealed and the secrets of his heart
 are laid bare by his manner of speaking, and there is good ground for
 the Greek aphorism that, as a man lives, so will he
 speak. The following vices are of a meaner type: grovelling
 flattery, affected buffoonery, immodesty in dealing with things or words
 which are unseemly or obscene, and disregard of authority on all and
 every occasion. They are faults which, as a rule, are found in those who
 are over-anxious either to please or amuse.

Again, different kinds of eloquence suit different speakers. For
 example, a full, haughty, bold and florid style would be less becoming
 to an old man than that restrained, mild and precise style to which
 Cicero refers, when he says that his style is beginning to grow
 grey-haired. It is the same with their style as
 their clothes; purple and scarlet raiment goes ill with grey hairs.

In the young, however, we can endure a rich and even, perhaps, a risky
 style. On the other hand, a dry, careful and compressed style is
 unpleasing in the young as suggesting the affectation of severity, since
 even the authority of character that goes with age is considered as
 premature in young men. Soldiers are best suited by a simple style.

Those, again, who make ostentatious profession, as some do, of being
 philosophers, would do well to avoid most of the ornaments of oratory,
 more especially those which consist in appeals to the passions, which
 they regard as moral blemishes. So, too, the employment of rare words
 and of rhythmical structure are incongruous with their profession.

For their beards and gloomy brows are ill-suited
 not merely to luxuriance of style, such as we find in Cicero's
 Rocks and solitudes answer to the voice, 
 but even to full-blooded passages as, For
 on you I call, ye hills and groves of Alba; I call you to bear me
 witness, and ye, too, fallen altars of the Albans, that were once
 the peers and equals of the holy places of Rome.

But the public man, who is truly wise and devotes himself not to idle
 disputations, but to the administration of the state, from which those
 who call themselves philosophers have withdrawn themselves afar, will
 gladly employ every method that may contribute to the end which he seeks
 to gain by his eloquence, although he will first form a clear conception
 in his mind as to what aims are honourable and what are not.

There is a form of eloquence which is becoming in the greatest men, but
 inadmissible in others. For example, the methods of eloquence employed
 by commanders and conquerors in their hour of triumph are to a great
 extent to be regarded as in a class apart. The comparison of the
 eloquence of Plompey and Cato the younger, who slew himself in the civil
 war, will illustrate my meaning. The former was extraordinarily eloquent
 in the description of his own exploits, while the latter's powers were
 displayed in debates in the senate.

Again, the same remark will seem freedom of speech in one's mouth,
 madness in another's, and arrogance in a third. We laugh at the words
 used by Thersites to Agamemnon; but put
 them in the mouth of Diomede or some other of his peers, and they will
 seem the expression of a great spirit. Shall I regard you as
 consul, said Lucius Crassus to
 Phililppus, when you refuse to regard me as
 a senator? That was honourable freedom of speech, and yet
 we should not tolerate such words from everybody's lips.

One of the poets says that he does not care whether Caesar be white or
 black. That is madness. But reverse the case. Suppose that Caesar said
 it of the poet? That would be arrogance. The tragic and comic poets pay
 special attention to character, since they introduce a great number and
 variety of persons. Those who wrote speeches for others paid a like attention to these
 points, and so do the declaimers; for we do not always speak as
 advocates, but frequently as actual parties to the suit.

But even in these cases in which we appear as advocates, differences of
 character require careful observation. For we introduce fictitious
 personages and speak through other's lips, and we must therefore allot
 the appropriate character to those to whom we lend a voice. For example,
 Publius Clodius will be represented in one way, Appius Caecus in another,
 while Caecilius makes the father in his comedy speak in quite a different manner
 from the father in the comedy of Terence.

What can be more brutal than the words of Verres' lictor, To see
 him you will pay so much ? or braver than
 those of the man from whom the scourge could wring but one cry, I
 am a Roman citizen! 
 Again, read
 the words which Cicero places in the mouth of Milo in his peroration:
 are they not worthy of the man who to save the state had so oft
 repressed a seditious citizen, and had triumphed by his valour over the
 ambush that was laid for him?

Further, it is not merely true that the variety required in
 impersonation will be in proportion to the variety
 presented by the case, for impersonation demands even greater variety,
 since it involves the portrayal of the emotions of children, women,
 nations, and even of voiceless things, all of which require to be
 represented in character.

The same points have to be observed with respect to those for whom we
 plead: for our tone will vary with the character of our client,
 according as he is distinguished, or of humble position, popular or the
 reverse, while we must also take into account the differences in their
 principles and their past life. As regards the orator himself, the
 qualities which will most commend him are courtesy, kindliness,
 moderation and benevolence. But, on the other hand, the opposite of
 these qualities will sometimes be becoming to a good man. He may hate
 the bad, be moved to passion in the public interest, seek to avenge
 crime and wrong, and, in fine, as I said at the beginning, may follow the
 promptings of every honourable emotion.

The character of the speaker and of the person on whose behalf he speaks
 are, however, not the only points which it is important to take into
 account: the character of those before whom we have to speak calls for
 serious consideration. Their power and rank will make no small
 difference; we shall employ different methods according as we are
 speaking before the emperor, a magistrate, a senator, a private citizen,
 or merely a free man, while a different tone is demanded by trials in
 the public courts, and in cases submitted to arbitration.

For while a display of care and anxiety, and the employment of every
 device available for the amplification of our style are becoming when we
 are pleading for a client accused on a capital
 charge, it would be useless to employ the same methods in cases and
 trials of minor importance, and the speaker who, when speaking from his
 chair before an arbitrator on some trivial question, should make an
 admission like that made by Cicero, to the effect that it was not merely
 his soul that was in a state of commotion, but that his whole body was
 convulsed with shuddering, would meet
 with well-deserved ridicule.

Again, who does not know what different styles of eloquence are required
 when speaking before the grave assembly of the senate and before the
 fickle populace, since even when we are pleading before single judges
 the same style will not be suitable for use before one of weighty
 character and another of a more frivolous disposition, while a learned
 judge must not be addressed in the same tone that we should employ
 before a soldier or a rustic, and our style must at times be lowered and
 simplified, for fear that he may be unable to take it in or to
 understand it.

Again, circumstances of time and place demand special consideration. The
 occasion may be one for sorrow or for rejoicing, the time at our
 disposal may be ample or restricted, and the orator must adapt himself
 to all these circumstances.

It, likewise, makes no small difference whether we are speaking in
 public or in private, before a crowded audience or in comparative
 seclusion, in another city or our own, in the camp or in the forum: each
 of these places will require its own style and peculiar form of oratory,
 since even in other spheres of life the same actions are not equally
 suited to the forum, the senate-house, the Campus Martius, the theatre
 or one's own house, and there is much that is
 not in itself reprehensible, and may at times be absolutely necessary,
 which will be regarded as unseemly if done in some place where it is not
 sanctioned by custom.

I have already pointed out how much more
 elegance and ornament is allowed by the topics of demonstrative oratory,
 whose main object is the delectation of the audience, than is permitted
 by deliberative or forensic themes which are concerned with action and
 argument. To this must be added the fact that certain qualities, which
 are in themselves merits of a high order, may be rendered unbecoming by
 the special circumstances of the case.

For example, when a man is accused on a capital charge, and, above all,
 if he is defending himself before his conqueror or his sovereign, it
 would be quite intolerable for him to indulge in frequent metaphors,
 antique or newlycoined words, rhythms as far removed as possible from
 the practice of every-day speech, rounded periods, florid commonplaces
 and ornate reflexions. Would not all these devices destroy the
 impression of anxiety which should be created by a man in such peril,
 and rob him of the succour of pity, on which even the innocent are
 forced to rely?

Would any man be moved by the sad plight of one who revealed himself as
 a vainglorious boaster, and ostentatiously flaunted the airs and graces
 of his eloquence at a moment when his fate hung in suspense? Would he
 not rather hate the man who, despite his position as accused, hunted for
 fine words, showed himself concerned for his reputation as a clever
 speaker, and found time at such a moment to display his eloquence?

I consider that Marcus Caelius, in the speech in
 which he defended himself against a charge of breach of the peace,
 showed a wonderful grasp of these facts, when he said: I trust
 that none of you gentlemen, or of all those who have come to plead
 against me, will find offence in my mien or insolence in my voice,
 or, though that is a comparative trifle, any trace of arrogance in
 my gesture.

But there are some cases where the success of the pleader depends on
 apology, entreaties for mercy, or confession of error. Can sorrow be
 expressed in epigram? Or will enthymemes 
 or epiphonemata 
 avail to win the judge's mercy?
 Will not all embellishment of pure emotion merely impair its force and
 dispel compassion by such a display of apparent unconcern?

Or, suppose that a father has to speak of his son's death, or of some
 wrong that is worse than death, will he, in making his statement of
 facts, seek to achieve that grace in exposition which is secured by
 purity and lucidity of language, and content himself with setting forth
 his case in due order with brevity and meaning? Or will he count over
 the heads of his argument upon his fingers, aim at niceties of division
 and proposition, and speak without the least energy of feeling as is
 usual in such portions of a speech?

Whither will his grief have fled while he is thus engaged? Where has the
 fountain of his tears been stayed? How came this callous attention to
 the rules of text-books to obtrude itself? Will he not rather, from his
 opening words to the very last he utters, maintain a continuous voice of
 lamentation and a mien of unvaried woe, if he desires to transplant his
 grief to the hearts of his audience? For if he once remits aught of his
 passion of grief, he will never be able to recall
 it to the hearts of them that hear him.

This is a point which declaimers, above all, must be careful to bear in
 mind: I mention this because I have no compunction in referring to a
 branch of the art which was once also my own, or in reverting to the
 consideration of the youthful students such as once were in my charge:
 the declaimer, I repeat, must bear this in mind, since in the schools we
 often feign emotions that affect us not as advocates, but as the actual
 sufferers.

For example, we even imagine cases where persons, either because of some
 overwhelming misfortune or repentance for some sin, demand from the
 senate the right to make an end of their lives; and in these cases it is
 obviously unbecoming not merely to adopt a chanting intonation, a fault which has also become almost universal, or
 to use extravagant language, but even to argue without an admixture of
 emotional appeal, so managed as to be even more prominent than the proof
 which is advanced. For the man who can lay aside his grief for a moment
 while he is pleading, seems capable even of laying it aside altogether

I am not sure, however, that it is not in our attitude towards our
 opponents that this care for decorum, which we are now discussing,
 should be most rigorously maintained. For there can be no doubt, that in
 all accusations our first aim should be to give the impression that it
 is only with the greatest reluctance that we have consented to undertake
 the role of accuser. Consequently, I strongly disapprove of such remarks
 as the following which was made by Cassius Severus: 
 Thank Heaven,
 I am still alive; and that I may find some savour in life, I see Asprenas arraigned for his crimes.
 For, after this, it is impossible to suppose that he had just
 or necessary reasons for accusing Asprenas, and we cannot help
 suspecting that his motive was sheer delight in accusation.

But, beside this consideration, which applies to all cases, there is the
 further point that certain cases demand special moderation. Therefore, a
 man who demands the appointment of a curator for his father's property,
 should express his grief at his father's affliction; and, however grave
 be the charges that a father may be going to bring against his son, he
 should emphasize the painful nature of the necessity that is imposed
 upon him. And this he should do not merely in a few
 brief words, but his emotion should colour his whole speech, so that it
 may be felt not merely that he is speaking, but that he is speaking the
 truth.

Again, if a ward make allegations against his guardian, the latter must
 never give way to such anger that no trace is left of his former love or
 of a certain reverent regard for the memory of his opponent's father. I
 have already spoken, in the seventh book, I think, of the way in which a case
 should be pleaded against a father who disinherits his son, or a wife
 who brings a charge of illtreatment against her husband, while the
 fourth book, 
 in which I prescribed certain rules for the exordium, contains my
 instructions as to when it is becoming that the parties should speak
 themselves, and when they should employ an advocate to speak for them.

It will be readily admitted by everyone that words may be becoming or
 offensive in themselves. There is therefore a further point, which
 presents the most serious difficulty, that requires notice in this connexion: we must consider by what means
 things which are naturally unseemly and which, had we been given the
 choice, we should have preferred not to say, may be uttered without
 indecorum.

What at first sight can be more unpleasing and what more revolting to
 the ears of men than a case in which a son or his advocate has to speak
 against his mother? And yet sometimes it is absolutely necessary, as,
 for example, in the case of Cluentius Habitus. 
 But it is not always desirable to employ the method adopted by Cicero
 against Sasia, not because he did not make most admirable use of it, but
 because in such cases it makes the greatest difference what the point
 may be and what the manner in which the mother seeks to injure her son.

In the case of Sasia she hat openly sought to procure the destruction of
 her son, and consequently vigorous methods were justified against her.
 But there were two points, the only points which remained to be dealt
 with, that were handled by Cicero with consummate skill: in the first
 place, he does not forget the reverence that is due to parents, and in
 the second, after a thorough investigation of the history of the crime,
 he makes it clear that it was not merely right, but a positive necessity
 that he should say what he proposed to say against the mother.

And he placed this explantation in the forefront of his case, although it had really nothing to do with the actual
 question at issue; a fact which shows that his first consideration in
 that difficult and complicated case was the consideration of what was
 becoming for him to say. He therefore made the name of mother cast odium
 not on the son, but on her who was the object of his denunciations.

It is, however, always possible that a mother may
 be her son's opponent in a case of less serious import, or at any rate
 in a way which involves less deadly hostility. Under such circumstances
 the orator must adopt a gentler and more restrained tone. For example,
 we may offer apology for the line which we take, and thus lessen the
 odium which we incur or even transfer it to a different quarter, while
 if it be obvious that the son is deeply grieved by the situation, it
 will be believed that he is blameless in the matter and he will even
 become an object of pity.

It will also be desirable to throw the blame on others, so that it may
 be believed that the mother's action was instigated by their malice, and
 to assert that we will put up with every form of provocation, and will
 say nothing harsh in reply, so that, even although strong language may
 be absolutely necessary on our part, we may seem to be driven to use it
 against our will. Nay, if some charge has to be made against the mother,
 it will be the advocate's task to make it seem that he does so against
 the desire of the son and from a sense of duty to his client. Thus both
 son and advocate will win legitimate praise.

What I have said about mothers will apply to either parent; for I have
 known of litigation taking place between fathers and sons as well, after
 the emancipation 
 of the son. And when other relationships are concerned, we must
 take care to create the impression that we have spoken with reluctance
 and under stress of necessity and that we have been forbearing in our
 language; but the importance of so doing will vary according to the
 respect due to the persons concerned. The same courtesy should be
 observed in speaking on behalf of freedmen against their patrons. In fact, to sum up, it will never become us to
 plead against such persons in a tone which we ourselves should have
 resented in the mouth of men of like condition.

The same respect is on occasion due to persons of high rank, and it may
 be necessary to offer justification for our freedom of speech to avoid
 giving the impression that we have shown ourselves insolent or
 ostentatious in our attack upon such persons. Consequently Cicero,
 although he intended to speak against Cotta with the utmost
 vehemence, and indeed the case of Publius Oppius was such that he could
 not do otherwise, prefaced his attack by pleading at some length the
 necessity imposed upon him by his duty to his client.

Sometimes, again, it will beseem us to spare or seem to spare our
 inferiors, more especially if they be young. Cicero gives an example of such
 moderation in the way in which he deals with Atratinus in his defence of
 Caelius: he does not lash him like an enemy, but admonishes him almost
 like a father. For Atratinus was of noble birth and young, and the
 grievance which led him to bring the accusation was not unreasonable.
 But the task is comparatively easy in those cases in which it is to the
 judge, or even, it may be, to our audience that we have to indicate the
 reason for our moderation. The real difficulty arises when we are afraid
 of offending those against whom we are speaking.

The difficulties of Cicero when defending Murena were increased by the
 fact that he was opposed by two persons of this character, namely Marcus
 Cato and Servius Sulpicius. And yet in what courteous language, after
 allowing Sulpicius all the virtues, he refuses to admit that he has any
 idea of the way to conduct a candidature for the 
 consulship. What else was there in which a
 man of high birth and a distinguished lawyer would sooner admit his
 inferiority? With what skill he sets forth his reasons for undertaking
 the defence of Murena, when he says that he supported Sulpicius'
 candidature as opposed to that of Murena, but did not regard that
 preference as reason why he should support him in bringing a capital
 charge against his rival!

And with what a light touch he deals with Cato! He has the highest admiration for his character and desires to
 show that the fact that in certain respects it has become severe and
 callous is due not to any personal fault, but to the influence of the
 Stoic school of philosophy; in fact you would imagine that they were
 engaged not in a forensic dispute, but merely in some philosophical
 discussion.

This is undoubtedly the right method, and the safest rule in such cases
 will be to follow the practice of Cicero, namely, that, when we desire
 to disparage a man without giving offence, we should allow him to be the
 possessor of all other virtues and point out that it is only in this one
 respect that he falls short of his high standard, while we should, if
 possible, add some reason why this should be so, such, for example, as
 his being too obstinate or credulous or quick to anger, or acting under
 the influence of others.

(For we may generally find a way out of such embarrassments by making it
 clear throughout our whole speech that we not merely honour the object
 of our criticism, but even regard him with affection.) Further, we
 should have good cause for speaking thus and must do so not merely with
 moderation, but also give the impression that our action is due to the
 necessities of the case.

A different situation arises, but an easier one,
 when we have to praise the actions of men who are otherwise disreputable
 or hateful to ourselves: for it is only right that we should award
 praise where it is deserved, whatever the character of the person
 praised may be. Cicero spoke in defence of Gabinius and Publius
 Vatinius, both of them his deadly enemies and men against whom he had
 previously spoken and even published his speeches: but he justifies
 himself by declaring that he does so not because he is anxious for his
 reputation as an accomplished speaker, but because he is concerned for
 his honour.

He had a more difficult task in his defence of Cluentius, as it was necessary for him to denounce
 Scamander's guilt, although he had previously appeared for him. But he
 excuses his action with the utmost grace, alleging the importunity of
 those persons who had brought Scamander to him, and his own youth at the
 time, whereas it would have been a serious blot on his reputation,
 especially in connexion with a case of the most dubious character, if he
 had admitted that he was one who was ready to undertake the defence of
 guilty persons without asking awkward questions.

On the other hand, when we are pleading before a judge, who has special
 reasons for being hostile to us or is for some personal motive
 ill-disposed to the cause which we have undertaken, although it may be
 difficult to persuade him, the method which we should adopt in speaking
 is simple enough: we shall pretend that our confidence in his integrity
 and in the justice of our cause is such that we have no fears. We must
 play upon his vanity by pointing out that the less he indulges his own
 personal enmity or interest, the greater will be the reputation for conscientious rectitude that will accrue to him
 from his verdict.

The same method may be adopted if our case should chance to be sent back
 to the same judges from whom we have appealed: but we may further, if
 the case should permit, plead that we were forced to take the action
 which we did or were led to it by error or suspicion. The
 safest course will therefore be to express our regret, apologise for our
 fault and employ every means to induce the judge to feel compunction for
 his anger.

It will also sometimes happen that a judge may have to try the same case
 on which he has previously given judgment. In such circumstances the
 method commonly adopted is to say that we should not have ventured to
 dispute his sentence before any other judge, since he alone would be
 justified in revising it: but (and in this we must be guided by the
 circumstances of the case) we may allege that certain facts were not
 known on the previous occasion or certain witnesses were unavailable,
 or, though this must be advanced with the utmost caution and only in the
 last resort, that our clients' advocates were unequal to their task.

And even if we have to plead a case afresh before different judges, as
 may occur in a second trial of a claim to freedom or in cases in the
 centumviral courts, which are divided between two different panels, it
 will be most seemly, if we have lost our case before the first panel, to
 say nothing against the judges who tried the case on that occasion. But
 this is a subject with which I dealt at some length in the passage where
 I discussed proofs. 
 It
 may happen that we have to censure actions in others, of which we have
 been guilty ourselves, as, for example, when Tubero
 charges Ligarius with having been in Africa.

Again, there have been cases where persons condemned for bribery have
 indicted others for the same offence with a view to recovering their
 lost position: for this the schools provide a parallel in the theme
 where a luxurious youth accuses his father of the same offence. I do not
 see how this can be done with decorum unless we succeed in discovering
 some difference between the two cases, such as character, age, motives,
 circumstances of time and place or intention.

Tubero, for example, alleges that he was a young man at the time and
 went thither in the company of his father, who had been sent by the
 senate not to take part in the war, but to purchase corn, and further
 that he left the party as soon as he could, whereas Ligarius clung to
 the party and gave his support, not to Gnaeus Pompeius, who was engaged
 with Caesar in a struggle for the supreme power, though both wished to
 preserve the state, but to Juba and the Africans who were the sworn
 enemies of Rome.

The easiest course, however, is to denounce another's guilt, while
 admitting our own in the same connexion. However, that is the part of an
 informer, not of a pleader. But if there is no excuse available,
 penitence is our only hope. For the man who is converted to the hatred
 of his own errors, may perhaps be regarded as sufficiently reformed.

For there are occasionally circumstances which from the very nature of
 the case may make such an attitude not unbecoming, as, for example, in
 the case where the father disinherits a son born of a harlot because
 that son has married a harlot, a case which,
 although it forms a scholastic theme, might actually arise in a court of
 law. There are a number of pleas which the father may put forward with
 becoming effect.

He will say that it is the prayer of all parents that their sons should
 be better men than themselves (for example, if a daughter also had been
 born to him, the harlot, her mother, would have wished her to be
 chaste), or that he himself was in a humbler position (for a man in such
 a position is permitted to marry a harlot), or that he had no father to warn him; and
 further that there was an additional reason against his son's conduct,
 namely, that he should not revive the old family scandal nor reproach
 his father with his marriage and his mother with the hard necessity of
 her former life, nor give a bad example to his own children in their
 turn. We may also plausibly suggest that there is some particularly
 shameful feature in the character of the harlot married by the son,
 which the father cannot under existing circumstances tolerate. There are
 other possible arguments which I pass by: for I am not now engaged in
 declamation, but am merely pointing out that there are occasions when
 the speaker may turn his own drawbacks to good account.

More arduous difficulties confront us when we have to deal with a
 complaint of some shameful act such as rape, more especially when this
 is of an unnatural kind. I do not refer to cases when the victim himself
 is speaking. For what should he do but groan and weep and curse his
 existence, so that the judge will understand his grief rather than hear
 it articulately expressed? But the victim's advocate will have to
 exhibit similar emotions, since the admission of
 such wrongs cause more shame to the sufferer than the criminal.

In many cases it is desirable to soften the harshness of our language by
 the infusion of a more conciliatory tone, as, for example, Cicero did in
 his speech 
 dealing with the children of the proscribed. What fate could be more
 cruel than that the children of men of good birth and the descendants of
 distinguished ancestors should be excluded from participation in public
 life? For this reason that supreme artist in playing on the minds of men
 admits that it is hard, but asserts that the constitution is so
 essentially dependent on the laws of Sulla, that their repeal would
 inevitably involve its destruction. Thus he succeeded in creating the
 impression that lie was doing something on behalf of those very persons
 against whom he spoke.

I have already pointed out, in dealing with the subject of jests, how unseemly
 it is to take the position in life of individuals as the target for our
 gibes, and also have urged that we should refrain from insulting whole
 classes, races or communities. But at times our duty toward our client
 will force us to say something on the general character of a whole class
 of people, such as freedmen, soldiers, tax farmers or the like.

In all these cases the usual remedy is to create the impression that it
 is with reluctance that we introduce topics which must give pain, while
 further we shall avoid attacking everything, and even while using the
 language of reproof with regard to the essential point of attack, shall
 make up for our censure by praising our victims in some other connexion.

For example, if we charge soldiers with rapacity, we shall qualify our statement by saying that the fact is
 not surprising, as they think that they are entitled to some special
 reward for the perils they have faced and the wounds they have
 sustained. Or, if we censure them for insolence, we shall add that this
 quality is due to the fact that they are more accustomed to war than to
 peace. In the case of freedmen we should disparage their influence: but
 we may also give them credit for the industry which secured their
 emancipation.

With regard to foreign nations, Cicero's practice varies. When he
 intends to disparage the credibility of Greek witnesses he admits their
 distinction in learning and literature and professes his admiration for
 their nation. On the other
 hand, he has nothing but contempt for the Sardinians and attacks the Allobroges
 as the enemies of Rome. In all these cases
 none of his remarks, at the time they were made, were inconsistent with
 or adverse to the claims of decorum.

If there be anything offensive in the subject on which we have to speak,
 it may be toned down by a studied moderation in our language; for
 example, we may describe a brutal character as being unduly severe, an
 unjust man as led astray by prejudice, an obstinate man as unreasonably
 tenacious of his opinion. And there are a large number of cases where we
 should attempt to defeat our opponents by reasoning, which forms the
 gentlest of all methods of attack.

To these remarks I would add that all extravagance of any kind is
 indecorous, and consequently statements which are in sufficient harmony
 with the facts will none the less lose all their grace unless they are
 modified by a certain restraint. It is hard to give
 rules as to the exact method in which this precept should be observed,
 but the problem will easily be solved by following the dictates of our
 own judgement, which will tell us what it is sufficient to say and how
 much the ears of our audience will tolerate. We cannot weigh or measure
 our words by fixed standards: they are like foods, some of which are
 more satisfying than others.

I think I should also add a few brief words to the effect that not only
 very different rhetorical virtues have their special admirers, but that
 they are often praised by the same persons. For instance, there is one
 passage in Cicero where he writes
 that the best style is that which we think we can easily acquire by
 imitation, but which we find is really beyond our powers. But in another
 passage he says that his aim was not to
 speak in such a manner that everyone should be confident that he could
 do the same, but rather in a style that should be the despair of all.

These two statements may seem to be inconsistent, but as a matter of
 fact both alike deserve the praise which they receive. The difference is
 due to the fact that cases differ in character. Those of minor
 importance are admirably suited by the simplicity and negligence of
 unaffected language, whereas cases of greater moment are best suited by
 the grand style. Cicero is pre-eminent in both. Now while eminence in
 one of these styles may seem to the inexperienced to be within their
 grasp, those who understand know that they are capable of eminence in
 neither.

II. Some regard memory as being no more than one of nature's
 gifts; and this view is no doubt true to a great extent; but, like
 everything else, memory may be improved by
 cultivation. And all the labour of which I have so far spoken will be in
 vain unless all the other departments be co-ordinated by the animating
 principle of memory. For our whole education depends upon memory, and we
 shall receive instruction all in vain if all we hear slips from us,
 while it is the power of memory alone that brings before us all the
 store of precedents, laws, rulings, sayings and facts which the orator
 must possess in abundance and which he must always hold ready for
 immediate use. Indeed it is not without good reason that memory has been
 called the treasure-house of eloquence.

But pleaders need not only to be able to retain a number of facts in
 their minds, but also to be quick to take them in; it is not enough to
 learn what you have written by dint of repeated reading; it is just as
 necessary to follow the order both of matter and words when you have
 merely thought out what you are going to say, while you must also
 remember what has been said by your opponents, and must not be content
 merely with refuting their arguments in the order in which they were
 advanced, but must be in a position to deal with each in its appropriate
 place.

Nay, even extempore eloquence, in my opinion, depends on no mental
 activity so much as memory. For while we are saying one thing, we must
 be considering something else that we are going to say: consequently,
 since the mind is always looking ahead, it is continually in search of
 something which is more remote: on the other hand, whatever it
 discovers, it deposits by some mysterious process in the safe-keeping of
 memory, which acts as a transmitting agent and hands on to the delivery
 what it has received from the imagination.

I do not conceive, however, that I need dwell upon the question of the
 precise function of memory, although many hold the view that certain
 impressions are made upon the mind, analogous to those which a
 signet-ring makes on wax. Nor, again, shall I be so credulous, in view
 of the fact that the retentiveness or slowness of the memory depends
 upon our physical condition, as to venture to allot a special art to
 memory.

My inclination is rather to marvel at its powers of reproducing and
 presenting a number of remote facts after so long an interval, and, what
 is more, of so doing not merely when we seek for such facts, but even at
 times of its own accord, and not only in our waking moments, but even
 when we are sunk in sleep.

And my wonder is increased by the fact that even beasts, which seem to
 be devoid of reason, yet remember and recognise things, and will return
 to their old home, however far they have been taken from it. Again, is
 it not an extraordinary inconsistency that we forget recent and remember
 distant events, that we cannot recall what happened yesterday and yet
 retain a vivid impression of the acts of our childhood?

And what, again, shall we say of the fact that the things we search for
 frequently refuse to present themselves and then occur to us by chance,
 or that memory does not always remain with us, but will even sometimes
 return to us after it has been lost? But we should never have realised
 the fullness of its power nor its supernatural capacities, but for the
 fact that it is memory which has brought oratory to its present position
 of glory.

For it provides the orator not merely with the order of his thoughts,
 but even of his words, nor is its power limited to
 stringing merely a few words together; its capacity for endurance is
 inexhaustible, and even in the longest pleadings the patience of the
 audience flags long before the memory of the speaker.

This fact may even be advanced as an argument that there must be some
 art of memory and that the natural gift can be helped by reason, since
 training enables us to do things which we cannot do before we have had
 any training or practice. On the other hand, I find that Plato asserts that the use of written characters is a
 hindrance to memory, on the ground, that is, that once we have committed
 a thing to writing, we cease to guard it in our memory and lose it out
 of sheer carelessness.

And there can be no doubt that concentration of mind is of the utmost
 importance in this connexion; it is, in fact, like the eyesight, which
 turns to, and not away from, the objects which it contemplates. Thus it
 results that after writing for several days with a view to acquiring by
 heart what we have written, we find that our mental effort has of itself
 imprinted it on our memory.

The first person to discover an art of memory is said to have been
 Simonides, of whom the following well-known story is told. He had
 written an ode of the kind usually composed in honour of victorious
 athletes, to celebrate the achievement of one who had gained the crown
 for boxing. Part of the sum for which he had contracted was refused him
 on the ground that, following the common practice of poets, he had
 introduced a digression in praise of Castor and Pollux, and he was told
 that, in view of what he had done, he had best ask for the rest of the
 sum due from those whose deeds he had extolled. And
 according to the story they paid their debt.

For when a great banquet was given in honour of the boxer's success,
 Simonides was summoned forth from the feast, to which he had been
 invited, by a message to the effect that two youths who had ridden to
 the door urgently desired his presence. He found no trace of them, but
 what followed proved to him that the gods had shown their gratitude.

For he had scarcely crossed the threshold on his way out, when the
 banqueting hall fell in upon the heads of the guests and wrought such
 havoc among them that the relatives of the dead who came to seek the
 bodies for burial were unable to distinguish not merely the faces but
 even the limbs of the dead. Then it is said, Simonides, who remembered
 the order in which the guests had been sitting, succeeded in restoring
 to each man his own dead.

There is, however, great disagreement among our authorities as to
 whether this ode was written in honour of Glaucus of Carystus,
 Leocrates, Agatharcus or Scopas, and whether the house was at Pharsalus,
 as Simonides himself seems to indicate in a certain passage, and as is
 recorded by Apollodorus, Eratosthenes, Euphorion and Eurypylus of
 Larissa, or at Crannon, as is stated by Apollas Callimachus, who is
 followed by Cicero, to whom the
 wide circulation of this story is due.

It is agreed that Scopas, a Thessalian noble, perished at this banquet,
 and it is also said that his sister's son perished with him, while it is
 thought that a number of descendants of an elder Scopas met their death
 at the same time.

For my own part, however, I regard the portion of the story which
 concerns Castor and Pollux as being purely fictitious, since the poet himself has nowhere mentioned the
 occurrence; and he would scarcely have kept silence on an affair which
 was so much to his credit.

This achievement of Simonides appears to have given rise to the
 observation that it is an assistance to the memory if localities are
 sharply impressed upon the mind, a view the truth of which everyone may
 realise by practical experiment. For when we return to a place after
 considerable absence, we not merely recognise the place itself, but
 remember things that we did there, and recall the persons whom we met
 and even the unuttered thoughts which passed through our minds when we
 were there before.

Thus, as in most cases, art originates in experiment. Some place is
 chosen of the largest possible extent and characterised by the utmost
 possible variety, such as a spacious house divided into a number of
 rooms. Everything of note therein is carefully committed to the memory,
 in order that the thought may be enabled to run through all the details
 without let or hindrance. And undoubtedly the first task is to secure
 that there shall be no delay in finding any single detail, since an idea
 which is to lead by association to some other idea requires to be fixed
 in the mind with more than ordinary certitude.

The next step is to distinguish something which has been written down or
 merely thought of by some particular symbol which will serve to jog the
 memory; this symbol may have reference to the subject as a whole, it
 may, for example, be drawn from navigation, warfare, etc., or it may, on
 the other hand, be found in some particular word. (For even in cases of
 forgetfulness one single word will serve to restore
 the memory.) However, let us suppose that the symbol is drawn from
 navigation, as, for instance, an anchor; or from warfare, as, for
 example, some weapon. These symbols are then arranged as follows.

The first though is placed, as it were, in the forecourt; the second,
 let us say, in the living-room; the remainder are placed in due order
 all round the impluvium 
 and entrusted not merely to bedrooms and
 parlours, but even to the care of statues and the like. This done, as
 soon as the memory of the facts requires to be revived, all these places
 are visited in turn and the various deposits are demanded from their
 custodians, as the sight of each recalls the respective details.
 Consequently, however large the number of these which it is required to
 remember, all are linked one to the other like dancers hand in hand, and
 there can be no mistake since they join what precedes to what follows,
 no trouble being required except the preliminary labour of committing
 the various points to memory.

What I have spoken of as being done in a house, can equally well be done
 in connexion with public buildings, a long journey, the ramparts of a
 city, or even pictures. Or we may even imagine such places to ourselves.
 We require, therefore, places, real or imaginary, and images or symbols,
 which we must, of course, invent for ourselves. By images I mean the
 words by which we distinguish the things which we have to learn by
 heart: in fact, as Cicero says, we use places like wax tablets
 and symbols in lieu of letters.

It will be best to give his words verbatim: 
 
 We must for this purpose employ a
 number of remarkable places, clearly envisaged and separated by
 short intervals: the images which we use must
 be active, sharply-cut and distinctive, such as may occur to the
 mind and strike it with rapidity. This makes me wonder all
 the more, how Metrodorus should
 have found three hundred and sixty different localities in the twelve
 signs of the Zodiac through which the sun passes. It was doubtless due
 to the vanity and boastfulness of a man who was inclined to vaunt his
 memory as being the result of art rather than of natural gifts.

I am far from denying that those devices may be useful for certain
 purposes, as, for example, if we have to reproduce a number of names in
 the order in which we heard them. For those who use such aids place the
 things which have to be remembered in localities which they have
 previously fixed in the memory; they put a table, for instance, in the
 forecourt, a platform in the hall and so on with the rest, and then,
 when they retrace their steps, they find the objects where they had
 placed them.

Such a practice may perhaps have been of use to those who, after an
 auction, have succeeded in stating what object they had sold to each
 buyer, their statements being checked by the books of the money takers;
 a feat which it is alleged was performed by Hortensius. It will,
 however, be of less service in learning the various parts of a set
 speech. For thoughts do not call up the same images as material things,
 and a symbol requires to be specially invented for them, although even
 here a particular place may serve to remind us, as, for example, of some
 conversation that may have been held there. But how can such a method
 grasp a whole series of connected words?

I pass by the fact that there are certain things which it is impossible
 to represent by symbols, as, for example,
 conjunctions. We may, it is true, like shorthand writers, have definite
 symbols for everything, and may select an infinite number of places to
 recall all the words contained in the five books of the second pleading
 against Verres, and we may even remember them all as if they were
 deposits placed in safe-keeping. But will not the flow of our speech
 inevitably be impeded by the double task imposed upon our memory?

For how can our words be expected to flow in connected speech, if we
 have to look back at separate symbols for each individual word?
 Therefore the experts mentioned by Cicero as
 having trained their memory by methods of this kind, namely Charmadas,
 and Metrodorus of Scepsis, to whom I have just referred, may keep their
 systems for their own use. My precepts on the subject shall be of a
 simpler kind.

If a speech of some length has to be committed to memory, it will be
 well to learn it piecemeal, since there is nothing so bad for the memory
 as being overburdened. But the sections into which we divide it for this
 purpose should not be very short: otherwise they will be too many in
 number, and will break up and distract the memory. I am not, however,
 prepared to recommend any definite length; it will depend on the natural
 limits of the passage concerned, unless, indeed, it be so long as itself
 to require subdivision.

But some limits must be fixed to enable us, by dint of frequent and
 continuous practice, to connect the words in their proper order, which
 is a task of no small difficulty, and subsequently to unite the various
 sections into a whole when we go over them in order. If certain portions
 prove especially difficult to remember, it will be
 found advantageous to indicate them by certain marks, the remembrance of
 which will refresh and stimulate the memory.

For there can be but few whose memory is so barren that they will fail
 to recognise the symbols with which they have marked different passages.
 But if anyone is slow to recognise his own signs, he should employ the
 following additional remedy, which, though drawn from the mnemonic
 system discussed above, is not without its uses: he will adapt his symbols to
 the nature of the thoughts which tend to slip from his memory, using an
 anchor, as I suggested above, if he has to speak of a ship, or a spear,
 if he has to speak of a battle.

For symbols are highly efficacious, and one idea suggests another: for
 example, if we change a ring from one finger to another or tie a thread
 round it, it will serve to remind us of our reason for so doing.
 Specially effective are those devices which lead the memory from one
 thing to another similar thing which we have got to remember; for
 example, in the case of names, if we desire to remember the name Fabius,
 we should think of the famous Cunctator, whom we are certain not to
 forget, or of some friend bearing the same name.

This is specially easy with names such as Aper, Ursus, Naso, or Crispus,
 since in these cases we can fix their
 origin in our memory. Origin again may assist us to a better remembrance
 of derivative names, such as Cicero, Verrius, or Aurelius. 
 However, I will say no more on this point.

There is one thing which will be of assistance to everyone, namely, to
 learn a passage by heart from the same tablets on which he has committed
 it to writing. For he will have certain tracks to guide him in his pursuit of memory, and the mind's eye
 will be fixed not merely on the pages on which the words were written,
 but on individual lines, and at times he will speak as though he were
 reading aloud. Further, if the writing should be interrupted by some
 erasure, addition or alteration, there are certain symbols available,
 the sight of which will prevent us from wandering from the track.

This device bears some resemblance to the mnemonic system which I
 mentioned above, but if my experience is worth anything, is at once more
 expeditious and more effective. The question has been raised as to
 whether we should learn by heart in silence; it would be best to do so,
 save for the fact that under such circumstances the mind is apt to
 become indolent, with the result that other thoughts break in. For this
 reason the mind should be kept alert by the sound of the voice, so that
 the memory may derive assistance from the double effort of speaking and
 listening. But our voice should be subdued, rising scarcely above a
 murmur.

On the other hand, if we attempt to learn by heart from another reading
 aloud, we shall find that there is both loss and gain; on the one hand,
 the process of learning will be slower, because the perception of the
 eye is quicker than that of the ear, while, on the other hand, when we
 have heard a passage once or twice, we shall be in a position to test
 our memory and match it against the voice of the reader. It is, indeed,
 important for other reasons to test ourselves thus from time to time,
 since continuous reading has this drawback, that it passes over the
 passages which we find hard to remember at the same speed as those which
 we find less difficulty in retaining.

By testing ourselves to see whether we remember a
 passage, we develop greater concentration without waste of time over the
 repetition of passages which we already know by heart. Thus, only those
 passages which tend to slip from the memory are repeated with a view to
 fixing them in the mind by frequent rehearsal, although as a rule the
 mere fact that they once slipped our memory makes us ultimately remember
 them with special accuracy. Both learning by heart and writing have this
 feature in common: namely, that good health, sound digestion, and
 freedom from other preoccupations of mind contribute largely to the
 success of both.

But for the purpose of getting a real grasp of what we have written
 under the various heads, division and artistic structure will be found
 of great value, while, with the exception of practice, which is the most
 powerful aid of all, they are practically the only means of ensuring an
 accurate remembrance of what we have merely thought out. For correct
 division will be an absolute safeguard against error in the order of our
 speech,

since there are certain points not merely in the distribution of the
 various questions in our speech, but also in their development (provided
 we speak as we ought), which naturally come first, second, and third,
 and so on, while the connexion will be so perfect that nothing can be
 omitted or inserted without the fact of the omission or insertion being
 obvious.

We are told that Scaevola, after a game of draughts in which he made the
 first move and was defeated, went over the whole game again in his mind
 on his way into the country, and on recalling the move which had cost
 him the game, returned to tell the man with whom he had been playing,
 and the latter acknowledged that he was right. Is
 order, then, I ask you, to be accounted of less importance in a speech,
 in which it depends entirely on ourselves, whereas in a game our
 opponent has an equal share in its development?

Again, if our structure be what it should, the artistic sequence will
 serve to guide the memory. For just as it is easier to learn verse than
 prose, so it is easier to learn prose when it is artistically
 constructed than when it has no such organisation. If these points
 receive attention, it will be possible to repeat verbatim even such psssages as gave the impression of being
 delivered extempore. My own memory is of a very ordinary kind, but I
 found that I could do this with success on occasions when the
 interruption of a declamation by persons who had a claim to such a
 courtesy forced me to repeat part of what I had said. There are persons
 still living, who were then present to witness if I lie.

However, if anyone asks me what is the one supreme method of memory, I
 shall reply, practice and industry. The most important thing is to learn
 much by heart and to think much, and, if possible, to do this daily,
 since there is nothing that is more increased by practice or impaired by
 neglect than memory.

Therefore boys should, as I have already urged, learn as much as possible by heart at the
 earliest stage, while all who, whatever their age, desire to cultivate
 the power of memory, should endeavour to swallow the initial tedium of
 reading and re-reading what they have written or read, a process which
 we may compare to chewing the cud. This task will be rendered less
 tiresome if we begin by confining ourselves to learning only a little at
 a time, in amounts not sufficient to create disgust: we may then proceed to increase the amount by a line a
 day, an addition which will not sensibly increase the labour of
 learning, until at last the amount we can attack will know no limits. We
 should begin with poetry and then go on to oratory, while finally we may
 attempt passages still freer in rhythm and less akin to ordinary speech,
 such, for example, as passages from legal writers.

For passages intended as an exercise should be somewhat difficult in
 character if they are to make it easy to achieve the end for which the
 exercise is designed; just as athletes train the muscles of their hands
 by carrying weights of lead, although in the actual contests their hands
 will be empty and free. Further, I must not omit the fact, the truth of
 which our daily practice will teach us, that in the case of the slower
 type of mind the memory of recent events is far from being exact.

It is a curious fact, of which the reason is not obvious, that the
 interval of a single night will greatly increase the strength of the
 memory, whether this be due to the fact that it has rested from the
 labour, the fatigue of which constituted the obstacle to success, or
 whether it be that the power of recollection, which is the most
 important element of memory, undergoes a process of ripening and
 maturing during the time which intervenes. Whatever the cause, things
 which could not be recalled on the spot are easily co-ordinated the next
 day, and time itself, which is generally accounted one of the causes of
 forgetfulness, actually serves to strengthen the memory.

On the other hand, the abnormally rapid memory fails as a rule to last
 and takes its leave as though, its immediate task accomplished, it had
 no further duties to perform. And indeed there is 
 nothing surprising in the fact that things which have been implanted in
 the memory for some time should have a greater tendency to stay there.
 The difference between the powers of one mind and another, to which I
 have just referred, gives rise to the question whether those who are
 intending to speak should learn their speeches verbatim or whether it is sufficient to get a good grasp of
 the essence and the order of what they have got to say. To this problem
 no answer is possible that will be of universal application.

Give me a reliable memory and plenty of time, and I should prefer not to
 permit a single syllable to escape me: otherwise writing would be
 superfluous. It is specially important to train the young to such
 precision, and the memory should be continually practised to this end,
 that we may never learn to become indulgent to its failure. For this
 reason I regard it as a mistake to permit the student to be prompted or
 to consult his manuscript, since such practices merely encourage
 carelessness, and no one will ever realise that he has not got his theme
 by heart, if he has no fear of forgetting it.

It is this which causes interruptions in the flow of speech and makes
 the orator's language halting and jerky, while he seems as though he
 were learning what he says by heart and loses all the grace that a
 well-written speech can give, simply by the fact that he makes it
 obvious that he has written it. On the other hand, a good memory will
 give us credit for quickness of wit as well, by creating the impression
 that our words have not been prepared in the seclusion of the study, but
 are due to the inspiration of the moment, an impression which is of the
 utmost assistance both to the orator and to his cause.

For the judge admires those words more and fears
 them less which he does not suspect of having been specially prepared
 beforehand to outwit him. Further, we must make it one of our chief aims
 in pleading to deliver passages which have been constructed with the
 utmost care, in such manner as to make it appear that they are but
 casually strung together, and to suggest that we are thinking out and
 hesitating over words which we have, as a matter of fact, carefully
 prepared in advance.

It should now be clear to all what is the best course to adopt for the
 cultivation of memory. If, however, our memory be naturally somewhat
 dull or time presses, it will be useless to tie ourselves down rigidly
 to every word, since if we forget any one of them, the result may be
 awkward hesitation or even a tongue-tied silence. It is, therefore, far
 safer to secure a good grasp of the facts themselves and to leave
 ourselves free to speak as we will.

For the loss of even a single word that we have chosen is always a
 matter for regret, and it is hard to supply a substitute when we are
 searching for the word that we had written. But even this is no remedy
 for a weak memory, except for those who have acquired the art of
 speaking extempore. But if both memory and this gift be lacking, I
 should advise the would-be orator to abandon the toil of pleading
 altogether and, if he has any literary capacity, to betake himself by
 preference to writing. But such a misfortune will be of but rare
 occurrence.

For the rest there are many historical examples of the power to which
 memory may be developed by natural aptitude and application.
 Themistocles is said to have spoken excellently in Persian after a year's study; Mithridates is recorded to have known
 twenty-two languages, that being the number of the different nations
 included in his empire; Crassus, surnamed the Rich, when
 commanding in Asia had such a complete mastery of five different Greek
 dialects, that he would give judgement in the dialect employed by the
 plaintiff in putting forward his suit; Cyrus is believed to have known
 the name of every soldier in his army,

while Theodectes is actually said to
 have been able to repeat any number of verses after only a single
 hearing. I remember that it used to be alleged that there were persons
 still living who could do the same, though I never had the good fortune
 to be present at such a performance. Still, we shall do well to have
 faith in such miracles, if only that he who believes may also hope to
 achieve the like.

III. Delivery is often styled
 action. But the first name is derived from
 the voice, the second from the gesture. For Cicero in one passage speaks of action as
 being a form of speech, and in another as being a kind of physical
 eloquence. None the less, he divides action into two elements,
 which are the same as the elements of delivery, namely, voice and
 movement. Therefore, it matters not which term we employ.

But the thing itself has an extraordinarily powerful effect in oratory.
 For the nature of the speech that we have composed within our minds is
 not so important as the manner in which we produce it, since the emotion
 of each member of our audience will depend on the impression made upon
 his hearing. Consequently, no proof, at least if it be one devised by
 the orator himself, will ever be so secure as not to lose its force if the speaker fails to produce it in tones that
 drive it home. All emotional appeals will inevitably fall flat, unless
 they are given the fire that voice, look, and the whole carriage of the
 body can give them.

For when we have done all this, we may still account ourselves only too
 fortunate if we have succeeded in communicating the fire of our passion
 to the judge: consequently, we can have no hope of moving him if we
 speak with languor and indifference, nor of preventing him from yielding
 to the narcotic influence of our own yawns.

A proof of this is given by actors in the theatre. For they add so much
 to the charm even of the greatest poets, that the verse moves us far
 more when heard than when read, while they succeed in securing a hearing
 even for the most worthless authors, with the result that they
 repeatedly win a welcome on the stage that is denied them in the
 library.

Now if delivery can count for so much in themes which we know to be
 fictitious and devoid of reality, as to arouse our anger, our tears or
 our anxiety, how much greater must its effect be when we actually
 believe what we hear? For my own part I would not hesitate to assert
 that a mediocre speech supported by all the power of delivery will be
 more impressive than the best speech unaccompanied by such power.

It was for this reason that Demosthenes, when asked what was the most
 important thing in oratory, gave the palm to delivery and assigned it
 second and third place as well, until his questioner ceased to trouble
 him. We are therefore almost justified in concluding that he regarded it
 not merely as the first, but as the only virtue of oratory.

This explains why he studied under the instruction
 of the actor Andronicus with such diligence and success as thoroughly to
 justify the remark made by Aeschines to the Rhodians when they expressed
 their admiration of the speech of Demosthenes on behalf of Ctesiphon,
 What would you have said if you had heard him
 yourselves? 
 Cicero likewise regards action as the supreme element of oratory.

He records that Gnaeus Lentulus acquired a greater reputation by his
 delivery than by his actual eloquence, and that Gains Gracchus by the
 same means stirred the whole Roman people to tears when he bewailed his
 brother's death, while Antonius and Crassus produced a great impression
 by their command of this quality, though the greatest of all was that
 produced by Quintus Hortensius. This statement is strongly
 supported by the fact that the latter's writings fall so far short of
 the reputation which for so long secured him the first place among
 orators, then for a while caused him to be regarded as Cicero's rival,
 and finally, for the remainder of his life assigned him a position
 second only to that of Cicero, that his speaking must clearly have
 possessed some charm which we fail to find when we read him.

And, indeed, since words in themselves count for much and the voice adds
 a force of its own to the matter of which it speaks, while gesture and
 motion are full of significance, we may be sure of finding something
 like perfection when all these qualities are combined.

There are some, however, who consider that delivery which owes nothing
 to art and everything to natural impulse is more forcible, and in fact
 the only form of delivery which is worthy of a manly speaker. But these persons are as a rule identical, either
 with those who are in the habit of disapproving of care, art, polish and
 every form of premeditation in actual speaking, as being affected and
 unnatural, or else with those who (like Lucius Cotta, according to
 Cicero) affect the imitation of ancient writers both in their choice of
 words and even in the rudeness of their intonation and rhythm.

Those, however, who think it sufficient for men to be born to enable
 them to become orators, are welcome to their opinion, and I must ask
 them to be indulgent to the efforts to which I am committed by my belief
 that we cannot hope to attain perfection unless nature is assisted by
 study. But I will not be so obstinate as to deny that to nature must be
 assigned the first place.

For a good delivery is undoubtedly impossible for one who cannot
 remember what he has written, or lacks the quick facility of speech
 required by sudden emergencies, or is hampered by incurable impediments
 of speech. Again, physical uncouthness may be such that no art can
 remedy it,

while a weak voice is incompatible with first-rate excellence in
 delivery. For we may employ a good, strong voice as we will; whereas one
 that is ugly or feeble not only prevents us from producing a number of
 effects, such as a crescendo or a sudden fortissimo, but at times forces faults upon us,
 making us drop the voice, alter its pitch and refresh the hoarseness of
 the throat and fatigue of the lungs by a hideous chanting intonation.
 However, let me now turn to consider the speaker on whom my precepts
 will not be wasted.

All delivery, as I have already said, is concerned with two different
 things, namely, voice and gesture, of which the one
 appeals to the eye and the other to the ear, the two senses by which all
 emotion reaches the soul. But the voice has the first claim on our
 attention, since even our gesture is adapted to suit it. The first point
 which calls for consideration is the nature of the voice, the second the
 manner in which it is used. The nature of the voice depends on its
 quantity and quality.

The question of quantity is the simpler of the two, since as a rule it
 is either strong or weak, although there are certain kinds of voice
 which fall between these extremes, and there are a number of gradations
 from the highest notes to the lowest and from the lowest to the highest.
 Quality, on the other hand, presents more variations; for the voice may
 be clear or husky, full or thin, smooth or harsh, of wide or narrow
 compass, rigid or flexible, and sharp or flat, while lung-power may be
 great or small.

It is not necessary for my purpose to enquire into the causes which give
 rise to these peculiarities. I need not raise the question whether the
 difference lies in those organs by which the breath is produced, or in
 those which form the channels for the voice itself; whether the voice
 has a character of its own or depends on the motions which produce it;
 whether it be the strength of the lungs, chest or the vocal organs
 themselves that affords it most assistance, since the co-operation of
 all these organs is required. For example, it is not the mouth only that
 produces sweetness of tone; it requires the assistance of the nostrils
 as well, which carry off what I may describe as the overflow of the
 voice. The important fact is that the tone must be agreeable and not
 harsh.

The methods of using the voice present great
 variety. For in addition to the triple division of accents into sharp,
 grave and circumflex, there are many other forms of intonation which are
 required: it may be intense or relaxed, high or low, and may move in
 slow or quick time.

But here again there are many intermediate gradations between the two
 extremes, and just as the face, although it consists of a limited number
 of features, yet possesses infinite variety of expression, so it is with
 the voice: for though it possesses but few varieties to which we can
 give a name, yet every human being possesses a distinctive voice of his
 own, which is as easily distinguished by the ear as are facial
 characteristics by the eye.

The good qualities of the voice, like everything else, are improved by
 training and impaired by neglect. But the training required by the
 orator is not the same as that which is practised by the singing-master,
 although the two methods have many points in common. In both cases
 physical robustness is essential to save the voice from dwindling to the
 feeble shrillness that characterises the voices of eunuchs, women and
 invalids, and the means for creating such robustness are to be found in
 walking, rubbing-down with oil, abstinence from sexual intercourse, an
 easy digestion, and, in a word, in the simple life.

Further, the throat must be sound, that is to say, soft and smooth; for
 if the throat be unsound, the voice is broken or dulled or becomes harsh
 or squeaky. For just as the sound produced in the pipe by the same
 volume of breath varies according as the stops are closed or open, or
 the instrument is clogged or cracked, so the voice is strangled if the
 throat be swollen, and muffled if it is obstructed,
 while it becomes rasping if the throat is inflamed, and may be compared
 to an organ with broken pipes in cases where the throat is subject to
 spasms.

Again, the presence of some obstacle may divide the breath just as a
 pebble will divide shallow waters, which, although their currents unite
 again soon after the obstruction is past, still leave a hollow space in
 rear of the object struck. An excess of moisture also impedes the voice,
 while a deficiency weakens it. As regards fatigue, its effect is the
 same as upon the body: it affects the voice not merely at the moment of
 speaking, but for some time afterwards.

But while exercise, which gives strength in all cases, is equally
 necessary both for orators and singing-masters, it is a different kind
 of exercise which they require. For the orator is too much occupied by
 civil affairs to be able to allot fixed times for taking a walk, and he
 cannot tune his voice through all the notes of the scale nor spare it
 exertion, since it is frequently necessary for him to speak in several
 cases in succession.

Nor is the same regime suitable as regards food: for the orator needs a
 strong and enduring voice rather than one which is soft and sweet, while
 the singer mellows all sounds, even the highest, by the modulation of
 his voice, whereas we have often to speak in harsh and agitated tones,
 must pass wakeful nights, swallow the soot that is produced by the
 midnight oil and stick to our work though our clothes be dripping with
 sweat.

Consequently, we must not attempt to mellow our voice by coddling it nor
 accustom it to the conditions which it would like to enjoy, but rather
 give it exercise suited to the tasks on which it will be employed, never
 allowing it to be impaired by silence, but
 strengthening it by practice, which removes all difficulties.

The best method for securing such exercise is to learn passages by heart
 (for if we have to speak extempore, the passion inspired by our theme
 will distract us from all care for our voice), while the passages
 selected for the purpose should be as varied as possible, involving a
 combination of loud, argumentative, colloquial and modulated utterance,
 so that we may prepare ourselves for all exigencies simultaneously. This
 will be sufficient.

Otherwise your delicate, over trained voice will succumb before any
 unusual exertion, like bodies accustomed to the oil of the training
 school, which for all the imposing robustness which they display in
 their own contests, yet, if ordered to make a day's march with the
 troops, to carry burdens and mount guard at night, would faint beneath
 the task and long for their trainers to rub them down with oil and for
 the free perspiration of the naked limbs.

Who would tolerate me if in a work such as this I were to prescribe
 avoidance of exposure to sun, wind, rain or parching heat? If we are
 called upon to speak in the sun or on a windy, wet or warm day, is that
 a reason for deserting the client whom we have undertaken to defend?
 While as for the warning given by some that the orator should not speak
 when dyspeptic, replete or drunk, or immediately after vomiting, I think
 that no sane person would dream of declaiming under such circumstances.

There is, however, good reason for the rule prescribed by all
 authorities, that the voice should not be overstrained in the years of
 transition between boyhood and manhood, since at that period it is
 naturally weak, not, I think, on account of heat, as some allege (for
 there is more heat in the body at other periods),
 but rather on account of moisture, of which at that age there is a
 superabundance.

For this reason the nostrils and the breast swell at this stage, and all
 the organs develop new growth, with the result that they are tender and
 liable to injury. However, to return to the point, the best and most
 realistic form of exercise for the voice, once it has become firm and
 set, is, in my opinion, the practice of speaking daily just as we plead
 in the courts. For thus, not merely do the voice and lungs gain in
 strength, but we acquire a becoming deportment of the body and develop
 grace of movement suited to our style of speaking.

The rules for delivery are identical with those for the language of
 oratory itself. For, as our language must be correct, clear, ornate and
 appropriate, so with our delivery; it will be correct, that is, free
 from fault, if our utterance be fluent, clear, pleasant and
 urbane, that is to say, free from all traces of a
 rustic or a foreign accent.

For there is good reason for the saying we so often hear, He must
 be a barbarian or a Greek : since we may discern a man's
 nationality from the sound of his voice as easily as we test a coin by
 its ring. If these qualities be present, we shall have those harmonious
 accents of which Ennius expresses his
 approval when he describes Cethegus as one whose words rang
 sweetly, and avoid the opposite effect, of which Cicero
 expresses his disapproval by saying,
 They bark, not plead. For there are many faults of
 which I spoke in the first book when I discussed the method in
 which the speech of children should be formed, since I thought it more
 appropriate to mention them in connexion with a period of life when it
 is still possible to correct them.

Again, the delivery may be described as correct if
 the voice be sound, that is to say, exempt from any of the defects of
 which I have just spoken, and if it is not dull, coarse, exaggerated,
 hard, stiff, hoarse or thick, or again, thin, hollow, sharp, feeble,
 soft or effeminate, and if the breath is neither too short nor difficult
 to sustain or recover.

The delivery will be clear if, in the first place, the words are uttered
 in their entirety, instead of being swallowed or clipped, as is so often
 the case, since too many people fail to complete the final syllables
 through over-emphasising the first. But although words must be given
 their full phonetic value, it is a tiresome and offensive trick to
 pronounce every letter as if we were entering them in an inventory.

For vowels frequently coalesce and some consonants disappear when
 followed by a vowel. I have already given an example of both
 these occurrences:— mullum ille et terris.

Further, we avoid placing two consonants near each other when their
 juxtaposition would cause a harsh sound; thus, we say pellexit and collegiate and employ
 other like forms of which I have spoken elsewhere. It is with this in mind that
 Cicero praises Catulus for the sweetness
 with which he pronounced the various letters. The second essential for
 clearness of delivery is that our language should be properly
 punctuated, that is to say, the speaker must begin and end at the proper
 place. It is also necessary to note at what point our speech should
 pause and be momentarily suspended (which the Greeks term ὑποδιαστολὴ and ὑποστιγμὴ 
 and when it should come to a full
 stop.

After the words arma virumque cano 
 there is a momentary suspension, because virum is connected with what
 follows, the full sense being given by virum Troiae
 qui primus ab oris, after which there is a similar suspension.
 For although the mention of the hero's destination introduces an idea
 different from that of the place whence he came, the difference does not
 call for the insertion of a stop, since both ideas are expressed by the
 same verb venit.

After Italiam comes a third pause, since fato profugus is parenthetic and breaks up the
 continuity of the phrase Italian, Lavinaque. For
 the same reason there is a fourth pause after profulgus. Then follows Lavinaque venit
 litora, where a stop must be placed, as at this point a new
 sentence begins. But stops themselves vary in length, according as they
 mark the conclusion of a phrase or a sentence.

Thus after litora I shall pause and continue
 after taking breath. But when I come to atque altae
 moenia Romae I shall make a full stop, halt and start again
 with the opening of a fresh sentence.

There are also occasionally, even in periods, pauses which do not
 require a fresh breath. For although the sentence in
 coetu vero populi Romani, negotium publicumn gerens, magister
 equilum, 
 etc., contains a number of
 different cola, 
 expressing a number of
 different thoughts, all these cola are embraced
 by a single period: consequently, although short pauses are required at
 the appropriate intervals, the flow of the period as a whole must not be
 broken. On the other hand, it is at times necessary to take breath
 without any perceptible pause: in such cases we must do so
 surreptitiously, since if we take breath unskilfully, it will cause as
 much obscurity as would have resulted from faulty punctuation.
 Correctness of punctuation may seem to be but a trivial merit, but
 without it all the other merits of oratory are nothing worth.

Delivery will be ornate when it is supported by a voice that is easy,
 strong, rich, flexible, firm, sweet, enduring, resonant, pure, carrying
 far and penetrating the ear (for there is a type of voice which
 impresses the hearing not by its volume, but by its peculiar quality):
 in addition, the voice must be easily managed and must possess all the
 necessary inflexions and modulations, in fact it must, as the saying is,
 be a perfect instrument, equipped with every stop: further, it must have
 strong lungs to sustain it, and ample breathing power that will be equal
 to all demands upon it, however fatiguing.

The deepest bass and the highest treble notes are unsuited to oratory:
 for the former lack clearness and, owing to their excessive fullness,
 have no emotional power, while the latter are too thin and, owing to
 excess of clearness, give an impression of extravagance and are
 incompatible with the inflexions demanded by delivery and place too
 great a strain upon the voice.

For the voice is like the strings of a musical instrument; the slacker
 it is the deeper and fuller the note produced, whereas if it be
 tightened, the sound becomes thinner and shriller. Consequently, the
 deepest notes lack force, and the higher run the risk of cracking the
 voice. The orator will, therefore, employ the intermediate notes, which
 must be raised when we speak with energy and lowered when we adopt a
 more subdued tone.

For the first essential of a good delivery is evenness. The voice must
 not run joltingly, with irregularity of rhythm and sound, mixing long
 and short syllables, grave accents and acute, tones loud and low,
 without discrimination, the result being that this universal unevenness
 produces the impression of a limping gait. The
 second essential is variety of tone, and it is in this alone that
 delivery really consists.

I must warn my readers not to fall into the error of supposing that
 evenness and variety are incompatible with one another, since the fault
 opposed to evenness is unevenness, while the opposite of variety is that
 which the Greeks term μονοείδεια, or
 uniformity of aspect. The art of producing variety not merely charms and
 refreshes the ear, but, by the very fact that it involves a change of
 effort, revives the speaker's flagging energies. It is like the relief
 caused by changes in position, such as are involved by standing,
 walking, sitting and lying, none of which can be endured for a long time
 together.

But the most important point (which I shall proceed to discuss a little
 later) is the necessity of adapting the voice to suit the nature of the
 various subjects on which we are speaking and the moods that they
 demand: otherwise our voice will be at variance with our language. We
 must, therefore, avoid that which the Greeks call monotony, that is to say, the unvarying exertion both of lungs
 and voice. By this I do not simply mean that we must avoid saying
 everything in a loud tone, a fault which amounts to madness, or in a
 colloquial tone, which creates an impression of lifelessness, or in a
 subdued murmur, which is utterly destructive of all vigour.

What I mean is this: within the limits of one passage and the compass of
 one emotion we may vary our tone to a certain, though not a very great
 extent, according as the dignity of the language, the nature of the
 thought, the conclusion and opening of our sentences or transitions from
 one point to another, may demand. Thus, those who paint in monochrome
 still represent their objects in different
 planes, since otherwise it would have been impossible to depict even the
 limbs of their figures.

Let us take as an example the opening of Cicero's magnificent speech in
 defence of Milo. Is it not clear that the orator has to change his tone
 almost at every stop? it is the same face, but the expression is
 changed. Etsi vereor, iudices, ne turpe sit,

pre fortissimo viro dicere incipientem
 timere. 
 Although the general tone of
 the passage is restrained and subdued, since it is not merely an exordium, but the exordium 
 of a man suffering from serious anxiety, still something fuller and
 bolder is required in the tone, when he says pro
 fortissiomo viro, than when he says etsi
 cereor and turpe sit and timere.

But his second breath must be more vigorous, partly owing to the natural
 increase of effort, since we always speak our second sentence with less
 timidity, and partly because he indicates the high courage of Milo: minimeque deceat, cum T. Annius ipse magis de rei publicae salute quam de sua perturbetur. Then
 he proceeds to something like a reproof of himself: me
 ad eius causam parem animi maguitudinem adferre non posse.

The next clause suggests a reflexion on the conduct of others: tamen haec novi iudicii nova forma terret oculos. 
 And then in what follows he opens every stop, as the saying is: qui, quocunque inciderunt, consuetudinem fori et
 pristinum morem iudiciorum requirunt: while the next clause is
 even fuller and freer: non enim corona cousessus
 vester cinctus est, ut solebat.

I have called attention to these points to make it clear that there is a
 certain variety, not merely in the delivery of cola, but even in that of phrases consisting of
 one word, a variety the lack of which would make every word seem of
 equal importance. The voice, however, must not be pressed beyond its
 powers, for it is liable to be choked and to become less and less clear
 in proportion to the increase of effort, while at times it will break
 altogether and produce the sound to which the Greeks have given a name
 derived from the crowing of cocks before the voice is developed.

We must also beware of confusing our utterance by excessive volubility,
 which results in disregard of punctuation, loss of emotional power, and
 sometimes in the clipping of words. The opposite fault is excessive
 slowness of speech, which is a sign of lack of readiness in invention,
 tends by its sluggishness to render our hearers inattentive, and,
 further, wastes the time allotted to us for speaking, a consideration which is of some importance. Our speech must be
 ready, but not precipitate, under control, but not slow,

while we must not take breath so often as to break up our sentence, nor,
 on the other hand, sustain it until it fails us from exhaustion. For the
 sound produced by loss of breath is disagreeable; we gasp like a
 drowning man and fill our lungs with long drawn inhalations at in
 appropriate moments, giving the impression that our action is due not to
 choice, but to compulsion. Therefore, in attacking a period of abnormal
 length, we should collect our breath, but quickly, noiselessly and
 imperceptibly. On other occasions we shall be able to take breath at the
 natural breaks in the substance of our speech.

But we must exercise our breathing capacity to make it as great as
 possible. To produce this result Demosthenes used to recite as many
 successive lines as possible, while he was climbing
 a hill. He also, with a view to securing fluency free from impediment,
 used to roll pebbles under his tongue when speaking in the privacy of
 his study.

Sometimes the breath, although capable of sustained effort and
 sufficiently full and clear, lacks firmness when exerted, had for that
 reason is liable to become tremulous, like bodies which, although to all
 appearances sound, receive insufficient support from the sinews. This
 the Greeks call βρασμός. 
 There are some too
 who, owing to the loss of teeth, do not draw in the breath naturally,
 but suck it in with a hissing sound. There are others who pant
 incessantly and so loudly that it is perfectly audible within them: they
 remind one of heavily-laden beasts of burden straining against the yoke.

Some indeed actually affect this mannerism, as though to suggest that
 they are struggling with the host of ideas that crowd themselves upon
 them and oppressed by a greater flood of eloquence than their throats
 are capable of uttering. Others, again, find a difficulty in opening
 their mouths, and seem to struggle with their words; and, further,
 although they are not actually faults of the voice, yet since they arise
 out of the use of the voice, I think this is the most appropriate place
 for referring to the habit of coughing and spitting with frequency while
 speaking, of hawking up phlegm from the depths of the lungs, like water
 from a well, sprinkling the nearest of the bystanders with saliva, and
 expelling the greater portion of the breath through the nostrils.

But any of these faults are tolerable compared with the practice of
 chanting instead of speaking, which is the worst feature of our modern
 oratory, whether in the courts or in the schools,
 and of which I can only say that I do not know whether it is more
 useless or more repugnant to good taste. For what can be less becoming
 to an orator than modulations that recall the stage and a sing-song
 utterance which at times resembles the maudlin utterance of drunken
 revellers?

What can be more fatal to any emotional appeal than that the speaker
 should, when the situation calls for grief, anger, indignation or pity,
 not merely avoid the expression of those emotions which require to be
 kindled in the judge, but outrage the dignity of the courts with noises
 such as are dear to the Lycians and Carians? For Cicero has told us that the rhetoricians of Lycia and
 Caria come near to singing in their perorations. But, as a matter of
 tact, we have somewhat overstepped the limits imposed by the more
 restrained style of singing.

I ask you, does anyone sing, I will not say when his theme is murder,
 sacrilege or parricide, but at any rate when he deals with figures or
 accounts, or, to cut a long story short, when he is pleading in any kind
 of lawsuit whatever? And if such a form of intonation is to be permitted
 at all, there is really no reason why the modulations of the voice
 should not be accompanied by harps and flutes, or even by cymbals, which
 would be more appropriate to the revolting exhibitions of which I am
 speaking.

And yet we show no reluctance in indulging this vicious practice. For no
 one thinks his own singing hideous, and it involves less trouble than
 genuine pleading. There are, moreover, some persons who, in thorough
 conformity with their other vices, are possessed with a perpetual
 passion for hearing something that will soothe their ears. But, it may
 be urged, does not Cicero 
 himself say that there is a suggestion of singing in the utterance of an
 orator? And is not this the outcome of a natural impulse? I shall
 shortly proceed to show to what extent such musical modulations are
 permissible: but if we are to call it singing, it must be no more than a
 suggestion of singing, a fact which too many refuse to realise.

But it is now high time for me to explain what I mean by appropriate
 delivery. Such appropriateness obviously lies in the adaptation of the
 delivery to the subjects on which we are speaking. This quality is, in
 the main, supplied by the emotions themselves, and the voice will ring
 as passion strikes its chords. But there is a difference between true
 emotion on the one hand, and false and fictitious emotion on the other.
 The former breaks out naturally, as in the case of grief, anger or
 indignation, but lacks art, and therefore requires to be formed by
 methodical training.

The latter, on the other hand, does imply art, but lacks the sincerity
 of nature: consequently in such cases the main thing is to excite the
 appropriate feeling in oneself, to form a mental picture of the facts,
 and to exhibit an emotion that cannot be distinguished from the truth.
 The voice, which is the intermediary between ourselves and our hearers,
 will then produce precisely the same emotion in the judge that we have
 put into it. For it is the index of the mind, and is capable of
 expressing all its varieties of feeling.

Therefore when we deal with a lively theme, the flow of the voice is
 characterised by fullness, simplicity and cheerfulness; but when it is
 roused to battle, it puts forth all its strength and strains every
 nerve. In anger it is fierce, harsh and intense,
 and calls for frequent filling of the lungs, since the breath cannot be
 sustained for long when it is poured forth without restraint. When it is
 desired to throw odium upon our opponents, it will be somewhat slower,
 since, as a rule, it is none save the weaker party takes refuge in such
 tactics. On the other hand, in flattery, admission, apology or question
 it will be gentle and subdued.

If we advise, warn, promise or console, it will be grave and dignified,
 modest if we express fear or shame, bold in exhortation, precise in
 argument, full of modulations, suggestive of tears and designedly
 muffled in appeals for pity, whereas in digression it will be full and
 flowing, and will have all the resonance that is characteristic of
 confidence; in exposition of facts or conversations it will be even and
 pitched half-way betwixt high and low.

But it will be raised to express violent emotion, and sink when our
 words are of a calmer nature, rising and falling according to the
 demands of its theme. However, for the moment I will defer speaking of
 the variations in tone required by different topics, and will proceed
 first to the discussion of gesture which conforms to the voice, and like
 it, obeys the impulse of the mind. Its importance in oratory is
 sufficiently clear from the fact that there are many things which it can
 express without the assistance of words.

For we can indicate our will not merely by a gesture of the hands, but
 also with a nod from the head: signs take the place of language in the
 dumb, and the movements of the dance are frequently full of meaning, and
 appeal to the emotions without any aid from words. The temper of the
 mind can be inferred from the glance and gait, and
 even speechless animals show anger, joy, or the desire to please by
 means of the eye and other physical indications.

Nor is it wonderful that gesture which depends on various forms of
 movement should have such power, when pictures, which are silent and
 motionless, penetrate into our innermost feelings with such power that
 at times they seem more eloquent than language itself. On the other
 hand, if gesture and the expression of the face are out of harmony with
 the speech, if we look cheerful when our words are sad. or slake our
 heads when making a positive assertion, our words will not only lack
 weight, but will fail to carry conviction.

Gesture and movement are also productive of grace. It was for this
 reason that Demosthenes used to practise his delivery in front of a
 large mirror, since, in spite of the fact that its reflexions are
 reversed, he trusted his eyes to enable him to judge accurately the
 effect produced. The head, being the chief member of the body, has a
 corresponding importance in delivery, serving not merely to produce
 graceful elect, but to illustrate our meaning as well.

To secure grace it is essential that the head should be carried
 naturally an erect. For a droop suggests humility, while if it be thrown
 back it seems to express arrogance, if inclined to one side it gives an
 impression of languor, while if it is held too stiffly and rigidly it
 appears to indicate a rude and savage temper. Further, it should derive
 appropriate motion from the subject of our pleading, maintaining harmony
 with the gesture and following the movement of the hands and side.

For the eyes are always turned in the same direction as the gesture,
 except when we are called upon to condemn or
 concede something or to express abhorrence, when we shall show our
 aversion by turning away the face and by thrusting out our hands as
 though to repel the thought, as in the lines: 
 
 
 Ye gods, such dread calamity
 avert! 
 
 
 Aen. iii. 620.
 
 
 or 
 
 
 Not for me 
 To claim such
 honour! 
 
 
 Aen. i. 335.

The methods by which the head may express our meaning are manifold. For
 in addition to those movements which indicate consent, refusal and
 affirmation, there are those expressive of modesty, hesitation, wonder
 or indignation, which are well known and common to all. But to confine
 the gesture to the movement of the head alone is regarded as a fault by
 those who teach acting as well as by professors of rhetoric. Even the
 frequent nodding of the head is not free from fault, while to toss or
 roll it till our hair flies free is suggestive of a fanatic.

By far the greatest influence is exercised by the glance. For it is by
 this that we express supplication, threats, flattery, sorrow, joy, pride
 or submission. It is on this that our audience hang, on this that they
 rivet their attention and their gaze, even before we begin to speak. It
 is this that inspires the hearer with affection or dislike, this that
 conveys a world of meaning and is often more eloquent than all our
 words.

Consequently in plays destined for the stage, the masters of the art of
 delivery design even their masks to enhance the emotional effect. Thus,
 in tragedy, Aerope will be sad, Medea fierce, Ajax
 bewildered, Hercules truculent.

In comedy, on the other hand, over and above the methods adopted to
 distinguish between slaves, pimps, parasites, rustics, soldiers,
 harlots, maidservants, old men stern and mild, youths moral or
 luxurious, married women and girls, we have the important rôle of the
 father who, because at times he is excited and at others call, has one
 eyebrow raised and the other normal, the custom among actors being to
 turn that side of the face to the audience which best suits the role.

But of the various elements that go to form the expression, the eyes are
 the most important, since they, more than any-thing else, reveal the
 temper of the mind, and without actual movement will twinkle with
 merriment or be clouded with grief. And further, nature has given them
 tears to serve as interpreters of our feelings, tears that will break
 forth for sorrow or stream for very joy. But, when the eyes move, they
 become intent, indifferent, proud, fierce, mild, or angry; and they will
 assume all these characters according as the pleading may demand.

But they must never he fixed or protruding, languid or sluggish,
 lifeless, lascivious, restless, nor swim with a moist voluptuous glance,
 nor look aslant nor leer in amorous fashion, nor yet must they seem to
 promise or ask a boon. As for keeping them fully or partially closed
 while speaking, surely none save an uneducated man or a fool would dream
 of doing such a thing.

And in addition to all these forms of expression, the upper and lower
 eyelids can render service in support of the eyes.

The eyebrows also may be used with great effect. For to some extent they
 mould the expression of the eyes and determine that
 of the forehead. It is by means of the eyebrows that we contract, raise
 or smooth the latter: in fact, the only thing which has greater
 influence over it is the blood, which moves in conformity with the
 emotions that control the mind, causing a blush on a skin that is
 sensitive to shame, and giving place to an icy pallor under the
 influence of fear, whereas, when it is under control, it produces a
 peaceful complexion, intermediate between the two.

Complete immobility in the eyebrows is a fault, as also is excess of
 mobility or the tendency to raise one and lower the other, as in the
 comic mask which I mentioned just now: while it is a further blemish if
 they express a feeling out of keeping with the words we utter. For they
 show anger by contraction, grief by depression and cheerfulness by their
 expansion. They are also dropped or raised to express consent or refusal
 respectively.

It is not often that the lips or nostrils can be becomingly employed to
 express our feelings, although they are often used to indicate derision,
 contempt or loathing. For to wrinkle the nostrils (as
 Horace says), or blow them out, or
 twitch them, or fret them with our finger, or snort through them with a
 sudden expulsion of the breath, or stretch them wide or push them up
 with the flat of the hand are all indecorous, since it is not without
 reason that censure is passed even on blowing the nose too frequently.

It is also an ugly habit to protrude the lips, open them with a sudden
 smack, compress them, draw them apart and bare the
 teeth, or twist them awry to one side till they almost reach the ear, or
 to curl them in scorn, or let them droop, or allow the voice to escape
 only on one side. It is also unbecoming to lick or
 bite them, since their motion should be but slight even when they are
 employed in forming words. For we must speak with the mouth rather than
 the lips.

The neck must be straight, not stiff or bent backward. As regards the
 throat, contraction and stretching are equally unbecoming, though in
 different ways. If it be stretched, it causes strain as well, and
 weakens and fatigues the voice, while if the chin be pressed down into
 the chest it makes the voice less distinct and coarsens it, owing to the
 pressure on the windpipe.

It is, as a rule, unbecoming to raise or contract the shoulders. For it
 shortens the neck and produces a mean and servile gesture, which is even
 suggestive of dishonesty when men assume an attitude of flattery,
 admiration or fear.

In continuous and flowing passages a most becoming gesture is slightly
 to extend the arm with shoulders well thrown back and the fingers
 opening as the hand moves forward. But when we have to speak in
 specially rich or impressive style, as, for example, in the passage saxa atiqu solitudines voci respondent, 
 the arm will
 be thrown out in a stately sidelong sweep and the words will, as it
 were, expand in unison with the gesture.

As for the hands, without which all action would be crippled and
 enfeebled, it is scarcely possible to describe the variety of their
 motions, since they are almost as expressive as words. For other
 portions of the body merely help the speaker, whereas the hands may
 almost be said to speak.

Do we not use them to demand, promise, summon, dismiss, threaten,
 supplicate, express aversion or fear, question or deny? Do we not employ
 them to indicate joy, sorrow, hesitation,
 confession, penitence, measure, quantity, number and time?

Have they not power to excite and prohibit, to express approval, wonder
 or shame? Do they not take the place of adverbs and pronouns when we
 point at places and things? In fact, though the peoples and nations of
 the earth speak a multitude of tongues, they share in common the
 universal language of the hands.

The gestures of which I have thus far spoken are such as naturally
 proceed from us simultaneously with our words. But there are others
 which indicate things by means of mimicry. For example, you may suggest
 a sick man by mimicking the gesture of a doctor feeling the pulse, or a
 harpist by a movement of the hands as though they were plucking the
 strings. But this is a type of gesture which should be rigorously
 avoided in pleading.

For the orator should be as unlike a dancer as possible, and his gesture
 should be adapted rather to his thought than to his actual words, a
 practice which was indeed once upon a time even adopted by the more
 dignified performers on the stage. I should, therefore, permit him to
 direct his hand towards his body to indicate that he is speaking of
 himself, or to point it at some one else to whom he is alluding,
 together with other similar gestures which I need not mention. But, on
 the other hand, I would not allow him to use his hands to imitate
 attitudes or to illustrate anything he may chance to say.

And this rule applies not merely to the hands, but to all gesture and to
 the voice as well. For in delivering the period stetit
 soleatus praetor populi Romani, 
 it would be wrong to
 imitate Verres leaning on his mistress, or in uttering the phrase caedebatur in medio 
 
 foro Messanae 
 to make the side writhe, as it does when
 quivering beneath the lash, or to utter shrieks, such as are extorted by
 pain.

For even comic actors seem to me to commit a gross offence against the
 canons of their art when, if they have in the course of some narrative
 to quote either the words of an old man (as, for example, in the
 prologue to the Hydria ), or of a woman (as in
 the ( Georgus 
 ), they litter them in
 a tremulous or a treble voice, notwithstanding the fact that they are
 playing the part of a young man. So true is it that certain forms of
 imitation may be a blemish even in those whose whole art consists in
 imitation.

One of the commonest of all the gestures consists in placing the middle
 finger against the thumb and extending the remaining three: it is
 suitable to the exordum, the hand being moved
 forward with an easy motion a little distance both to right and left,
 while the head and shoulders gradually follow the direction of the
 gesture. It is also useful in the statement of
 facts, but in that case the hand must be moved with firmness
 and a little further forward, while, if we are reproaching or refuting
 our adversary, the same movement may be employed with some vehemence and
 energy, since such passages permit of greater freedom of extension.

On the other hand, this same gesture is often directed sideways towards
 the left shoulder: this is a mistake, although it is a still worse fault
 to thrust the arm across the chest and gesticulate with the elbow. The
 middle and third fingers are also sometimes turned under the thumb,
 producing a still more forcible effect than the gesture previously
 described, but not well adapted for use in the exordium or state- 
 
 meant of facts.

But when three fingers are doubled under the thumb, the finger, which
 Cicero says that Crassus used to such
 effect, is extended. It is used in denunciation and in indication
 (whence its name of index finger), while if it be slightly dropped after
 the hand has been raised toward the shoulder, it signifies affirmation,
 and if pointed as it were face downwards toward the ground, it expresses
 insistence. It is sometimes also used to indicate number.

Again, if its top joint is lightly gripped on either side, with the two
 outer fingers slightly curved, the little finger rather less than the
 third, we shall have a gesture well suited for argument. But for this
 purpose the same gesture is rendered more emphatic by holding the middle
 joint of the finger and contracting the last two fingers still further
 to match the lower position of the middle finger and thumb.

The following gesture is admirably adapted to accompany modest language:
 the thumb and the next three fingers are gently converged to a point and
 the hand is carried to the neighbourhood of the month or chest, then
 relaxed palm downwards and slightly advanced.

It was with this gesture that I believe Demosthenes to have commenced
 the timid and subdued exordium of his speech in defence of Ctesiphon,
 and it was, I think, in such a position that Cicero held his land, when he said, If I have any
 talent, though I am conscious how little it is. Slightly
 greater freedom may be given to the gesture by pointing the fingers down
 and drawing the hand in towards the body and then opening it somewhat
 more rapidly in the opposite direction, so that it seems as though it
 were delivering our words to the audience.

Sometimes we may hold the first two fingers apart
 without, however, inserting the thumb between them, the remaining two
 pointing inwards, while even the two former must not be fully extended.

Sometimes, again, the third and little finger may be pressed in to the
 palm near the base of the thumb, which in its turn is pressed against
 the middle joints of the first and middle fingers; at others the little
 finger is sometimes drooped obliquely, or the four fingers may be
 relaxed rather than extended and the thumb slanted inwards: this last
 gesture is well adapted to pointing to one side or marking the different
 points which we are making, the had being carried palmupwards to the
 left and swept back to the right face-downwards.

The following short gestures are also employed: the hand may be slightly
 hollowed as it is when persons are making a vow, and then moved slightly
 to and fro, the shoulders swaying gently in unison: this is adapted to
 passages where we speak with restraint and almost with timidity. Wonder
 is best expressed as follows: the hand turns slightly upwards and the
 fingers are brought in to the palm, one after the other, beginning with
 the little finger; the hand is then opened and turned round by a
 reversal of this motion.

There are various methods of expressing interrogation; but, as a rule,
 we do so by a turn of the hand, the arrangement of the fingers being
 indifferent. If the first finger touch the middle of the right-hand edge
 of the thumb-nail with its extremity, the other fingers being relaxed,
 we shall have a graceful gesture well suited to express approval or to
 accompany statements of facts, and to mark the
 distinction between our different points.

There is another gesture not unlike the preceding,
 in which the remaining three fingers are folded: it is much employed by
 the Greeks both for the left hand and the right, in rounding off their
 enthymemes, 
 detail by detail. A gentle movement of the hand
 expresses promise or assent, a more violent movement suggests
 exhortation or sometimes praise. There is also that familiar gesture by
 which we drive home our words, consisting in the rapid opening and
 shutting of the hand: but this is a common rather than an artistic
 gesture.

Again, there is the somewhat unusual gesture in which the hand is
 hollowed and raised well above the shoulder with a motion suggestive of
 exhortation. The tremulous motion now generally adopted by foreign
 schools is, however, fit only for the stage. I do not know why some
 persons disapprove of the movement of the fingers, with their tops
 converging, towards the mouth. For we do this when we are slightly
 surprised, and at times also employ it to express fear or entreaty when
 we are seized with sudden indignation.

Further, we sometimes clench the hand and press it to our breast when we
 are expressing regret or anger, an occasion when it is not unbecoming
 even to force the voice through the teeth in phrases such as What
 shall I do now? 
 What would you do? To point at
 something with the thumb turned back is a gesture which is in general
 just, but is not, in my opinion, becoming to an orator.

Motion is generally divided into six kinds, but circular motion must be
 regarded as a seventh. The latter alone is faulty when applied to
 gesture. The remaining motions— that is, forward, to right or left and
 up or down—all have their significance, but the gesture is never
 directed to what lies behind us, though we do at 
 times throw the hand back.

The best effect is produced by letting the motion of the hand start from
 the left and end on the right, but this must be done gently, the hand
 sinking to rest and avoiding all appearance of giving a blow, although
 at the end of a sentence it may sometimes be allowed to drop, but must
 quickly be raised again: or it may occasionally, when we desire to
 express wonder or dissent, spring back with a rapid motion. In this
 connexion the earlier instructors in the art of gesture rightly added
 that the movement of the hand should begin: and end with the thought
 that is expressed. Otherwise the gesture will anticipate or lag behind
 the voice, both of which produce an unpleasing effect.

Some, through excess of subtlety, have erroneously prescribed that there
 should be an interval of three words between each movement; but this
 rule is never observed, nor can it be. These persons, however, were
 desirous that there should be some standard of speed or slowness (a most
 rational desire), with a view to avoid prolonged inactivity on the part
 of the hands as well as the opposite fault, into which so many fall, of
 breaking up the natural flow of their delivery by continual motion.

There is another still more common error, which is less easy of
 detection. Language possesses certain imperceptible stresses, indeed we
 might almost call them feet, to which the gesture of most speakers
 conforms. Thus there will he one movement at novum
 crimen, another at Giai Caesar, a third
 at et ante diem, a fourth at non auditum, a fifth at propinquus
 meus, a sixth at ad te and others at Quintus Tubero and detulit.

From this springs a further error, namely, that young men, when writing
 out their speeches, devise all their gestures in
 advance and consider as they compose how the hand is to fall at each
 particular point. A further unfortunate result is that the movement of
 the hand, which should end on the right, frequently finishes on the
 left.

It is therefore better, in view of the fact that all speech falls into a
 number of brief clauses, at the end of which we can take breath, if
 necessary, to arrange our gesture to suit these sections. For example,
 the words novum crimes, Gai Caesar, in a sense
 form a phrase complete in itself, since they are followed by a
 conjunction, while the next words, et ante hanc diem
 non auditum, are also sufficiently self-contained. To these
 phrases the motions of the hand must be conformed, before the speech has
 passed beyond the calmness of tone on which it opens.

But when increasing warmth of feeling has fired the orator, the gesture
 will become more frequent, in keeping with the impetus of the speech.
 Some places are best suited by a rapid, and others by a restrained
 delivery. In the one case we pass rapidly on, fire a volley of arguments
 and hurry upon our way; in the other, we drive home our points, force
 them on the hearer and implant them in his mind. But the slower the
 delivery, the greater its emotional power: thus, Rosins was rapid and
 ESOPs weighty in his delivery, because the former was a comic and the
 latter a tragic actor.

The same rule applies to the movemints. Consequently on the stage young
 men and old, soldiers and married women all walk sedately, while slaves,
 maidservants, parasites and fishermen are more lively in their
 movements. But instructors in the art of gesture will not permit the
 hand to be raised above the level of the eyes or lowered beneath that of the breast; since it is thought a grave
 blemish to lift it to the top of the head or lower it to the
 lower portions of the belly.

It may be moved to the left within the limits of the shoulder, but no
 further without loss of decorum. On the other hand, when, to express our
 aversion, we thrust our hand out to the left, the left shoulder must be
 brought forward in unison with the head, which will incline to the
 right.

It is never correct to employ the left hand alone in gesture, though it
 will often conform its motion to that of the right, as, for example,
 when we are counting our arguments on the fingers, or turn the palms of
 the hands to the left to express our horror of something,

or thrust them out in front or spread them out to right and left, or
 lower them in apology or supplication (though the gesture is not the
 same in these two cases), or raise them in adoration, or stretch them
 out in demonstration or invocation, as in the passage, Ye hills
 and groves of Alba, 
 or in
 the passage from Gracchus : Whither, alas! shall I turn me? To the
 Capitol? Nay, it is wet with my brother's blood. To my home?
 etc.

For in such passages greater emotional effect is produced if both hands
 co-operate, short gestures being best adapted to matters of small
 importance and themes of a gentle or melancholy character, and longer
 gestures to subjects of importance or themes calling for joy or horror.

It is desirable also that I should mention the faults in the use of the
 hands, into which even experienced pleaders are liable to fall. As for
 the gesture of demanding a cup, threatening a flogging, or indicating
 the number 500 by crooking the thumb, all of
 which are recorded by writers on the subject, I have never seen them employed even by uneducated rustics.

But I know that it is of frequent occurrence for a speaker to expose his
 side by stretching his arm too far, to be afraid in one case of
 extending his hand beyond the folds of his cloak, and in another to
 stretch it as far as it will go, to raise it to the roof, or by swinging
 it repeatedly over his left shoulder to deliver such a rain of blows to
 the rear that it is scarcely safe to stand behind him, or to make a
 circular sweep to the left, or by casting out his hand at random to
 strike the standers-by or to flap both elbows against his sides.

There are others, again, whose hands are sluggish or tremulous or
 inclined to saw the air; sometimes, too, the fingers are crooked and
 brought down with a run from the top of the head, or tossed up into the
 air with the hand turned palm upwards. There is also a gesture, which
 consists in inclining the head to the right shoulder, stretching out the
 arm from the ear and extending the hand with the thumb turned down. This
 is a special favourite with those who boast that they speak with
 uplifted hand.

To these latter
 we may add those speakers who hurl quivering epigrams with their fingers
 or denounce with the hand upraised, or rise on tiptoe, whenever they say
 something of which they are specially proud. This last proceeding may at
 times be adopted by itself; but they convert it into a blemish by
 simultaneously raising one or even two fingers as high as they can
 reach, or heaving up both hands as if they were carrying something.

In addition to these faults, there are those which spring not from
 nature, but from nervousness, such as struggling desperately with our
 lips when they refuse to open, making inarticulate sounds, as though something were sticking in our throat, when
 our memory fails us, or our thoughts will not come at our call; rubbing
 the end of our nose, walking up and down in the midst of an unfinished
 sentence, stopping suddenly and courting applause by silence, with many
 other tricks which it would take too long to detail, since everybody has
 his own particular faults.

We must take care not to protrude the chest or stomach, since such an
 altitude arches the back, and all bending backwards is unsightly. The
 flanks must conform to the gesture; for the motion of the entire body
 contributes to the effect: indeed, Cicero holds that the body is more
 expressive than even the hands. For in the de
 Orator 
 he says, There must be no quick movements of the
 fingers, no marking time with the finger-tips, but the orator should
 control himself by the poise of the whole trunk and by a manly
 inclination of the side.

Slapping the thigh, which Clean is said to have been the first to
 introduce at Athens, is in general use and is becoming as a mark of
 indignation, while it also excites the audience. Cicero regrets its absence in Calidius, There was
 no striking of the forehead, he complains, nor of the
 thigh. With regard to the forehead I must beg leave to
 differ from him: for it is a purely theatrical trick even to clap the
 hands or beat the breast.

it is only on rare occasions, too, that it is becoming to touch the
 breast with the finger-tips of the hollowed hand, when, for example, we
 address ourselves or speak words of exhortation, reproach or
 commiseration. But if ever we do employ this gesture, it will not be
 unbecoming to pull back the toga at the same time. As regards the feet,
 we need to be careful about our gait and the attitudes in which we stand. To stand with the right foot
 advanced or to thrust forward the same foot and hand are alike
 unsightly.

At times we may rest our weight on the right foot, but without any
 corresponding inclination of the chest, while, in any case, the gesture
 is better suited to the comic actor than to the orator. It is also a
 mistake, when resting on the left foot, to lift the right or poise it on
 tiptoe. To straddle the feet is ugly if we are standing still, and
 almost indecent if we are actually moving. To start forward may be
 effective, provided that we move but a short distance and do so but
 rarely and without violence.

It will also at times be found convenient to walk to and fro, owing to
 the extravagant pauses imposed by the plaudits of the audience; Cicero,
 however, says that this should be
 done only on rare occasions, and that we should take not more than a few
 steps. On the other hand, to run up and down, which, in the ease of
 Manlius Sure, Domitius Afer called overdoing it, is sheer folly, and
 there was no little wit in the question put by Virginias Flatus to a
 rival professor, when he asked how many miles he had declaimed.

I know, too, that some authorities warn us not to walk with our backs
 turned to the judges, but to move diagonally and keep our eyes fixed on
 the panel. This cannot be done in private trials, but in such cases the
 space available is small and the time during which our backs are turned
 is of the briefest. On the other hand, we
 are permitted at times to walk backwards gradually. Some even jump
 backwards, which is merely ludicrous.

Stamping the foot is, as Cicero says, effective when done on suitable occasions, that is to say,
 at the commence meant or close of a lively argument, but if it be frequently indulged in, it brands the speaker as a
 fool and ceases to attract the attention of the judge. There is also the
 unsightly habit of swaying to right and left, and shifting the weight
 from one foot to the other. Above all, we must avoid effeminate
 movements, such as Cicero ascribes to Titus, a
 circumstance which led to a certain kind of dance being nicknamed Titus.

Another reprehensible practice is that of nodding frequently and rapidly
 to either side, a mannerism for which the elder Curio was derided by Julius,
 who asked who it was who was speaking in a boat, while on another
 occasion, when Curio had been tossing himself about in his usual manner,
 while Octaves, his colleague, was sitting beside him bandaged and
 reeking with medicaments on account of ill-health, Spiciness remarked,
 Octaves, you can never be sufficiently grateful to your
 colleague: for if he wasn't there, the flies would have devoured you
 this very day where you sit. 
 The shoulders also are apt to be jerked to and fro, a
 fault of which Demosthenes is said to have cured himself by speaking on
 a narrow platform with a spear hanging immediately above his shoulder,
 in order that, if in the heat of his eloquence he failed to avoid this
 fault, he might have his attention called to the fact by a prick from
 the spear. The only condition that justifies our walking about while
 speaking is if we are pleading in a public trial before a large number
 of judges and desire specially to impress our arguments upon them
 individually.

The practice adopted by some of throwing the toga back over the
 shoulder, while they draw up the fold to their waist with the right
 hand, and use the left for gesticulation as they walk up and down and
 discourse, is not to be tolerated; for even to draw
 back the left hand while extending the right is an objectionable habit.
 This reminds me of an extremely foolish trick, which I think I ought to
 mention, that some speakers have of employing the intervals when the
 audience are applauding by whispering in someone's ear or jesting with
 their friends or looking back at their clerks, as if telling them to
 make a note of some gratuity to be dispensed to their supporters.

On the other hand, when we are making some explanation to the judge,
 more especially if the point be somewhat obscure, a slight inclination
 in his direction will be not unbecoming. But to lean forward towards the
 advocate seated on the benches of our opponent is offensive, while,
 unless we are genuinely fatigued, it is a piece of affectation to lean
 back among our own friends and to be supported in their arms; the same
 remark also applies to the practice of being prompted aloud or reading
 from manuscript as though uncertain of our memory.

For all these mannerisms impair the force of our speaking, chill the
 effect of emotional appeals and make the judge think that he is not
 being treated with sufficient respect. To cross over to the seats of our
 opponents borders on impudence, and Cassius Severus showed a neat turn
 of wit when he demanded that a barrier might be erected between himself
 and an opponent who behaved in this fashion. Moreover, though to advance
 towards our opponent may at times produce an impression of passionate
 energy, the return to our former position will always prove
 correspondingly tame.

Many of the rules which I have given will require modification by those
 who have to plead before judges seated on a dais. For in such cases the face must be raised somewhat higher, so
 that the speaker's eyes may be fixed on the president of the court: for
 the same reason his gestures must also be carried a little higher, while
 there are other details which will readily occur to my reader without
 any mention from me. Similar modifications will be likewise necessary
 for those who plead sitting. For
 this is done, as a rule, only in cases of minor importance, where
 delivery will necessarily be more restrained, and certain defects are
 inevitable.

For example, when the speaker sits on the left side of the judge, he
 will have to advance his right foot, while if he be seated on the right,
 many of his gestures must be made from right to left, in order that they
 may be addressed to the judge. Personally, I note that many speakers
 start up at the conclusion of individual periods, while some proceed to
 walk to and fro for a little: it is for them to decide whether this is
 becoming or not: I will merely remark that, when they do this, they are
 not pleading seated.

It was a common custom, which has not entirely disappeared, to drink or
 even to eat while pleading; but I shall not permit my ideal orator to do
 anything of the kind. For if a man cannot endure the burdens imposed by
 oratory without having recourse to such remedies, he should not find it
 a serious hardship to give up pleading altogether, a course which is far
 preferable to acknowledging his contempt both for his profession and his
 audience.

With regard to dress, there is no special garb peculiar to the orator,
 but his dress comes more under the public eye than that of other men. It
 should, therefore, be distinguished and manly, as, indeed, it ought to
 be with all men of position. For excessive care
 with regard to the cut of the toga, the
 style of the shoes, or the arrangement of the hair, is just as
 reprehensible as excessive carelessness. There are also details of dress
 which are altered to some extent by successive changes in fashion. The
 ancients, for example, wore no folds, and their successors wore them
 very short.

Consequently it follows that in view of the fact that their arms were,
 like those of the Greeks, covered by the garment, they must have
 employed a different form of gesture in the exordium from that which is
 now in use. However, I am speaking of our own day. The speaker who has
 not the right to wear the broad stripe, will wear his girdle in
 such a way that the front edges of the tunic fall a little below his
 knees, while the edges in rear reach to the middle of his hams. For only
 women draw them lower and only centurions higher.

If we wear the purple stripe, it requires but little care to see that it
 fills becomingly; negligence in this respect sometimes excites
 criticism. Among those who wear the broad stripe, it is the fashion to
 let it hang somewhat lower than in garments that are retained by the
 girdle. The toga itself should, in my opinion, be round, and cut to fit,
 otherwise there are a number of ways in which it may be unshapely. Its
 front edge should by preference reach to the middle of the shin, while
 tie back should be higher in proposition as the girdle is higher behind than in front.

The fold is most becoming, if it fall to a point a little above the
 lower edge of the tunic, and should certainly never fall below it. The
 other fold which passes obliquely like a belt under the right shoulder
 and over the left, should neither be too tight nor too loose. The
 portion of the toga which is last to be arranged should fall rather low,
 since it will sit better thus and be kept in its place. A portion of the
 tunic also should be drawn back in order that it may not fall over the
 arm when we are pleading, and the fold should be thrown over the
 shoulder, while it will not be unbecoming if the edge be turned back.

On the other hand, we should not cover the shoulder and the whole of the
 throat, otherwise our dress will be unduly narrowed and will lose the
 impressive effect produced by breadth at the chest. Tire left arm should
 only be raised so far as to form a right angle at the elbow, while the
 edge of the toga should fall in equal lengths on either side.

The hand should not be overloaded with rings, which should under no
 circumstances encroach upon the middle joint of the finger. The most
 becoming attitude for the hand is produced by raising the thumb and
 slightly curving the fingers, unless it is occupied with holding
 manuscript. But we should not go out of our way to carry the latter, for
 it suggests an acknowledgement that we do not trust our memory, and is a
 hindrance to a number of gestures.

The ancients used to let the toga fall to the heels, as the Greeks are
 in the habit of doing with the cloak: Plotius and Nigidius both recommend this in the books which they wrote
 about gesture as practised in their own day. I am consequently all the
 more surprised at the view expressed by so learned
 a man as Plinius Secundus, especially since it occurs in a book which
 carries minute research almost to excess: for he asserts that Cicero
 was in the habit of wearing his toga in such a fashion to conceal his
 varicose veins, despite the fact that this fashion is to be seen in the
 statues of persons who lived after Cicero's day.

As regards the short cloak, bandages used to protect the legs, mufflers
 and coverings for the ears, nothing short of ill-health can excuse their
 use. But such attention to our dress is only possible at the beginning
 of a speech, since, as the pleading develops, in fact, almost from the
 beginning of the statement of facts, the fold
 will slip down from the shoulder quite naturally and as it were of its
 own accord, while when we come to arguments and commonplaces, it will be
 found convenient to throw back the toga from the left shoulder, and even
 to throw down the fold if it should stick.

The left hand may be employed to pluck the toga from the throat and the
 upper portion of the chest, for by now the whole body will be hot. And
 just as at this point the voice becomes more vehement and more varied in
 its utterance, so the clothing begins to assume something of a combative
 pose.

Consequently, although to wrap the toga round the left hand or to pull
 it about us as a girdle would be almost a symptom of madness, while to
 throw back the fold from its bottom over the right shoulder would be a
 foppish and effeminate gesture, and there are yet worse effects than
 these, there is, at any rate, no reason why we should not place the
 looser portions of the fold under the left arm, since it gives an air of vigour and freedom not ill-suited to the warmth
 and energy of our action.

When, however, our speech draws near its close, more especially if
 fortune shows herself kind, practically everything is becoming; we may
 stream with sweat, show signs of fatigue, and let our dress fall in
 careless disorder and the toga slip loose from us on every side.

This fact makes me all the more surprised that Pliny should think it
 worth while to enjoin the orator to dry his brow with a handkerchief in
 such a way as not to disorder the hair, although a little later he most
 properly, and with a certain gravity and sternness of language, forbids
 us to rearrange it. For my own part, I feel that dishevelled locks make
 an additional appeal to the emotions, and that neglect of such
 precautions creates a pleasing impression.

On the other hand, if the toga falls down at the beginning of our
 speech, or when we have only proceeded but a little way, the failure to
 replace it is a sign of indifference, or sloth, or sheer ignorance of
 the way in which clothes should be worn. The above are the chief
 adornments and faults of delivery. But there are a number of further
 considerations which the orator must bear in mind.

In the first place there is the question as to the character of speaker,
 judges and audience. For just as the methods of speaking may justifiably
 be varied to suit the characteristics of different orators and different
 judges, so it is with delivery. The same characteristics of voice,
 gesture and gait are not equally becoming in the presence of the
 emperor, the senate, the people, and magistrates, or in private and
 public trials, or in making a request to the
 praetor for the appointment of a judge to hear our case, and in actual
 pleading. Anyone who will reflect upon the matter will realise the
 nature of the differences involved, as he will also be able to realise
 the nature of the subject on which he is speaking and the effect which
 he desires to produce.

The considerations with regard to the subject are four in number, of
 which the first has reference to the case as a whole. For the case may
 be of a gloomy or a cheerful nature, an anxious business, or one that
 calls for no alarm, and may involve issues of great or trivial
 importance. We ought, therefore, never to be so preoccupied over
 particular portions of a case as to forget to consider the case as a
 whole.

The second point is concerned with the different aspects of the various
 portions of the speech, that is, the exordium,
 statement of facts, arguments and peroration. The third concerns the thoughts, which will vary
 according to the subject matter and the emotions which we require to
 awaken. The fourth has reference to the words, which must be given
 appropriate expression, unless their force is to be entirely wasted,
 although it is an error to attempt to make our delivery reproduce the
 sense of every single word.

Consequently, in panegyric, funeral orations excepted, in returning
 thanks, exhortations and the like, the delivery must be luxuriant,
 magnificent, and grand. On the other hand, in funeral or consolatory
 speeches, together with most of those in defence of accused persons, the
 delivery will be melancholy and subdued. When we speak in the senate, it
 will be authoritative, when we address the people, dignified, and when
 we are pleading in private cases, restrained. As
 regards the respective portions of speeches, thoughts and words, I must
 speak at somewhat greater length, as the problems involved are manifold.

There are three qualities which delivery should possess. It should be
 conciliatory, persuasive and moving, and the possession of these three
 qualities involves charm as a further requisite. A conciliatory effect
 may be secured either by charm of style or by producing an impression of
 excellence of character, which is in some mysterious way clearly
 revealed both by voice and gesture. A persuasive effect, on the other
 hand, is produced by the power of assertion, which is sometimes more
 convincing even than actual proof.

Would those statements, says Cicero 
 to Calidius, have been delivered by you in such a manner if they
 had been true? And again, You were far from kindling
 our emotions. Indeed, at that point of your speech we could scarcely
 keep ourselves awake. We must therefore reveal both
 confidence and firmness, above all, if we have the requisite authority
 to back them.

The method of arousing the emotions depends on our power to represent or
 imitate the passions. Therefore when the judge in private, or the usher
 in public cases, calls upon us to speak, we must rise with deliberation.
 We shall then, to make our garb the more becoming, and to secure a
 moment for reflexion, devote a brief space to the arrangement of our
 toga or even, if necessary, to throwing it on afresh; but it must be
 borne in mind that this injunction applies only to cases in the courts;
 for we must not do this if we are speaking before
 the emperor or a magistrate, or in cases where the judge sits in a
 position of superior authority.

Even when we turn to the judge, and have requested
 and received the praetor's permission to address the court, we must not
 break forth at once into speech, but should allow ourselves a few
 moments for reflexion. For the display of such care on the part of one
 who is about to speak attracts the audience and gives the judge time to
 settle down.

Homer inculcates this practice by placing
 before us the example of Ulysses, whom he describes as having stood for
 a while with eyes fixed on the ground and staff held motionless, before
 he poured forth his whirlwind of eloquence. In this preliminary delay
 there are certain pauses, as the actors call them, which are not
 unbecoming. We may stroke our head, look at our hand, wring the fingers,
 pretend to summon all our energies for the effort, confess to
 nervousness by a deep sigh, or may adopt any other method suited to our
 individual character, while these proceedings may be extended over some
 time, if we find that the judge is not yet giving us his attention.

Our attitude should be upright, our feet level and a slight distance
 apart, or the left may be very slightly advanced. The knees should be
 upright, but not stiff; the shoulders relaxed, the face stern, but not
 sad, expressionless or languid: the arms should be held slightly away
 from the side, the left hand being in the position described above,
 while
 the right, at the moment when our speech begins, should be slightly
 extended beyond the fold of the toga with the most modest of gestures,
 as though waiting for the commencement.

For it is a mistake to look at the ceiling, to rub the face and give it
 a flush of impudence, to crane it boldly forward, to frown in order to
 secure a fierce expression, or brush back the hair from the forehead
 against its natural direction in order to produce a
 terrifying effect by making it stand on end. Again, there are other
 unseemly tricks, such as that so dear to the Greeks of twitching our
 fingers and lips as though studying what to say, clearing the throat
 with a loud noise, thrusting out one foot to a considerable distance,
 grasping a portion of the toga in the left hand, standing with feet wide
 apart, holding ourselves stiffly, leaning backwards, stooping, or
 bunching our shoulders toward the back of the head, as wrestlers do when
 about to engage.

A gentle delivery is most often best suited to the exordium. For there is nothing better calculated than modesty
 to win the good-will of the judge, although there are exceptions to the
 rule, since, as I have already pointed out, all exordia are not delivered in the same manner. But, generally
 speaking, a quiet voice, a modest gesture, a toga sitting well upon the
 shoulder, and a gentle motion of the sides to right and left,
 accompanied by a corresponding movement of the eyes, will all be found
 to produce a becoming effect.

In the statement of facts the hand should on most
 occasions be further extended, the toga allowed to slip back, the
 gestures sharply distinguished and the voice colloquial, but slightly
 more emphatic, while there should also be uniformity of tone. Such, at
 any rate, should be the delivery of a passage such as the following:
 
 For Quintus Ligarius,
 since there was no hint of the likelihood of the war in
 Africa, or 
 Aulus
 Cluentius Habitus, this man's father. But different methods
 may be called for in this same portion of the speech, in passionate
 utterances such as, The mother-in-law weds her
 son-in-law, 
 or in pathetic
 passages such as, There in the market-place
 of Laodicea was displayed a grievous and afflicting spectacle for
 all the province of Asia to behold.

The proofs, however, require
 the utmost variety of delivery. For to state them and distinguish
 between their various points, and to examine witnesses, we employ
 something not far removed from a colloquial tone, as is also the case in
 anticipating objections, which is really another form of statement. But
 in all these cases we sometimes deride, and sometimes mimic our
 opponents.

Argument, being as a rule of a livelier, more
 energetic and aggressive character, demands a type of gesture adapted to
 its style, that is to say, it should be bold and rapid. There are
 certain portions of our arguments that require to be pressed home with
 energy, and in these our style must be compact and concentrated. Digressions, as a rule, are characterised by
 gentleness, calm and placidity, as, for example, in Cicero's description
 of the Rape of Proserpine, his picture of
 Sicily, or his panegyric of Pompey. For naturally
 passages which deal with subjects lying outside the main question in
 dispute demand a less combative tone.

There are occasions on which we may adopt a gentle manner in
 depreciating our opponents by giving a picture of their character, as in
 the following passage: 
 I seemed to
 see some persons entering the room and others leaving it, while
 others were staggering to and fro under the influence of wine.
 Under such circumstances we may even allow the gesture to match
 the voice, and may employ a gentle movement from side to side: but this
 motion should be confined to the hands, and there should be no movement
 of the flanks.

There are a number of gradations of tone which may be employed to kindle the feeling of the judges. The most vehement tones
 that an orator is ever called upon to use will be employed in passages
 such as the following: 
 When the
 war was begun, Caesar, and was, in fact, well on its way to a
 conclusion. For he has just said: I will use my voice
 to its fullest power, that all the Roman people may hear me. 
 On the other hand, a lower tone, not devoid of a certain charm, should
 be employed in passages such as: 
 What was that sword of yours doing, 'Tubero, that
 sword that was drawn on the field of Pharsalus?

But the utterance must be fuller, slower, and consequently sweeter, when
 the orator says, 
 But in an
 assembly of the Homan people, and when he was performing his
 official functions. In this passage every sound should e
 drawn out, we should dwell upon the vowel-sounds and speak
 fill-throated. Still fuller should be the stream of our voice in the
 invocation, 
 You, hills and groves of
 Alba ; while a tone not far removed from chanting, and dying
 away to a cadence, should be employed in delivering the phrase, 
 Rocks and solitudes answer to the
 voice.

These are the modulations denounced by Demosthenes and
 Aeschines, but they do not necessarily for that
 reason merit our disapprobation. For as each of these orators taunts the
 other with making use of them, it is clear that they were employed by
 both. We may be sure that Demosthenes did not restrict himself to his
 ordinary simplicity of tone when he swore by those that fought for their
 country at Marathon, Plataea and Salamis, nor
 did Aeschines employ a colloquial utterance when he lamented for the
 fate of Thebes.

There is also an entirely different tone, which might be described as
 lying almost outside the range of the instrument.
 The Greeks call it bitterness, and it consists in an extravagant
 acerbity almost beyond the compass of the human voice. It is employed in
 passages such as, 
 Why do
 you not restrain those cries, the proof of your folly and the
 evidence of your small numbers? But the extravagance of
 which I spoke will come in at the opening, where the orator cries,
 Why do you not restrain?

The peroration, if it involves a recapitulation,
 requires an even utterance of short, clear-cut clauses. If, on the other
 hand, it is designed to stir the emotions of the judges, it will demand
 some of the qualities already mentioned. If it aims at soothing them, it
 should How softly; if it is to rouse them to pity, the voice must be
 delicately modulated to a melancholy sweetness, which is at once most
 natural and specially adapted to touch the heart. For it may be noted
 that even orphans and widows have a certain musical quality in the
 lamentations which they utter at funerals.

A muffled voice, such as Cicero says was possessed by Antonius, will also be exceedingly
 effective under such circumstances, since it has just the natural tone
 which we seek to imitate. Appeals to pity are, however, of two kinds:
 they may be marked by an admixture of indignation, as in the passage
 just quoted 
 describing the condemnation of Philodamus, or they may be coupled with
 appeals for mercy, in which case their tone will be more subdued.

Therefore although there is a suggestion of the chanting tone in the
 delivery of such passages as In an assembly of the Roman
 people (for he did not utter these words in a contentious
 tone), or in 
 Ye hills and groves of
 Alba (for he did not say this as though he were appealing to
 them or calling them to witness), the ensuing phrases require infinitely greater modulation and
 longer-drawn harmonies: Ah, woe is me, unhappy that I am! 
 and What shall I reply to my children? and You,
 Milo, had the power to recall me to my country with the aid of these
 men, and shall I be powerless by their aid to keep you in that same
 country, your native land and mine? or when he offers to
 sell the property of Gaius Rabirius at one sesterce, Ah, what a
 sad and bitter task my voice is called on to perform! 
 Again,

it is a most effective device to confess in the peroration that the
 strain of grief and fatigue is overpowering, and that our strength is
 sinking beneath them, as Cicero does in his defence of Milo: 
 But here I must make an end: I can no
 longer speak for tears. And in such passages our delivery
 must conform to our words.

It may be thought that there are other points which should be mentioned
 in connexion with the duties of the orator in this portion of his
 speech, such as calling forward the accused, lifting up his children for
 the court to see, producing his kinsfolk, and rending his garments; but
 they have been dealt with in their proper place. Such being the variety
 entailed by the different portions of our pleading, it is sufficiently
 clear that our delivery must be adapted to our matter, as I have already
 shown, and sometimes also, though not always conform to our actual
 words, as I have just remarked.

For instance, must not the words, This poor wretched,
 poverty-stricken man, be uttered in a low, subdued tone,
 whereas, A hold and violent fellow and a robber, is a
 phrase requiring a strong and energetic utterance?
 For such conformity gives a force and appropriateness to our matter, and
 without it the expression of the voice will be out of harmony with our
 thought.

Again, what of the fact that a change of delivery may make precisely the
 same words either demonstrate or affirm, express reproach, denial,
 wonder or indignation, interrogation, mockery or depreciation? For the
 word thou is given a different expression in each of the
 following passages: 
 
 
 Thou this poor kingdom dost on me
 bestow. 
 
 
 Aen. i. 78. 
 
 and 
 
 
 Thou vanquish him in song? 
 
 
 Ecl. iii. 25.
 
 
 and 
 
 
 Art thou, then, that Aeneas? 
 
 
 Aen i. 617. 
 
 and 
 
 
 And of fear, 
 Do thou accuse
 me, Drances! 
 
 
 Aen. xi. 383.
 
 
 To cut a long matter short, if my reader will take
 this or any other word he chooses and run it through the whole gamut of
 emotional expression, he will realise the truth of what I say.

There is one further remark which I must add, namely, that while what is
 becoming is the main consideration in delivery, different methods will
 often suit different speakers. For this is determined by a principle
 which, though it is obscure and can hardly be expressed in words, none
 the less exists: and, though it is a true saying that the main secret of artistic success is that whatever
 we do should become us well, none the less, despite the fact
 that such success cannot be attained without art,
 it is impossible entirely to communicate the secret by the rules of art.

There are some persons in whom positive excellences have no charm, while
 there are others whose very faults give pleasure. We have seen the
 greatest of comic actors, Demetrius and Stratocles, win their success by
 entirely different merits. But that is the less surprising owing to the
 fact that the one was at his best in the rôles of gods, young men, good
 fathers and slaves, matrons and respectable old women, while the other
 excelled in the portrayal of sharptempered old men, cunning slaves,
 parasites, pimps and all the more lively characters of comedy. For their
 natural gifts differed. For Demetrius' voice, like his other qualities,
 had greater charm, while that of Stratocles was the more powerful.

But yet more noticeable were the incommunicable peculiarities of their
 action. Demetrius showed unique gifts in the movements of his hands, in
 his power to charm his audience by the longdrawn sweetness of his
 exclamations, the skill with which he would make his dress seem to puff
 out with wind as he walked, and the expressive movements of the right
 side which he sometimes introduced with effect, in all of which things
 he was helped by his stature and personal beauty.

On the other hand, Stratocles' forte lay in his
 nimbleness and rapidity of movement, in his laugh (which, though not
 always in keeping with the character lie represented, he deliberately
 employed to awaken answering laughter in his audience), and finally,
 even in the way in which he sank his neck into his shoulders. If either
 of these actors had attempted any of his rival's tricks, he would have
 produced a most unbecoming effect. Consequently,
 every man must get to know his own peculiarities and must consult not
 merely the general rules of technique, but his own nature as well with a
 view to forming his delivery.

But there is no law of heaven which prohibits the possession of all or
 at any rate the majority of styles by one and the same person. I must
 conclude this topic with a remark which applies to all my other topics
 as well, that the prime essential is a sense of proportion. For I am not
 trying to form a comic actor, but an orator. Consequently, we need not
 study all the details of gesture nor, as regards our speaking, be
 pedantic in the use we make of the rules governing punctuation, rhythm
 and appeals to the emotions.

For example, if an actor has to speak the following lines on the stage:
 
 
 
 What shall I do then? Not go, even now, 
 Now when she calls me? Or shall I steel my
 soul 
 No longer to endure a harlot's
 insults? 
 
 he will hesitate as in doubt,
 will vary the modulations of his voice, together with the movements of
 hand and head. But oratory has a different flavour and objects to
 elaborate condiments, since it consists in serious pleading, not in
 mimicry.

There is, therefore, good reason for the condemnation passed on a
 delivery which entails the continual alteration of facial expression,
 annoying restlessness of gesture and gusty changes of tone. And it was a
 wise saying that the ancient orators borrowed from the Greeks, as is
 recorded by Popilius Laenas, to the effect that there is too much
 business in such delivery.

The instructions given by Cicero on this subject, as on all others, are
 quite admirable; I allude to the passages which I
 have already quoted from his Orator, 
 while there are
 similar observations in the Brutus 
 with reference to Marcus Antonius. But to-day
 a rather more violent form of delivery has come into fashion and is
 demanded of our orators: it is well adapted to certain portions of a
 speech, but requires to be kept under control. Otherwise, in our attempt
 to ape the elegances of the stage, we shall lose the authority which
 should characterise the man of dignity and virtue.

I now come to what is by far the most arduous portion of the task which
 I have set myself to perform. Indeed had I fully realised the
 difficulties when I first designed this work, I should have considered
 betimes whether my strength was sufficient to support the load that now
 weighs upon me so heavily. But to begin with, I felt how shameful it
 would be to fail to perform what I had promised, and later, despite the
 fact that my labour became more and more arduous at almost every stage,
 the fear of stultifying what I had already written sustained my courage
 through every difficulty.

Consequently even now, though the burden that oppresses me is greater
 than ever, the end is in sight and I am resolved to faint by the wayside
 rather than despair. But the fact that I began with comparatively
 trivial details deceived me. Subsequently I was lured still further on
 my voyage by the temptations of the favouring breeze that filled my
 sails; but the rules which I was then concerned to give were still of a
 familiar kind and had been already treated by most writers of rhetorical
 textbooks: thus far I seemed to myself to be still in sight of shore and
 I had the company of many who had ventured to entrust themselves to the
 self-same winds.

But presently when I entered on the task of setting forth a theory of
 eloquence which had been but newly discovered
 and rarely essayed, I found but few that had ventured so far from
 harbour. And finally now that the ideal orator, whom it was my design to
 mould, has been dismissed by his masters and is either proceeding on his
 way borne onward by his own impetus, or seeking still mightier
 assistance from the innermost shrine of wisdom, I begin to feel how far
 I have been swept into the great deep.

Now there is 
 
 
 Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky
 and the Ocean. 
 
 
 Aen. iii. 193.
 
 
 One only can I discern in all the boundless waste of
 waters, Marcus Tullius Cicero, and even he, though the ship in which he
 entered these seas is of such size and so well found, begins to lessen
 sail and to row a slower stroke, and is content to speak merely of the
 kind of speech to be employed by the perfect orator. But my temerity is
 such that I shall essay to form my orator's character and to teach him
 his duties. Thus I have no predecessor to guide my steps and must press
 far, far on, as my theme may demand. Still an honourable ambition is
 always deserving of approval, and it is all the less hazardous to dare
 greatly, when forgiveness is assured us if we fail.

The orator then, whom I am concerned to form, shall be the orator as
 defined by Marcus Cato, a good man, skilled in
 speaking. 
 But above all he must
 possess the quality which Cato places first and which is in the very
 nature of things the greatest and most important, that is, he must be a
 good man. This is essential not merely on account of the fact that, if
 the powers of eloquence serve only to lend arms to crime, there can be
 nothing more pernicious than eloquence to public
 and private welfare alike, while I myself, who have laboured to the best
 of my ability to contribute something of value to oratory, shall have
 rendered the worst of services to mankind, if I forge these weapons not
 for a soldier, but for a robber. But why speak of myself?

Nature herself will have proved not a mother, but a stepmother with
 regard to what we deem her greatest gift to man, the gift that
 distinguishes us from other living things, if she devised the power of
 speech to be the accomplice of crime, the foe to innocency and the enemy
 of truth. For it had been better for men to be born dumb and devoid of
 reason than to turn the gifts of providence to their mutual destruction.

But this conviction of mine goes further. For I do not merely assert
 that the ideal orator should be a good man, but I affirm that no man can
 be an orator unless he is a good man. For it is impossible to regard
 those men as gifted with intelligence who on being offered the choice
 between the two paths of virtue and of vice choose the latter, nor can
 we allow them prudence, when by the unforeseen issue of their own
 actions they render themselves liable not merely to the heaviest
 penalties of the laws, but to the inevitable torment of an evil
 conscience.

But if the view that a bad man is necessarily a fool is not merely held
 by philosolphers, but is the universal belief of ordinary men, the fool
 will most assuredly never become an orator. To this must be added the
 fact that the mind will not find leisure even for the study of the
 noblest of tasks, unless it first be free from vice. The reasons for
 this are, first, that vileness and virtue cannot jointly inhabit in the
 selfsame heart and that it is as impossible for one and the same mind to
 harbour good and evil thoughts as it is for one man
 to be at once both good and evil:

and secondly, that if the intelligence is to be concentrated on such a
 vast subject as eloquence it must be free from all other distractions,
 among which must be included even those preoccupations which are free
 from blame. For it is only when it is free and self-possessed, with
 nothing to divert it or lure it elsewhere, that it will fix its
 attention solely on that goal, the attainment of which is the object of
 its preparations.

If on the other hand inordinate care for the development of our estates,
 excess of anxiety over household affairs, passionate devotion to hunting
 or the sacrifice of whole days to the shows of the theatre, rob our
 studies of much of the time that is their due (for every moment that is
 given to other things involves a loss of time for study), what, think
 you, will be the results of desire, avarice, and envy, which waken such
 violent thoughts within our souls that they disturb our very slumbers
 and our dreams?

There is nothing so preoccupied, so distracted, so rent and torn by so
 many and such varied passions as an evil mind. For when it cherishes
 some dark design, it is tormented with hope, care and anguish of spirit,
 and even when it has accomplished its criminal purpose, it is racked by
 anxiety, remorse and the fear of all manner of punishments. Amid such
 passions as these what room is there for literature or any virtuous
 pursuit? You might as well look for fruit in land that is choked with
 thorns and brambles.

Well then, I ask you, is not simplicity of life essential if we are to
 be able to endure the toil entailed by study? What can we hope to get
 from lust or luxury? Is not the desire to win praise one of the
 strongest stimulants to a passion for literature?
 But does that mean that we are to suppose that praise is an object of
 concern to bad men? Surely every one of my readers must by now have
 realised that oratory is in the main concerned with the treatment of
 what is just and honourable? Can a bad and unjust man speak on such
 themes as the dignity of the subject demands?

Nay, even if we exclude the most important aspects of the question now
 before us, and make the impossible concession that the best and worst of
 men may have the same talent, industry and learning, we are still
 confronted by the question as to which of the two is entitled to be
 called the better orator. The answer is surely clear enough: it will be
 he who is the better man. Consequently, the bad man and the perfect
 orator can never be identical.

For nothing is perfect, if there exists something else that is better.
 However, as I do not wish to appear to adopt the practice dear to the
 Socratics of framing answers to my own questions, let me assume the
 existence of a man so obstinately blind to the truth as to venture to
 maintain that a bad man equipped with the same talents, industry and
 learning will be not a whit inferior to the good man as an orator; and
 let me show that he too is mad.

There is one point at any rate which no one will question, namely, that
 the aim of every speech is to convince the judge that the case which it
 puts forward is true and honourable. Well then, which will do this best,
 the good man or the bad? The good man will without doubt more often say
 what is true and honourable.

But even supposing that his duty should, as I shall show may sometimes
 happen, lead him to make statements which are false, his words are still certain to carry greater weight with his
 audience. On the other hand bad men, in their contempt for public
 opinion and their ignorance of what is right, sometimes drop their mask
 unawares, and are impudent in the statement of their case and shameless
 in their assertions.

Further, in their attempt to achieve the impossible they display an
 unseemly persistency and unavailing energy. For in lawsuits no less than
 in the ordinary paths of life, they cherish depraved expectations. But
 it often happens that even when they tell the truth they fail to win
 belief, and the mere fact that such a man is its advocate is regarded as
 an indication of the badness of the case.

I must now proceed to deal with the objections which common opinion is
 practically unanimous in bringing against this view. Was not Demosthenes
 an orator? And yet we are told that he was a bad man. Was not Cicero an
 orator? And yet there are many who have found fault with his character
 as well. What am I to answer? My reply will be highly unpopular and I
 must first attempt to conciliate my audience.

I do not consider that Demosthenes deserves the serious reflexions that
 have been made upon his character to such an extent that I am bound to
 believe all the charges amassed against him by his enemies; for my
 reading tells me that his public policy was of the noblest and his end
 most glorious.

Again, I cannot see that the aims of Cicero were in any portion of his
 career other than such as may become an excellent citizen. As evidence I
 would cite the fact that his behaviour as consul was magnificent and his
 administration of his province a model of integrity, while he refused to
 become one of the twenty commissioners, and in the grievous civil wars which
 afflicted his generation beyond all others, neither hope nor fear ever
 deterred him from giving his support to the better party, that is to
 say, to the interests of the common weal. Some, it is true, regard him
 as lacking in courage.

The best answer to these critics is to be found in his own words, to the
 effect that he was timid not in confronting peril, but in anticipating
 it. And this he proved also by the manner of his death, in meeting which
 he displayed a singular fortitude.

But even if these two men lacked the perfection of virtue, I will reply
 to those who ask if they were orators, in the manner in which the Stoics
 would reply, if asked whether Zeno, Cleanthes or Chrysippus himself were
 wise men. I shall say that they were great men deserving our veneration,
 but that they did not attain to that which is the highest perfection of
 man's nature.

For did not Pythagoras desire that he should not be called a wise man,
 like the sages who preceded him, but rather a student of wisdom? But for my own part,
 conforming to the language of every day, I have said time and again, and
 shall continue to say, that Cicero was a perfect orator, just as in
 ordinary speech we call our friends good and sensible men, although
 neither of these titles can really be given to any save to him that has
 attained to perfect wisdom. But if I am called upon to speak strictly
 and in accordance with the most rigid laws of truth, I shall proclaim
 that I seek to find that same perfect orator whom Cicero also sought to
 discover.

For while I admit that he stood on the loftiest pinnacle of eloquence,
 and can discover scarcely a single deficiency in him, although I might perhaps discover certain superfluities which
 I think he would have pruned away (for the general view of the learned
 is that he possessed many virtues and a few faults, and he himself states that
 he has succeeded in suppressing much of his youthful exuberance), none
 the less, in view of the fact that, although he had by no means a low
 opinion of himself, he never claimed to be the perfect sage, and, had he
 been granted longer life and less troubled conditions for the
 composition of his works, would doubtless have spoken better still, I
 shall not lay myself open to the charge of ungenerous criticism, if I
 say that I believe that he failed actually to achieve that perfection to
 the attainment of which none have approached more nearly,

and indeed had I felt otherwise in this connexion, I might have defended
 my point with greater boldness and freedom. Marcus Antonius
 declared that he had seen no man who was genuinely eloquent (and to be
 eloquent is a far less achievement than to be an orator), while Cicero
 himself has failed to find his orator in actual life and merely imagines
 and strives to depict the ideal. Shall I then be afraid to say that in
 the eternity of time that is yet to be, something more perfect may be
 found than has yet existed?

I say nothing of those critics who will not allow sufficient credit even
 for eloquence to Cicero and Demosthenes, although Cicero himself does
 not regard Demosthenes as flawless, but asserts that he sometimes nods,
 while
 even Cicero fails to satisfy Brutus and Calvus (at any rate they
 criticised his style to his face), or to win the complete approval of
 either of the Asinii, who in various passages attack the faults of his
 oratory in language which is positively hosthe.

However, let us fly in the face of nature and assume that a bad man has
 been discovered who is endowed with the highest eloquence. I shall none
 the less deny that he is an orator. For I should not allow that every
 man who has shown himself ready with his hands was necessarily a brave
 man, because true courage cannot be conceived of without the
 accompaniment of virtue.

Surely the advocate who is called to defend the accused requires to be a
 man of honour, honour which greed cannot corrupt, influence seduce, or
 fear dismay. Shall we then dignify the traitor, the deserter, the
 turncoat with the sacred name of orator? But if the quality which is
 usually termed goodness is to be found even in quite ordinary advocates,
 why should not the orator, who has not yet existed, but may still be
 born, be no less perfect in character than in excellence of speech?

It is no hack-advocate, no hireling pleader, nor yet, to use no harser
 term, a serviceable attorney of the class generally known as causidici, that I am seeking to form, but rather
 a man who to extraordinary natural gifts has added a thorough mastery of
 all the fairest branches of knowledge, a man sent by heaven to be the
 blessing of mankind, one to whom all history can find no parallel,
 uniquely perfect in every detail and utterly noble alike in thought and
 speech.

How small a portion of all these abilities will be required for the
 defence of the innocent, the repression of crime or the support of truth
 against falsehood in suits involving questions of money? It is true that
 our supreme orator will bear his part in such tasks, but his powers will
 be displayed with brighter splendour in greater matters than these, when
 he is called upon to direct the counsels of the senate and guide the people from the paths of error to better
 things.

Was not this the man conceived by Virgil and described as quelling a
 riot when torches and stones have begun to fly: 
 
 
 Then, if before their eyes some statesman
 grave 
 Stand forth, with virtue and high
 service crowned, 
 Straight are they dumb and
 stand intent to hear. 
 
 Here then we have
 one who is before all else a good man, and it is only after this that
 the poet adds that he is skilled in speaking: 
 
 His words their minds control, their
 passions soothe. 
 
 Again,

will not this same man, whom we are striving to form, if in time of war
 he be called upon to inspire his soldiers with courage for the fray,
 draw for his eloquence on the innermost precepts of philosophy? For how
 can men who stand upon the verge of battle banish all the crowding fears
 of hardship, pain and death from their minds, unless those fears be
 replaced by the sense of the duty that they owe their country, by
 courage and the lively image of a soldier's honour?

And assuredly the man who will best inspire such feelings in others is
 he who has first inspired them in himself. For however we strive to
 conceal it, insincerity will always betray itself, and there was never
 in any man so great eloquence as would not begin to stumble and hesitate
 so soon as his words ran counter to his inmost thoughts.

Now: a bad man cannot help speaking things other than he feels. On the
 other land, the good will never be at a loss for honourable words or
 fail to find matter full of virtue for utterance, since among his
 virtues practical wisdom will be one. And even though his imagination lacks artifice to lend it charm, its
 own nature will be ornament enough, for if honour dictate the words, we
 shall find eloquence there as well.

Therefore, let those that are young, or rather let all of us, whatever
 our age, since it is never too late to resolve to follow what is right,
 strive with all our hearts and devote all our efforts to the pursuit of
 virtue and eloquence; and perchance it may be granted to us to attain to
 the perfection that we seek. For since nature does not forbid the
 attainment of either, why should not someone succeed in attaining both
 together? And why should not each of us hope to be that happy man?

But if our powers are inadequate to such achievement, we shall still be
 the better for the double effort in proportion to the distance which we
 have advanced toward either goal. At any rate let us banish from our
 hearts the delusion that eloquence, the fairest of all things, can be
 combined with vice. The power of speaking is even to be accounted an
 evil when it is found in evil men; for it makes its possessors yet worse
 than they were before.

I think I hear certain persons (for there will always be some who had
 rather be eloquent than good) asking, Why then is there so much
 art in connexion with eloquence? Why have you talked so much of
 'glosses,' the methods of defence to be
 employed in difficult cases, and sometimes even of actual confession
 of guilt, unless it is the case that the power and force of speech
 at times triumphs over truth itself? For a good man will only plead
 good cases, and those might safely be left to truth to support
 without the aid of learning.

Now, though my reply to these critics will in the first place be a
 defence of my own work, it will also explain what I
 consider to be the duty of a good man on occasions when circumstances
 have caused him to undertake the defence of the guilty. For it is by no
 means useless to consider how at times we should speak in defence of
 falsehood or even of injustice, if only for this reason, that such an
 investigation will enable us to detect and defeat them with the greater
 ease, just as the physician who has a thorough knowledge of all that can
 injure the health will be all the more skilful in the prescription of
 remedies.

For the Academicians, although they will argue on either side of a
 question, do not thereby commit themselves to taking one of these two
 views as their guide in life to the exclusion of the other, while the
 famous Carneades, who is said to have spoken at Rome in the presence of
 Cato the Censor, and to have argued against justice with no less vigour
 than he had argued for justice on the preceding day, was not himself an
 unjust man. But the nature of virtue is revealed by vice, its opposite,
 justice becomes yet more manifest from the contemplation of injustice,
 and there are many other things that are proved by their contraries.
 Consequently the schemes of his adversaries should be no less well known
 to the orator than those of the enemy to a commander in the field.

But it is even true, although at first sight it seems hard to believe,
 that there may be sound reason why at times a good man who is appearing
 for the defence should attempt to conceal the truth from the judge. If
 any of my readers is surprised at my making such a statement (although
 this opinion is not of my own invention, but is derived from those whom
 antiquity regarded as the greatest teachers of wisdom), I would have him
 reflect that there are many things which are made
 honourable or the reverse not by the nature of the facts, but by the
 causes from which they spring.

For if to slay a man is often a virtue and to put one's own children to
 death is at times the noblest of deeds, and if it is permissible in the
 public interest to do deeds yet more horrible to relate than these, we
 should assuredly take into consideration not solely and simply what is
 the nature of the case which the good man undertakes to defend, but what
 is his reason and what his purpose in so doing.

And first of all everyone must allow, what even the sternest of the
 Stoics admit, that the good man will sometimes tell a lie, and further
 that he will sometimes do so for comparatively trivial reasons; for
 example we tell countless lies to sick children for their good and make
 many promises to them which we do not intend to perform.

And there is clearly far more justification for lying when it is a
 question of diverting an assassin from his victim or deceiving an enemy
 to save our country. Consequently a practice which is at times
 reprehensible even in slaves, may on other occasions be praiseworthy
 even in a wise man. If this be granted, I can see that there will be
 many possible emergencies such as to justify an orator in undertaking
 cases of a kind which, in the absence of any honourable reason, he would
 have refused to touch.

In saying this I do not mean that we should be ready under any
 circumstances to defend our father, brother or friend when in peril
 (since I hold that we should be guided by stricter rules in such
 matters), although such contingencies may well cause us no little
 perplexity, when we have to decide between the rival claims of justice
 and natural affection. But let us put the problem
 beyond all question of doubt. Suppose a man to have plotted against a
 tyrant and to be accused of having done so. Which of the two will the
 orator, as defined by us, desire to save? And if he undertakes the
 defence of the accused, will he not employ falsehood with no less
 readiness than the advocate who is defending a bad case before a jury?

Again, suppose that the judge is likely to condemn acts which were
 rightly done, unless we can convince him that they were never done. Is
 not this another case where the orator will not shrink even from lies,
 if so he may save one who is not merely innocent, but a praiseworthy
 citizen? Again, suppose that we realise that certain acts are just in
 themselves, though prejudicial to the state under existing
 circumstances. Shall we not then employ methods of speaking which,
 despite the excellence of their intention, bear a close resemblance to
 fraud.

Further, no one will hesitate for a moment to hold the view that it is
 in the interests of the commonwealth that guilty persons should be
 acquitted rather than punished, if it be possible thereby to convert
 them to a better state of mind, a possibility which is generally
 conceded. If then it is clear to an orator that a man who is guilty of
 the offences laid to his charge will become a good man, will he not
 strive to secure his acquittal?

Imagine for example that a skilful commander, without whose aid the
 state cannot hope to crush its enemies, is labouring under a charge
 which is obviously true: will not the common interest irresistibly
 summon our orator to defend him? We know at any rate that Fabricius
 publicly voted for and secured the election to the consulate of
 Cornelius Rufinus, despite the tact that he was a
 bad citizen and his personal enemy, merely because he knew that he was a
 capable general and the state was threatened with war. And when certain persons expressed their surprise
 at his conduct, he replied that he had rather be robbed by a
 fellow-citizen than be sold as a slave by the enemy. Well then, had
 Fabricius been an orator, would he not have defended Rufinus against a
 charge of peculation, even though his guilt were as clear as day?

I might produce many other similar examples, but one of them taken at
 random is enough. For my purpose is not to assert that such tasks will
 often be incumbent on the orator whom I desire to form, but merely to
 show that, in the event of his being compelled to take such action, it
 will not invalidate our definition of an orator as a good man,
 skilled in speaking.

And it is necessary also both to teach and learn how to establish
 difficult cases by proof. For often even the best cases have a
 resemblance to bad and, the charges which tell heavily against an
 innocent person frequently have a strong resemblance to the truth.
 Consequently, the same methods of defence have to be employed that would
 be used if he were guilty. Further, there are countless elements which
 are common to both good cases and bad, such as oral and documentary
 evidence, suspicions and opinions, all of which have to be established
 or disposed of in the same way, whether they be true or merely resemble
 the truth. Therefore, while maintaining his integrity of purpose, the
 orator will modify his pleading to suit the circumstances.

Since then the orator is a good man, and such goodness cannot be
 conceived as existing apart from virtue, virtue,
 despite the fact that it is in part derived from certain natural
 impulses, will require to be perfected by instruction. The orator must
 above all things devote his attention to the formation of moral
 character and must acquire a complete knowledge of all that is just and
 honourable. For without this knowledge no one can be either a good man
 or skilled in speaking,

unless indeed we agree with those who regard morality as intuitive and
 as owing nothing to instruction: indeed they go so far as to acknowledge
 that handicrafts, not excluding even those which are most despised among
 them, can only be acquired by the result of teaching, whereas virtue,
 which of all gifts to man is that which makes him most near akin to the
 immortal gods, comes to him without search or effort, as a natural
 concomitant of birth. But can the man who does not know what abstinence
 is, claim to be truly abstinent?

or brave, if he has never purged his soul of the fears of pain, death
 and superstition? or just, it he has never, in language approaching that
 of philosophy, discussed the nature of virtue and justice, or of the
 laws that have been given to mankind by nature or established among
 individual peoples and nations? What a contempt it argues for such
 themes to regard them as being so easy of comprehension!

However, I pass this by; for I am sure that no one with the least
 smattering of literary culture will have the slightest hesitation in
 agreeing with me. I will proceed to my next point, that no one will
 achieve sufficient skill even in speaking, unless he makes a thorough
 study of all the workings of nature and forms his character on the
 precepts of philosophy and the dictates of reason.

For it is with good cause that Lucius Crassus, in the third book of the de Oratore, 
 
 affirms that all that is said concerning equity, justice, truth and the
 good, and their opposites, forms part of the studies of an orator, and
 that the philosophers, when they exert their powers of speaking to
 defend these virtues, are using the weapons of rhetoric, not their own.
 But he also confesses that the knowledge of these subjects must be
 sought from the philosophers for the reason that, in his opinion,
 philosophy has more effective possession of them.

And it is for the same reason that Cicero in several of his books and
 letters proclaims that eloquence has its fountain-head in the most
 secret springs of wisdom, and that consequently for a considerable time
 the instructors of morals and of eloquence were identical. Accordingly
 this exhortation of mine must not be taken to mean that I wish the
 orator to be a philosopher, since there is no other way of life that is
 further removed from the duties of a statesman and the tasks of an
 orator.

For what philosopher has ever been a frequent speaker in the courts or
 won renown in public assemblies? Nay, what philosopher has ever taken a
 prominent part in the government of the state, which forms the most
 frequent theme of their instructions? None the less I desire that he,
 whose character I am seeking to mould, should be a wise
 man in the Roman sense, that is, one who reveals himself as
 a true statesman, not in the discussions of the study, but in the actual
 practice and experience of life.

But inasmuch as the study of philosophy has been deserted by those who
 have turned to the pursuit of eloquence, and since philosophy no longer
 moves in its true sphere of action and in the broad daylight of the
 forum, but has retired first to porches and 
 gymnasia and finally to the gatherings of the schools, all that is
 essential for an orator, and yet is not taught by the professors of
 eloquence, must undoubtedly be sought from those persons in whose
 possession it has remained. The authors who have discoursed on the
 nature of virtue must be read through and through, that the life of the
 orator may be wedded to the knowledge of things human and divine.

But how much greater and fairer would such subjects appear if those who
 taught them were also those who could give them most eloquent
 expression! O that the day may dawn when the perfect orator of our
 heart's desire shall claim for his own possession that science that has
 lost the affection of mankind through the arrogance of its claims and
 the vices of some that have brought disgrace upon its virtues, and shall
 restore it to its place in the domain of eloquence, as though he had
 been victorious in a trial for the restoration of stolen goods!

And since philosophy falls into three divisions, physics, ethics and
 dialectic, which, I ask you, of these departments is not closely
 connected with the task of the orator? Let us reverse the order just
 given and deal first with the third department which is entirely
 concerned with words. If it be true that to know the properties of each
 word, to clear away ambiguities, to unravel perplexities, to distinguish
 between truth and falsehood, to prove or to refute as may be desired,
 all form part of the functions of an orator, who is there that can doubt
 the truth of my contention?

I grant that we shall not have to employ dialectic with such minute
 attention to detail when we are pleading in the courts as when we are
 engaged in philosophical debate, since the
 orator's duty is not merely to instruct, but also to move and delight
 his audience; and to succeed in doing this he needs a strength,
 impetuosity and grace as well. For oratory is like a river: the current
 is stronger when it flows within deep banks and with a mighty flood,
 than when the waters are shallow and broken by the pebbles that bar
 their way.

And just as the trainers of the wrestling school do not impart the
 various throws to their pupils that those who
 have learnt them may make use of all of them in actual wrestling matches
 (for weight and strength and wind count for more than these), but that
 they may have a store from which to draw one or two of such tricks, as
 occasion may offer;

even so the science of dialectic, or if you prefer it of disputation,
 while it is often useful in definition, inference, differentiation,
 resolution of ambiguity, distinction and classification, as also in
 luring on or entangling our opponents, yet if it claim to assume the
 entire direction of the struggles of the forum, will merely stand in the
 way of arts superior to itself and by its very subtlety will exhaust the
 strength that has been pared down to suit its limitations.

As a result you will find that certain persons who show astonishing
 skill in philosophical debate, as soon as they quit the sphere of their
 quibbles, are as helpless in any case that demands more serious pleading
 as those small animals which, though nimble enough in a confined space,
 are easily captured in an open field.

Proceeding to moral philosophy or ethics, we may note that it at any
 rate is entirely suited to the orator. For vast as is the variety of
 cases (since in them, as I have pointed out in
 previous books, we seek to discover certain points by conjecture, reach our conclusions in others by means of definition, dispose
 of others on legal grounds' or by raising the question of competence,
 
 while other points are established by syllogism and others involve
 contradictions or are
 diversely interpreted owing to some ambiguity of language ), there is
 scarcely a single one which does not at some point or another involve
 the discussion of equity and virtue, while there are also, as everyone
 knows, not a few which turn entirely on questions of quality.

Again in deliberative assemblies how can we advise a policy without
 raising the question of what is honourable? Nay, even the third
 department of oratory, which is concerned with the tasks of praise and
 denunciation, must without a doubt deal with questions of right and
 wrong.

For the orator will assuredly have much to say on such topics as
 justice, fortitude, abstinence, self-control and piety. But the good
 man, who has come to the knowledge of these things not by mere hearsay,
 as though they were just words and names for his tongue to employ, but
 has grasped the meaning of virtue and acquired a true feeling for it,
 will never be perplexed when he has to think out a problem, but will
 speak out truly what he knows.

Since, however, general questions are always more
 important than special (for the particular is contained in the
 universal, while the universal is never to be regarded as something
 superimposed on the particular), everyone will readily admit that the
 studies of which we are speaking are pre-eminently concerned with
 general questions.

Further, since there are numerous points which require to be determined by appropriate and concise definitions
 (hence the definitive basis 
 of cases), it is surely
 desirable that the orator should be instructed in such things by those
 who have devoted special attention to the subject. Again, does not every
 question of law turn either on the precise meaning of words, the
 discussion of equity, or conjecture as to the intention—subjects which
 in part encroach on the domain of dialectic and in part on that of
 ethics?

Consequently all oratory involves a natural admixture of all these
 philosophic elements—at least, that is to say, all oratory that is
 worthy of the name. For mere garrulity that is ignorant of all such
 learning must needs go astray, since its guides are either non-existent
 or false. Physics on the other hand is far richer than the other branches of
 philosophy, if viewed from the standpoint of providing exercise in
 speaking, in proportion as a loftier inspiration is required to speak of
 things divine than of things human; and further it includes within its
 scope the whole of ethics, which as we have shown are essential to the very existence
 of oratory.

For, if the world is governed by providence, it will certainly be the
 duty of all good men to bear their part in the administration of the
 state. If the origin of our souls be divine, we must win our way towards
 virtue and abjure the service of the lusts of our earthly body. Are not
 these themes which the orator will frequently be called upon to handle?
 Again there are questions concerned with auguries and oracles or any
 other religious topic (all of them subjects that have often given rise
 to the most important debates in the senate) on which the orator will
 have to discourse, if he is also to be the
 statesman we would have him be. And finally, how can we conceive of any
 real eloquence at all proceeding from a man who is ignorant of all that
 is best in the world?

If our reason did not make these facts obvious, we should still be led
 by historical examples to believe their truth. For Pericles, whose
 eloquence, despite the fact that it has left no visible record for
 posterity, was none the less, if we may believe the historians and that
 free-speaking tribe, the old comic poets, endowed with almost incredible
 force, is known to have been a pupil of the physicist Anaxagoras, while
 Demosthenes, greatest of all the orators of Greece, sat at the feet of
 Plato.

As for Cicero, he has often proclaimed the
 fact that he owed less to the schools of rhetoric than to the walks of
 Academe: nor would he ever have developed such amazing fertility of
 talent, had he bounded his genius by the limits of the forum and not by
 the frontiers of nature herself. But this leads me to another question
 as to which school of philosophy is like to prove of most service to
 oratory, although there are only a few that can be said to contend for
 this honour.

For in the first place Epicurus banishes us from his presence without
 more ado, since he bids all his followers to fly from learning in the
 swiftest ship that they can find. Nor would Aristippus, who
 regards the highest good as consisting in physical pleasure, be likely
 to exhort us to the toils entailed by our study. And what part can
 Pyrrho have in the work that is before us? For he will have doubts as to
 whether there exist judges to address, accused to defend, or a senate
 where he can be called upon to speak his opinion.

Some authorities hold that the Academy will be the most useful school,
 on the ground that its habit of disputing on both sides of a question
 approaches most nearly to the actual practice of the courts. And by way
 of proof they add the fact that this school has produced speakers highly
 renowned for their eloquence. The Peripatetics also make it their boast
 that they have a form of study which is near akin to oratory. For it was
 with them in the main that originated the practice of declaiming on
 general questions by way of exercise. The Stoics, though
 driven to admit that, generally speaking, their teachers have been
 deficient both in fullness and charm of eloquence, still contend that no
 men can prove more acutely or draw conclusions with greater subtlety
 than themselves.

But all these arguments take place within their own circle, for, as
 though they were tied by some solemn oath or held fast in the bonds of
 some superstitious belief, they consider that it is a crime to abandon a
 conviction once formed. On the other hand, there is no need for an
 orator to swear allegiance to any one philosophic code.

For lie has a greater and nobler aim, to which he directs all his
 efforts with as much zeal as if he were a candidate for office, since he
 is to be made perfect not only in the glory of a virtuous life, but in
 that of eloquence as well. He will consequently select as his models of
 eloquence all the greatest masters of oratory, and will choose the
 noblest precepts and the most direct road to virtue as the means for the
 formation of an upright character. He will neglect no form of exercise,
 but will devote special attention to those which are of the highest and
 fairest nature.

For what subject can be found more fully adapted to
 a rich and weighty eloquence than the topics of virtue, politics,
 providence, the origin of the soul and friendship? The themes which tend
 to elevate mind and language alike are questions such as what things are
 truly good, what means there are of assuaging fear, restraining the
 passions and lifting us and the soul that came from heaven clear of the
 delusions of the common herd.

But it is desirable that we should not restrict our study to the
 precepts of philosophy alone. It is still more important that we should
 know and ponder continually all the noblest sayings and deeds that have
 been handed down to us from ancient times. And assuredly we shall
 nowhere find a larger or more remarkable store of these than in the
 records of our own country.

Who will teach courage, justice, loyalty, self-control, simplicity, and
 contempt of grief and pain better than men like Fabricius, Curius,
 Regulus, Decius, Mucius and countless others? For if the Greeks bear
 away the palm for moral precepts, Rome can produce more striking
 examples of moral performance, which is a far greater thing.

But the man who does not believe that it is enough to fix his eyes
 merely on his own age and his own transitory life, but regards the space
 allotted for an honourable life and the course in which glory's race is
 run as conditioned solely by the memory of posterity, will not rest
 content with a mere knowledge of the events of history. No, it is from
 the thought of posterity that he must inspire his soul with justice and
 derive that freedom of spirit which it is his duty to display when he
 pleads in the courts or gives counsel in the senate. No man will ever be
 the consummate orator of whom we are in quest unless he has both the knowledge and the courage to speak in accordance with
 the promptings of honour.

III. Our orator will also require a knowledge
 of civil law and of the custom and religion of the state in whose life
 he is to bear his part. For how will he be able to advise either in
 public or in private, if he is ignorant of all the main elements that go
 to make the state? How can he truthfully call himself an advocate if he
 has to go to others to acquire that knowledge which is all-important in
 the courts? He will be little better than if he were a reciter of the
 poets.

For he will be a mere transmitter of the instructions that others have
 given him, it will be on the authority of others that he propounds what
 he asks the judge to believe, and he whose duty it is to succour the
 litigant will himself be in need of succour. It is true that at times
 this may be effected with but little inconvenience, if what he advances
 for the edification of the judge has been taught him and composed in the
 seclusion of his study and learnt by heart there like other elements of
 the case. But what will he do, when he is confronted by unexpected
 problems such as frequently arise in the actual course of pleading? Will
 he not disgrace himself by looking round and asking the junior counsel
 who sit on the benches behind him for advice?

Can lie hope to get a thorough grasp of such information at the very
 moment when he is required to produce it in his speech? Can he make his
 assertions with confidence or speak with native simplicity as though his
 arguments were his own? Grant that he may do so in his actual speech.
 But what will he do in a debate, when he has continually to meet fresh
 points raised by his opponent and is given no time to learn up his case? What will do, if he has no legal
 expert to advise him or if his prompter through insufficient knowledge
 of the subject provides him with information that is false? It is the
 most serious drawback of such ignorance, that he will always believe
 that his adviser knows what he is talking about.

I am not ignorant of the generally prevailing custom, nor have I
 forgotten those who sit by our store-chests and provide weapons for the
 pleader: I know too that the Greeks did likewise: hence the name of pragmaticus which was bestowed on such persons.
 But I am speaking of an orator, who owes it as a duty to his case to
 serve it not merely by the loudness of his voice, but by all other means
 that may be of assistance to it.

Consequently I do not wish my orator to be helpless, if it so chance
 that he puts in an appearance for the preliminary proceedings to which
 the hour before the commencement of the trial is allotted, or to
 be unskilful in the preparation and production of evidence. For who,
 sooner than himself, should prepare the points which he wishes to be
 brought out when he is pleading? You might as well suppose that the
 qualifications of a successful general consist merely in courage and
 energy in the field of battle and skill in meeting all the demands of
 actual conflict, while suffering him to be ignorant of the methods of
 levying troops, mustering and equipping his forces, arranging for
 supplies or selecting a suitable position for his camp, despite the fact
 that preparation for war is an essential preliminary for its successful
 conduct.

And yet such a general would bear a very close resemblance to the
 advocate who leaves much of the detail that is necessary for success to
 the care of others, more especially in view of
 the fact that this, the most necessary element in the management of a
 case, is not as difficult as it may perhaps seem to outside observers.
 For every point of law, which is certain, is based either on written law
 or accepted custom: if, on the other hand, the point is doubtful, it
 must be examined in the light of equity.

Laws which are either written or founded on accepted custom present no
 difficulty, since they call merely for knowledge and make no demand on
 the imagination. On the other hand, the points explained in the rulings
 of the legal experts turn either on the interpretation of words or on
 the distinction between right and wrong. To understand the meaning of
 each word is either common to all sensible men or the special possession
 of the orator, while the demands of equity are known to every good man.

Now I regard the orator above all as being a man of virtue and good
 sense, who will not be seriously troubled, after having devoted himself
 to the study of that which is excellent by nature, if some legal expert
 disagrees with him; for even they are allowed to disagree among
 themselves. But if he further wishes to know the views of everyone, he
 will require to read, and reading is the least laborious of' all the
 tasks that fall to the student's lot.

Moreover, if the class of legal experts is as a rule drawn from those
 who, in despair of making successful pleaders, have taken refuge with
 the law, how easy it must be for an orator to know what those succeed in
 learning, who by their own confession are incapable of becoming orators!
 But Marcus Cato was at once a great orator and an expert lawyer, while
 Scaevola and Servius Sulpicius were universally
 allowed to be eloquent as well.

And Cicero not merely possessed a sufficient supply of legal knowledge
 to serve his needs when pleading, but actually began to write on the
 subject, so that it is clear that an orator has not merely time to
 learn, but even to teach the law.

Let no one, however, regard the advice I have given as to the attention
 due to the development of character and the study of the law as being
 impugned by the fact that we are familiar with many who, because they
 were weary of the toil entailed on those who seek to scale the heights
 of eloquence, have betaken themselves to the study of law as a refuge
 for their indolence. Some of these transfer their attention to the
 praetor's edicts or the civil law, and have
 preferred to become specialists in formulae, or
 legalists, as Cicero calls them, on the
 pretext of choosing a more useful branch of study, whereas their real
 motive was its comparative easiness.

Others are the victims of a more arrogant form of sloth; they assume a
 stern air and let their beards grow, and, as though despising the
 precepts of oratory, sit for a while in the schools of the philosophers,
 that, by an assumption of a severe mien before the public gaze and by an
 affected contempt of others they may assert their moral superiority,
 while leading a life of debauchery at home. For philosophy may be
 counterfeited, but eloquence never.

Above all, our orator should be equipped with a rich store of examples
 both old and new: and he ought not merely to know those which are
 recorded in history or transmitted by oral tradition or occur from day
 to day, but should not neglect even those
 fictitious examples invented by the great poets.

For while the former have the authority of evidence or even of legal
 decisions, the latter also either have the warrant of antiquity or are
 regarded as having been invented by great men to serve as lessons to the
 world. He should therefore be acquainted with as many examples as
 possible. It is this which gives old age so much authority, since the
 old are believed to have a larger store of knowledge and experience, as
 Homer so frequently bears witness. But we must not wait till the evening
 of our days, since study has this advantage that, as far as knowledge of
 facts is concerned, it is capable of giving the impression that we have
 lived in ages long gone by.

Such are the instruments of which I promised to give account, the
 instruments, that is, not merely of the art, as some have held, but of
 the orator himself. These are the weapons that he should have ready to
 his hand, this the knowledge with which he must be equipped, while it
 must be supplemented by a ready store of words and figures, power of
 imagination, skill in arrangement, retentiveness of memory and grace of
 delivery. But of all these qualities the highest is that loftiness of
 soul which fear cannot dismay nor uproar terrify nor the authority of
 the audience fetter further than the respect which is their due.

For although the vices which are its opposites, such as arrogance,
 temerity, impudence and presumption, are all positively obnoxious, still
 without constancy, confidence and courage, art, study and proficiency
 will be of no avail. You might as well put weapons into the hands of the
 unwarlike and the coward. It is indeed with some reluctance, as it may give rise to misunderstanding, that I say
 that even modesty (which, though a fault in itself, is an amiable
 failing which may easily be the mother of virtues) is on occasion an
 impediment and has frequently caused the fruits of genius and study to
 consume away in the mildew of obscurity merely because they have never
 been displayed to the public day.

But in case any of my readers should still lack skill to distinguish the
 precise meaning of each word, I would have him know that it is not
 honest shame that is the object of my criticism, but that excess of
 modesty which is really a form of fear deterring the soul from doing
 what is its duty to do, and resulting in confusion of mind, regret that
 our task was ever begun, and sudden silence. For who can hesitate to
 give the name of fault to a feeling that makes a man ashamed to do what
 is right?

On the other hand, I am not unwilling that the man who has got to make a
 speech should show signs of nervousness when he rises to his feet,
 should change colour and make it clear that he feels the risks of his
 position: indeed, if these symptoms do not occur naturally, it will be
 necessary to simulate them. But the feeling that stirs us should be due
 to the realisation of the magnitude of our task and not to fear: we
 should be moved, but not to the extent of collapsing. But the best
 remedy for such excess of modesty is confidence: however great our
 natural timidity of mien, we shall find strength and support in the
 consciousness of the nobility of our task.

There are also those natural instruments which, as I mentioned above,
 may be further improved by care, such as
 voice, lungs and grace of carriage and movement, all of which are of
 such importance as frequently to give a speaker the
 reputation for talent. Our own age has had orators of greater resource
 and power, but Trachalus appeared to stand out above all his
 contemporaries, when he was speaking. Such was the elect produced by his
 lofty stature, the fire of his eye, the dignity of his brow, the
 excellence of his gesture, coupled with a voice which was not almost a
 tragedian's, as Cicero demands that
 it should be, but surpassed the voice of all tragedians that I have ever
 heard.

At any rate I remember that, when he was speaking in the Basilica Julia
 before the first tribunal, and the four panels of judges were
 assembled as usual and the whole building was full of noise, he could
 still be heard and understood and applauded from all four tribunals at
 once, a fact which was not complimentary to the other pleaders. But
 gifts like these are such as all may pray for and few are happy enough
 to attain. And if we cannot achieve such fortune, we must even be
 content to be heard by the court which we are addressing. Such then
 should the orator be, and such are the things which he should know.

The age at which the orator should begin to plead will of course depend
 on the development of his strength. I shall not specify it further,
 since it is clear that Demosthenes pleaded against his guardians while
 he was still a mere boy, Calvus, Caesar and Pollio all undertook cases of the first
 importance before they were old enough to be qualified for the
 quaestorship, others are said to have pleaded while still wearing the
 garb of boyhood, and Augustus Caesar delivered a funeral oration over
 his grandmother from the public rostra when he was only twelve years
 old.

In my opinion we should aim at a happy mean. The
 unripe brow of boyhood should not be prematurely robbed of its ingenuous
 air nor should the young speaker's powers be brought before the public
 while yet unformed, since such a practice leads to a contempt for study,
 lays the foundations of impudence and induces a fault which is
 pernicious in all departments of life, namely, a self-confidence that is
 not justified by the speaker's resources.

On the other hand, it is undesirable to postpone the apprenticeship of
 the bar till old age: for the fear of appearing in public grows daily
 and the magnitude of the task on which we must venture continually
 increases and we waste time deliberating when we should begin, till we
 find it is too late to begin at all. Consequently it is desirable that
 the fruit of our studies should be brought before the public eye while
 it is still fresh and sweet, while it may hope for indulgence and be
 secure of a kindly disposition in the audience, while boldness is not
 unbecoming and youth compensates for all defects and boyish extravagance
 is regarded as a sign of natural vigour.

Take for example the whole of the well-known passage from Cicero's
 defence of Sextus Roscius: 
 For
 what is more common than the air to the living, than the earth to
 the dead, than the sea to mariners or the shore to shipwrecked men?
 etc. This passage was delivered at the age of twenty-six amid
 loud applause from the audience, but in later years he acknowledges that the ferment of youth has died
 down and his style been clarified with age. And, indeed, however much
 private study may contribute to success, there is still a peculiar
 proficiency that the courts alone can give: for there the atmosphere is
 changed and the reality of the peril puts a
 different complexion on things, while, if it is impossible to combine
 the two, practice without theory is more useful than theory without
 practice. Consequently,

some who have grown old in the schools lose their heads when confronted
 by the novelty of the law courts and wish that it were possible to
 reproduce all the conditions under which they delivered their exercises.
 But there sits the judge in silence, their opponent bellows at them, no
 rash utterance passes unnoticed and all assumptions must be proved, the
 clock cuts short the speech that has been laboriously pieced together at
 the cost of hours of study both by day and night, and there are certain
 cases which require simplicity of language and the abandonment of the
 perpetual bombast of the schools, a fact which these fluent fellows
 completely fail to realise.

And so you will find some persons who regard themselves as too eloquent
 to speak in the courts. On the other hand, the man, whom we conducted to
 the forum while still young and in the charm of immaturity, should begin
 with as easy and favourable a case as may be (just as the cubs of wild
 beasts are brought up to start with on softer forms of prey), and should
 not proceed straight from this commencement to plead case after case
 without a break, or cause his talents to set and harden while they still
 require nourishment; on the contrary, as soon as he has come to realise
 the nature of the conflicts in which he will have to engage and the
 object to which his studies should be directed, he should take an
 interval of rest and refreshment. Thus,

at an age to which boldness is still natural, he will find it easy to
 get over the timidity which invariably accompanies the period of
 apprenticeship, and will not, on the other hand,
 carry his boldness so far as to lead him to despise the difficulties of
 his task. This was the method employed by Cicero: for when he had
 already won a distinguished position at the bar of his day, he took ship
 to Asia and there studied under a number of professors of philosophy and
 rhetoric, but above all under Apollonius Molon, whose lectures he had
 attended at Rome and to whom he now at Rhodes entrusted the refashioning
 and recasting of his style. It is only when theory and practice are
 brought into a perfect harmony that the orator reaps the reward of all
 his study.

When our orator has developed his strength to such a pitch that it is
 equal to every kind of confact in which he may be called upon to bear
 his part, his first consideration should be to exercise care in the
 choice of the cases which he proposes to undertake. A good man will
 undoubtedly prefer defence to prosecution, but he will not have such a
 rooted objection to the task of accuser as to disregard his duty towards
 the state or towards individuals and refuse to call any man to render an
 account of his way of life. For the laws themselves would be powerless
 without the assistance of advocates equal to the task of supporting
 them; and to regard it as a sin to demand the punishment of crime is
 almost equivalent to the sanctioning of crime, while it is certainly
 contrary to the interest of the good to give the wicked free leave to
 work their will.

Therefore, our orator will not suffer the complaints of our allies, the
 death of friends or kinsmen, or conspiracies that threaten the common
 weal to go unavenged, while his conduct will be governed not by a
 passion to secure the punishment of the guilty, but by the desire to correct vice and reform morals. For fear
 is the only means of restraining those who cannot be led to better ways
 by the voice of reason.

Consequently, while to devote one's life to the task of accusation, and
 to be tempted by the hope of reward to bring the guilty to trial is
 little better than making one's living by highway robbery, none the less
 to rid one's country of the pests that gnaw its vitals is conduct worthy
 of comparison with that of heroes, who champion their country's cause in
 the field of battle. For this reason men who were leaders of the state
 have not refused to undertake this portion of an orator's duty, and even
 young men of high rank have been regarded as giving their country a
 pledge of their devotion by accusing bad citizens, since it was thought
 that their hatred of evil and their readiness to incur enmity were
 proofs of their confidence in their own rectitude.

Such action was taken by Hortensius, the Luculli, Sulpicius, Cicero,
 Caesar and many others, among them both the Catos, of whom one was
 actually called the Wise, while if the
 other is not regarded as wise, I do not know of any that can claim the
 title after him. On the other hand, this same orator of ours will not
 defend all and sundry: that haven of safety which his eloquence provides
 will never be opened to pirates as it is to others, and he will be led
 to undertake cases mainly by consideration of their nature.

However, since one man cannot undertake the cases of all litigants who
 are not, as many undoubtedly are, dishonest, he will be influenced to
 some extent by the character of the persons who recommend clients to his
 protection and also by the character of the litigants themselves, and
 will allow himself to be moved by the wishes of all
 virtuous men; for a good man will naturally have such for his most
 intimate friends.

But he must put away from him two kinds of pretentious display, the one
 consisting in the officious proffering of his services to the powerful
 against those of meaner position, and the other, which is even more
 obtrusive, in deliberately supporting inferiors against those of high
 degree. For a case is not rendered either just or the reverse by the
 social position of the parties engaged. Nor, again, will a sense of
 shame deter him from throwing over a case which he has undertaken in the
 belief that it had justice on its side, but which his study of the facts
 has shown to be unjust, although before doing so he should give his
 client his true opinion on the case.

For, if we judge aright, there is no greater benefit that we can confer
 on our clients than this, that we should not cheat them by giving them
 empty hopes of success. On the other hand, no client that does not take
 his advocate into his counsel deserves that advocate's assistance, and
 it is certainly unworthy of our ideal orator that he should wittingly
 defend injustice. For if he is led to defend what is false by any of the
 motives which I mentioned above, his own action will still be
 honourable.

It is an open question whether he should never demand a fee for his
 services. To decide the question at first sight would be the act of a
 fool. For we all know that by far the most honourable course, and the
 one which is most in keeping with a liberal education and that temper of
 mind which we desiderate, is not to sell our services nor to debase the
 value of such a boon as eloquence, since there are not a few things
 which come to be regarded as cheap, merely because
 they have a price set upon them.

This much even the blind can see, as the saying is, and no one who is
 the possessor of sufficient wealth to satisfy his needs (and that does
 not imply any great opulence) will seek to secure an income by such
 methods without laying himself open to the charge of meanness. On the
 other hand, if his domestic circumstances are such as to require some
 addition to his income to enable him to meet the necessary demands upon
 his purse, there is not a philosopher who would forbid him to accept
 this form of recompense for his services, since collections were made
 even on behalf of Socrates, and Zeno, Cleanthes and Chrysippus took fees
 from their pupils.

Nor can I see how we can turn a more honest penny than by performance of
 the most honourable of tasks and by accepting money from those to whom
 we have rendered the most signal services and who, if they made no
 return for what we have done for them, would show themselves undeserving
 to have been defended by us. Nay, it is not only just, but necessary
 that this should be so, since the duties of advocacy and the bestowal of
 every minute of our time on the affairs of others deprive us of all
 other means of making money.

But we must none the less observe the happy mean, and it makes no small
 difference from whom we take payment, what payment we demand, and how
 long we continue to do so. As for the piratical practice of bargaining
 and the scandalous traffic of those who proportion their fees to the
 peril in which their would-be client stands, such a procedure will be
 eschewed even by those who are more than half scoundrels, more
 especially since the advocate who devotes himself 
 to the defence of good men and worthy causes will have nothing to fear
 from ingratitude. And even if a client should prove ungrateful, it is
 better that he should be the sinner and not our orator.

To conelude, then, the orator will not seek to make more money than is
 sufficient for his needs, and even if he is poor, he will not regard his
 payment as a fee, but rather as the expression of the principle that one
 good turn deserves another, since he will be well aware that he has
 conferred far more than he receives. For it does not follow that because
 his services ought not to be sold, they should therefore be
 unremunerated. Finally, gratitude is primarily the business of the
 debtor.

We have next to consider how a case should be studied, since such study
 is the foundation of oratory. There is no one so destitute of all talent
 as, after making himself thoroughly familiar with all the facts of his
 case, to be unable at least to communicate those facts to the judge.

But those who devote any serious attention to such study are very few
 indeed. For, to say nothing of those careless advocates who are quite
 indifferent as to what the pivot of the whole case may be, provided only
 there are points which, though irrelevant to the case, will give them
 the opportunity of declaiming in thunderous tones on the character of
 persons involved or developing some commonplace, there are some who are
 so perverted by vanity that, on the oft-repeated pretext that they are
 occupied by other business, they bid their client come to them on the
 day preceding the trial or early on the morning of the day itself, and
 sometimes even boast that they learnt up their case while sitting in
 court;

while others by way of creating an impression of
 extraordinary talent, and to make it seem that they arc quick in the
 uptake, pretend that they have grasped the facts of the case and
 understand the situation almost before they have heard what it is, and
 then after chanting out some long and fluent discourse which has nought
 to do either with the judge or their client, but awakens the clamorous
 applause of the audience, they are escorted home through the forum,
 perspiring at every pore and attended by flocks of enthusiastic friends.

Further, I would not even tolerate the affectation of those who insist
 that their friends, and not themselves, should be instructed in the
 facts of the case, though this is a less serious evil, if the friends
 can be relied upon to learn and supply the facts correctly. But who can
 give such effective study to the case as the advocate himself? How can
 the intermediary, the go-between or interpreter, devote himself
 whole-heartedly to the study of other men's cases, when those who have
 got to do the actual pleading do not think it worth while to get up
 their own?

On the other hand, it is a most pernicious practice to rest content with
 a written statement of the case composed either by the litigant who
 betakes himself to an advocate because he finds that his own powers are
 not equal to the conduct of his case, or by some member of that class of
 legal advisers who admit that they are incapable of pleading, and then proceed
 to take upon themselves the most difficult of all the tasks that
 confront the pleader. For if a man is capable of judging what should be
 said, what concealed, what avoided, altered or even invented, why should
 he not appear as orator himself, since he performs the far more
 difficult feat of making an orator?

Such persons would not, however, do so much harm if they would only put
 down all the facts as they occurred. But as it is, they add suggestions
 of their own, put their own construction on the facts and insert
 inventions which are far more damaging than the unvarnished truth. And
 then the advocate as a rule, on receiving the document, regards it as a
 crime to make any alteration, and keeps to it as faithfully as if it
 were a theme set for declamation in the schools. The sequel is that they
 are tripped up and have to learn from their opponents the case which
 they refused to learn from their own clients.

We should therefore above all allow the parties concerned ample time for
 an interview in a place free from interruption, and should even exhort
 them to set forth on the spot all the facts in as many words as they may
 choose to use and allowing them to go as far back as they please. For it
 is less of a drawback to listen to a number of irrelevant facts than to
 be left in ignorance of essentials. Moreover,

the orator will often detect both the evil and its remedy in facts which
 the litigant regarded as devoid of all importance, one way or the other.
 Further, the advocate who has got to plead the case should not put such
 excessive confidence in his powers of memory as to disdain to jot down
 what he has heard. Nor should one hearing be regarded as sufficient. The
 litigant should be made to repeat his statements at least once, not
 merely because certain points may have escaped him on the occasion of
 his first statement, as is extremely likely to happen if, as is often
 the case, he is a man of no education, but also that we may note whether
 he sticks to what he originally said.

For a large number of clients lie, and hold forth, not as if they were
 instructing their advocate in the facts of the case, but as if they were
 pleading with a judge. Consequently we must never be too ready to
 believe them, but must test them in every way, try to confuse them and
 draw them out.

For just as doctors have to do more than treat the ailments which meet
 the eye, and need also to discover those which he hid, since their
 patients often conceal the truth, so the advocate must look out for more
 points than his client discloses to him. After he considers that he has
 given a sufficiently patient hearing to the latter's statements, he must
 assume another character and adopt the rôle of his opponent, urging
 every conceivable objection that a discussion of the kind which we are
 considering may permit.

The client must be subjected to a hosthe cross-examination and given no
 peace: for by enquiring into everything, we shall sometimes come upon
 the truth where we least expect it. In fact, the advocate who is most
 successful in getting up his case is he who is incredulous. For the
 client promises everything: the people, he says, will bear witness to
 the truth of what he says, he can produce documentary evidence at a
 moment's notice and there are some points which he says his opponent

will not deny. It is therefore necessary to look into every document
 connected with the case, and where the mere sight of them is not
 sufficient, they must be read through. For very frequently they are
 either not at all what the client alleged them to be, or contain less,
 or are mixed up with elements that may damage our case, or prove more
 than is required and are likely to detract from their credibility just
 because they are so extravagant.

Further, it will often be found that the thread is broken or the seal
 tampered with or the signatures unsupported by witnesses. And unless you
 discover such facts at home, they will take you by surprise in court and
 trip you up, doing you more harm by forcing you to abandon them than
 they would have done had they never been promised you. There are also a
 number of points which the client regards as irrelevant to his case,
 which the advocate will be able to elicit, provided he go carefully
 through all the dwelling places of argument which I have
 already described.

Now though, for reasons already mentioned, it is most undesirable that
 he should hunt for and try every single one of those, while actually
 engaged in pleading his case, it is most necessary in the preliminary
 study of the case to leave no stone unturned to discover the character
 of the persons involved, the circumstances of time and place, the
 customs and documents concerned, and the rest, from which we may not
 merely deduce the proofs known as artificial, but may also discover
 which witnesses are most to be feared and the best method of refuting
 them. For it makes a great difference whether it be envy, hatred or
 contempt that forms the chief obstacle to the success of the defence,
 since of these obstacles the first tells most against superiors, the
 second against equals, and the third against those of low degree.

Having thus given a thorough examination to the case and clearly
 envisaged all those points which will tell for or against his client,
 the orator must then place himself in the position of a third person,
 namely, the judge, and imagine that the case is
 being pleaded before himself, and assume that the point which would have
 carried most weight with himself, had he been trying the case, is likely
 to have the greatest influence with the actual judge. Thus he will
 rarely be deceived as to the result of the trial, or, if he is, it will
 be the fault of the judge.

As regards the points to be observed in the actual pleading, I have
 dealt with these in every portion of this work, but there still remain a
 few on which I must touch as being specially appropriate to the present
 place, since they are concerned not so much with the art of speaking as
 with the duties of the advocate. Above all it is important that he
 should never, like so many, be led by a desire to win applause to
 neglect the interest of the actual case.

It is not always the duty of generals in the field to lead their armies
 through flat and smiling country: it will often be necessary to cross
 rugged mountain ranges, to storm cities placed on inaccessible cliffs or
 rendered difficult of access by elaborate fortifications. Similarly
 oratory will always be glad of the opportunity of manœuvring in all its
 freedom and delighting the spectator by the deployment of its full
 strength for conflict in the open field;

but if it is forced to enter the tortuous defiles of the law, or dark
 places whence the truth has to be dragged forth, it will not go prancing
 in front of the enemy's lines nor launch its shafts of quivering and
 passionate epigram of the fashion that is now so popular, but will wage
 war by means of sap and mine and ambush and all the tactics of secrecy.

None of these methods win applause during their actual execution: the
 reward comes after they have been carried to a successful termination,
 when even the most ambitious will reap a richer
 recompense than they could ever have secured by other means. For so soon
 as the thunders of applause awakened among their admirers by these
 affected declamatory displays have died away, the glory of true virtue
 rises again with renewed splendour, the judges do not conceal who it is
 has moved them, the well-trained orator wins their belief and oratory
 receives its only genuine tribute, the praise accorded it when its task
 is done.

The old orators indeed used to conceal their eloquence, a method which
 is recommended by Marcus Antonius, as a means of securing that the
 speaker's words should carry conviction and of masking the advocate's
 real designs. But the truth is that the eloquence of those days was
 capable of concealment, for it had not yet attained that splendour of
 diction which makes it impossible to hide its light under a bushel.
 Therefore artifice and stratagem should be masked, since detection in
 such cases spells failure. Thus far, and thus only, may eloquence hope
 to enjoy the advantages of secrecy.

But when we come to consider the choice of words, the weight essential
 to general reflexions and the elegance demanded by figures, we are
 confronted by elements which must either strike the attention or be
 condemned to nonexistence. But the very fact that they strike the
 attention is a reason why they should not flaunt themselves obtrusively.
 And, if we have to make the choice, I should prefer that it should be
 the cause, and not the orator, to which we award our praise.
 Nevertheless, the true orator will achieve the distinction of seeming to
 speak with all the excellence that an excellent case deserves. One thing
 may be regarded as certain, that no one can plead
 worse than he who wins applause despite the disapproval meted out to his
 case. For the inevitable conclusion is that the applause must have been
 evoked by something having no connexion with the case.

Further, the true orator will not turn up his nose at cases of minor
 importance on the ground of their being beneath his dignity or as being
 likely to detract from his reputation because the subject matter does
 not allow his genius full scope. For the strongest reason for
 undertaking a case is to be fund in our duty towards our clients: nay,
 we should even desire the suits in which our friends are involved to he
 as unimportant as possible, and remember that the advocate who gives an
 adequate presentment to his case, has spoken exceeding well.

But there are so he who, even although the cases which they have
 undertaken give but small scope for eloquence, none the less trick it
 out with matter drawn from without and, if all else fails, fill up the
 gaps in their case with abuse of their opponents, true if possible, but
 false if necessary, the sole consideration that weighs with them being
 that it affords exercise for their talents and is likely to win applause
 during its delivery. Such conduct seems to me so unworthy of our perfect
 orator that, in my opinion, he will not even bring true charges against
 his opponents unless the case demand.

For it is a dog's eloquence, as Appius says, to undertake the task of
 abusing one's opponent, and they who do so should steel
 themselves in advance to the prospect of being targets for like abuse
 themselves, since those who adopt this style of pleading are frequently
 attacked themselves, and there can at any rate be no doubt that the
 litigant pays dearly for the violence of his
 advocate. But such faults are less serious than that which lies deep in
 the soul itself, making the evil speaker to differ from the evil doer
 only in respect of opportunity.

It is not uncommon for the litigant to demand a base and inhuman
 gratification of his rancour, such as not a single man among the
 audience will approve, for it is on revenge rather than on protection
 that his heart is set. But in this, as in a number of other points, it
 is the duty of the orator to refuse to comply with his clients' desires.
 For how can a man with the least degree of gentlemanly feeling consent
 to make a brutal attack merely because another desires it?

And yet there are some who take pleasure in directing their onslaughts
 against their opponents' counsel as well, a practice which, unless they
 have deserved such attacks, shows an inhuman disregard of the duties
 incumbent on the profession, and is not merely useless to the speaker
 (since he thereby gives his opponent the right to reply in the same
 strain), but contrary to the interests of his case, since it creates a
 hosthe and antagonistic disposition in the advocates attacked, whose
 eloquence, however feeble it may be, will be redoubled by resentment at
 the insults to which they have been subjected.

Above all, it involves a complete waste of one of the most valuable of
 an orator's assets, namely that self-restraint which gives weight and
 credit to his words, if he debases himself from an honest man into a
 snarling wrangler, directing all his efforts not to win the goodwill of
 the judge, but to gratify his client's spite.

Often too the attractions of freedom of speech will lure him into a
 rashness of language perilous not merely to the interests of the case,
 but to those of the speaker himself. It was not
 without good reason that Pericles used to pray that no word might occur
 to his mind that could give offence to the people. But what he felt with
 regard to the people, I feel with regard to every audience, since they
 can cause just as much harm to the orator as the people could ever do to
 Pericles. For utterances which seemed courageous at the moment of
 speaking, are called foolish when it is found that they have given
 offence.

In view of the tact that there is commonly a great variety in the aims
 which pleaders set before themselves and that the diligence shown by
 some is branded as tedious caution, while the readiness of others is
 criticised as rashness, I think that this will be an appropriate place
 to set forth my views as to how the orator may strike the happy mean.

He will show all the diligence of which he is capable in his pleading.
 For to plead worse than he might have done, is not merely an indication
 of negligence, but stamps him as a had man and a traitor, disloyal to
 the cause which he has undertaken. Consequently he must refuse to
 undertake more cases than he feels he can manage.

As far as possible he will deliver only what he has written, and, if
 circumstances permit, only what he has, as Demosthenes says, carved into shape. Such a practice
 is possible in first hearings and also in subsequent hearings such as
 are granted in the public courts after an interval of several days. On
 the other hand, when we have to reply on the spot, it is impossible to
 prepare everything: in fact for the less ready type of speaker, it may,
 in the event of his opponents putting forward arguments quite other than
 those which they were expected to advance, be a positive drawback to
 have written anything.

For it is only with reluctance that such speakers will under such
 circumstances consent to abandon what they have written, and throughout
 their pleading keep looking back and trying to discover whether any
 portion of their manuscript can be saved from the wreck and interpolated
 into what they have to improvise. And if they do make such
 interpolations, the result is a lack of' cohesion which is betrayed not
 merely by the gaping of the seams where the patch has been unskilfully
 inserted, but by the differences of style.

Consequently, the vigour of their eloquence will be hampered and their
 thought will lack connexion, each of which circumstances reacts
 unfavourably upon the other, since what is written trammels the mind
 instead of following its lead. Therefore, in such pleadings we must, as
 the rustic adage says, stand on all our feet.

For since the case turns on the propounding and refutation of arguments,
 it is always possible to write out what we propose to advance on our own
 behalf, and similar preparation is also possible with regard to the
 refutation of such replies as are absolutely certain to be made by our
 adversary: for there are times when we have this certainty. But with
 regard to all other portions of our speech, the only preparation that is
 possible in advance consists in a thorough knowledge of our case, while
 there is a second precaution which may be taken in court, consisting in
 giving our best attention to our opponent's speech.

On the other hand, there is much that may be thought out in advance and
 we may forearm our mind against all possible emergencies, a course which
 is far safer than writing, since a train of thought can easily be abandoned or diverted in a new direction. But
 whether we have to improvise a reply, or are obliged to speak extempore
 by some other reason, the orator on whom training, study and practice
 have conferred the gift of facility, will never regard himself as lost
 or taken at hopeless disadvantage.

He stands armed for battle, ever ready for the fray, and his eloquence
 will no more fail him in the courts than speech will fail him in
 domestic affairs and the daily concerns of life: and he will never shirk
 his burden for fear of failing to find words, provided he has time to
 study his case: for all other knowledge will always be his at command.

The question of the kind of style to be adopted remains
 to be discussed. This was described in my original division of my subject
 as forming its third portion: for I promised that I would speak of the
 art, the artist and the work. But since oratory is the work both of
 rhetoric and of the orator, and since it has many forms, as I shall
 show, the art and the artist are involved in the consideration of all
 these forms. But they differ greatly from one another, and not merely in
 species, as statue differs from statue,
 picture from picture and speech from speech, but in genus as well, as, for example, Etruscan statues differ from
 Greek and Asiatic orators from Attic.

But these different kinds of work, of which I speak, are not merely the
 product of different authors, but have each their own following of
 admirers, with the result that the perfect orator has not yet been
 found, a statement which perhaps may be extended to all arts, not merely
 because some qualities are more evident in some artists than in others,
 but because one single form will not satisfy all
 critics, a fact which is due in part to conditions of time or place, in
 part to the taste and ideals of individuals.

The first great painters, whose works deserve inspection for something
 more than their mere antiquity, are said to have been Polygnotus and
 Aglaopllon, whose
 simple colouring has still such enthusiastic admirers that they prefer
 these almost primitive works, which may be regarded as the first
 foundations of the art that was to be, over the works of the greatest of
 their successors, their motive being, in my opinion, an ostentatious
 desire to seem persons of superior taste.

Later Zeuxis and Parrhasius contributed much to the progress of
 painting. These artists were separated by no great distance of time,
 since both flourished about the period of the Peloponnesian war: for
 example, Xenophon has preserved a
 conversation between Socrates and Parrhasius. The first-mentioned seems
 to have discovered the method of representing light and shade, while the
 latter is said to have devoted special attention to the treatment of
 line.

For Zeuxis emphasised the limbs of the human body, 
 thinking thereby to add dignity and grandeur to his style: it is
 generally supposed that in this he followed the example of Homer, who
 likes to represent even his female characters as being of heroic mould.
 Parrhasius, on the other hand, was so fine a draughtsman that he has
 been styled the law-giver of his art, on the ground that all other
 artists take his representations of gods and heroes as models, as though
 no other course were possible.

It was, however, from about the period of the reign of Philip down to
 that of the successors of Alexander that painting
 flourished more especially, although the different artists are
 distinguished for different excellences. Protogenes, for example, was
 renowned for accuracy, Pamphilus and Melanthius for soundness of taste,
 Antiphilus for facility, Theon of Samos for his depiction of imaginary
 scenes, known as φαντασίαι, and
 Apelles for genius and grace, in the latter of which qualities he took
 especial pride. Euphranor, on the other hand, was admired on the ground
 that, while he ranked with the most eminent masters of other arts, he at
 the same time achieved marvellous skill in the arts of sculpture and
 painting.

The same differences exist between sculptors. The art of Callon and
 Hegesias is somewhat rude and recalls the Etruscans, but the work of
 Calamis has already begun to be less stiff, while Myron's statues show a
 greater softness of form than had been achieved by the artists just
 mentioned. Polyclitus surpassed all others for care and grace, but
 although the majority of critics account him as the greatest of
 sculptors, to avoid making him faultless they express the opinion that
 his work is lacking in grandeur.

For while he gave the human form an ideal grace, he is thought to have
 been less successful in representing the dignity of the gods. he is
 further alleged to have shrunk from representing persons of maturer
 years, and to have ventured on nothing more difficult than a smooth and
 beardless face. But the qualities lacking in Polyclitus are allowed to
 have been possessed by Phidias and Alcamenes.

On the other hand, Phidias is regarded as more gifted in his
 representation of gods than of men, and indeed for chryselephantine
 statues he is without a peer, as he would in truth be, even if he had produced nothing in this material beyond his
 Minerva at Athens and his Jupiter at Olympia in Elis, whose beauty is
 such that it is said to have added something even to the awe with which
 the god was already regarded: so perfectly did the majesty of the work
 give the impression of godhead. Lysippus and Praxiteles are asserted to
 be supreme as regards faithfulness to nature. For Demetrius is blamed
 for carrying realism too far, and is less concerned about the beauty
 than the truth of his work.

Now, if we turn our attention to the various styles of oratory, we shall
 find almost as great variety of talents as there are of personal
 appearance. There were certain kinds of oratory which, owing to the
 circumstances of the age, suffered from lack of polish, although in
 other respects they displayed remarkable genius. In this class we may
 place orators such as Laelius, Africanus, Cato, and even the Gracchi,
 whom we may call the Polygnoti and
 Callones of oratory.

Among orators of the intermediate type we may rank Lucius Crassus and
 Quintus Hortensius. Then let us turn to a vast harvest of orators who
 flourished much about the same period. It is here that we find the
 vigour of Caesar, the natural talent of Caelius, the subtlety of
 Calidius, the accuracy of Pollio, the dignity of Messala, the austerity
 of Calvus, the gravity of Brutus, the acumen of Sulpicius and the
 bitterness of Cassius, while among those whom we have seen ourselves we
 admire the fluency of Seneca, the strength of Africanus, the mellowness
 of Afer, the charm of Crispus, the sonority of Trachalus and the
 elegance of Secundus.

But in Cicero we have one who is not, like
 Euphranor, merely distinguished in a number of different forms of art,
 but is supreme in all the different qualities which are praised in each
 individual orator. And yet even his own contemporaries ventured to
 attack him on the ground that he was bombastic, Asiatic, redundant,
 given to excessive repetition, liable at times to be pointless in his
 witticisms, sensuous, extravagant and (an outrageous accusation!) almost
 effeminate in his rhythm.

And later, after he had fallen a victim to the proscription of the
 second triumvirate, those who hated and envied him and regarded him as
 their rival, nay, even those who had flattered him in the days of his
 power, attacked him now that he could no longer reply. But that very
 man, who is now regarded by some as being too jejune and dry, was
 attacked by his personal enemies on no other ground than that his style
 was too florid and his talents too little under control. Both charges
 are false, but there is more colour for the he in the latter case than
 in the former.

Those, however, who criticised him most severely were the speakers who
 desired to be regarded as the imitators of Attic oratory. This coterie,
 regarding themselves as the sole initiates in the mysteries of their
 art, assailed him as an alien, indifferent to their superstitions and
 refusing to be bound by their laws. Their descendants are among us
 to-day, a withered, sapless and anemic band.

For it is they that flaunt their weakness under the name of health, in
 defiance of the actual truth, and because they cannot endure the
 dazzling rays of the sun of eloquence, hide themselves beneath the
 shadow of a mighty name. However, as Cicero
 himself answered them at length and in a number of 
 passages, it will be safer for me to be brief in my treatment of this
 topic.

The distinction between the Attic and the Asiatic schools takes us back
 to antiquity. The former were regarded as concise and healthy, the
 latter as empty and inflated: the former were remarkable for the absence
 of all superfluity, while the latter were deficient alike in taste and
 restraint. The reason for this division, according to some authorities,
 among them Santra, is to be found in the fact that, as Greek gradually
 extended its range into the neighbouring cities of Asia, there arose a
 class of men who desired to distinguish themselves as orators before
 they had acquired sufficient command of the language, and who
 consequently began to express by periphrases what could have been
 expressed directly, until finally this practice became an ingrained
 habit.

My own view, however, is that the difference between the two styles is
 attributable to the character both of the orators and the audiences whom
 they addressed: the Athenians, with their polish and refinement, refused
 to tolerate emptiness and redundance, while the Asiatics, being
 naturally given to bombast and ostentation, were puffed up with a
 passion for a more vainglorious style of eloquence.

At a later period, the critics, to whom we owe this classification,
 added a third style, the Rhodian, which they asserted to he midway
 between the two and to be a blend of both, since the orators of this
 school are neither so concise as the Attic nor redundant like the
 Asiatic school, but appear to derive their style in part from their
 national characteristics, in part from those of their founder.

For it was Aeschines who introduced the culture of 
 Athens at Rhodes, which he had chosen as his place of exile: and just as
 certain plants degenerate as a result of change of soil and climate, so
 the fine Attic flavour was marred by the admixture of foreign
 ingredients. Consequently certain of the orators of this school are
 regarded as somewhat slow and lacking in energy, though not devoid of a
 certain weight, and as resembling placid pools rather than the limpid
 springs of Athens or the turbid torrents of Asia.

No one therefore should have any hesitation in pronouncing Attic oratory
 to be by far the best. But although all Attic writers have something in
 comion, namely a keen and exact judgement, their talents manitest
 themselves in a number of different forms.

Consequently I regard those critics as committing a serious error who
 regard only those authors as Attic who, while they are simple, lucid and
 expressive, are none the less content with a certain frugality of
 eloquence, and keep their hands modestly within the folds of their
 cloaks. For what author is there who answers to this conception? I am
 prepared to grant that there is Lysias, since he is the favourite model
 of the admirers of this school, and such an admission will save us from
 being referred to Coccus and Andocides.

But I should like to ask whether Isocrates spoke in the Attic style. For
 there is no author less like Lysias. They will answer in the negative.
 And yet it is to the school of Isocrates that we owe the greatest
 orators. Let us look for something closer. Is Hyperides Attic? Yes, they
 reply, but of an over-sensuous character. I pass by a number of orators,
 such as Lyucrgus and Aristogeiton and their predecessors Isaeus and Antiphon; for though they have a certain
 generic resemblance, they may be said to
 differ in species.

But what of Aesehines, whom I mentioned just now? Is not his style
 ampler and holder and more lofty than theirs? And what of Demosthenes
 himself? Did not he surpass all those simple and circumspect orators in
 force, loftiness, energy, polish and rhythm? Does he not rise to great
 heights in his commonplaces Does he not rejoice
 in the employment of figures? Does he not make brilliant use of
 metaphor? Does he not lend a voice, a fictitious utterance to speechless
 things?

Does not his famous oath by the warriors who fell fighting for their
 country at Salamis and Marathon show that Plato was his master? And
 shall we call Plato an Asiatic, Plato who as a rule deserves comparison
 with poets instinct with the divine fire of inspiration? What of
 Pericles? Can we believe that his style was like the slender stream of
 Lysias' eloquence, when the comedians, even while they revile him,
 compare his oratory to the bolts and thunder of the skies?

What is the reason, then, why these critics regard that style which
 flows in a slender trickle and babbles among the pebbles as having the
 true Attic flavour and the true scent of Attic thyme? I really think
 that, if they were to discover a soil of exceptional richness and a crop
 of unusual abundance within the boundaries of Attica, they would deny it
 to be Attic, on the ground that it has produced more seed than it
 received: for you will remember the mocking comments passed by Menander
 
 on the exact fidelity with which the soil of Attica repays its deposits.

Well, then, if any man should, in addition to the actual virtues which
 the great orator Demosthenes possessed, show
 himself to be the possessor of others, that either owing to his own
 temperament or the laws of Athens Demosthenes is thought to have lacked, and
 should reveal in himself the power of strongly stirring the emotions,
 shall I hear one of these critics protesting that Demosthenes never did
 this? And if he produces something rhythmically superior (an impossible
 feat, perhaps, but let us assume it to be so), are we to be told that it
 is not Attic? These critics would show finer feeling and better
 judgement, if they took the view that Attic eloquence meant perfect
 eloquence.

Still I should find this attitude less intolerable if it were only the
 Greeks that insisted on it. For Latin eloquence, although in my opinion
 it closely resembles the Greek as far as invention, arrangement,
 judgement and the like are concerned, and may indeed be regarded as its
 disciple, cannot aspire to imitate it in point of elocution. For, in the
 first place, it is harsher in sound, since our alphabet does not contain
 the most euphonious of the Greek letters, one a vowel and the other a
 consonant, than which there are none that fall more
 sweetly on the ear, and which we are forced to borrow whenever we use
 Greek words.

The result of such borrowing is, for some reason or other, the immediate
 accession to our language of a certain liveliness and charm. Take, for
 example, words such as sephyri and zophori: 
 if they were spelt according to the Latin alphabet,
 they would produce a heavy and barbarous sound. For we replace these
 letters by others of a harsh and unpleasant character, from which Greece is happily
 immune.

For the sixth letter in our alphabet is represented by a sound which can
 scarcely be called human or even articulate, being
 produced by forcing the air through the interstices of the teeth. Such a
 sound, even when followed by a vowel, is harsh enough and, as often as
 it clashes ( frangit ) with a consonant, as it does in this very word frangit, becomes harsher still. Then there is the Aeolic
 digamma whose sound occurs in words such as our servus and cervus; for even though we
 have rejected the actual form of the letter, we cannot get rid of that
 which it represents.

Similarly the letter Q, which is superfluous and useless save for the
 purpose of attaching to itself the vowels by which it is followed,
 results in the formation of harsh syllables, as, for example, when we
 write equos and aequum, 
 more especially since these two vowels together produce a sound for
 which Greek has no equivalent and which cannot therefore be expressed in
 Greek letters.

Again, we have a number of words which end with M, a letter which
 suggests the mooing of a cow, and is never the final letter in any Greek
 word: for in its place they use the letters nu, 
 the sound of which is naturally pleasant and produces a ringing tone
 when it occurs at the end of' a word, whereas in Latin this termination
 is scarcely ever found.

Again, we have syllables which produce such a harsh effect by ending in
 B and D, that many, not, it is true, of our most
 ancient writers, but still writers of considerable antiquity, have
 attempted to mitigate the harshness not merely by saying aversa for abversa, but by
 adding an S to the preposition ab, although S is
 an ugly letter

in itself Our accents also are less agreeable than those of the Greeks.
 This is due to a certain rigidity and monotony of pronunciation, since
 the final syllable is never marked by the rise of
 the acute accent nor by the rise and fill of the circumflex, but one or
 even two grave accents are regularly to be found at
 the end. Consequently the Greek language is so much more agreeable in
 sound than the Latin, that our poets, whenever they wish their verse to
 be especially harmonious, adorn it with Greek words.

A still stronger indication of the inferiority of Latin is to be found
 in the fact that there are many things which have no Latin names, so
 that it is necessary to express them by metaphor or periphrasis, while
 even in the case of things which have names, the extreme poverty of the
 language leads us to resort to the same practice. On the other hand, the Greeks have not merely abundance of
 words, but they have also a number of different dialects.

Consequently he who demands from Latin the grace of Attic Greek, must
 first provide a like charm of tone and equal richness of vocabulary. If
 this advantage is denied us, we must adapt our thoughts to suit the
 words we have and, where our matter is unusually slight and delicate,
 must avoid expressing it in words which are, I will not say too gross,
 but at any rate too strong for it, for fear that the combination should
 result in the destruction both of delicacy and force.

For the less help we get from the language, the more must we rely on
 inventiveness of thought to bring us through the conflict. We must
 discover sentiments full of loftiness and variety, must stir all the
 emotions and illumine our style by brilliance of metaphor. Since we
 cannot be so delicate, let us be stronger. If they beat us for subtlety,
 let us prevail by weight, and if they have greater precision, let us
 outdo them in fullness of expression.

Even the lesser orators of Greece have their own havens where they may
 ride in safety, while we as a rule carry more sail. Let stronger
 gales fill our canvas, and yet let us not always keep the high seas; for
 at times we must cling to shore. The Greeks can easily traverse any
 shallows; I must find a deeper, though not much deeper, channel, that my
 bark may not run aground.

For even though the Greeks surpass us where circumstances call for
 delicacy and restraint, though we acknowledge their superiority in this
 respect alone, and therefore do not claim to rival them in comedy, that
 is no justification for our abandonment of this department of oratory,
 but rather a reason why we should handle it as best we can. Now we can
 at any rate resemble the Greeks in the method and judgement with which
 we treat our matter, although that grace of language, which our words
 cannot provide, must be secured by the admixture of foreign condiments.

For example, is not Cicero shrewd, simple and not unduly exalted in
 tone, when he deals with private eases? Is not Calidius also
 distinguished for the same virtue? Were not Scipio, Laelius and Cato the
 Attic orators of Rome? Surely we ought to be satisfied with them, since
 nothing can be better.

There are still some critics who deny that any form of eloquence is
 purely natural, except that which closely resembles the ordinary speech
 of everyday life, which we use to our friends, our wives, our children
 and our slaves, a language, that is to say, which contents itself with
 expressing the purpose of the mind without seeking to discover anything
 in the way of elaborate and far-fetched phraseology. And they hold that whatever is added to this simplicity lays the
 speaker open to the charge of affectation and pretentious ostentation of
 speech, void of all sincerity and elaborated merely for the sake of the
 words, although the sole duty assigned to words by nature is to be the
 servants of thought.

Such language may be compared to the bodies of athletes, which although
 they develop their strength by exercise and diet, are of unnatural
 growth and abnormal in appearance. For what, say these critics, is the
 good of expressing a thing by periphrasis or metaphor (that is, either
 by a number of words or by words which have no connexion with the
 thing), when everything has been allotted a name of its own?

Finally, they urge that all the earliest orators spoke according to the
 dictates of nature, but that subsequently there arose a class of
 speakers resembling poets rather than orators, who regarded false and
 artificial methods of expression as positive merits; they were, it is
 true, more sparing than the poets in their use of such expressions, but
 none the less worked on similar lines. There is some truth in this
 contention, and we should therefore be careful not to depart from the
 more exact usage of ordinary speech to the extent that is done by
 certain orators.

On the other hand, that is no reason for thus calumniating the man who,
 as I said in dealing with the subject of artistic structure, succeeds in
 improving upon the bare necessaries of style. For the common language of
 every day seems to me to be of a different character from the style of
 an eloquent speaker. If all that was required of the latter was merely
 to indicate the facts, he might rest content with literalness of
 language, without further elaboration. But since it
 is his duty to delight and move his audience and to play upon the
 various feelings, it becomes necessary for him to employ those
 additional aids which are granted to us by that same nature which gave
 us speech.

It is, in fact, as natural to do this as to harden the muscles, increase
 our strength and improve our complexion by means of exercise. It is for
 this reason that among all nations one man is regarded as more eloquent
 and more attractive in his style than another (since if this were not
 the case, all speakers would be equal); but the same men speak
 differently on different subjects and observe distinctions of character.
 Consequently the more effective a man's speaking, the more in accordance
 with the nature of eloquence will it be.

I have, therefore, no strong objection even to the views expressed by
 those who think that some concession should be made to the circumstances
 under which we speak and to the ears of the audience which require
 something more polished and emotional than ordinary speech. For this
 reason I consider that it would be absurd to restrict an orator to the
 style of the predecessors of Cato and the Gracchi, or even of those
 orators themselves. And I note that it was the practice of Cicero, while
 devoting himself in the main to the interests of his case, to take into
 account the delectation of his audience as well, since, as he pointed
 out, his own interests were concerned as well as those of his client,
 although of course the latter were of paramount importance. For his very
 charm was a valuable asset.

I do not know what can be added by way of improvement to the charms of
 his style, except perhaps the introduction of 
 something more in the way of brilliant reflexions to suit the taste of
 our own times. For this can be done without injury to the treatment of
 our case or inpairing the authority of our language, provided that such
 embellishments are not too frequent or continuous, and do not mutually
 destroy the effects which they were designed to produce.

I am ready to go so far along the path of concession, but let no man
 press me further. I concur in the fashion of the day to the extent of
 agreeing that the toga should not be long in the nap, but not to the
 extent of insisting that it should be of silk: I agree that the hair
 should be cut, but not that it should be dressed in tiers and ringlets,
 since we must always remember that ornaments, unless they be judged from
 the standpoint of the fop and the debauchee, are always effective in
 proportion to their seemliness.

But with regard to those passages to which we give the name of reflexions, 
 a form of
 ornament which was not employed by the ancients and, above all, not by
 the Greeks, although I do find it in Cicero, who can deny their
 usefulness, provided they are relevant to the case, are not too diffuse
 and contribute to our success? For they strike the mind and often
 produce a decisive effect by one single blow, while their very brevity
 makes them cling to the memory, and the pleasure which they produce has
 the force of persuasion.

There are, however, some who, while allowing the actual delivery of such
 specially brilliant forms of ornament, think that they should be
 excluded from the written speech. Consequently I must not dismiss even
 this topic without a word of discussion. For a number of learned
 authorities have held that the written and the
 spoken speech stand on different footings, and that consequently some of
 the most eloquent of speakers have left nothing for posterity to read in
 durable literary form, as, for example, is the case with Pericles and
 Decades Again, they urge that there have been authors, like Isocrates,
 who, while admirable writers, were not well-fitted for actual speaking;

and, further, that actual pleading is characterised by a greater energy
 and by the employment, almost verging on license, of every artifice
 designed to please, since the minds of an uneducated audience require to
 be moved and led. On the other hand, the written speech with is
 published as a model of style must be polished and filed and brought
 into conformity with the accepted rules and standards of artistic
 construction, since it will come into the hands of learned men and its
 art will be judged by artists.

These subtle teachers (for such they have persuaded themselves and
 others that they are) have laid it down that the παράδειγμα 
 is best
 suited for actual speech and the ἐνθύμημα 
 for
 writing. My own view is that there is absolutely no difference between
 writing well and speaking well, and that a written speech is merely a
 record of one that has actually been delivered. Consequently it must in
 my opinion possess every kind of merit, and note that I say merit, not
 fault. For I know that faults do sometimes meet with the approval of the
 uneducated.

What, then, will be the difference between what is written and what is
 spoken? If I were given a jury of wise men, I should cut down a large
 number of passages from the speeches not only of Cicero, but even of
 Demosthenes, who is much more concise. For with
 such a jury there would be no need to appeal to the emotions nor to
 charm and soothe the ears, since according to Aristotle even exordia are superfluous, if addressed to such
 persons, as they will have no influence upon judges who are truly wise:
 it will be sufficient to state the facts with precision and significance
 and to marshal our array of proofs.

Since, however, our judges are the people, or drawn from the people, and
 since those who are appointed to give sentence are frequently
 ill-educated and sometimes mere rustics, it becomes necessary to employ
 every method that we think likely to assist our case, and these
 artifices must not merely be produced in speech, but exhibited in the
 written version as well, at least if in writing it our design is to show
 how it should be spoken.

If Demosthenes or Cicero had spoken the words as they wrote them, would
 either have spoken ill And is our acquaintance with either of those two
 great orators based on anything save their writings? Did they speak
 better, then, or worse than they wrote? If they spoke worse, all that
 can be said is that they should have spoken as they wrote, while, if
 they spoke better, they should have written as they spoke.

Well, you ask, is an orator then always to speak as he writes? If
 possible, always. If, however, the time allowed by the judge is too
 short for this to be possible, he will have to cut out much that he
 should have said, but the published speech will contain the omitted
 passages. On the other hand, such passages as were uttered merely to
 suit the character of the judges will not be published for the benefit
 of posterity, for fear that they should seem to indicate the author's deliberate judgement instead of being
 a mere concession to the needs of the moment.

For it is most important that we should know how the judge is disposed
 to listen, and his face will often (as Cicero reminds us) serve
 as a guide to the speaker. Consequently we must press the points that we
 see commend themselves to him, and draw back from those which are
 ill-received, while our actual language must be so modified that he will
 find our arguments as intelligible as possible. That this should be
 necessary is scarcely surprising, when we consider the alterations that
 are frequently necessary to suit the characters of the different
 witnesses.

He was a shrewd man who, when he asked a rustic witness whether he knew
 Amphion, and the witness replied that he did not, dropped the aspirate
 and shortened the second syllable, whereupon the witness recognised
 him at once. Such situations, when it is impossible to speak as we
 write, will sometimes make it necessary to speak in language other than
 that which we use in writing.

There is another threefold division, whereby, it is held, we may
 differentiate three styles of speaking, all of them correct. The first
 is termed the plain (or ἰσχνόν ), the
 second grand and forcible (or ἁδρόν ),
 and the third either intermediate or florid, the latter being a
 translation of ἀνθηρόν.

The nature of these three styles is, broadly speaking, as follows. The
 first would seem best adapted for instructing, the second for moving,
 and the third (by whichever name we call it) for charming or, as others
 would have it, conciliating the audience; for instruction the quality
 most needed is acumen, for conciliation gentleness,
 and for stirring the emotions force. Consequently it is mainly in the
 plain style that we shall state our facts and advance our proofs, though
 it should be borne in mind that this style will often be sufficiently
 full in itself without any assistance whatever from the other two.

The intermediate style will have more frequent recourse to metaphor and
 will make a more attractive use of figures, while it will introduce
 alluring digressions, will be neat in rhythm and pleasing in its
 reflexions: its flow, however, will be gentle, like that of a river
 whose waters are clear, but overshadowed by the green banks on either
 side.

But he whose eloquence is like to some great torrent that rolls down
 rocks and disdains a bridge 
 and carves out its own banks for itself, will sweep the judge
 from his feet, struggle as he may, and force him to go whither he bears
 him. This is the orator that will call the dead to life (as, for
 example, Cicero calls upon Appius Caecus ); it is in his pages that his native land itself
 will cry aloud and at times address the orator himself, as it addresses
 Cicero in the speech delivered against Catiline in the senate.

Such an orator will also exalt his style by amplification and rise even
 to hyperbole, as when Cicero cries, What Charybdis was
 ever so voracious! or By the god of truth, even
 Ocean's self, etc. (I choose these fine passages as being
 familiar to the student). It is such an one that will bring down the
 Gods to form part of his audience or even to speak with him, as in the
 following, For on you I call, ye hills and groves of Alba, on
 you, I say, ye fallen altars of the Albans, altars that were once
 the peers and equals of the holy places of
 Rome. 
 This is he that
 will inspire anger or pity, and while he speaks the judge will call upon
 the gods and weep, following him wherever he sweeps him from one emotion
 to another, and no longer asking merely for instruction.

Wherefore if one of these three styles has to be selected to the
 exclusion of the others, who will hesitate to prefer this style to all
 others, since it is by far the strongest and the best adapted to the
 most important cases?

For Homer himself assigns to Menelaus an eloquence,
 terse and pleasing, exact (for that is what is meant by making no
 errors in words ) and devoid of all redundance, which
 qualities are virtues of the first type: and he says that from the lips
 of Nestor flowed speech sweeter than honey, than
 which assuredly we can conceive no greater delight: but when he seeks to
 express the supreme gift of eloquence possessed by Ulysses he gives a mighty voice and a vehemence of oratory
 equal to the snows of winter in the abundance and the vigour of its
 words.

With him then, he says, no mortal will contend, and
 men shall look upon him as on a god. 
 It is this force
 and impetuosity that Eupolis admires in Pericles, this that Aristophanes
 compares to the thunderbolt, this that is the power
 of true eloquence.

But eloquence cannot be confined even to these three forms of style. For
 just as the third style is intermediate between the grand and the plain
 style, so each of these three are separated by interspaces which are occupied by intermediate styles
 compounded of the two which he on either side.

For there are styles fuller or plainer than the plain, and gentler or
 more vehement than the vehement, while the gentler style itself may
 either rise to greater force or sink to milder tones. Thus we may
 discover almost countless species of styles, each differing from the
 other by some fine shade of difference. We may draw a parallel from the
 winds. It is generally accepted that there are four blowing from the
 four quarters of the globe, but we find there are also a large number of
 winds which he between these, called by a variety of names, and in
 certain cases confined to certain districts and river valleys.

The same thing may be noted in music. For after assigning five notes to
 the lyre, musicians fill up the intervals between the strings by a
 variety of notes, and between these again they interpose yet others, so
 that the original divisions admit of a number of gradations.

Eloquence has, therefore, a quantity of different aspects, but it is
 sheer folly to inquire which of these the orator should take as his
 model, since every species that is in itself correct has its use, and
 what is commonly called style of speaking does
 not depend on the orator. For he will use all styles, as circumstances
 may demand, and the choice will be determined not only by the case as a
 whole, but by the demands of the different portions of the case.

For just as he will not speak in the same way when he is defending a
 client on a capital charge and when he is speaking in a lawsuit
 concerned with an inheritance, or discussing interdicts and suits taking
 the form of a wager, or claims
 in connexion with loans, so too he will preserve a
 due distinction between the speeches which he makes in the senate,
 before the people and in private consultations, while he will also
 introduce numerous modifications to suit the different persons and
 circumstances of time and place. Thus in one and the same speech he will
 use one style for stirring the emotions, and another to conciliate his
 hearers; it is from different sources that he will derive anger or pity,
 and the art which he employs in instructing the judge will be other than
 that which he employs to move him.

He will not maintain the same tone throughout his exordium, statement of fact, arguments, digression and peroration. He will speak gravely, severely,
 sharply, with vehemence, energy, fullness, bitterness, or geniality,
 quietly, simply, Hatteringly, gently, sweetly, briefy or wittily; he
 will not always be like himself, but he will never be unworthy of
 himself.

Thus the purpose for which oratory was above all designed will be
 secured, that is to say, he will speak with profit and with power to
 effect his aim, while he will also win the praise not merely of the
 learned, but of the multitude as well.

They make the gravest mistake who consider that the style which is best
 adapted to win popularity and applause is a faulty and corrupt style of
 speaking which revels in license of diction or wantons in childish
 epigram or swells with stilted bombast or riots in empty commonplace or
 adorns itself with blossoms of eloquence which will fall to earth if but
 lightly shaken, or regards extravagance as sublime or raves wildly under
 the pretext of free speech.

I am ready to admit that such qualities please many, and I feel no
 surprise that this should be the case. For any kind
 of eloquence is pleasing and attractive to the car, and every effort of
 the voice inspires a natural pleasure in the soul of man; indeed this is
 the sole cause of those familiar gatherings in the Forum or on the Old
 Wall, so that there is small reason for wonder
 if any pleader is safe to draw a ring of listeners from the crowd.

And when any unusually precious phrase strikes the ears of an uneducated
 audience, whatever its true merits, it wakens their admiration just for
 the very reason that they feel they could never have produced it
 themselves. And it deserves their admiration, since even such success is
 hard to attain. On the other hand, when such displays are compared with
 their betters, they sink into insignificance and fade out of sight, for
 they are like wool dyed red that pleases in the absence of purple, but,
 as Ovid says, if
 compared with a cloak of Tyrian dye, pales in the presence of the fairer
 hue.

If, however, we test such corrupt eloquence by the touchstone of a
 critical taste, as, for example, we test inferior dyes with sulphur, it
 will lay aside the false brilliance that deceived the eye and fade to a
 pallor almost too repulsive to describe. Such passages shine only in the
 absence of the sunlight, just as certain tiny insects seem transformed
 in the darkness to little flames of fire. Finally, while many approve of
 things that are bad, no one disapproves of that which is good.

But the true orator will not merely be able to achieve all the feats of
 which I have spoken with supreme excellence, but with the utmost ease as
 well. For the sovereign power of eloquence and the voice that awakens
 well-deserved applause will be free from the
 perpetual distress of harassing anxiety which wastes and fevers the
 orator who painfully corrects himself and pines away over the laborious
 weighing and piecing together of his words.

No, our orator, brilliant, sublime and opulent of speech, is lord and
 master of all the resources of eloquence, whose affluence surrounds him.
 For he that has reached the summit has no more weary hills to scale. At
 first the climber's toil is hard, but the higher he mounts the easier
 becomes the gradient and the richer the soil.

And if by perseverance of study he pass even beyond these gentler
 slopes, fruits for which none have toiled thrust themselves upon him,
 and all things spring forth unbidden; and yet if they be not gathered
 daily, they will wither away. But even such wealth must observe the
 mean, without which nothing is either praiseworthy or beneficial, while
 brilliance must be attended by manliness, and imagination by soundness
 of taste.

Thus the works of the orator will be great not extravagant, sublime not
 bombastic, bold not rash, severe but not gloomy, grave but not slow,
 rich but not luxuriant, pleasing but not effeminate, grand but not
 grandiose. It is the same with other qualities: the mean is safest, for
 the worst of all faults is to fly to extremes.

After employing these gifts of eloquence in the courts, in councils, in
 public assemblies and the debates of the senate, and, in a word, in the
 performance of all the duties of a good citizen, the orator will bring
 his activities to a close in a manner worthy of a blameless life spent
 in the pursuit of the noblest of professions. And he will do this, not
 because he can ever have enough of doing good, or
 because one endowed with intellect and talents such as his would not be
 justified in praying that such glorious labours may be prolonged to
 their utmost span, but for this reason, that it is his duty to look to
 the future, for fear that his work may be less effective than it has
 been in the past.

For the orator depends not merely on his knowledge, which increases with
 the years, but on his voice, lungs and powers of endurance. And if these
 be broken or impaired by age or health, he must beware that he does not
 fall short in something of his high reputation as a master of oratory,
 that fatigue does not interrupt his eloquence, that he is not brought to
 realise that some of his words are inaudible, or to mourn that he is not
 what once he was.

Domitius Afer was by far the greatest of all the orators whom it has
 been my good fortune to know, and I saw him, when far advanced in years,
 daily losing something of that authority which his merits had won for
 him; he whose supremacy in the courts had once been universally
 acknowledged, now pleaded amid the unworthy laughter of some, and the
 silent blushes of others, giving occasion to the malicious saying that
 he had rather faint than finish.

And yet even then, whatever his deficiencies, he spoke not badly, but
 merely less well. Therefore before ever he fall a prey to the ambush
 where time lies in wait for him, the orator should sound the retreat and
 seek harbour while his ship is yet intact. For the fruits of his studies
 will not be lessened by retirement. Either he will bequeath the history
 of his own times for the delight of after ages, or will interpret the
 law to those who seek his counsels, as Lucius Crassus proposes to do in the de Oratore 
 of Cicero, or
 compose some treatise on the art of oratory, or give worthy utterance to
 the sublimest ideals of conduct.

His house will, as in the days of old, be thronged by all the best of
 the rising generation, who will seek to learn from him as from an oracle
 how they may find the path to true eloquence. And he as their father in
 the art will mould them to all excellence, and like some old pilot will
 teach them of the shores whereby their ships must sail, of the harbours
 where they may shelter, and the signs of the weather, and will expound
 to them what they shall do when the breeze is fair or the tempest blows.
 Whereto he will be inclined not only by the common duty of humanity, but
 by a certain passion for the task that once was his, since no man
 desires that the art wherein he was once supreme should suffer decay or
 diminution.

And what can be more honourable than to teach that which you know
 surpassing well? It was for this that the elder Caelius brought his son
 to Cicero, as the latter tells us, and it
 was with this intent that the same great orator took upon himself the
 duties of instructor, and trained Pansa, Hirtius and Dolabella by
 declaiming daily before them or hearing them declaim.

And I know not whether we should not deem it the happiest moment in an
 orator's life, when he has retired from the public gaze, the consecrated
 priest of eloquence, free from envy and far from strife, when he has set
 his glory on a pinnacle beyond the reach of detraction, enjoys, while
 still living, that veneration which most men win but after death, and
 sees how great shall be his renown amid generations yet unborn.

I can say with a good conscience that, as far as my
 poor powers have permitted, I have published frankly and
 disinterestedly, for the benefit of such as might wish to learn, all
 that my previous knowledge and the researches made for the purpose of
 this work might supply. And to have taught what lie knows is
 satisfaction enough for any good man.

I fear, however, that I may be regarded as setting too lofty an ideal
 for the orator by insisting that he should be a good man skilled in
 speaking, or as imposing too many subjects of study on the learner. For
 in addition to the many branches of knowledge which have to be studied
 in boyhood and the traditional rules of eloquence, I have enjoined the
 study of morals and of civil law, so that I am afraid that even those
 who have regarded these things as essential to my theme, may he appalled
 at the delay which they impose and abandon all hope of achievement
 before they have put my precepts to the test.

I would ask them to consider how great are the powers of the mind of man
 and how astonishing its capacity for carrying its desires into
 execution: for has not man succeeded in crossing the high seas, in
 learning the number and the courses of the stars, and almost measuring
 the universe itself, all of them accomplishments of less importance than
 oratory, but of far greater difficulty? And then let them reflect on the
 greatness of' their aims and on the fact that no labour should be too
 huge for those that are beckoned by the hope of such reward.

If they can only rise to the height of this conception, they will find
 it easier to enter on this portion of their task, and will cease to
 regard the road as impassable or even hard. For the first and greatest
 of' the aims we set before us, namely that we shall be good men, depends for its achievement mainly on the will
 to succeed: and he that truly and sincerely forms such resolve, will
 easily acquire those forms of knowledge that teach the way to virtue.

For the precepts that are enjoined upon us are not so complex or so
 numerous that they may be acquired by little more than a few years'
 study. It is repugnance to learn that makes such labour long. For if you
 will only believe it, you will quickly learn the principles that shall
 lead you to a life of virtue and happiness. For nature brought us into
 the world that we might attain to all excellence of mind, and so easy is
 it for those to learn who seek for better things, that he who directs
 his gaze aright will rather marvel that the bad should be so many.

For as water is the natural element of fish, dry land for creatures of
 the earth and the circumambient atmosphere for winged things, even so it
 should be easier to live according to nature than counter to her will.
 As regards other accomplishments, there are plenty of years available
 for their acquisition, even though we measure the life of man not by the
 span of age, but by the period of youth. For in every case order and
 method and a sense of proportion will shorten our labour.

But the chief fault lies with our teachers, in that they love to keep
 back the pupils they have managed to lay their hands on, partly from the
 desire to draw their miserable fees for as long as possible, partly out
 of ostentation, to enhance the difficulty of acquiring the knowledge
 which they promise to impart, and to some extent owing to their
 ignorance or carelessness in teaching. The next most serious fault lies
 in ourselves, who think it better to linger over what we have learned
 than to learn what we do not yet know.

For example, to restrict my remarks mainly to the study of rhetoric,
 what is the use of spending so many years, after the fashion now so
 prevalent (for I will say nothing of those who spend almost their whole
 lives), in declaiming in the schools and devoting so much labour to the
 treatment of fictitious themes, when it would be possible with but
 slight expenditure of time to form some idea of what the true conflicts
 are in which the orator must engage, and of the laws of speaking which
 he ought to follow?

In saying this, I do not for a moment mean to suggest that we should
 ever omit to exercise ourselves in speaking. I merely urge that we
 should not grow old over one special form of exercise. We have been in a
 position to acquire varied knowledge, to familiarise ourselves with the
 principles that should guide our life, and to try our strength in the
 courts, while we were still attending the schools. The theory of
 speaking is of such a nature that it does not demand many years for its
 acquisition. For any one of the various branches of knowledge which I
 have mentioned will, as a rule, be found to be comprised in a few
 volumes, a fact which shows that instruction does not require an
 indefinite amount of time to be devoted to it. The rest depends entirely
 on practice, which at once develops our powers and maintains them, once
 developed.

Knowledge increases day by day, and yet how many books is it absolutely
 necessary to read in our search for its attainment, for examples of
 facts from the historians or of eloquence from the orators, or, again,
 for the opinions of the philosophers and the lawyers, that is to say, if
 we are content to read merely what is useful without attempting the impossible task of reading everything?

But it is ourselves that make the time for study short: for how little
 time we allot to it! Some hours are passed in the futile labour of
 ceremonial calls, others in idle chatter, others in staring at the shows
 of the theatre, and others again in feasting. To this add all the
 various forms of amusement, the insane attention devoted to the
 cultivation of the body, journeys abroad, visits to the country, anxious
 calculation of loss and gain, the allurements of lust, wine-bibbing and
 those remaining hours which are all too few to gratify our souls on fire
 with passion for every kind of pleasure.

If all this time were spent on study, life would seem long enough and
 there would be plenty of time for learning, even though we should take
 the hours of daylight only into our account, without asking any
 assistance from the night, of which no little space is superfluous even
 for the heaviest sleeper. As it is, we count not the years which we have
 given to study, but the years we have lived.

And indeed even although geometricians, musicians and grammarians,
 together with the professors of every other branch of knowledge, spend
 all their lives, however long, in the study of one single science, it
 does not therefore follow that we require several lives more if we are
 to learn more. For they do not spend all their days even to old age in
 learning these things, but being content to have learned these things
 and nothing more, exhaust their length of years not in acquiring, but in
 imparting knowledge.

However, to say nothing of Homer, in whom we may find either the perfect
 achievements, or at any rate clear signs of the knowledge of every art,
 and to pass by Hippias of Elis, who not merely
 boasted his knowledge of the liberal arts, but wore a robe, a ring and
 shoes, all of which he had made with his own hands, and had trained
 himself to be independent of external assistance, we accept the
 universal tradition of Greece to the effect that Gorgias, triumphant
 over all the countless ills incident to extreme old age, would bid his
 hearers propound any questions they pleased for him to answer.

Again in what branch of knowledge worthy of literary expression was
 Plato deficient? How many generations' study did Aristotle require to
 embrace not merely the whole range of philosophical and rhetorical
 knowledge, but to investigate the nature of every beast and plant. And
 yet they had to discover all these things which we only have to learn.
 Antiquity has given us all these teachers and all these patterns for our
 imitation, that there might be no greater happiness conceivable than to
 be born in this age above all others, since all previous ages have
 toiled that we might reap the fruit of their wisdom.

Marcus Cato was at once a great general, a philosopher, orator,
 historian, and an expert both in law and agriculture, and despite his
 military labours abroad and the distractions of political struggles at
 home, and despite the rudeness of the age in which he lived, he none the
 less learned Greek, when far advanced in years, that he might prove to
 mankind that even old men are capable of learning that on which they
 have set their hearts.

How wide, almost universal, was the knowledge that Varro communicated to
 the world! What of all that goes to make up the equipment of an orator
 was lacking to Cicero? Why should I say more, since
 even Cornelius Celsus, a man of very ordinary ability, not merely wrote
 about rhetoric in all its departments, but left treatises on the art of
 war, agriculture and medicine as well. Indeed the high ambition revealed
 by his design gives him the right to ask us to believe that he was
 acquainted with all these subjects.

But, it will be urged, to carry out such a task is difficult and has
 never been accomplished. To which I reply that sufficient encouragement
 for study may be found in the fact, firstly, that nature does not forbid
 such achievement and it does not follow that, because a thing never has
 been done, it therefore never can be done, and secondly, that all great
 achievements have required time for their first accomplishment.

Poetry has risen to the heights of glory, thanks to the efforts of poets
 so far apart as Homer and Virgil, and oratory owes its position to the
 genius of Demosthenes and Cicero. Finally, whatever is best in its own
 sphere must at some previous time have been non-existent. But even if a
 man despair of reaching supreme excellence (and why should he despair,
 if he have talents, health, capacity and teachers to aid him?), it is
 none the less a fine achievement, as Cicero says,
 to win the rank of second or even third.

For even if a soldier cannot achieve the glory of Achilles in war, he
 will not despise fame such as fell to the lot of Ajax and Diomede, while
 those who cannot be Homers may be content to reach the level of
 Tyrtaeus. Nay, if men had been obsessed by the conviction that it was
 impossible to surpass the man who had so far shown himself best, those
 whom we now regard as best would never have reached such distinction,
 Lucretius and Macer would never have been succeeded
 by Virgil, nor Crassus and Hortensius by Cicero, nor they in their turn
 by those who flourished after them.

But even though we cannot hope to surpass the great, it is still a high
 honour to follow in their footsteps. Did Pollio and Messala, who began
 to plead when Cicero held the citadel of eloquence, fail to obtain
 sufficient honour in their lifetime or to hand down a fair name to
 posterity? The arts which have been developed to the highest pitch of
 excellence would deserve but ill of mankind if that which was best had
 also been the last of its line.

Add to this the further consideration that even moderate eloquence is
 often productive of great results and, if such studies are to be
 measured solely by their utility, is almost equal to the perfect
 eloquence for which we seek. Nor would it be difficult to produce either
 ancient or recent examples to show that there is no other source from
 which men have reaped such a harvest of wealth, honour, friendship and
 glory, both present and to come. But it would be a disgrace to learning
 to follow the fashion of those who say that they pursue not virtue, but
 only the pleasure derived from virtue, and to demand this meaner
 recompense from the noblest of all arts, whose practice and even whose
 possession is ample reward for all our labours.

Wherefore let us seek with all our hearts that true majesty of oratory,
 the fairest gift of god to man, without which all things are stricken
 dumb and robbed alike of present glory and the immortal record of
 posterity; and let us press forward to whatsoever is best, since, if we
 do this, we shall either reach the summit or at least see many others
 far beneath us.

Such, Marcellus Victorius, were the views by the expression of which it
 seemed to me that I might, as far as in me lay, help to advance the
 teaching of oratory. If the knowledge of these principles proves to be
 of small practical utility to the young student, it should at least
 produce what [value more,—the will to do well.