I have, O Brutus, hesitated a long time and often as to whether it was a more difficult and arduous business to refuse you, when constantly requesting the same favour, or to do what you desired me to do. For to refuse a man to whom I was attached above all men, and whom I knew also to be most entirely devoted to me, especially when he was only asking what was reasonable, and desiring what was honourable to me, appeared to me to be very harsh conduct; and to undertake a matter of such importance as was not only difficult for any man to have the ability to execute in an adequate manner, but hard even to think of in a way suited to its importance, appeared to me to be scarcely consistent with the character of a man who stood in awe of the reproof of wise and learned men. For what is there more important than, when the dissimilarity between good orators is so great, to decide which is the best sort and as it were the best form of eloquence?

However, since you repeat your entreaties, I will attempt the task, not so much from any hope that I entertain of accomplishing it, as from my willingness to attempt it. For I had rather that you should find fault with my prudence in thus complying with your eager desire, than with my friendship in refusing to attempt it.

You ask me then, and indeed you are constantly asking me, what kind of eloquence I approve of in the highest degree, and which sort of oratory I consider that to which nothing can be added, and which I therefore think the highest and most perfect kind. And in answering this question I am afraid lest, if I do what you wish, and give you an idea of the orator whom you are asking for, I may check the zeal of many, who, being discouraged by despair, will not make an attempt at what they have no hope of succeeding in. But it is good for all men to try everything, who have ever desired to attain any objects which are of importance and greatly to be desired. But if there be any one who feels that he is deficient either in natural power, or in any eminent force of natural genius, or that he is but inadequately instructed in the knowledge of important sciences, still let him hold on his course as far as he can. For if a man aims at the highest place, it is very honourable to arrive at the second or even the third rank. For in the poets there is room not only for Homer (to confine myself to the Greeks), or for Archilochus, or Sophocles, or Pindar, but there is room also for those who are second to them, or even below the second. Nor, indeed, did the nobleness of Plato in philosophical studies deter Aristotle from writing; nor did Aristotle himself, by his admirable knowledge and eloquence, extinguish the zeal in those pursuits of all other men.

And it is not only the case that eminent men have not been deterred by such circumstances from the highest class of studies, but even those artists have not renounced their art who have been unable to equal the beauty of the Talysus[58] which we have seen at Rhodes, or of the Coan Venus. Nor have subsequent sculptors been so far alarmed at the statue of the Olympian Jove, or of the Shield-bearer, as to give up trying what they could accomplish, or how far they could advance; and, indeed, there has been so vast a multitude of those men, and each of them has obtained so much credit in his own particular walk, that, while we admire the most perfect models, we have also approbation to spare for those who come short of them.

But in the case of orators--I mean Greek orators--it is a marvellous thing how far one is superior to all the rest. And yet when Demosthenes flourished there were many illustrious orators, and so there were before his time, and the supply has not failed since. So that there is no reason why the hopes of those men, who have devoted themselves to the study of eloquence, should be broken, or why their industry should languish. For even the very highest pitch of excellency ought not to be despaired of; and in perfect things those things are very good which are next to the most perfect.

And I, in depicting a consummate orator, will draw a picture of such an one as perhaps never existed. For I am not asking who he was, but what that is than which nothing can be more excellent. And perhaps the perfection which I am looking for does not often shine forth, (indeed I do not know whether it ever has been seen,) but still in some degree it may at times be discoverable, among some nations more frequently, and among others more sparingly. But I lay down this position, that there is nothing of any kind so beautiful which has not something more beautiful still from which it is copied,--as a portrait is from a person's face,--though it can neither be perceived by the eyes or ears, or by any other of the senses; it is in the mind only, and by our thoughts, that we embrace it. Therefore, though we have never seen anything of any kind more beautiful than the statues of Phidias and than those pictures which I have named, still we can imagine something more beautiful. Nor did that great artist, when he was making the statue of Jupiter or of Minerva, keep in his mind any particular person of whom he was making a likeness; but there dwelt in his mind a certain perfect idea of beauty, which he looked upon, and fixed his eyes upon, and guided his art and his hand with reference to the likeness of that model.

As therefore there is in forms and figures something perfect and superexcellent, the appearance of which is stamped in our minds so that we imitate it, and refer to it everything which falls under our eyes; so we keep in our mind an idea of perfect eloquence, and seek for its resemblance with our ears.

Now Plato, that greatest of all authors and teachers, not only of understanding, but also of speaking, calls those forms of things ideas; and he affirms that they are not created, but that they exist from everlasting, and are kept in their places by reason and intelligence: that all other things have their rising and setting, their ebb and flow, and cannot continue long in the same condition. Whatever there is, therefore, which can become a subject of discussion as to its principle and method, is to be reduced to the ultimate form and species of its class.

And I see that this first beginning of mine is derived not from the discussions of orators, but from the very heart of philosophy, and that it is old-fashioned and somewhat obscure, and likely to incur some blame, or at all events to provoke some surprise. For men will either wonder what all this has to do with that which is the subject of our inquiry, and they will be satisfied with understanding the nature of the facts, so that it may not seem to be without reason that we have traced their origin so far back; or else they will blame us for hunting out for unaccustomed paths, and abandoning those in ordinary use.

But I am aware that I often appear to say things which are novel, when I am in reality saying what is very old, only not generally known. And I confess that I have been made an orator, (if indeed I am one at all,) or such as I am, not by the workshops of the rhetoricians, but by the walks of the Academy. For that is the school of manifold and various discourses, in which first of all there are imprinted the footsteps of Plato. But the orator is to a great extent trained and assisted by his discussions and those of other philosophers. For all that copiousness, and forest, as it were, of eloquence, is derived from those men, and yet is not sufficient for forensic business; which, as these men themselves used to say, they left to more rustic muses. Accordingly this forensic eloquence, being despised and repudiated by philosophy, has lost many great and substantial helps; but still, as it is embellished with flowery language and well-turned periods, it has had some popularity among the people, and has had no reason to fear the judgment or prejudice of a few. And so popular eloquence has been lost to learned men, and elegant learning to eloquent ones.

Let this then be laid down among the first principles, (and it will be better understood presently,)--that the eloquent man whom we are looking for cannot be rendered such without philosophy. Not indeed that there is everything necessary in philosophy, but that it is of assistance to an orator as the wrestling-school is to an actor; for small things are often compared with great ones. For no one can express wide views, or speak fluently on many and various subjects, without philosophy. Since also, in the Phaedrus of Plato, Socrates says that this is what Pericles was superior to all other orators in, that he had been a pupil of Anaxagoras the natural philosopher. And it was owing to him, in his opinion, (though he had learnt also many other splendid and admirable accomplishments,) that he was so copious and imaginative, and so thoroughly aware--which is the main thing in eloquence--by what kinds of speeches the different parts of men's minds are moved.

And we may draw the same conclusion from the case of Demosthenes; from whose letters it may be gathered what a constant pupil of Plato's he was. Nor, indeed, without having studied in the schools of philosophers, can we discern the genus and species of everything; nor explain them by proper definitions; nor distribute them into their proper divisions; nor decide what is true and what is false; nor discern consequences, perceive inconsistencies, and distinguish what is doubtful. Why should I speak of the nature of things, the knowledge of which supplies such abundance of topics to oratory? or of life, and duty, and virtue, and manners? for what of all these things can be either spoken of or understood without a long study of those matters?

To these numerous and important things there are to be added innumerable ornaments, which at that time were only to be derived from those men who were accounted teachers of oratory. The consequence is, that no one applies himself to that genuine and perfect eloquence, because the study requisite for understanding those matters is different from that which enables me to speak of them; and because it is necessary to go to one class of teachers to understand the things, and to another to learn the proper language for them. Therefore Marcus Antonius, who in the time of our fathers was considered to be the most eminent of all men alive for eloquence, a manly nature very acute and eloquent, in that one treatise which he has left behind him, says that he has seen many fluent speakers, but not one eloquent orator, in truth, he had in his mind a model of eloquence which in his mind he saw, though he could not behold it with his eyes. But he, being a man of the most acute genius, (as indeed he was,) and feeling the want of many things both in himself and other men, saw absolutely no one who had fairly a right to be called eloquent. But if he did not think either himself or Lucius Crassus eloquent, then he certainly must have had in his mind some perfect model of eloquence; and as that had nothing wanting, he felt himself unable to include those who had anything or many things wanting in that class.

Let us then, O Brutus, if we can, investigate the nature of this man whom Antonius never beheld, or who perhaps has never even existed; and if we cannot imitate and copy him exactly, (which indeed Antonius said was scarcely possible for a god to do,) still we may perhaps be able to explain what he ought to be like.

There are altogether three different kinds of speaking, in each of which there have been some eminent men; but very few (though that is what we are now looking for) who have been equally eminent in all. For some have been grandiloquent men, (if I may use such an expression,) with an abundant dignity of sentiments and majesty of language, --vehement, various, copious, authoritative; well adapted and prepared to make an impression on and effect a change in men's feelings: an effect which some have endeavoured to produce by a rough, morose, uncivilized sort of speaking, not elaborated or wrought up with any care; and others employ a smooth, carefully prepared, and well rounded off style.

On the other hand, there are men neat, acute, explaining everything, and making matters clearer, not nobler, polished up with a certain subtle and compressed style of oratory; and in the same class there are others, shrewd, but unpolished, and designedly resembling rough and unskilful speakers; and some who, with the same barrenness and simplicity, are still more elegant, that is to say, are facetious, flowery, and even slightly embellished.

But there is another class, half-way between these two, and as it were compounded of both of them, endowed neither with the acuteness of the last-mentioned orators, nor with the thunder of the former; as a sort of mixture of both, excelling in neither style; partaking of both, or rather indeed (if we would adhere to the exact truth) destitute of all the qualifications of either. Those men go on, as they say, in one uniform tenor of speaking, bringing nothing except their facility and equalness of language; or else they add something, like reliefs on a pedestal, and so they embellish their whole oration, with trifling ornaments of words and ideas.

Let us then return to the subject of laying a foundation for the orator whom we desire to see, and of furnishing him with that eloquence which Antonius had never found in any one. We are, O Brutus, undertaking a great and arduous task, but I think nothing difficult to a man who is in love. But I am and always have been in love with your genius, and your pursuits, and your habits. Moreover, I am every day more and more inflamed not only with regret,--though I am worn away with that while I am wishing to enjoy again our meetings and our daily association, and your learned discourse,--but also with the admirable reputation of your incredible virtues, which, though different in their kind, are united by your prudence. For what is so different or remote from severity as courtesy? And yet who has ever been considered either more conscientious or more agreeable than you? And what is so difficult as, while deciding disputes between many people, to be beloved by all of them? Yet you attain this end, of dismissing in a contented and pacified frame of mind the very parties against whom you decide. Therefore, while doing nothing from motives of interest you still contrive that all that you do should be acceptable. And therefore, of all the countries on earth, Gaul[59] is now the only one which is not affected by the general conflagration, while you yourself enjoy your own virtues in peace, knowing that your conduct is appreciated in this bright Italy, and surrounded as you are by the flower and strength of the citizens.

And what an exploit is that, never, amid all your important occupations, to interrupt your study of philosophy! You are always either writing something yourself or inviting me to write something. Therefore, I began this work as soon as I had finished my Cato, which I should never have meddled with, being alarmed at the aspect of the times, so hostile to virtue, if I had not thought it wicked not to comply with your wishes, when you were exhorting me and awaking in me the recollection of that man who was so dear to me, and I call you to witness that I have only ventured to undertake this subject after many entreaties on your part, and many refusals on mine. For I wish that you should appear implicated in this fault, so that if I myself should appear unable to support the weight of such a subject, you may bear the blame of having imposed such a burden on me, and I only that of having undertaken it. And then the credit of having had such a commission given me by you, will make amends for the blame which the deficiency of my judgment will bring upon me.

But in everything it is very difficult to explain the form (that which is called in Greek [Greek: charaktaer]) of perfection, because different things appear perfection to different people. I am delighted with Ennius, says one person, because he never departs from the ordinary use of words. I love Pacuvius, says another, all his verses are so ornamented and elaborate while Ennius is often so careless. Another is all for Attius. For there are many different opinions, as among the Greeks, nor is it easy to explain which form is the most excellent. In pictures one man is delighted with what is rough harsh looking, obscure, and dark, others care only for what is neat cheerful and brilliant. Why should you, then give any precise command or formula, when each is best in its own kind, and when there are many kinds? However, these difficulties have not repelled me from this attempt, and I have thought that in everything there is some point of absolute perfection even though it is not easily seen, and, that it can be decided on by a man who understands the matter.

But since there are many kinds of speeches, and those different, and as they do not all fall under one form, the form of panegyric, and of declamation, and of narration, and of such discourses as Isocrates has left us in his panegyric, and many other writers also who are called sophists; and the form also of other kinds which have no connexion with forensic discussion, and of the whole of that class which is called in Greek [Greek: epideiktikon], and which is made up as it were for the purpose of being looked at--for the sake of amusement, I shall omit at the present time. Not that they deserve to be entirely neglected; for they are as it were the nursery of the orator whom we wish to draw; and concerning whom we are endeavouring to say something worth hearing.

From this form is derived fluency of words; from it also the combination and rhythm of sentences derives a freer licence. For great indulgence is shown to neatly turned sentences; and rhythmical, steady, compact periods are always admissible. And pains are taken purposely, not disguisedly, but openly and avowedly, to make one word answer to another, as if they had been measured together and were equal to each other. So that words opposed to one another may be frequently contrasted, and contrary words compared together, and that sentences may be terminated in the same manner, and may give the same sound at their conclusion; which, when we are dealing with actual causes, we do much more seldom, and certainly with more disguise. But, in his Panathenaic oration, Isocrates avows that he diligently kept that object in view; for he composed it not for a contest in a court of justice, but to delight the ears of his hearers.

They say that Thrasymachus of Chalcedon, and Gorgias of Leontini, were the first men who taught this science; after him Theodorus of Byzantium, and many others whom Socrates in the Phaedrus calls [Greek: logodaidaloi]; who have said many things very tolerably clever, but which seem as if they had arisen at the moment, trifling, and like animals which change their colour, and too minutely painted. And this is what makes Herodotus and Thucydides the more admirable; for though they lived at the same time with those men whom I have named, still they kept aloof as far as possible from such amusements, or I should rather say from such follies. For one of them flows on like a tranquil river, without any attempts at facetiousness; the other is borne on in a more impetuous course, and relates warlike deeds in a warlike spirit; and they are the first men by whom, as Theophrastus says, history was stirred up to dare to speak in a more fluent and adorned style than their predecessors had ventured on.

Isocrates lived in the age next to theirs; who is at all times praised by us above all other orators of his class, even though you, O Brutus, sometimes object in a jesting though not in an unlearned spirit. But you will very likely agree with me when you know why I praise him. For as Thrasymachus appeared to him to be too concise with his closely measured rhythm, and Gorgias also, though they are the first who are said to have laid down any rules at all for the harmony of sentences; and as Thucydides was somewhat too abrupt and not sufficiently round, if I may use such an expression; he was the first who adopted a system of dilating his ideas with words, and filling them up with better sounding sentences; and as by his own practice he formed those men who were afterwards accounted the most eminent men in speaking and writing, his house got to be reckoned a perfect school of eloquence. Therefore, as I, when I was praised by our friend Cato, could easily bear to be blamed by the rest; so Isocrates appears to have a right to despise the judgment of other men, while he has the testimony of Plato to pride himself on. For, as you know, Socrates is introduced in almost the last page of the Phaedrus speaking in these words:--"At present, O Phaedrus, Isocrates is quite a young man; but still I delight in telling the expectations which I have of him." "What are they?" says he. "He appears to me to be a man of too lofty a genius to be compared to Lysias and his orations: besides, he has a greater natural disposition for virtue; so that it will not be at all strange if, when he has advanced in age, he will either surpass all his contemporaries who turn their attention to eloquence, and in this kind of oratory, to the study of which he is at present devoted, as if they were only boys; or, if he is not content with such a victory, he will then feel some sort of divine inspiration prompting him to desire greater things. For there is a deep philosophy implanted by nature in this man's mind." This was the augury which Socrates forms of him while a young man. But Plato writes it of him when he has become an old man, and when he is his contemporary, and a sort of attacker of all the rhetoricians. And Isocrates is the only one whom he admires. And let those men who are not fond of Isocrates allow me to remain in error in the company of Socrates and Plato.

That then is a delightful kind of oratory, free, fluent, shrewd in its sentiments, sweet sounding in its periods, which is found in that demonstrative kind of speaking which we have mentioned. It is the peculiar style of sophists; more suitable for display than for actual contest; appropriate to schools and exhibitions; but despised in and driven from the forum. But because eloquence is first of all trained by this sort of food, and afterwards gives itself a proper colour and strength, it appeared not foreign to our subject to speak of what is as it were the cradle of an orator. However, all this belongs to the schools, and to display: let us now descend into the battle-field and to the actual struggle.

As there are three things which the orator has to consider; what he is saying; and in what place, and in what manner he is saying each separate thing; it seems on all accounts desirable to explain what is best as to each separate subject, though in rather a different manner from that in which it is usually explained in laying down the principles of the science. We will give no regular rules, (for that task we have not undertaken,) but we will present an outline and sketch of perfect eloquence; nor will we occupy ourselves in explaining by what means it is acquired, but only what sort of thing it appears to us to be.

And let us discuss the two first divisions very briefly. For it is not so much that they have not an important reference to the highest perfection, as that they are indispensable, and almost common to other studies also. For to plan and decide on what you will say are important points, and are as it were the mind in the body; still they are parts of prudence rather than of eloquence; and yet what matter is there in which prudence is not necessary? This orator, then, whom we wish to describe as a perfect one, must know all the topics suited to arguments and reasons of this class. For since whatever can possibly be the subject of any contest or controversy, gives rise to the inquiry whether it exists, and what it is, and what sort of thing it is; while we endeavour to ascertain whether it exists, by tokens; what it is, by definitions; what sort of thing it is, by divisions of right and wrong; and in order to be able to avail himself of these topics the orator,--I do not mean any ordinary one, but the excellent one whom I am endeavouring to depict,--always, if he can, diverts the controversy from any individual person or occasion. For it is in his power to argue on wider grounds concerning a genus than concerning a part; as, whatever is proved in the universal, must inevitably be proved with respect to a part. This inquiry, then, when diverted from individual persons and occasions to a discussion of a universal genus, is called a thesis. This is what Aristotle trained young men in, not after the fashion of ordinary philosophers, by subtle dissertations, but in the way of rhetoricians, making them argue on each side, in order that it might be discussed with more elegance and more copiousness; and he also gave them topics (for that is what he called them) as heads of arguments, from which every sort of oration might be applied to either side of the question.

This orator of ours then (for what we are looking for is not some declaimer out of a school, or some pettifogger from the forum, but a most accomplished and perfect orator), since certain topics are given to him, will run through all of them; he will use those which are suitable to his purpose according to their class; he will learn also from what source those topics proceed which are called common. Nor will he make an imprudent use of his resources, but he will weigh everything, and make a selection. For the same arguments have not equal weight at all times, or in all causes. He will, therefore, exercise his judgment, and he will not only devise what he is to say, but he will also weigh its force. For there is nothing more fertile than genius, especially of the sort which has been cultivated by study. But as fertile and productive corn-fields bear not only corn, but weeds which are most unfriendly to corn, so sometimes from those topics there are produced arguments which are either trifling, or foreign to the subject, or useless; and the judgment of the orator has great room to exert itself in making a selection from them. Otherwise how will he be able to stop and make his stand on those arguments which are good and suited to his purpose? or how to soften what is harsh, and to conceal what cannot be denied, and, if it be possible, entirely to get rid of all such topics? or how will he be able to lead men's minds away from the objects on which they are fixed, or to adduce any other argument which, when opposed to that of his adversaries, may be more probable than that which is brought against him?

And with what diligence will he marshal the arguments with which he has provided himself? since that is the second of his three objects. He will make all the vestibule, if I may so say, and the approach to his cause brilliant; and when he has got possession of the minds of his hearers by his first onset, he will then invalidate and exclude all contrary arguments; and of his own strongest arguments some he will place in the van, some he will employ to bring up the rear, and the weaker ones he will place in the centre.

And thus we have described in a brief and summary manner what this perfect orator should be like in the two first parts of speaking. But, as has been said before, in these parts, (although they are weighty and important,) there is less skill and labour than in the others.

But when he has found out what to say, and in what place he is to say it, then comes that which is by far the most important division of the three, the consideration of the manner in which he is to say it. For that is a well-known saying which our friend Carneades used to repeat:--"That Clitomachus said the same things, but that Charmadas said the same things in the same manner." But if it is of so much consequence in philosophy even, how you say a thing, when it is the matter which is looked at there rather than the language, what can we think must be the case in causes in which the elocution is all in all? And I, O Brutus, knew from your letters that you do not ask what sort of artist I think a consummate orator ought to be, as far as devising and arranging his arguments; but you appeared to me to be asking rather what kind of eloquence I considered the best. A very difficult matter, and, indeed, by the immortal gods! the most difficult of all matters. For as language is a thing soft and tender, and so flexible that it follows wherever you turn it, so also the various natures and inclinations of men have given rise to very different kinds of speaking.

Some men love a stream of words and great volubility, placing all eloquence in rapidity of speech. Others are fond of distinct and broadly marked intervals, and delays, and taking of breath. What can be more different? Yet in each kind there is something excellent. Some labour to attain a gentle and equable style, and a pure and transparent kind of eloquence; others aim at a certain harshness and severity in their language, a sort of melancholy in their speech: and as we have just before divided men, so that some wish to appear weighty, some light, some moderate, so there are as many different kinds of orators as we have already said that there are styles of oratory.

And since I have now begun to perform this duty in a more ample manner than you did require it of me, (for though the question which you put to me has reference only to the kind of oration, I have also in my answer given you a brief account of the invention and arrangement of arguments,) even now I will not speak solely of the manner of making a speech, but I will touch also on the manner of conducting an action. And so no part whatever will be omitted: since nothing need be said in this place of memory, for that is common to many arts.

But the way in which it is said depends on two things,--on action and on elocution. For action is a sort of eloquence of the body, consisting as it does of voice and motion. Now there are as many changes of voice as there are of minds, which are above all things influenced by the voice. Therefore, that perfect orator which our oration has just been describing, will employ a certain tone of voice regulated by the way in which he wishes to appear affected himself, and by the manner also in which he desires the mind of his hearer to be influenced. And concerning this I would say more if this was the proper time for laying down rules concerning it, or if this was what you were inquiring about. I would speak also of gesture, with which expression of countenance is combined. And it is hardly possible to express of what importance these things are, and what use the orator makes of them. For even people without speaking, by the mere dignity of their action, have often produced all the effect of eloquence; and many really eloquent men, by their ungainly delivery have been thought ineloquent. So that it was not without reason that Demosthenes attributed the first, and second, and third rank to action. For if eloquence without action is nothing, but action without eloquence is of such great power, then certainly it is the most important part of speaking.

He, then, who aims at the highest rank in eloquence, will endeavour with his voice on the stretch to speak energetically; with a low voice, gently, with a sustained voice, gravely, and with a modulated voice, in a manner calculated to excite compassion.

For the nature of the voice is something marvellous, for all its great power is derived from three sounds only, the grave sound, the sharp sound, and the moderate sound, and from these comes all that sweet variety which is brought to perfection in songs. But there is also in speaking a sort of concealed singing, not like the peroration of rhetoricians from Phrygia or Caria, which is nearly a chant, but that sort which Demosthenes and Aeschines mean when the one reproaches the other with the affected modulation of his voice. Demosthenes says even more, and often declares that Aeschines had a very sweet and clear voice. And in this that point appears to me worth noting, with reference to the study of aiming at sweetness in the voice. For nature of herself, as if she were modulating the voices of men, has placed in every one one acute tone, and not more than one, and that not more than two syllables back from the last, so that industry may be guided by nature when pursuing the object of delighting the ears. A good voice also is a thing to be desired, for it is not naturally implanted in us, but practice and use give it to us. Therefore, the consummate orator will vary and change his voice, and sometimes straining it, sometimes lowering it, he will go through every degree of tone.

And he will use action in such a way that there shall be nothing superfluous in his gestures. His attitude will be erect and lofty, the motion of the feet rare, and very moderate, he will only move across the tribune in a very moderate manner, and even then rarely, there will be no bending of the neck, no clenching of the fingers, no rise or fall of the fingers in regular time, he will rather sway his whole body gently, and employ a manly inclination of his side, throwing out his arm in the energetic parts of his speech, and drawing it back in the moderate ones. As to his countenance, which is of the greatest influence possible next to the voice, what dignity and what beauty will be derived from its expression! And when you have accomplished this, then the eyes too must be kept under strict command, that there may not appear to be anything unsuitable, or like grimace. For as the countenance is the image of the mind, so are the eyes the informers as to what is going on within it. And their hilarity or sadness will be regulated by the circumstances which are under discussion.

But now we must give the likeness of this perfect orator and of this consummate eloquence, and his very name points out that he excels in this one particular, that is to say, in oratory and that other eminent qualities are kept out of sight in him. For it is not by his invention, or by his power of arrangement, or by his action, that he has embraced all these points, but in Greek he is called [Greek: raetor], and in Latin "eloquent," from speaking. For every one claims for himself some share in the other accomplishments which belong to an orator, but the greatest power in speaking is allowed to be his alone. For although some philosophers have spoken with elegance, (since Theophrastus[60] derived his name from his divine skill in speaking, and Aristotle attacked Isocrates himself, and they say that the Muses as it were spoke by the mouth of Xenophon; and far above all men who have ever written or spoken, Plato is preeminent both for sweetness and dignity,) still their language has neither the vigour nor the sting of an orator or a forensic speaker. They are conversing with learned men whose minds they wish to tranquillize rather than to excite, and so they speak on peaceful subjects which have no connexion with any violence, and for the sake of teaching, not of charming, so that even in the fact of their aiming at giving some pleasure by their diction, they appear to some people to be doing more than is necessary for them to do.

It is not difficult, therefore, to distinguish between this kind of speaking and the eloquence which we are now treating of. For the address of philosophers is gentle, and fond of retirement, and not furnished with popular ideas or popular expressions, not fettered by any particular rhythm, but allowed a good deal of liberty. It has in it nothing angry, nothing envious, nothing energetic, nothing marvellous, nothing cunning, it is as it were a chaste, modest, uncontaminated virgin. Therefore it is called a discourse rather than an oration. For although every kind of speaking is an oration, still the language of the orator alone is distinguished by this name as its own property.

It appears more necessary to distinguish between it and the copy of it by the sophists, who wish to gather all the same flowers which the orator employs in his causes. But they differ from him in this that, as their object is not to disturb men's minds, but rather to appease them, and not so much to persuade as to delight, and as they do it more openly than we do and more frequently, they seek ideas which are neat rather than probable, they often wander from the subject, they weave fables into their speeches, they openly borrow terms from other subjects, and arrange them as painters do a variety of colours, they put like things by the side of like, opposite things by the side of their contraries, and very often they terminate period after period in similar manners.

Now history is akin to this side of writing, in which the authors relate with elegance, and often describe a legion, or a battle, and also addresses and exhortations are intermingled, but in them something connected and fluent is required, and not this compressed and vehement sort of speaking. And the eloquence which we are looking for must be distinguished from theirs nearly as much as it must from that of the poets.

For even the poets have given room for the question, what the point is in which they differ from the orators, formerly it appeared to be chiefly rhythm and versification, but of late rhythm has got a great footing among the orators. For whatever it is which offers the ears any regular measure, even if it be ever so far removed from verse, (for that is a fault in an oration,) is called "number" by us, being the same thing that in Greek is called [Greek: ruthmos]. And, accordingly, I see that some men have thought that the language of Plato and Democritus, although it is not verse, still, because it is borne along with some impetuosity and employs the most brilliant illustration that words can give, ought to be considered as poetry rather than the works of the comic poets, in which, except that they are written in verse, there is nothing else which is different from ordinary conversation. Nor is that the principal characteristic of a poet, although he is the more to be praised for aiming at the excellences of an orator, when he is more fettered by verse. But, although the language of some poets is grand and ornamented, still I think that they have greater licence than we have in making and combining words, and I think too that they often, in their expressions, pay more attention to the object of giving pleasure to their leaders than to their subject. Nor, indeed, does the fact of there being one point of resemblance between them, (I mean judgment and the selection of words,) make it difficult to perceive their dissimilarity on other points. But that is not doubtful, and if there be any question in the matter, still this is certainly not necessary for the object which is proposed to be kept in view.

The orator, therefore, now that he has been separated from the eloquence of philosophers, and sophists, and historians, and poets, requires an explanation from us to show what sort of person he is to be

The eloquent orator, then, (for that is what, according to Antonius, we are looking for) is a man who speaks in the forum and in civil causes in such a manner as to prove, to delight, and to persuade. To prove, is necessary for him; to delight, is a proof of his sweetness, to persuade, is a token of victory. For that alone of all results is of the greatest weight towards gaining causes. But there are as many kinds of speaking as there are separate duties of an orator. The orator, therefore, ought to be a man of great judgment and of great ability, and he ought to be a regulator, as it were, of this threefold variety of duty. For he will judge what is necessary for every one, and he will be able to speak in whatever manner the cause requires. But the foundation of eloquence, as of all other things, is wisdom. For as in life, so in a speech, nothing is more difficult than to see what is becoming. The Greeks call this [Greek: prepon], we call it "decorum." But concerning this point many admirable rules are laid down, and the matter is well worth being understood. And it is owing to ignorance respecting it that men make blunders not only in life, but very often in poems, and in speeches.

But the orator must consider what is becoming not only in his sentences, but also in his words. For it is not every fortune, nor every honour, nor every authority, nor every age, or place, or time, nor every hearer who is to be dealt with by the same character of expressions or sentiments. And at all times, in every part of a speech or of life, we must consider what is becoming, and that depends partly on the facts which are the subject under discussion, and also on the characters of those who are the speakers and of those who are the hearers. Therefore this topic, which is of very wide extent and application, is often employed by philosophers in discussions on duty, not when they are discussing abstract right, for that is but one thing and the grammarians also too often employ it when criticising the poets, to show their eloquence in every division and description of cause. For how unseemly is it, when you are pleading before a single judge about a gutter, to use high sounding expressions and general topics, but to speak with a low voice and with subtle arguments in a cause affecting the majesty of the Roman people.

This applies to the whole genus. But some persons err as to the character either of themselves, or of the judges, or of their adversaries and not only in actual fact, but often in word. Although there is no force in a word without a fact, still the same fact is often either approved of, or rejected, according as this or that expression is employed respecting it. And in every case it is necessary to take care how far it may be right to go, for although everything has its proper limit, still excess offends more than falling short. And that is the point in which Apelles said that those painters made a blunder, who did not know what was enough.

There is here, O Brutus, an important topic, which does not escape your notice, and which requires another large volume. But for the present question this is enough, when we say that this is becoming, (an expression which we always employ in all words and actions, both great and small)--when, I say, we say that this is becoming and that that is not becoming, and when it appears to what extent each assertion is meant to be applicable, and when it depends on something else, and is quite another matter whether you say that a thing is becoming or proper, (for to say a thing is proper, declares the perfection of duty, which we and all men are at all times to regard to say a thing is becoming, as to say that it is fit as it were, and suitable to the time and person: which is often very important both in actions and words, and in a person's countenance and gestures and gait;)--and, on the other hand, when we say that a thing is unbecoming, (and if a poet avoids this as the greatest of faults, [and he also errs if he puts an honest sentiment in the mouth of a wicked man, or a wise one in the mouth of a fool,] or if that painter saw that, when Calchas was sad at the sacrifice of Iphigenia, and Ulysses still more so, and Menelaus in mourning, that Agamemnon's head required to be veiled altogether, since it was quite impossible to represent such grief as his with a paint brush; if even the actor inquires what is becoming, what must we think that the orator ought to do?) But as this is a matter of so much importance, the orator must take care what he does in his causes, and in the different parts of them; that is plain, that not only the different parts of an oration, but that even whole causes are to be dealt with in different styles of oratory.

It follows that the characteristics and forms of each class must be sought for. It is a great and difficult task, as we have often said before; but it was necessary for us to consider at the beginning what we would discuss; and now we must set our sails in whatever course we are borne on. But first of all we must give a sketch of the man whom some consider the only orator of the Attic style.

He is a gentle, moderate man, imitating the usual customs, differing from those who are not eloquent in fact rather than in any of his opinions. Therefore those who are his hearers, even though they themselves have no skill in speaking, still feel confident that they could speak in that manner. For the subtlety of his address appears easy of imitation to a person who ventures on an opinion, but nothing is less easy when he comes to try it; for although it is not a style of any extraordinary vigour, still it has some juice, so that even though it is not endowed with the most extreme power, it is still, if I may use such an expression, in perfect health. First of all, then, let us release it from the fetters of rhythm. For there is, as you know, a certain rhythm to be observed by an orator, (and of that we will speak presently,) proceeding on a regular system; but though it must be attended to in another kind of oratory, it must be entirely abandoned in this. This must be a sort of easy style, and yet not utterly without rules, so that it may seem to range at freedom, not to wander about licentiously. He should also guard against appearing to cement his words together; for the hiatus formed by a concourse of open vowels has something soft about it, and indicates a not unpleasing negligence, as if the speaker were anxious more about the matter than the manner of his speech. But as to other points, he must take care, especially as he is allowed more licence in these two,--I mean the rounding of his periods, and the combination of his words; for those narrow and minute details are not to be dealt with carelessly. But there is such a thing as a careful negligence; for as some women are said to be unadorned to whom that very want of ornament is becoming, so this refined sort of oratory is delightful even when unadorned. For in each case a result is produced that the thing appears more beautiful, though the cause is not apparent. Then every conspicuous ornament will be removed, even pearls; even curling-irons will be put away; and all medicaments of paint and chalk, all artificial red and white, will be discarded; only elegance and neatness will remain. The language will be pure and Latin; it will be arranged plainly and clearly, and great care will be taken to see what is becoming.

One quality will be present, which Theophrastus calls the fourth in his praises of oratory;--full of ornament, sweetness, and fluency. Clever sentiments, extracted from I know not what secret store, will be brought out, and will exert their power in the speeches of this perfect orator. There will be a moderate use of what I may call oratorical furniture; for there is to a certain degree what I may call our furniture, consisting of ornaments partly of things and partly of words. But the ornaments consisting of words are twofold: one kind consisting of words by themselves, the other consisting of them in combination. The simple embellishment is approved of in the case of proper and commonly employed words, which either sound very well, or else are very explanatory of the subject; in words which do not naturally belong to the subject,--it is either metaphorical, or borrowed from some other quarter; or else it is derived from the subject, whether it is a new term, or an old one grown obsolete; but even old and almost obsolete terms may be proper ones, only that we seldom employ them. But words when well arranged have great ornament if they give any neatness, which does not remain if the words are altered while the sense remains. For the embellishments of sentiments which remain, even if you alter the language in which they are expressed, are many, but still there are but few of them which are worth remarking.

Therefore a simple orator, provided he is elegant and not bold in the matter of making words, and modest in his metaphors, and sparing in his use of obsolete terms, and humble in the rest of his ornaments of words and sentences, will perhaps indulge in a tolerably frequent use of that kind of metaphor which is common in the ordinary conversation, not only of city people, but even of rustics; since they too are in the habit of saying, "that the vines sparkle with jewels," "that the fields are thirsty," "that the corn-fields are rejoicing," "that the crops are luxuriant." Now there is not one of these expressions which is not somewhat bold; but the thing is either like that which you use metaphorically; or else, if it has no name of its own, the expression which you use appears to have been borrowed for the sake of teaching, not of jesting. And this quiet sort of orator will use this ornament with rather more freedom than the rest; and yet he will not do it with as much licence as if he were practising the loftiest kind of oratory.

Therefore that unbecomingness (and what that is may be understood from the definition we have given of what is becoming) is visible here also, when some sublime expression is used metaphorically, and is used in a lowly style of oration, though it might have been becoming in a different one. But the neatness which I have spoken of, which illuminates the arrangement of language by these lights which the Greeks, as if they were some gestures of the speech, call [Greek: schaemata], (and the same word is applied by them also to the embellishments of sentences,) is employed by the refined orator (whom some men call the Attic orator, and rightly too, if they did not mean that he was the only one) but sparingly. For, as in the preparation of a feast, a man while on his guard against magnificence, is desirous to be thought not only economical but also elegant, he will choose what is best for him to use. For there are many kinds of economy suited to this very orator of whom I am speaking; for the ornaments which I have previously been mentioning are to be avoided by this acute orator,--I mean the comparing like with like, and the similarly sounding and equally measured ends of sentences, and graces hunted out as it were by the alteration of a letter; so that it may not be visible that neatness has been especially aimed at, and so that the orator may not be detected in having been hunting for means of pleasing the ears of his audience.

Again, if repetitions of the same expressions require a sort of vehemence and loudness of voice, they will then be unsuited to the simple style of oratory. The orator may use other embellishments promiscuously; only let him relax and separate the connexion of the words, and use as ordinary expressions as possible, and as gentle metaphors. Let him even avail himself of those lights of sentiments, as long as they are not too brilliant. He will not make the republic speak; nor will he raise the dead from the shades below; nor will he collect together a number of particulars in one heap, and so fold them in one embrace. Such deeds belong to more vigorous beings, nor are they to be expected or required from this man of whom we are giving a sketch; for he will be too moderate not only in his voice, but also in his style. But there are many embellishments which will suit his simple style, although he will use even them in a strict manner; for that is his character.

He will have besides this, action, not tragic, nor suited to the stage, but he will move his body in a moderate degree, trusting a great deal to his countenance; not in such a way as people call making faces but in a manner sufficient to show in a gentlemanlike manner in what sense he means what he is saying to be understood.

Now in this kind of speech sallies of wit are admissible, and they carry perhaps only too much weight in an oration. Of them there are two kinds,--facetiousness and raillery,--and the orator will employ both; but he will use the one in relating anything neatly, and the other in darting ridicule on his adversaries. And of this latter kind there are more descriptions than one; however, it is a different thing that we are discussing now. Nevertheless we may give this warning,--that the orator ought to use ridicule in such a way as neither to indulge in it too often, that it may not seem like buffoonery; nor in a covertly obscure manner, that it may not seem like the wit of a comedian; nor in a petulant manner, lest it should seem spiteful; nor should he ridicule calamity, lest that should seem inhuman; nor crime, lest laughter should usurp the place which hatred ought to occupy; nor should he employ this weapon when unsuitable to his own character, or to that of the judges, or to the time; for all such conduct would come under the head of unbecoming.

The orator must also avoid using jests ready prepared, such as do not arise out of the occasion, but are brought from home; for they are usually frigid. And he must spare friendships and dignities. He will avoid such insults as are not to be healed; he will only aim at his adversaries, and not even always at them, nor at all of them, nor in every manner. And with these exceptions, he will employ his sallies of wit and his facetiousness in such a manner as I have never found any one of those men do who consider themselves Attic speakers, though there is nothing more Attic than that practice.

This is the sketch which I conceive to be that of a plain orator, but still of a great one, and one of a genius very kindred to the Attic; since whatever is witty or pleasant in a speech is peculiar to the Attics. Not, however, that all of them are facetious: Lysias is said to be tolerably so, and Hyperides; Demades is so above all others. Demosthenes is considered less so, though nothing appears to me to be more well-bred than he is; but he was not so much given to raillery as to facetiousness. And the former is the quality of a more impetuous disposition; the latter betokens a more refined art.

There is another style more fertile, and somewhat more forcible than this simple style of which we have been speaking; but nevertheless tamer than the highest class of oratory, of which I shall speak immediately. In this kind there is but little vigour, but there is the greatest possible quantity of sweetness; for it is fuller than the plain style, but more plain than that other which is highly ornamented and copious.

Every kind of ornament in speaking is suitable to this style; and in this kind of oratory there is a great deal of sweetness. It is a style in which many men among the Greeks have been eminent; but Demetrius Phalereus, in my opinion, has surpassed all the rest; and while his oratory proceeds in calm and tranquil flow, it receives brilliancy from numerous metaphors and borrowed expressions, like stars.

I call them metaphors, as I often do, which, on account of their similarity to some other idea, are introduced into a speech for the sake of sweetness, or to supply a deficiency in a language. By borrowed expressions I mean those in which, for the proper word, another is substituted which has the same sense, and which is derived from some subsequent fact. And though this too is a metaphorical usage; still Ennius employed it in one manner when he said, "You are orphaning the citadel and the city;" and he would have used it in a different manner if he had used the word "citadel," meaning "country." Again, when he says that "horrid Africa trembles with a terrible tumult," he uses "Africa" for "Africans." The rhetoricians call this "hypallage," because one word as it were is substituted for another. The grammarians call it "metonymia," because names are transferred. But Aristotle classes them all under metaphor, and so he does the misuse of terms which they call [Greek: katachraesis]. As when we call a mind "minute" instead of "little," and misuse words which are near to others in sense; if there is any necessity for so doing, or any pleasure, or any particular becomingness in doing so. When many metaphors succeed one another uninterruptedly the sort of oration becomes entirely changed. Therefore the Greeks call it [Greek: allaegoria], rightly as to name; but as to its class he speaks more accurately who calls all such usages metaphors. Phalereus is particularly fond of these usages, and they are very agreeable; and although there is a great deal of metaphor in his speaking, yet there is no one who makes a more frequent use of the metonymia.

The same kind of oratory, (I am speaking of the moderate and temperate kind), admits of all sorts of figures of expressions, and of many also of ideas. Discussions of wide application and extensive learning are explained in it, and common topics are treated without any impetuosity. In a word, orators of this class usually come from the schools of philosophers, and unless the more vigorous orator, whom I am going to speak of presently, is at hand to be compared with them, the one whom I am now describing will be approved of. For there is a remarkable and flowery and highly-coloured and polished style of oratory, in which every possible elegance of expression and idea is connected together. And it is from the fountain of the sophist that all this has flowed into the forum; but still, being despised by the subtle arguers, and rejected by dignified speakers, it has taken its place in the moderate kind of oratory of which I am speaking.

We have then now, O Brutus, the orator whom we are looking for; but only in our mind's eye. For if I had had hold of him in my hand, even he himself, with all his eloquence, should never have persuaded me to let him go. But, in truth, that eloquent man whom Antonius never saw is now discovered. Who then is he? I will define him in a few words, and then describe him at length. For he is an eloquent man who can speak of low things acutely, and of great things with dignity, and of moderate things with temper.

Such a man you will say there never was. Perhaps there never was; for I am only discussing what I wish to see, and not what I have seen. And I come back to that sketch and idea of Plato's which I mentioned before; and although we do not see it, yet we can comprehend it in our mind. For I am not looking for an eloquent man, or for any other mortal or transitory thing; but for that particular quality which whoever is master of is an eloquent man; and that is nothing but abstract eloquence, which we are not able to discern with any eyes except those of the mind. He then will be an eloquent man, (to repeat my former definition,) who can speak of small things in a lowly manner, of moderate things in a temperate manner, and of great things with dignity. The whole of the cause in which I spoke for Caecina related to the language or an interdict: we explained some very involved matters by definitions; we praised the civil law; we distinguished between words of doubtful meaning. In a discussion on the Manilian law it was requisite to praise Pompey; and accordingly, in a temperate speech, we arrived at a copiousness of ornament. The whole question, of the rights of the people was contained in the cause of Rabinius; and accordingly we indulged in every conceivable amplification. But these styles require at times to be regulated and restrained. What kind of argument is there which is not found in my five books of impeachment of Verres? or in my speech for Avitus? or in that for Cornelius? or in the other numerous speeches in defence of different men? I would give instances, if I did not believe them to be well known, and that those who wanted them could select them for themselves; for there is no effort of an orator of any kind, of which there is not in our speeches, if not a perfect example, at least some attempt at and sketch of. If we cannot arrive at perfection, at all events we see what is becoming.

Nor are we at present speaking of ourselves, but of eloquence, in which we are so far from having a high opinion of our own proficiency, that we are so hard to please and exacting, that even Demosthenes himself does not satisfy us. For he, although he is eminent above all men in every description of oratory, still he does not always satisfy my ears; so greedy and capacious are they, and so unceasingly desiring something vast and infinite.

But still, since you became thoroughly well acquainted with this orator, in company with his devoted admirer Pammenes, when you were at Athens, and as you never put him down out of your hands, though, nevertheless, you are often reading my works, you see forsooth that he accomplishes many things, and that we attempt many things;--that he has the power, we the will to speak in whatever manner the cause requires. But he was a great man, for he came after great men, and he had consummate orators for his contemporaries. We should have done a great deal if we had been able to arrive at the goal which we proposed to ourselves in a city in which, as Antonius says, no eloquent man had been ever heard before. But, if Crassus did not appear to Antonius to be eloquent, or if he did not think he was so himself, certainly Cotta would never have seemed so to him, nor Sulpicius, nor Hortensius. For Cotta never said anything sublime, Sulpicius never said anything gently, Hortensius seldom spoke with dignity. Those former men were much more suited to every style; I mean Crassus and Antonius. We feel, therefore, that the ears of the city were not much accustomed to this varied kind of eloquence, and to an oratory so equally divided among all sorts of styles. And we, such as we were, and however insignificant were our attempts, were the first people to turn the exceeding fondness of the people for listening to this kind of eloquence.

What an outcry was there when, as quite a young man I uttered that sentence about the punishment of parricides! and even a long time afterwards we found that it had scarcely entirely worn off. "For what is so common, as breath to living people, the earth to the dead, the sea to people tossed about by the waves, or the shore to shipwrecked mariners?--they live while they are let live, in such a way as to be unable to breathe the air of heaven; they die so that their bones do not touch the earth; they are tossed about by the waves without ever being washed by them; and at last they are cast up by them in such a manner, that when dead they are not allowed a resting-place even on the rocks." And so on. For all this is the language of a young man, extolled not on account of any real merit or maturity of judgment, as for the hopes and expectations which he gave grounds for. From the same turn of mind came that more polished invective,--"the wife of her son-in-law; the mother-in-law of her son, the invader of her daughter's bed." Not, however, that this ardour was always visible in us, so as to make us say everything in this manner. For that very juvenile exuberance of speech in defence of Roscius has many weak passages in it, and some merry ones, such as also occur in the speech for Avitus, for Cornelius, and many others. For no orator has ever, even in the Greek language, written as many speeches as I have. And my speeches have the variety which I so much approve of.

Should I permit Homer, and Ennius, and the rest of the poets, and especially the tragic poets, to forbear displaying the same vehemence on every occasion, and constantly to change their language, and sometimes even to come near to the ordinary language of daily conversation; and never myself descend from that fierce style of vehement expression? But why do I cite poets of godlike genius? We have seen actors, than whom nothing could be more admirable of their kind, who have not only given great satisfaction in the representation of the most different characters, and also in their own, but we have seen even a comedian gain great applause in tragedies, and a tragedian in comedies;--and shall not I attempt the same thing? When I say I, O Brutus, I mean you also; for, as for myself, all that can be done has been done. But will you plead every cause in the same manner, or are there some kind of causes which you will reject? or will you employ the same uninterrupted vehemence in the same causes without any alteration?

Demosthenes, indeed, whose bust of brass I lately saw between the images of yourself and your ancestors, (a proof, I suppose, of your fondness for him,) when I was with you at your Tusculan villa, does not yield at all to Lysias in acuteness, nor in shrewdness and cleverness to Hyperides, nor in gentleness or brilliancy of language to Aeschines. Many of his orations are very closely argued, as that against Leptines; many are wholly dignified, as some of the Philippics; many are of varied style, as those against Aeschines, the one about the false embassy, and the one also, against the same Aeschines in the cause of Ctesiphon. As often as he pleases he adopts the middle style, and, departing from his dignified tone, he indulges in that lower one. But when he raises the greatest outcry on the part of his hearers, and makes the greatest impression by his speech, is when he employs the topics of dignity.

However, let us leave Demosthenes for awhile, since it is a class that we are inquiring about, and not an individual. Let us rather explain the effect and nature of the thing; that is, of Eloquence. And let us recollect what we have just said, that we are not going to say anything for the sake of giving rules; but that we are going to speak so as to be thought people expressing an opinion rather than teaching. Though we often do advance further, because we see that you are not the only person who will read this; you who, in fact, know all this much better than we ourselves who appear to be teaching you; but it is quite certain that this book will be extensively known, if not from the recommendation which its being my work will give it, at all events, because of its appearing under the sanction of your name, by being dedicated to you.

And since in all things which are taught in any regular method and system, it is first of all necessary to settle what each thing is, (unless it is agreed by those who are discussing the point, what the thing really is which is being discussed; nor otherwise is it possible to discuss anything properly, or ever to get to the end of the discussion,) we must often have recourse to words to explain our meaning about each thing; and we must facilitate the understanding of an involved and obscure matter by definition; since definition is a kind of speech which points out in the most concise possible manner what that is which is the subject of discussion. Then, as you know, when the genus of each thing has been explained, we must consider what are the figures or divisions of that genus, so that our whole speech may be arranged with reference to them.

This faculty, then, will exist in the eloquent man whom we are endeavouring to describe, so that he shall be able to define a thing; and shall do it in the same close and narrow terms which are commonly employed in those very learned discussions; but he shall be more explanatory and more copious, and he shall adopt his definition more to the ordinary judgment and usual intelligence of mankind. And again, when circumstances require it, he shall divide and arrange the whole genus into certain species, so that none shall be omitted and none be superfluous. But when he shall do this, or how, is nothing to the present question; since, as I have said before, I am here only expressing an opinion, not giving a lesson.

Nor, indeed, must he be learned only in dialectics, but he must have all the topics of philosophy familiar to him and at his fingers' ends. For nothing respecting religion, or death, or affection, or love for one's country, or good fortune, or bad fortune, or virtues, or vices, or duty, or pain, or pleasure, or the different motions of the mind, or mistakes, all which topics frequently occur in causes, but are treated usually in a very meagre manner, can be discussed and explained in a dignified and lofty and copious manner without that knowledge which I have mentioned.

Let him, therefore, come to his causes prepared in this kind of way; and he will in the first place be acquainted with the different kinds of causes. For he will be thoroughly aware that nothing can be doubted except when either the fact or the language gives rise to controversy. But the fact is doubted as to its truth, or its propriety, or its name. Words give rise to dispute if they are ambiguous or inconsistent. For it ever appears to be the case, that one thing is meant and another expressed; then that is one kind of ambiguity which arises from the words which are employed; and in this we see that two things are meant, which is a property of all ambiguous sentences.

As there are not many different kinds of causes, so also the rules for arguments to be used in them are few. Two kinds of topics are given from which they may be derived; one from the circumstances themselves, the others assumed. The handling, then, of the matters themselves makes the speech better; for the matters themselves are usually easy to be acquainted with. For what remains afterwards, which at least belongs to art, except to begin the speech in such a manner that the hearer may be conciliated, or have his attention roused, or may be made eager to learn? then after that to explain with brevity, and probability, and clearness, so that it may be understood what is the question under discussion; to establish his own arguments; to overturn those of the opposite party; and to do all that, not in an irregular and confused manner, but with separate arguments, concluded in such a manner, that everything may be established which is a natural consequence of those principles which are assumed for the confirmation of each point: and after everything else is done, then to wind up with a peroration which shall inflame or cool the hearers, as the case may require.

Now, how the consummate orator handles each separate division of his subject, it is hard to explain in this place; nor, indeed, are they handled at all times in the same manner. But since I am not seeking a pupil to teach, but a model to approve of, I will begin by praising the man who sees what is becoming. For this is above all others the wisdom which the eloquent man wants, namely--to be the regulator of times and persons. For I do not think that a man ought to speak in the same manner at all times, or before all people, or against every one, or in defence of every one, or to every one.

He, then, will be an eloquent man who can adapt his speech to whatever is becoming. And when he has settled that point, then he will say everything as it ought to be said; nor will he speak of rich subjects in a meagre manner, nor of great subjects in a petty manner, and vice versa; but his oration will be equal to, and corresponding to, his subject; his exordium will be moderate, not inflamed with exaggerated expressions, but acute in its sentiments, either in the way of exciting his hearers against his adversary, or in recommending himself to them. His relations of facts will be credible, explained clearly, not in historical language, but nearly in the tone of every day conversation. Then if his cause is but a slight one, so also will the thread of his argument be slight, both in asserting and in refuting. And it will be maintained in such a way, that there will be just as much force added to the speech as is added to the subject. But when a cause offers in which all the force of eloquence can be displayed, then the orator will give himself a wider scope, then he will influence and sway men's minds, and will move them just as he pleases, that is to say, just as the nature of the cause and the occasion requires.

But all that admirable embellishment of his will be of a twofold character; on account of which it is that eloquence gains such great honour. For as every part of a speech ought to be admirable, so that no word should be let drop by accident which is not either grave or dignified; so also there are two parts of it which are especially brilliant and lively: one of which I place in the question of the universal genus, which (as I have said before) the Greeks call [Greek Thesis]; the other is shown in amplifying and exaggerating matters, and is called by the same people [Greek auxaesis]. And although that ought to be spread equally over the whole body of the oration, still it is most efficacious in dealing with common topics; which are called common, because they appear to belong to many causes, but still ought to be considered as peculiar to some individual ones.

But that division of a speech which refers to the universal genus often contains whole causes; for whatever that is on which there is, as it were, a contest and dispute, which in Greek is called [Greek krinomenon], that ought to be expressed in such a manner that it may be transferred to the general inquiry and be spoken of the whole genus; except when a doubt is raised about the truth; which is often endeavoured to be ascertained by conjecture. But it shall be discussed, not in the fashion of the Peripatetics (for it is a very elegant exercise of theirs, to which they are habituated ever since the time of Aristotle), but with rather more vigour; and common topics will be applied to the subject in such a manner, that many things will be said gently in behalf of accused persons, and harshly against the adversaries.

But in amplifying matters, and, on the other hand, in discarding them, there is nothing which oratory cannot effect. And that must be done amid the arguments, as often as any opportunity is afforded one, of either amplifying or diminishing: and may be done to an almost infinite extent in summing up.

Nor is it by pity alone that it is desirable to move the minds of the judges, (though we have been in the habit of using that topic ourselves in so piteous a manner that we have even held an infant child by the hand while summing up; and in another cause, when a man of noble birth was on his trial, we lifted up his little son, and filled the forum with wailing and lamentations;) but we must also endeavour to cause the judge to be angry, to appease him to make him feel ill-will, and favour, to move him to contempt or admiration, to hatred or love, to inspire him with desire or disgust, with hope or fear, with joy or pain; in all which variety the speeches of prosecutors will supply instances of the sterner kinds, and my speeches in defence will furnish examples of the softer ones. For there is no means by which the mind of the hearer can be either excited or softened, which has not been tried by me; I would say, brought to perfection, if I thought it was the case; nor should I fear the imputation of arrogance while speaking the truth. But, as I have said before, it is not any particular force of genius, but an exceeding energy of disposition which inflames me to such a degree that I cannot restrain myself; nor would any one who listens to a speech ever be inflamed, if the speech which reached his ears was not itself a fiery one.

I would use examples from my own works if you had not read them; I would use them from the works of others, if I could find any; or Greek examples, if it were becoming to do so. But there are very few speeches of Crassus extant, and those are not forensic speeches. There is nothing extant of Antonius's, nothing of Cotta's, nothing of Sulpicius's. Hortensius spoke better than he wrote. But we must form our own opinions as to the value of this energy which we are looking for, since we have no instance to produce; or if we are still on the look out for examples, we must take them from Demosthenes, and we must cite them from that passage in the speech on the trial of Ctesiphon, where he ventures to speak of his own actions and counsels and services to the republic. That oration in truth corresponds so much to that idea which is implanted in our minds that no higher eloquence need be looked for.

But now there remains to be considered the form and character of the eloquence which we are searching for; and what it ought to be like may be understood from what has been said above. For we have touched upon the lights of words both single and combined, in which the orator will abound so much that no expression which is not either dignified or elegant will ever fall from his mouth. And there will be frequent metaphors of every sort; because they, on account of their resemblance to something else, move the minds of the hearers, and turn them this way and that way; and the very agitation of thought when operating in quick succession is a pleasure of itself.

And those other lights, if I may so call them, which are derived from the arrangement of words, are a great ornament to a speech. For they are like those things which are called decorations in the splendid ornamenting of a theatre or a forum; not because they are the only ornaments, but because they are the most excellent ones. The principle is the same in the case of these things which are the lights, and as one may say, the decorations of oratory: when words are repeated and reiterated, or are put down with slight alterations; or when the sentences are often commenced with the same word, or end with the same word; or both begin and end alike; or when the same word occurs in the same place in consecutive sentences; or when one word is repeated in different senses; or when sentences end with similar sounds; or when contrary circumstances are related in many contrary manners; or when the speech proceeds by gradations; or when the conjunctions are taken away and each member of the sentence is uttered unconnectedly; or when we pass over some points and explain why we do so; or when we of our own accord correct ourselves, as if we blamed ourselves; or if we use any exclamation of admiration, or complaint; or when the same noun is often repeated in different cases.

But the ornaments of sentiments are more important; and because Demosthenes employs them very frequently, some people think that that is the principal thing which makes his eloquence so admirable. And indeed there is hardly any topic treated by him without a careful arrangement of his sentences; nor indeed is speaking anything else except illuminating all, or at least nearly all, one's sentences with a kind of brilliancy: and as you are thoroughly aware of all this, O Brutus, why need I quote names or instances. I only let the place where they occur be noted.

If then that consummate orator whom we are looking for, should say that he often treats one and the same thing in many different manners; and dwells a long time on the same idea; and that he often extenuates some point, and often turns something into ridicule; that he occasionally appears to change his intention and vary his sentiments; that he proposes beforehand the points which he wishes to prove; that when he has completed his argument on any subject he terminates it; that he often recals himself back, and repeats what he has already said; that he winds up his arguments with fresh reasons; that he beats down the adversary with questions; again, that he himself answers questions which as it were he himself has put; that he sometimes wishes to be understood as meaning something different from what he says; that he often doubts what he had best say, or how he had best say it; that he arranges what he has to say under different heads; that he leaves out or neglects some points; while there are some which he fortifies beforehand; that he often throws the blame on his adversary for the very thing for which he himself is found fault with; that he often appears to enter into deliberation with his hearers, and sometimes even with his adversary; that he describes the conversation and actions of men; that he introduces some dumb things, as speaking; that he diverts men's minds from the subject under discussion; that he often turns the discussion into mirth and laughter; that he sometimes preoccupies ground which he sees is attached; that he adduces comparisons; that he cites precedents; that he attributes one thing to one person and another to another; that he checks any one who interrupts him; that he says that he is keeping back something; that he adds threatening warnings of what his hearers must beware of; that he often takes a bolder licence; that he is sometimes even angry; that he sometimes utters reproaches, deprecates calamity, uses the language of supplication, and does away with unfavourable impressions; that he sometimes departs a very little from his subject, to express wishes or to utter execrations, or to make himself a friend of those men before whom he is speaking.

He ought also to aim at other virtues, if I may so call them, in speaking; at brevity, if the subject requires it. He will often, also, by his speech, bring the matter before people's eyes; and often extol it beyond what appears possible; his meaning will be often more comprehensive than his speech; he will often assume a cheerful language, and often give an imitation of life and nature.

In this kind of speaking, for you may look upon oratory as a vast wood, all the importance of eloquence ought to shine forth. But these qualities, unless they are well arranged and as it were built up together and connected by suitable language, can never attain that praise which we wish that it should.

And as I was aware that it would be necessary for me to speak on this point next, although I was influenced by the considerations which I had mentioned before, still I was more disturbed by those which follow. For it occurred to me, that it was possible that men should be found, I do not mean envious men, with whom all places are full, but even favourers of my glory, who did not think that it became a man with reference to whose services the senate had passed such favourable votes with the approbation of the whole Roman people, as they never did in the case of any one else, to write so many books about the method of speaking. And if I were to give them no other answer than that I was unwilling to refuse the request of Marcus Brutus, it would be a reasonable excuse, as T might well wish to satisfy a man who was my greatest friend and a most excellent man, and who only asked what was right and honourable. But if I were to profess (what I wish that I could) that I was about to give rules, and paths, as it were, to lead to eloquence those who are inclined to study oratory, what man who set a proper value on things would find fault with me? For who has ever doubted that eloquence has at all times been of the very highest estimation in our republic, among all the accomplishments of peace, and of our domestic life in the city; and that next to it is the knowledge of the law? and that the one had in it the greatest amount of influence, and credit, and protection; and the other contains rules for prosecutions and defence; and this latter would often of its own accord beg for assistance from eloquence; but if it were refused, would scarcely be able to maintain its own rights and territories.

Why then has it been at all times an honourable thing to teach civil law, and why have the houses of the most eminent professors of this science been at all times crowded with pupils? And yet if any one attempts to excite people to the study of oratory, or to assist the youth of the city in that pursuit, should he be blamed? For, if it be a vicious thing to speak in an elegant manner, then let eloquence be expelled altogether from the state. But if it not only is an ornament to those who possess it, but the whole republic also, then why is it discreditable to learn what it is honourable to know; of, why should it be anything but glorious to teach what it is most excellent to be acquainted with?

But the one is a, common study, and the other a novel one. I admit that; but there is a reason for both these facts. For it was sufficient to listen to the lawyers giving their answers, so that they who acted as instructors set aside no particular time for that purpose, but were at one and the same time satisfying the wants both of their pupils and their clients. But the other men, as they devoted all their time, when at home, to acquiring a correct understanding of the causes entrusted to them, and arranging the arguments which they were to employ; all their time when in the forum to pleading the cause, and all the rest of their time in recruiting their own strength; what time had they for giving rules or lessons? and I do not know whether most of our orators have not excelled more in genius than in learning; therefore, they have been able to speak better than they could teach, while our ability is perhaps just the contrary.

But there is no dignity in teaching.--Certainly not, if it is done as if one kept a school; but if a man teaches by warning, by exhorting, by asking questions, by giving information, sometimes by reading with his pupils and hearing them read, then I do not know, if by teaching anything you can sometimes make men better, why you should be unwilling to do it. Is it honourable to teach a man what are the proper words to alienate consecrated property with, and not honourable to teach him those by which consecrated property may be maintained and defended?

"But," men say, "many people profess law who know nothing about it; but even the very men who have acquired eloquence conceal their attainment of it, because wisdom is a thing agreeable to men, but eloquence is suspected by them." Is it possible then for eloquence to escape notice, or does that which a man conceals cease to exist? Or is there any danger of any one thinking with respect to an important and glorious art that it is a discreditable thing to teach others that which it was very honourable to himself to learn? But perhaps others may be better hands at concealment; I have always openly avowed that I have learnt the art. For what could I have done, having left my home when very young, and crossed the sea for the sake of those studies; and having had my house full of the most learned men, and when there were perhaps some indications of learning in my conversation; and when my writings were a good deal read; could I then have concealed the fact of my having learnt it? How could I justify myself except by showing that I had made some progress in those studies?

And as this is the case still, the things which have been already mentioned, have had more dignity in the discussion of them than those which have got to be discussed. For we are now to speak about the arrangement of words, and almost about the counting and measuring of syllables. And, although these things are, as it appears to me, necessary, yet there is more show in the execution than in the teaching of them. Now that is true of everything, but it has a peculiar force with respect to this pursuit. For in the case of all great arts, as in that of trees, it is the height which delights us, but we take no pleasure in the roots or trunks; though the one cannot exist without the other. But as for me, whether it is that that well-known verse which forbids a man

"To fear to own the art he practises,"

does not allow me to conceal that I take delight in it; or whether it is your eagerness which has extorted this volume from me; still it was worth while to make a reply to those whom I suspected of being likely to find fault with me.

But if the circumstances which I have mentioned had no existence, still who would be so harsh and uncivilised as not to grant me this indulgence, so that, when my forensic labours and my public exertions were interrupted, I might devote my time to literature rather than to inactivity of which I am incapable, or to melancholy which I resist? For it was a love of letters which formerly led me into the courts of justice and the senate-house, and which now delights me when I am at home. Nor am I occupied only with such subjects as are contained in this book, but with much more weighty and important, ones; and if they are brought to perfection, then my private literary labours will correspond to my forensic exertions. However, at present let us return to the discussion we had commenced.

XLIV. Our words then must be arranged either so that the last may as correctly as possible be consistent with the first, and also so that our first expressions may be as agreeable as possible; or so that the very form of our sentences and their neatness may be well rounded off; or so that the whole period may end in a musical and suitable manner. And, in the first place, let us consider what kind of thing that is which above all things requires our diligence, so that a regular structure as it were may be raised, and yet that this may be effected without any labour. For the labour would be not only infinite, but childish. As in Lucilius, Scaevola is represented as attacking Albucius very sensibly:

"How neatly all your phrases are arranged; Like tesselated pavement, or a box Inlaid with deftly wrought mosaic."

The care taken in the construction must not be too visible. But still a practised pen will easily perfect this manner of arranging its phrases. For as the eye does in reading, so in speaking, the eye will see beforehand what follows, so that the combination of the last words of a sentence with the first may not leave the whole sentence either gaping or harsh. For sentiments ever so agreeable or dignified offend the ears if they are set down in ill-arranged sentences; for the judgment of the ears is very fastidious. And the Latin language is so particular on this point, that no one can be so ignorant as to leave quantities of open vowels. Though this is a point on which men blame Theopompus, because he was so ostentatious in his avoidance of such letters, although his master Isocrates did the same; but Thucydides did not; nor did that other far superior writer, Plato. And he did this not only in those conversations which are called Dialogues, when it ought to have been done designedly; but even in that oration[61] addressed to the people, in which it is customary at Athens for those men to be extolled who have been slain in fighting for their country. And that oration was so greatly approved of that it was, as you know, appointed to be recited every year; and in that there is a constant succession of open vowels, which Demosthenes avoided in a great degree as vicious.

However, the Greeks must judge of that matter for themselves. We are not allowed to use our words in that manner, not even if we wish to; and this is shown even by those unpolished speeches of Cato. It is shown by all the poets except those who sometimes had recourse to a hiatus in order to finish their verse; as Naevius--

"Vos, qui accolitis Istrum fluvium, atque Algidam."

And again--

"Quam nunquam vobis Graii atque Barbari."

But Ennius does so only once--

"Scipio invicte."

And we too have written,--

"Hinc motu radiantis Etesiae in vada ponti."

For our countrymen would not have endured the frequent use of such a liberty, though the Greeks even praise it. But why should I talk about vowels? even without counting vowels, they often used contractions for the sake of brevity, so as to say--

Multi' modis for imdtis modis. Vas' argenteis for vasis argenteis. Palmi et crinibus for palmis et crinibus. Tecti' fractis for tectis fractis.

And what would be a greater liberty than to contract even men's names, so as to make them more suitable to verse? For as they contracted _duellum_ into _bellum_, and _duis_ into _bis_, so they called _Duellius_ (the man I mean who defeated the Carthaginians in a naval action) _Bellius_, though his ancestors were always called _Duellii_. Moreover, they often contract words, not in obedience to any particular usage, but only to please the ear. For how was it that Axilla was made Ala, except by the flight of the larger letter? and so the elegant usage of Latin conversation takes this letter _x_ out of _maxilla_, and _taxilla_, and _vexillum_, and _paxillum_.

They also joined words by uniting them at their pleasure; so as to say--_sodes_ for _si audes_, _sis_ for _si vis_. And in this word _capsis_ there are no less than three[62] words. So _ain_ for _aisne, nequire_ for _non quire, malle_ for _magis velle, nolle_ for _son velle_. And again, we often say _dein_ for _deinde_, and _exin_ for _exinde_. Well, need I give any more instances? Cannot we see easily from whence it arises that we say _cum illis_, but we do not say _cum nobis_, but _nobiscum_? because if it were said in the other way, the letters would clash in a discordant manner; as they would have clashed a minute ago if I had not put _autem_ between them. This is the origin of our saying _mecum_ and _tecum_, not _cum me_, and _cum te_, so that they too might be like _nobiscum_ and _vobiscum_.

And some men find fault with all this; men who are rather late in mending antiquity; for they wish us, instead of saying _Deûm atque hominum fidem_, to say _Deorum_. Very likely it may be right, but were our ancestors ignorant of all this, or was it usage that gave them this liberty? Therefore the same poet who had used these uncommon contractions--

"Patris mei mecûm factûm pudet," for meorum factorum,

and,

"Texitur: exitiûm examen rapit," for exitiorum,

does not say "_liberûm_" as many of us do say in such an expression as _cupidos liberûm_, or in _liberûm loco_, but, as these men approve,

"Neque tuum unquam in gremium extollas liberorum ex te genus."

And again he says,--

"Namque aesculapi liberorum...."

And another of these poets says in his Chryses, not only

"Cives, antiqui amici majorum meûm,"

which was common enough; but he says, with a much more unmusical sound,--

"Consiliûm, auguriûm, atque extûm interpretes."

And again he goes on--

"Postquam prodigiûm horriferûm, putentfûm pavos,"

which are not at all usual contractions in a string of words which are all neuter. Nor should I much like to say _armûm judicium_, though the expression occurs in that same poet,--

"Nihilne ad te de judicio armûm accidit?"

instead of _armorum_. But I do venture (following the language of the censor's returns) to say _jabrûm_ and _procûm_, instead of _fabrorum_ and _procorum_. And I actually never by any chance say _duorum virorum judicium_, or _triumvirorum capitalium_, or _decemvirorum litibus judicandis_.

And Attius said--

"Video sepulchra dua duorum corporam."

And at another time he has said,--

"Mulier una duûm virûm."

I know which is proper; but sometimes I speak according to the licence of the present fashion, so far as to say _Proh Deûm_, or _Proh Deorum_; and at other times I speak as I am forced to, when I say _trium virûm_, not _virorum_, and _sestertiûm nummûm_, not _nummorum_; because with respect to these words there is no variety of usage.

What am I to say is the reason why they forbid us to say _nôsse, judicâsse_, and enjoin us to use _novisse_ and _judicavisse_? as if we did not know that in words of this kind it is quite correct to use the word at full length, and quite in accordance with usage to use it in its contracted form. And so Terence does use both forms, and says,--

"Eho, tu cognatum tuum non nôras?"

And afterwards he has,--

"Stilphonem, inquam, noveras?"

_Siet_ is the word at full length; _sit_ is the contracted form. One may use either; and so we find in the same passage,--

"Quam cara sint, quae post carendo intelligunt, Quamque attinendi magni dominatus sient."

Nor should I find fault with

"Scripsere alii rem."

I am aware that _scripserunt_ is the more correct form; but I willingly comply with a fashion which is agreeable to the ears.

"Idem campus habet,"

says Eunius; and in another place he has given us,--

"In templis îsdem;"

but _eisdem_ would be more regular; but yet it would not have been so musical: and _iisdem_ would have sounded ill. But custom has sanctioned our departing from strict rules for the sake of euphony; and I should prefer saying _pomeridianas quadrigas_ to _postmeridianas_, and _mehercule_ to _mehercules. Non scire_ already appears a barbarism; _nescire_ is sweeter. The word _meridiem_ itself, why is it not _medidiem_?

I suppose because it sounded worse. There is one preposition, _abs_, which has now only an existence in account books; but in all other conversation of every sort is changed: for we say _amovit_, and _abegit_, and _abstulit_, so that you cannot now tell whether _ab_ is the correct form or _abs_. What shall we say if even _abfugit_ has seemed inadmissible, and if men have discarded _abfer_ and preferred _aufer_? and that preposition is found in no word whatever except these two verbs. There were the words _noti_, and _navi_, and _nari_, and when _in_ was forced to be prefixed to them, it seemed more musical to say _ignoti, ignavi, ignari_, than to adhere to the strict rules. Men say _ex usu_ and _republicâ_, because in the one phrase a vowel followed the preposition, and in the other there would have been great harshness if you had not removed the consonant, as in _exegit, edixit, effecit, extulit, edidit_. And sometimes the preposition has sustained an alteration, regulated by the first letter of the verb to which it is added, as _suffugit, summutavit, sustulit_.

What are we to say of compound words? How neat is it to say _insipientem_, not _insapientem_; _iniquum_, not _incequum_; _tricipitem_, not _tricapitem_; _concisum_, not concoesum! and, because of this last instance, some people wish also to say _pertisum_; but the same fashion which regulates the other changes, has not sanctioned this one. But what can be more elegant than this, which is not caused by nature, but by some regular usage?--we say _inclytus_, with the first letter short; _insanus_, with the first letter long; _inkumanus_, with a short letter; _infelix_, with a long one: and, not to detain you with many examples, in those words in which the first letters are those which occur in _sapiente_ and _felice_, it is used long; in all others it is short. And so, too, we have _composuit, consuevit, concrvpuit, confecit_. Consult the truth, it will reprove you; refer the matter to your ears, they will sanction the usage. Why so? Because they will say that that sound is the most agreeable one to them; and an oration ought to consult that which gives pleasure to the ears. Moreover, I myself, as I knew that our ancestors spoke so as never to use an aspirate except before a vowel, used to speak in this way: _pulcros, Cetegos, triumpos, Cartaginem_; when at last, and after a long time, the truth was forced upon me by the admonition of my own ears, I yielded to the people the right of settling the rule of speaking; and was contented to reserve to myself the knowledge of the proper rules and reasons for them. Still we say _Orcivii_, and _Matones_ and _Otones, Coepiones, sepulchra, coronas, lacrymas_, because that pronunciation is always sanctioned by the judgment of our ears.

Ennius always used _Burrum_, never _Pyrrhum_: he says,--

"Vi patefecerunt Bruges;"

not _Phryges_; and so the old copies of his poems prove, for they had no Greek letters in them. But now those words have two; and though when they wanted to say _Phrygum_ and _Phrygibus_, it was absurd either to use a Greek character in the barbarous cases only, or else in the nominative case alone to speak Greek, still we say _Phrygum_ and _Phrygibus_ for the sake of harmonizing our ears. Moreover (at present it would seem like the language of a ploughman, though formerly it was a mark of politeness) our ancestors took away the last letter of those words in which the two last letters were the same, as they are in _optumus_, unless the next word began with a vowel. And so they avoided offending the ear in their verse; as the modern poets avoid it now in a different manner. For we used to say,--

"Qui est omnibu' princeps," not "omnibus princeps;"

and--

"Vitâ illâ, dignu' locoquc," not "dignus."

But if unlettered custom is such an artist of euphony, what must we think is required by scientific art and systematic learning?

I have put all this more briefly than if I were discussing this matter by itself; (for this topic is a very extensive one, concerning the use and nature of words;) but still I have been more prolix than the plan I originally proposed to myself required.

But because the choice of subjects and words is in the department of prudence, but of sounds and rhythm it is the ears that are the judges; because the one is referable to one's understanding, the other only to one's pleasure; therefore in the one case it is reason and in the other sensation that has been the inventor of the system. For it was necessary for us either to disregard the pleasure of those men by whom we wished to be approved of; or else it was necessary to discover a system by which to gain their good-will.

There are then two things which soothe the ears; _sound_ and _rhythm_. Concerning rhythm we will speak presently; at this moment we are inquiring into sound. As I said before, words must be selected which as much as possible shall sound well; but they must not be, like the words of a poet, sought purely for sound, but taken from ordinary language.

"Qua ponto a Helles"

is an extravagant expression; but

"Auratua aries Colehorum"

is a verse illuminated with splendid names. But the next verse is polluted by ending with a most inharmonious letter;

"Frugifera et ferta arva Asiae tenet."

Let us therefore use the propriety of words of our own language, rather than the brilliancy of the Greeks; unless perchance we are ashamed of speaking in such a way as this--

"Quâ tempestate Paris Helenam,"

and the rest of that sentence. Let us, I say, pursue that plan and avoid harshness of sound.

"Habeo istam ego perterricrepam.... Versutiloquas malitias."

Nor is it enough to have one's words arranged in a regular system, but the terminations of the sentences must be carefully studied, since we have said that that is a second sort of judgment of the ears. But the harmonious end of a sentence depends on the arrangement itself, which is so of its own accord, if I may so express myself, or on some particular class of words in which there is a certain neatness; and whether such words have cases the terminations of which are similar, or whether one word is matched with another which resembles it, or whether contrary words are opposed to one another, they are harmonious of their own nature, even if nothing has been done on purpose. In the pursuit of this sort of neatness Gorgias is reported to have been the leader; and of this style there is an example in our speech in defence of Milo: "For this law, O judges, is not a written one, but a natural one, one which we have not learnt, or received from others, or gathered from books; but which we have extracted, and pressed out, and imbibed from nature itself; it is one in which we have not been educated, but born; we have not been brought up in it, but imbued with it. For these sentences are such that, because they are referred to the principles to which they ought to be referred, we see plainly that harmony was not the thing that was sought in them, but that which followed of its own accord. And this is also the case when contraries are opposed to one another; as those phrases are by which not only a harmonious sentence, but even a verse is made.

"Eam, quam nihil accusas, damnas."

A man would say _condemnas_ if he wished to avoid making a verse.

"Bene quam meritam esse autumas, dicis male mereri. Id, quod scis, prodest nihil; id, quod nescis, obest."

The very relation of the contrary effects makes a verse that would be harmonious in a narration.

"Quod scis, nihil prodest; quod nescis, multum obest."

These things, which the Greeks call [Greek: antitheta], as in them contraries are opposed to contraries, of sheer necessity produce oratorical rhythm; and that too without any intention on the part of the orator that they should do so.

This was a kind of speaking in which the ancients used to take delight, even before the time of Isocrates; and especially Gorgias; in whose orations his very neatness generally produces an harmonious rhythm. We too frequently employ this style; as in the fourth book of our impeachment of Verres:--"Compare this peace with that war; the arrival of this praetor with the victory of that general; the debauched retinue of this man, with the unconquerable army of the other; the lust of this man with the continence of that one; and you will say that Syracuse was founded by the man who in reality took it; and was stormed by this one, who in reality received it in an admirable and settled condition."

This sort of rhythm then must be well understood.

We must now explain that third kind of an harmonious and well-arranged speech, and say of what character it is; and what sort of ears those people have who do not understand its character, or indeed what there is in them that is like men at all, I do not know. My ears delight in a well-turned and properly finished period of words, and they like conciseness, and disapprove of redundancy. Why do I say my ears? I have often seen a whole assembly raise a shout of approval at hearing a musical sentence. For men's ears expect that sentences shall be strung together of well-arranged words. This was not the case in the time of the ancients. And indeed it was nearly the only thing in which they were deficient: for they selected their words carefully, and they gave utterance to dignified and sweet sounding ideas; but they paid little attention to arranging them or filling them up. "This is what delights me," one of them would say. What are we to say if an old primitive picture of few colours delights some men more than this highly finished one? Why, I suppose, the style which succeeds must be studied again; and this latter style repudiated.

People boast of the names of the ancients. But antiquity carries authority with it in precedents, as old age does in the lives of individuals; and it has indeed very great weight with me myself. Nor am I more inclined to demand from antiquity that which it has not, than to praise that which it has; especially as I consider what it has as of more importance than what it has not. For there is more good in well chosen words and ideas in which they excel, than in the rounding off of phrases in which they fail. It is after their time that the working up of the termination of a sentence has been introduced; which I think that those ancients would have employed, if it had been known and employed in their day; as since it has been introduced we see that all great orators have employed it.

But it looks like envy when what we call "number," and the Greeks [Greek: ruthmos] is said to be employed in judicial and forensic oratory. For it appears like laying too many plots for the charming of people's ears if rhythm is also aimed at by the orator in his speeches. And relying on this argument those critics themselves utter broken and abrupt sentences, and blame those men who deliver well rounded and neatly turned discourses. If they blame them because their words are ill adapted and their sentiments are trifling, they are right; but if their arguments are sound, their language well chosen, then why should they prefer a lame and halting oration to one which keeps pace with the sentiments contained in it? For this rhythm which they attack so has no other effect except to cause the speaker to clothe his ideas in appropriate language; and that was done by the ancients also, not unusually by accident, and often by nature; and those speeches of theirs which are exceedingly praised, are so generally because they are concisely expressed. And it is now near four hundred years since this doctrine has been established among the Greeks; we have only lately recognised it. Therefore was it allowable for Ennius, despising the ancient examples, to say:--

"In verses such as once the Fauns And ancient poets sang:"

and shall it not be allowed me to speak of the ancients in the same manner? especially as I am not going to say, "Before this man ..." as he did; nor to proceed as he did, "We have ventured to open ..." For I have read and heard of some speakers whose orations were rounded off in an almost perfect manner. And those who cannot do this are not content with not being despised; they wish even to be praised for their inability. But I do praise those men, and deservedly too, whose imitators they profess to be; although I see something is wanting in them. But these men I do not praise at all, who imitate nothing of the others except their defects, and are as far removed as possible from their good qualities.

But if their own ears are so uncivilised and barbarous, will not the authority of even the most learned men influence them? I say nothing of Isocrates, and his pupils Ephorus and Naucrates; although those men who are themselves consummate orators ought also to be the highest authorities on making and ornamenting a speech. But who of all men was ever more learned, or more acute, or a more accurate judge of the discovery of, or decision respecting all things than Aristotle? Moreover, who ever took more pains to oppose Isocrates? Aristotle then, while he warns us against letting verses occur in our speeches, enjoins us to attend to rhythm. His pupil Theodectes, one of the most polished of writers, (as Aristotle often intimates,) and a great artist, both felt and enjoined the same thing. And Theophrastus is more distinct still in laying down the same rule.

Who then can endure those men who do not agree with such authorities as these? Unless indeed they are ignorant that they ever gave any such rules. And if that is the case, (and I really believe it is,) what then? Have they no senses of their own to be guided by? Have they no natural idea of what is useless? None of what is harsh, cramped, lame, or superfluous? When verses are being repeated, the whole theatre raises an outcry if there is one syllable too few or too many. Not that the mob knows anything about feet or metre; nor do they understand what it is that offends them, or know why or in what it offends them. But nevertheless nature herself has placed in our ears a power of judging of all superfluous length and all undue shortness in sounds, as much as of grave and acute syllables.

Do you wish then, O Brutus, that we should give a more accurate explanation of this whole topic, than those men themselves have done who have delivered these and other rules to us? Or may we be content with those which have been delivered by them? But why do I ask whether you wish this? when I know from your letters, written in a most scholar-like spirit, that you wish for it above all things. First of all, then, the origin of a well-adapted and rhythmical oration shall be explained, then the cause of it, then its nature, and last of all its use.

For they who admire Isocrates above all things, place this among his very highest panegyrics, that he was the first person who added rhythm to prose writing. For they say that, as he perceived that orators were listened to with seriousness, but poets with pleasure, he then aimed at rhythm so as to use it in his orations both for the sake of giving pleasure, and also that variety of sound might prevent weariness. And this is said by them in some degree correctly, but not wholly so. For we must confess that no one was ever more thoroughly skilled in that sort of learning than Isocrates; but still the original inventor of rhythm was Thrasymachus; all whose writings are even too carefully rhythmical. For, as I said a little while ago, the principle of things like one another being placed side by side, sentence after sentence being ended in a similar manner, and contraries being compared with contraries, so that, even if one took no pains about it, most sentences would end musically, was first discovered by Gorgias; but he used it without any moderation. And that is, as I have said before one of the three divisions of arrangement. Both of these men were predecessors of Isocrates; so that it was in his moderation, not in his invention, that he is superior to them. For he is more moderate in the way in which he inverts or alters the sense of words; and also in his attention to rhythm. But Gorgias is a more insatiable follower of this system, and (even according to his own admission) abuses these elegances in an unprecedented way; but Isocrates (who while a young man had heard Gorgias when he was an old man in Thessaly) put all these things under more restraint. Moreover he himself, as he advanced in age, (and he lived nearly a hundred years,) relaxed in his ideas of the exceeding necessity for rhythm; as he declares in that book which he wrote to Philip of Macedon, when he was a very old man, in which he says that he is less attentive to rhythm than he had formerly been. And so he had corrected not only his predecessors, but himself also.

Since, then, we have those men whom we have mentioned as the authors and originators of a well-adapted oration, and since its origin has been thus explained, we must now seek for the cause. And that is so evident, that I marvel that the ancients were not influenced by it; especially when, as is often the case, they often by chance made use of well-rounded and well-arranged periods. And when they had produced their impression on the minds and ears of men, so as to make it very plain that what chance had effected had been received with pleasure, certainly they ought to have taken note of what had been done, and have imitated themselves; for the ears, or the mind by the report of the ears, contains in itself a natural measurement of all sounds. That is how it distinguishes between long and short sounds; and always watches for well-wrought and moderate periods. It feels that some are mutilated and curtailed, as it were, and with those it is offended, as if it were defrauded of its due; others it feels to be too long, and running out to an immoderate length, and those the ears reject even more than the first; for as in most cases, so especially in this kind of thing, it happens that what is in excess is much more offensive than that which errs on the side of deficiency.

As, therefore, poetry and verse was invented by the nicety of the ear, and the careful observation of clever men; so it has been noticed in oratory, much later, indeed, but still in deference to the promptings of the same nature, that there are some certain rules and bounds, within which words and paragraphs ought to be confined.

Since, therefore, we have thus shown the cause, we will now, if you please, explain the nature of it; for that was the third division; and that involves a discussion which has no reference to the original plan of this treatise, but which belongs rather to the arcana of the art. For the question may be asked, what is the rhythm of a speech; and where it is placed; and in what it originates; and whether it is one thing, or two, or more; and on what principles it is arranged; and for what purpose; and how and in what part it is situated, and in what way it is employed so as to give any pleasure.

But as in most cases, so also in this one, there are two ways of looking at the question; one of which is longer, the other shorter, and at the same time plainer.

But in the longer way the first question is, whether there actually is any such thing as a rhythmical oration at all; (for some persons do not think that there is, because there is not in oratory any positive rule, as there is in verses, and because the people who assert that there is that rhythm cannot give any reason why there is.) In the next place, if there is rhythm in an oration, what sort of rhythm it is; and whether it is of more than one kind; and whether it consists of poetical rhythm, or of some other kind; and if it consists of poetical rhythm, of which poetical rhythm, (for some think that there is but one sort of poetical rhythm, while others think there are many kinds.) In the next place, the question arises, whatever sorts of rhythm there may be, whether one or more, whether they are common to every kind of oratory, (since there is one kind used in narrating, another kind in persuading, and another in teaching,) or whether the different kinds are all adapted equally to every sort of oratory. If the different kinds are common to each kind of oratory, what are they? If there is a difference, then what is the difference, and why is the rhythm less visible in a speech than in a verse? Besides, there is a question whether what is rhythmical in a speech is made so solely by rhythm, or also by some especial arrangement of words, or by the kind of words employed; or whether each division has its component parts, so that rhythm consists of intervals, arrangement of words, while the character of the words themselves is visible being a sort of shape and light of the speech; and whether arrangement is not the principal thing of all, and whether it is not by that that rhythm is produced, and those things which I have called the forms and light of a speech, and which, as I have said, the Greeks call [Greek: schaemata]. But that which is pleasant when uttered by the voice, and that which is made perfect by careful regulation, and brilliant by the nature of the words employed, are not one and the same thing, although they are both akin to rhythm, because each is perfect of itself; but an arrangement differs from both, and is wholly dependent on the dignity or sweetness of the language employed.

These are the main questions which arise out of an inquiry into the nature of oratory.

It is, then, not hard to know that there is a certain rhythm in a speech: for the senses decide that. And it is absurd not to admit an evident fact, merely because we cannot find out why it happens. And verse itself was not invented by _à priori_ reasoning, but by nature and the senses, and these last were taught by carefully digested reason what was the fact; and accordingly it was the careful noticing and observation of nature which produced art.

But in verses the matter is more evident. For although there are some kinds of verse which, if they be not chanted, appear but little to differ from prose; and this is especially the case in all the very best of those poets who are called [Greek: lyriloi] by the Greeks; for when you have stripped them of the singing, the language remains almost naked. And some of our countrymen are like them. Like that line in Thyestes:--

"Quemnam te esse dicam, qui tarda in senectute" ...

And so on; for except when the flute-player is at hand to accompany them, those verses are very like prose. But the iambics of the common poets are, on account of their likeness to ordinary conversation, very often in such a very low style, that sometimes it is hardly possible to discover any metre, or even rhythm in them. And it may easily be understood that there is more difficulty in discovering the rhythm in an oration than in verses.

Altogether there are two things which season oratory--the sweetness of the language, and the sweetness of the rhythm. In the language is the material, and in the rhythm the polish. But, as in other things, the older inventions are the children of necessity rather than of pleasure; so also has it happened in this, that oratory was for many ages naked and unpolished, aiming only at expressing the meaning conceived in the mind of the speaker, before any system of rhythm for the sake of tickling the ears was invented.

Therefore Herodotus also, and his age, and the age preceding him, had no idea of rhythm, except at times by chance, as it seems. And the very ancient writers have left us no rules at all about rhythm, though they have given us many precepts about oratory. For that which is the more easy and the more necessary will always be the first thing known. Therefore, words used in a metaphorical sense, or inverted, or combined, were easily invented because they were derived from ordinary use, and from daily conversation. But rhythm was not drawn from a man's own house, nor had it any connexion of relationship to oratory. And therefore it was later in being noticed and observed, bringing as it did the last touch and lineaments to oratory. But if there is one style of oratory narrow and concise, and another more vague and diffuse, that must clearly be owing, not to the nature of letters, but to the difference between long and short paragraphs; because an oration made up and compounded of these two kinds is sometimes steady, sometimes fluent, and so each character must be kept up by corresponding rhythm. For that circuitous way of speaking, which we have often mentioned already, goes on more impetuously, and hurries along, until it can arrive at its end, and come to a stop. It is quite plain, therefore, that oratory ought to be confined to rhythm, and kept clear of metre.

But the next question is, whether this rhythm is poetical, or whether it is of some other kind. There is, then, no rhythm whatever that is not poetical; because the different kinds of rhythm are clearly defined. For all rhythm is one of three kinds. For the foot which is employed in rhythm is divided into three classes; so that it is necessary that one part of the foot must be either equal to the other part, or as large again, or half as large again. Accordingly, the dactyl is of the first class, the paeon of the last, the iambic of the second. And how is it possible to avoid such feet in an oration? And then when they are arranged with due consideration rhythm is unavoidably produced.

But the question arises, what rhythm is to be employed; either absolutely, or in preference to others. But that every kind of rhythm is at times suitable to oratory, may be seen from this,--that in speaking we often make a verse without intending it, (which, however, is a great fault, but we do not notice it, nor do we hear what we say ourselves;) and as for iambics, whether regular or Hipponactean, those we can scarcely avoid, for our common conversation often consists of iambics. But still the hearer easily recognises those verses, for they are the most usual ones. But at times we unintentionally let fall others which are less usual, but which still are verses; and that is a faulty style of oratory, and one which requires to be guarded against with great care.

Hieronymus, a Peripatetic of the highest character, out of all the numerous compositions of Isocrates, picked out about thirty verses, chiefly iambics, but some also anapaests. And what can be worse? Though in picking them out he acted in an unfair manner, for he took away sometimes the first syllable in the first word of a sentence; and again, he sometimes added to the last word the first syllable of the following sentence. And in this way he made that sort of anapaest which is called the Aristophanic anapaest. And such accidents as these cannot be guarded against, nor do they signify. But still this critic, in the very passage in which he finds this fault with him, (as I noticed when I was examining his work very closely,) himself makes an iambic without knowing it. This, then, may be considered as an established point, that there is rhythm also in prose, and that oratorical is the same as the poetical rhythm.

It remains, therefore, for us to consider what rhythm occurs most naturally in a well-arranged oration. For some people think that it is the iambic rhythm, because that is the most like a speech, on which account it happens that it is most frequently employed in fables, because of its resemblance to reality--because the dactylic hexameter rhythm is better suited to a lofty and magniloquent subject But Ephorus himself, an inconsiderable orator, though coming from an excellent school, inclines to the paeon, or dactyl, but avoids the spondee and trochee. For because the paeon has three short syllables and the dactyl two, he thinks that the words come more trippingly off on account of the shortness and rapidity of utterance of the syllables; and that a contrary effect is produced by the spondee and trochee, because the one consists of long syllables and the other of short ones; so that a speech made up of the one is too much hurried, it made up of the other is too slow; and neither is well, regulated. But those accents are all in the wrong, and Ephorus is wholly in fault. For those who pass over the paeon, do not perceive that a most delicate, and at the same time most dignified rhythm is passed over by them. But Aristotle's opinion is very different, for he considers that the heroic rhythm is a grander one than is admissible in prose, and that an iambic is too like ordinary conversation. Accordingly, he does not approve of a style which is lowly and abject, or of one which is too lofty and, as it were, on stilts: but still he wishes for one full of dignity, in order to strike those who hear it with the greater admiration. But he calls a trochee, which occupies the same time as a choreus, [Greek: kordax], because its contracted and brief character is devoid of dignity. Accordingly, he approves of the paeon; and says that all men employ it, but that all men are not themselves aware when they do employ it; and that there is a third or middle way between those two, but that those feet are formed in such a way, that in every one of them there is either a time, or a time and a half, or two times. Therefore, those men of whom I have spoken have considered convenience only, and disregarded dignity. For the iambic and the dactyl are those which are most usually employed in verse; and, therefore, as we avoid verses in making speeches, so also a recurrence of these feet must be avoided. For oratory is a different thing from poetry, nor are there any two things more contrary to one another than that is to verses. But the paeon is that foot which, of all others, is least adapted to verse, on which account oratory admits it the more willingly. But Ephorus will not even admit that the spondee, which he condemns, is equivalent to the dactyl, which he approves of. For he thinks that feet ought to be measured by their syllables, not by their quantity; and he does the same in regard to the trochee, which in its quantity and times is equivalent to an iambic; but which is a fault in an oration, if it be placed at the end, because a sentence ends better with a long syllable.

And all this, which is also contained in Aristotle, is said by Theophrastus and Theodectes about the paeon. But my opinion is, that all feet ought to be jumbled together and confused, as it were, in an oration; and that we could not escape blame if we were always to use the same feet; because an oration ought to be neither metrical, like a poem, nor inharmonious, like the conversation of the common people. The one is so fettered by rules that it is manifest that it is designedly arranged as we see it; the other is so loose as to appear ordinary and vulgar; so that you are not pleased with the one, and you hate the other.

Let oratory then be, as I have said above, mingled and regulated with a regard to rhythm; not prosaic, nor on the other hand sacrificed wholly to rhythm; composed chiefly of the paeon, (since that is the opinion of the wisest author on the subject,) with many of the other feet which he passes over intermingled with it.

But what feet ought to be mingled with others, like purple, must be now explained; and we must also show to what kind of speech each sort of foot and rhythm is the best adapted. For the iambic is most frequent in those orations which are composed in a humble and lowly style; but the paeon is suited to a more dignified style; and the dactyl to both. Therefore, in a varied and long-continued speech these feet should be mingled together and combined. And in this way the fact of the orator aiming at pleasing the senses, and the careful attempt to round off the speech, will be the less visible, and they will at all times be less apparent if we employ dignified expressions and sentiments. For the hearers observe these two things, and think them agreeable: (I mean, expressions and sentiments.) And while they listen to them with admiring minds, the rhythm escapes their notice; and even if it were wholly wanting they would still be delighted with those other things.

Nor indeed is the rhythm, I mean in a speech, (for the case as to verse is very different,) so exacting that nothing may ever be expressed except according to rule; for then it would be a poem. But every oration which does not halt or if I may so say, fluctuate, and which proceeds on with an equal and consistent pace, is considered rhythmical. And it is considered rhythmical in the delivery; not because it consists wholly of some regular rhythm; but because it comes as near to a musical rhythm as possible: on which account it is more difficult to make a speech than to make verses; because these last have certain definite rules which it is necessary to follow; but, in speaking, there is nothing settled, except that the speech must not be intemperate, or too compressed, or prosaic, or too fluent. Therefore there are no regular bars in it as a flute-player has; but the whole principle and system of an oration is regulated by general rules of universal application; and they are judged of on the principle of pleasing the ear.

For there is in both oratory and poetry, first of all the material, then the execution. The material consists in the words, the execution in the arrangement of the words. But there are three divisions of each,--of words there is the metaphorical, the new, and the old-fashioned; for of appropriate words we say nothing at present; but of arrangement there are those which we have mentioned, composition, neatness, and rhythm. But the poets are the most free and frequent in the use of each; for they use words in a metaphorical sense not only more frequently, but also more daringly; and they use old-fashioned words more willingly, and new ones more freely. And the case with respect to rhythm is the same; in which they are obliged to comply with a kind of necessity: but still these things must be understood as being neither too different, nor yet in any respect united. Accordingly we find that rhythm is not the same in an oration as in a poem; and that that which is pronounced to be rhythmical in an oration is not always effected by a strict attention to the rules of rhythm; but sometimes either by neatness, or by the casual arrangement of the words.

Accordingly, if the question is raised as to what is the rhythm of an oration, it is every sort of rhythm; but one sort is better and more suitable than another. If the question is, what is the place of this rhythm? it is in every portion of the words. If you ask where it has arisen; it has arisen from the pleasure of the ears. If the principle is sought on which the words are to be arranged; that will be explained in another place, because that relates to practice, which was the fourth and last division which we made of the subject. If the question is, when; always: if, in what place; it consists in the entire connexion of the words. If we are asked, What is the circumstance which causes pleasure? we reply, that it is the same as in verse; the method of which is determined by art; but the ears themselves define it by their own silent sensations, without any reference to principles of art.

We have said enough of the nature of it. The practice follows; and that we must discuss with greater accuracy. And in this discussion inquiry has been made, whether it is in the whole of that rounding of a sentence which the Greeks call [Greek: periodos], and which we call "_ambitus_" or "_circuitus_," or "_comprehensio_" or "_continuatio_" or "_circumscriptio_," or in the beginning only, or in the end, or in both, that rhythm must be maintained? And, in the next place, as rhythm appears one thing and a rhythmical sentence another, what is the difference between them? and again, whether it is proper for the divisions of a sentence to be equal in every sort of rhythm, or whether we should make some shorter and some longer; and if so, when, and why, and in what parts; whether in many or in one; whether in unequal or equal ones; and when we are to use one, and when the other; and what words may be most suitably combined together, and how; or whether there is absolutely no distinction; and, what is most material to the subject of all things, by what system oratory may be made rhythmical. We must also explain from whence such a form of words has arisen; and we must explain what periods it may be becoming to make, and we must also discuss their parts and sections, if I may so call them; and inquire whether they have all one appearance and length, or more than one; and if many, in what place; or when we may use them, and what kinds it is proper to use; and, lastly, the utility of the whole kind is to be explained, which indeed is of wider application; for it is adapted not to any one particular thing, but to many.

And a man may, without giving replies on each separate point, speak of the entire genus in such a way that his answer may appear sufficient as to the whole matter. Leaving, therefore, the other kinds out of the question, we select this one, which is conversant with actions and the forum, concerning which we will speak.

Therefore in other kinds, that is to say, in history and in that kind of argument which we call [Greek: epideiktikon], it seems good that everything should be said after the example of Isocrates and Theopompus, with that sort of period and rounding of a sentence that the oration shall run on in a sort of circle, until it stops in separate, perfect, and complete sentences. Therefore after this _circumscriptio_, or _continuatio_, or _comprehensio_, or _ambitus_, if we may so call it, was once introduced, there was no one of any consideration who ever wrote an oration of that kind which was intended only to give pleasure, and unconnected with judicial proceedings or forensic contests, who did not reduce almost all his sentences to a certain set form and rhythm. For, as his hearers are men who have no fear that their own good faith is being attempted to be undermined by the snare of a well-arranged oration, they are even grateful to the orator for studying so much to gratify their ears.

But this kind of oratory is neither to be wholly appropriated to forensic causes, nor is it entirely to be repudiated. For if you constantly employ it, when it has produced weariness then even unskilful people can recognise its character. Besides, it takes away the indignation which is intended to be excited by the pleading; it takes away the manly sensibility of the pleader; it wholly puts an end to all truth and good faith. But since it ought to be employed at times, first of all, we should see in what place; secondly, how long it is to be maintained; and lastly, in how many ways it may be varied. We must, then, employ a rhythmical oratory, if we have occasion either to praise anything in an ornate style,--as we ourselves spoke in the second book of our impeachment of Verres concerning the praise of Sicily; and in the senate, of my own consulship; or a narration must be delivered which requires more dignity than indignation,--as in the fourth book of that same impeachment we spoke concerning the Ceres of Enna, the Diana of Segeste, and the situation of Syracuse. Often also when employed in amplifying a case, an oration is poured forth harmoniously and volubly with the approbation of all men. That perhaps we have never quite accomplished; but we have certainly very often attempted it; as our perorations in many places show that we have, and indeed that we have been very eager to effect it. But this is most effective when the hearer is already blockaded, as it were, and taken prisoner by the speaker. For he then no longer thinks of watching and guarding against the orator, but he is already on his side; and wishes him to proceed, admitting the force of his eloquence, and never thinking of looking for anything with which to find fault.

But this style is not to be maintained long; I do not mean in the peroration which it concludes, but in the other divisions of the speech. For when the orator has employed those topics which I have shown to be admissible, then the whole of his efforts must be transferred to what the Greeks call, I know not why, [Greek: kommata] and [Greek: kola], and which we may translate, though not very correctly, "incisa" and "membra." For there cannot be well-known names given to things which are not known; but when we use words in a metaphorical sense, either for the sake of sweetness or because of the poverty of the language, this result takes place in every art, that when we have got to speak of that which, on account of our ignorance of its existence, had no name at all previously, necessity compels us either to coin a new word, or to borrow a name from something resembling it.

But we will consider hereafter in what way sentences ought to be expressed in short clauses or members. At present we must explain in how many ways those different conclusions and terminations may be changed. Rhythm flows in from the beginning, at first more rapidly, from the shortness of the feet employed, and afterwards more slowly as they increase in length. Disputes require rapidity; slowness is better suited to explanations. But a period is terminated in many ways; one of which has gained especial favour in Asia, which is called the _dichoreus_, when the two last feet are _chorei_, consisting each of one long and one short syllable; for we must explain that the same feet have different names given them by different people. Now that dichoreus is not inherently defective as part of a clause, but in the rhythm of an orator there is nothing so vicious as to have the same thing constantly recurring. By itself now and then it sounds very well, on which account we have the more reason to guard against satiety. I was present when Caius Carbo, the son of Caius, a tribune of the people, uttered these words in the assembly of the people:

"O Maree Druse, patrem appello."

Here are two clauses, each of two feet. Then he gave us some more periods:

"Tu dicere solebas, sacram esse rempublicam."

Here each clause consists of three feet. Then comes the conclusion:

"Quicunque eam violavissent ab omnibus esse ei poenas persolutas."

Here is the dichoreus;--for it does not signify whether the last syllable is long or short. Then comes,

"Patris dictum sapiens, temeritas filii comprobavit."

And this last dichoreus excited such an outcry as to be quite marvellous. I ask, was it not the rhythm which caused it? Change the order of the words; let them stand thus:

"Comprobavit filii temeritas:"

there will be no harm in that, though _temeritas_ consists of three short syllables and one long one; which Aristotle considers as the best sort of word to end a sentence, in which I do not agree with him. But still the words are the same, and the meaning is the same. That is enough for the mind, but not enough for the ears. But this ought not to be done too often. For at first rhythm is acknowledged; presently it wearies; afterwards, when the ease with which it is produced is known, it is despised.

And because it is not only rhythm which makes a speech rhythmical, but since that effect is produced also by the arrangement of the words, and by a kind of neatness, as has been said before, it may be understood by the arrangement when words are so placed that rhythm does not appear to have been purposely aimed at, but to have resulted naturally, as it is said by Crassus:--

"Nam ubi libido dominatur innocentiae leve praesidium est."

For here the order of the words produces rhythm without any apparent design on the part of the orator. Therefore, the suitable and rhythmical sentences which occur in the works of the ancients, I mean Herodotus, and Thucydides, and all the writers of that age, were produced, not by any deliberate pursuit of rhythm, but by the arrangement of the words. For there are some forms of oratory in which there is so much neatness, that rhythm unavoidably follows. For when like is referred to like, or contrary opposed to contrary, or when words which sound alike are compared to other words, whatever sentence is wound up in that manner must usually sound rhythmically. And of this kind of sentence we have already spoken and given instances, so that this abundance of kinds enables a man to avoid always ending a sentence in the same manner.

Nor are these rules so strict and precise that we are unable to relax them when we wish to. It makes a great difference whether an oration is rhythmical--that is to say, like rhythm--or whether it consists of nothing but rhythm. If it is the latter, that is an intolerable fault; if it is not the former, then it is unconnected, and barbarous, and languid.

But since it is not only not a frequent occurrence, but actually even a rare one, that we ought to speak in compressed and rhythmical periods, in serious or forensic causes, it appears to follow that we ought to consider what these clauses and short members which I have spoken of are. For in serious causes they occupy the greater part of the speech. For a full and perfect period consists of four divisions, which we call members, so as to fill the ears, and not be either shorter or longer than is just sufficient. Although each of those defects does happen sometimes, or indeed often, so that it is necessary either to stop abruptly, or else to proceed further, lest our brevity should appear to have cheated the ears of our hearers, or our prolixity to have exhausted them. But I prefer a middle course; for I am not speaking of verse, and oratory is not so much confined. A full period, then, consists of four divisions, like hexameter verses. In each of these verses, then, there are visible the links, as it were, of the connected series which we unite in the conclusion. But if we choose to speak in a succession of short clauses, we stop, and when it is necessary, we easily and frequently separate ourselves from that sort of march which is apt to excite dislike; but nothing ought to be so rhythmical as this, which is the least visible and the most efficacious. Of this kind is that sentence which was spoken by Crassus:--

"Missos faciant patronos; ipsi prodeant."

If he had not paused before "ipsi prodeant," he would have at once seen that an iambic had escaped him,--"prodeant ipsi" would sound in every respect better. But at present I am speaking of the whole kind.

"Cur clandestinis consiliis nos oppugnant? Cur de perfugis nostris copias comparant inter nos?"

The first two are such sentences as the Greeks call [Greek: kommata], and we "incisa." The third is such as they term [Greek: kolon], and we "membrum." Then comes a short clause; for a perfect conclusion is made up of two verses, that is to say members, and falls into spondees. And Crassus was very much in the habit of employing this termination, and I myself have a good opinion of this style of speaking.

But those sentiments which are delivered in short clauses, or members, ought to sound very harmoniously, as in a speech of mine you will find:--

"Domus tibi deerat? at habebas. Pecunia superabat? at egebas."

These four clauses are as concise as can be; but then come the two following sentences uttered in members:--

"Incurristi amens in columnas: in alienos insanus insanîsti."

After these clauses everything is sustained by a longer class of sentences, as if they were erected on these as their pedestal:--

"Depressam, caecam, jacentem domum pluris, quam te, et quam fortunas tuas, aestimâsti."

It is ended with a dichoreus; but the next sentence terminates with a double spondee. For in those feet which speakers should use at times like little daggers, the very brevity makes the feet more free. For we often must use them separately, often two together, and a part of a foot may be added to each foot, but not often in combinations of more than three. But an oration when delivered in brief clauses and members, is very forcible in serious causes, especially when you are accusing or refuting an accusation, as in my second Cornelian speech:--

"O callidos homines! O rem excogitatam! O ingenia metuenda!"

Hitherto this is spoken in members. After that we spoke in short clauses. Then again in members:--

"Testes dare volumus."

At last comes the conclusion, but one made up of two members, than which nothing can be more concise:--

"Quem, quaeso, nostrûm fefellit, ita vos esse facturos?"

Nor is there any style of speaking more lively or more forcible than that which strikes with two or three words, sometimes with single words; very seldom with more than two or three, and among these various clauses there is occasionally inserted a rhythmical period. And Hegesias, who perversely avoided this usage, while seeking to imitate Lysias, who is almost a second Demosthenes, dividing his sentences into little bits, was more like a dancer than an orator. And he, indeed, errs not less in his sentences than in his single words, so that a man who knows him has no need to look about for some one whom he may call foolish. But I have cited those sentences of Crassus's and my own, in order that whoever chose might judge by his own ears what was rhythmical even in the most insignificant portions of a speech. And since we have said more about rhythmical oratory than any one of those who have preceded us, we will now speak of the usefulness of that style.

But the matter is one which requires much practice, lest we should do anything like those men who, though they have aimed at this style, have not attained it; so that we must not openly transpose our words in order to make our language sound better; a thing which Lucius Coelius Antipater, in the opening of his history of the Punic War, promises not to do unless it should be absolutely necessary. Oh the simple man! to conceal nothing from us; and at the same time wise, inasmuch as he is prepared to comply with necessity. But still this is being too simple. But in writing or in sober discussion the excuse of necessity is not admissible, for there is no such thing as necessity; and if there were, it would still be necessary not to admit it. And this very man who demands this indulgence of Laelius, to whom he is writing, and to whom he is excusing himself, uses this transposition of words, and yet does not fill up and conclude his sentences any the more skilfully. Among others, and especially among the Asiatics, who are perfect slaves to rhythm, you may find many superfluous words inserted, as if on purpose to fill up vacancies in rhythm. There are men also, who through that fault, which originated chiefly with Hegesias, by breaking up abruptly, and cutting short their rhythm, have fallen into an abject style of speaking, very much like that of the Sicilians. There is a third kind adopted by those brothers, the chiefs of the Asiatic rhetoricians, Hierocles and Maecles, men who are not at all to be despised, in my opinion at least. For although they do not quite keep to the real form of oratory and to the principles of the Attic orators, still they make amends for this fault by their ability and fluency. Still there was no variety in them, because nearly all their sentences were terminated in one manner.

But a man who avoids all these faults, so as neither to transpose words in such a manner that every one must see that it is done on purpose, nor cramming in unnecessary words, as if to fill up leaks, nor aiming at petty rhythm, so as to mutilate and emasculate his sentences, and who does not always stick to one kind of rhythm without any variation, such a man avoids nearly every fault. For we have said a good deal on the subject of perfections, to which these manifest defects are contrary.

But how important a thing it is to speak harmoniously, you may know by experience if you dissolve the carefully-contrived arrangement of a skilful orator by a transposition of his words; for then the whole thing would be spoilt, as in this instance of our language in the Cornelian oration, and in all the following sentences:--

"Neque me divitiae movent, quibus omnes Africanos et Laelios milt, venalitii mercatoresque superârunt."

Change the order a little, so that the sentence shall stand,

"Multi superârunt mercatores venalitiique,"

and the whole effect is lost. And the subsequent sentences:

"Neque vestis, ant caelatum aurum et argentum, quo nostros veteres Marcellos Maximosque multi eunuchi e Syriâ aegyptoque vicerunt."

Alter the order of the words, so that they shall stand,

"Vicerunt eunuchi e Syriâ aegyptoque."

Take this third sentence:--

"Neque vero ornamenta ista villarum, quibus Lucium Paullum et Lucium Mummium, qui rebus his urbem Italiamque omnem referserunt, ab aliquo video perfacile Deliaco aut Syro potuisse superari."

Place the words thus:--

"Potuisse superari ab aliquo Syro aut Deliaco."

Do you not see that by making this slight change in the order of the words, the very same words (though the sense remains as it was before) lose all their effect the moment they are disjoined from those which were best suited to them?

Or if you take any carelessly-constructed sentence of any unpolished orator, and reduce it into proper shape, by making a slight alteration in the order of his words, then that will be made harmonious which was before loose and unmethodical Come now, take a sentence from the speech of Gracchus before the censors:--

"Obesse non potest, quin ejusdem hominis sit, probos improbare, qui improbos probet."

How much better would it have been if he had said,

"Quin ejusdem hominis sit, qui improbos probet, probos improbare!"

No one ever had any objection to speaking in this manner; and no one was ever able to do so who did not do it. But those who have spoken in a different manner have not been able to arrive at this excellence. And so on a sudden they have set up for orators of the Attic school. As if Demosthenes was a man of Tralles; but even his thunderbolts would not have shone so if they had not been pointed by rhythm.

But if there be any one who prefers a loose style of oratory, let him cultivate it; keeping in view this principle,--if any one were to take to pieces the shield of Phidias, he would destroy the beauty of the collective arrangement, not the exquisite workmanship of each fragment: and as in Thucydides I only miss the roundness of his periods; all the graces of style are there. But these men, when they compose a loose oration, in which there is no matter, and no expression which is not a low one, appear to me to be taking to pieces, not a shield, but, as the proverb says, (which, though but a low one, is still very apt,) only a broom. And in order that there may be no mistake as to their contempt of this style which I am praising, let them write something either in the style of Isocrates, or in that which Aeschines or Demosthenes employs, and then I will believe that they have not shrunk from this style out of despair of being able to arrive at it, but that they have avoided it deliberately on account of their bad opinion of it: or else I will find a man myself who may be willing to be bound by this condition,--either to say or write, in whichever language you please, in the style which those men prefer. For it is easier to disunite what is connected than to connect what is disjointedly strung together.

However, the fact is, (to be brief in explaining my real opinion,) to speak in a well-arranged and suitable manner without good ideas is to act like a madman. But to speak in a sententious manner, without any order or method in one's language, is to behave like a child: but still it is childishness of that sort, that those who employ it cannot be considered stupid men, and indeed may often be accounted wise men. And if a man is contented with that sort of character, why let him speak in that way. But the eloquent man, who, if his subject will allow it, ought to excite not only approbation, but admiration and loud applause, ought to excel in everything to such a degree, that he should think it discreditable that anything should be beheld or listened to more gladly than his speech.

You have here, O Brutus, my opinion respecting an orator. If you approve of it, follow it; or else adhere to your own, if you have formed any settled opinion on the subject. And I shall not be offended with you, nor will I affirm that this opinion of mine which I have asserted so positively in this book is more correct than yours; for it is possible not only that my opinion should be different from yours, but even that my own may be different at different times. And not only in this matter, which has reference to gaining the assent of the common people and to the pleasure of the ears, which are two of the most unimportant points as far as judgment is concerned; but even in the most important affairs, I have never found anything firmer to take hold of, or to guide my judgment by, than the extremity of probability as it appeared to me, when actual truth was hidden or obscure.

But I wish that you, if you do not approve entirely of the things which I have urged in this treatise, would believe either that I proposed to myself a work of too great difficulty for me to accomplish properly, or else that, while wishing to comply with your request, I undertook the impudent task of writing this, from being ashamed to refuse you.

We had begun to write, O Caius Trebatius, on subjects more important and more worthy of these books, of which we have published a sufficient number in a short time, when your request recalled me from my course. For when you were with me in my Tusculan villa, and when each of us was separately in the library opening such books as were suited to our respective tastes and studies, you fell on a treatise of Aristotle's called the Topics; which he has explained in many books; and, excited by the title, you immediately asked me to explain to you the doctrines laid down in those books. And when I had explained them to you, and told you that the system for the discovery of arguments was contained in them, in order that we might arrive, without making any mistake, at the system on which they rested by the way discovered by Aristotle, you urged me, modestly indeed, as you do everything, but still in a way which let me plainly see your eagerness to be gratified, to make you master of the whole of Aristotle's method. And when I exhorted you, (not so much for the sake of saving myself trouble, as because I really thought it advantageous for you yourself,) either to read them yourself, or to get the whole system explained to you by some learned rhetorician, you told me that you had already tried both methods. But the obscurity of the subject deterred you from the books; and that illustrious rhetorician to whom you had applied answered you, I suppose, that he knew nothing of these rules of Aristotle. And this I was not so much surprised at, namely, that that philosopher was not known to the rhetorician, inasmuch as he is not much known even to philosophers, except to a very few.

And such ignorance is the less excusable in them, because they not only ought to have been allured by those things which he has discovered and explained, but also by the incredible richness and sweetness of his eloquence. I could not therefore remain any longer in your debt, since you often made me this request, and yet appeared to fear being troublesome to me, (for I could easily see that,) lest I should appear unjust to him who is the very interpreter of the law. In truth, as you had often written many things for me and mine, I was afraid that if I delayed obliging you in this, it would appear very ungrateful or very arrogant conduct on my part. But while we were together, you yourself are the best witness of how I was occupied; but after I left you, on my way into Greece, when neither the republic nor any friends were occupying my attention, and when I could not honourably remain amid the armies, (not even if I could have done so safely,) as soon as I came to Velia and beheld your house and your family, I was reminded of this debt; and would no longer be wanting to your silent request. Therefore, as I had no books with me, I have written these pages on my voyage, from memory; and I have sent them to you while on my journey, in order that by my diligence in obeying your commands, I might rouse you to a recollection of my affairs, although you do not require a reminder. But, however, it is time to come to the object which we have undertaken.

As every careful method of arguing has two divisions,--one of discovering, one of deciding,--Aristotle was, as it appears to me, the chief discoverer of each. But the Stoics also have devoted some pains to the latter, for they have diligently considered the methods of carrying on a discussion by that science which they call dialectics; but the art of discovering arguments, which is called topics, and which was more serviceable for practical use, and certainly prior in the order of nature, they have wholly disregarded. But we, since both parts are of the greatest utility, and since we intend to examine each if we have time, will now begin with that which is naturally the first.

As therefore the discovery of those things which are hidden is easy, if the place where they are hidden is pointed out and clearly marked; so, when we wish to examine any argument, we ought to know the topics,--for so they are called by Aristotle, being, as it were, seats from which arguments are derived. Therefore we may give as a definition, that a topic is the seat of an argument, and that an argument is a reason which causes men to believe a thing which would otherwise be doubtful. But of those topics in which arguments are contained, some dwell on that particular point which is the subject of discussion; some are derived from external circumstances. When derived from the subject itself, they proceed at times from it taken as a whole, at times from its parts, at times from some sign, and at others from things which are disposed in some manner or other towards the subject under discussion; but those topics are derived from external circumstances which are at a distance and far removed from the same subject.

But a definition is employed with reference to the entire matter under discussion which unfolds the matter which is the subject of inquiry as if it had been previously enveloped in mystery. The formula of that argument is of this sort: "Civil law is equity established among men who belong to the same city, for the purpose of insuring each man in the possession of his property and rights: and the knowledge of this equity is useful: therefore the knowledge of civil law is useful." Then comes the enumeration of the parts, which is dealt with in this manner: "If a slave has not been declared free either by the censor, or by the praetor's rod, or by the will of his master, he is not free: but none of those things is the case: therefore he is not free." Then comes the sign; when some argument is derived from the meaning of a word, in this way:--As the Aelian Sentian law orders an assiduus[63] to support an assiduus, it orders a rich man to support a rich man, for a rich man is an assiduus, called so, as Aelius says, from _asse dando_.

Arguments are also derived from things which bear some kind of relation to that which is the object of discussion. But this kind is distributed under many heads; for we call some connected with one another either by nature, or by their form, or by their resemblance to one another, or by their differences, or by their contrariety to one another, or by adjuncts, or by their antecedents, or by their consequents, or by what is opposed to each of them, or by causes, or by effects, or by a comparison with what is greater, or equal, or less.

Arguments are said to be connected together which are derived from words of the same kind. But words are of the same kind which, originating from one word, are altered in various ways; as, "_sapiens, sapienter, sapientia_." The connexion of these words is called [Greek: suxugia]; from which arises an argument of this kind: "If the land is common, every one has a right to feed his cattle on it."

An argument is derived from the kind of word, thus: "Since all the money has been bequeathed to the woman, it is impossible that that ready money which was left in the house should not have been bequeathed. For the species is never separated from the genus as long as it retains its name: but ready money retains the name of money: therefore it is plain that it was bequeathed."

An argument is derived from the species, which we may sometimes name, in order that it may be more clearly understood; in this manner: "If the money was bequeathed to Fabia by her husband, on the supposition that she was the mother of his family; if she was not his wife, then nothing is due to her." For the wife is the genus: there are two kinds of wife; one being those mothers of a family which become wives by _coemptio_; the other kind are those which are only considered wives: and as Fabia was one of those last, it appears that nothing was bequeathed to her.

An argument is derived from similarity, in this way: "If those houses have fallen down, or got into disrepair, a life-interest in which is bequeathed to some one, the heir is not bound to restore or to repair them, any more than he is bound to replace a slave, if a slave, a life-interest in whom has been bequeathed to some one, has died."

An argument is derived from difference, thus: "It does not follow, if a man has bequeathed to his wife all the money which belonged to him, that therefore he bequeathed all which was down in his books as due to him; for there is a great difference whether the money is laid up in his strong box, or set down as due in his accounts."

An argument is derived from contraries, thus: "That woman to whom her husband has left a life-interest in all his property, has no right, if his cellars of wine and oil are left full, to think that they belong to her; for the use of them is what has been bequeathed to her, and not the misuse: and they are contrary to one another."

An argument is derived from adjuncts, thus: "If a woman has made a will who has never given up her liberty by marriage, it does not appear that possession ought to be given by the edict of the praetor to the legatee under that will; for it is added, that in that case possession would seem proper to be given by that same edict, according to the wills of slaves, or exiles, or infants."

Arguments are derived from antecedents, and consequents, and contradictories, in this way. From antecedents: "If a divorce has been caused by the fault of the husband, although the woman has demanded it, still she is not bound to leave any of her dowry for her children."

From consequents: "If a woman having married a man with whom she had no right of intermarriage, has demanded a divorce, since the children who have been born do not follow their father, the father has no right to keep back any portion of the woman's dowry."

From contradictories: "If the head of a family has left to his wife in reversion after his son the life-interest in the female slaves, and has made no mention of any other reversionary heir, if the son dies, the woman shall not lose her life-interest. For that which has once been given to any one by will, cannot be taken away from the legatee to whom it has been given without his consent; for it is a contradiction for any one to have a right to receive a thing, and yet to be forced to give it up against his will."

An argument is derived from efficient causes, in this way: "All men have a right to add to a common party wall, a wall extending its whole length, either solid or on arches; but if any one in demolishing the common wall should promise to pay for any damages which may arise from his action, he will not be bound to pay for any damage sustained or caused by such arches: for the damage has been done, not by the party which demolished the common wall, but in consequence of some fault in the work, which was built in such a manner as to be unable to support itself."

An argument is derived from what has been done, in this way: "When a woman becomes the wife of a man, everything which has belonged to the woman now becomes the property of the husband under the name of dowry."

But in the way of comparison there are many kinds of valid arguments; in this way: "That which is valid in a greater affair, ought to be valid in a less: so that, if the law does not regulate the limits in the city, still more will it not compel any one to turn off the water in the city." Again, on the other hand: "Whatever is valid in a smaller matter ought to be valid also in a greater one. One may convert the preceding example." Also, "That which is valid in a parallel case ought to be valid in this which is a parallel case." As, "Since the usurpation of a farm depends on a term of two years, the law with respect to houses ought to be the same." But in the law houses are not mentioned, and so they are supposed to come under the same class as all other things, the property in which is determined by one year's use. Equity then must prevail, which requires similar laws in similar cases.[64]

But those arguments which are derived from external circumstances are deduced chiefly from authority. Therefore the Greeks call argumentations of that kind [Greek: atechuoi], that is, devoid of art. As if you were to answer in this way:--"In the case of some one building a roof for the purpose of covering a common wall, Publius Scaevola asserted that there was no right of carrying that roof so far that the water which ran off it should run on to any part of any building which did not belong to the owner of the roof. This I affirm to be law."

By these topics then which have been explained, a means of discovering and proving every sort of argument is supplied, as if they were elements of argument. Have we then said enough up to this point? I think we have, as far at least as you, an acute man and one deeply skilled in law, are concerned. But since I have to deal with a man who is very greedy when the feast in question is one of learning, I will prosecute the subject so that I will rather put forth something more than is necessary, than allow you to depart unsatisfied. As, then, each separate one of those topics which I have mentioned has its own proper members, I will follow them out as accurately as I can; and first of all I will speak of the definition itself.

Definition is a speech which explains that which is defined. But of definitions there are two principal kinds: one, of those things which exist; the other, of those which are understood. The things which I call existing are those which can be seen or touched; as a farm, a house, a wall, a gutter, a slave, an ox, furniture, provisions, and so on; of which kind of things some require at times to be defined by us. Those things, again, I say have no existence, which are incapable of being touched or proved, but which can be perceived by the mind and understood; as if you were to define usucaption, guardianship, nationality, or relationship; all, things which have no body, but which nevertheless have a certain conformation plainly marked out and impressed upon the mind, which I call the notion of them. They often require to be explained by definition while we are arguing about them.

And again, there are definitions by partition, and others by division: by partition, when the matter which is to be defined is separated, as it were, into different members; as if any one were to say that civil law was that which consists of laws, resolutions of the senate, precedents, the authority of lawyers, the edicts of magistrates, custom, and equity. But a definition by division embraces every form which comes under the entire genus which is defined; in this way: "Alienation is the surrender of anything which is a man's private property, or a legal cession of it to men who are able by law to avail themselves of such cession."

But we have shown now what is meant by partition, and by division. But it is necessary to explain more clearly wherein they differ. In partition, there are as it were members; as of a body--head, shoulders, hands, sides, legs, feet, and so on. In division there are forms which the Greeks call [Greek: ideae]; our countrymen who treat of such subjects call them species. And it is not a bad name, though it is an inconvenient one if we want to use it in different cases. For even if it were Latin to use such words, I should not like to say _specierum_ and _speciebus_. And we have often occasion to use these cases. But I have no such objection to saying _formarum_ and _formis_; and as the meaning of each word is the same, I do not think that convenience of sound is wholly to be neglected.

Men define genus and species or form in this manner:--"Genus is a notion relating to many differences. Species is a notion, the difference of which can be referred to the head and as it were fountain of the genus." I mean by notion that which the Greeks call sometimes [Greek: _ennoia_], and sometimes [Greek: _enoprolaepsis_]. It is knowledge implanted and previously acquired of each separate thing, but one which requires development. Species, then, are those forms into which genus is divided without any single one being omitted; as if any one were to divide justice into law, custom, and equity. A person who thinks that species are the same things as parts, is confounding the art; and being perplexed by some resemblance, he does not distinguish with sufficient acuteness what ought to be distinguished. Often, also, both orators and poets define by metaphor, relying on some verbal resemblance, and indeed not without giving a certain degree of pleasure. But I will not depart from your examples unless I am actually compelled to do so.

Aquillius, then, my colleague and intimate friend, was accustomed, when there was any discussion about shores, (all of which you lawyers insist upon it are public,) to define them to men who asked to whom that which was shore belonged, in this way: "Wherever the waves dashed;" that is, as if a man were to define youth as the flower of a man's age, or old age as the setting of life. Using a metaphor, he departs from the words proper to the matter in hand and to his own art. This is enough as to definition. Let us now consider the other points.

But we must employ partition in such a manner as to omit no part whatever. As if you wish to partition guardianship, you would act ignorantly if you were to omit any kind. But if you were partitioning off the different formulas of stipulations or judicial decisions, then it is not a fault to omit something in a matter which is of boundless extent. But in division it is a fault; for there is a settled number of species which are subordinate to each genus. The distribution of the parts is often more interminable still, like the drawing streams from a fountain. Therefore in the art of an orator, when the genus of a question is once laid down, the number of its species is added absolutely; but when rules are given concerning the embellishments of words and sentences, which are called [Greek: _schaemata_], the case is different; for the circumstances are more infinite: so that it may be understood from this also what the difference is which we assert to exist between partition and division. For although the words appear nearly equivalent to one another still, because the things are different, the expressions are also established as not synonymous to one another.

Many arguments are also derived from observation, and that is when they are deduced from the meaning of a word, which the Greeks call [Greek: _etumologia_]; or as we might translate it, word for word, _veriloquium_. But we, while avoiding the novel appearance of a word which is not very suitable, call this kind of argument _notatio_, because words are the notes by which we distinguish things. And therefore Aristotle calls the same source of argument [Greek: _sunbolou_], which is equivalent to the Latin _nota_. But when it is known what is meant we need not be so particular about the name. In a discussion then, many arguments are derived from words by means of observation; as when the question is asked, what is a _postliminium_--(I do not mean what are the objects to which this word applies, for that would be division, which is something of this sort: "_Postliminium_ applies to a man, a ship, a mule with panniers, a horse, a mare who is accustomed to be bridled")--but when the meaning of the word itself, _postliminium_, is asked, and when the word itself is observed. And in this our countryman, Servius, as it seems, thinks that there is nothing to be observed except _post_, and he insists upon it that _liminium_ is a mere extension of the word; as in _finitimus, legitimus, ceditimus, timus_ has no more meaning than _tullius_ has in _meditullius_.

But Scaevola, the son of Publius Scaeaevola, thinks the word is a compound one, so that it is made up of _post_ and _limen_. So that those things which have been alienated from us, when they have come into the possession of our enemies, and, as it were, departed from their own threshold, then when they have returned behind that same threshold, appear to have returned _postliminio_. By which definition even the cause of Mancinus may be defended by saying that he returned _postliminio_,--that he was not surrendered, inasmuch as he was not received. For that no surrender and no gift can be understood to have taken place if there has been no reception of it.

We next come to that topic which is derived from those things which are disposed in some way or other to that thing which is the subject of discussion. And I said just now that it was divided into many parts. And the first topic is derived from combination, which the Greeks call [Greek: sizugia], being a kindred thing to observation, which we have just been discussing, as, if we were only to understand that to be rain-water which we saw to have been collected from rain, Mucius would come, who, because the words _pluna_ and _pluendo_ were akin, would say that all water ought to be kept out which had been increased by raining. But when an argument is derived from a genus, then it will not be necessary to trace it back to its origin, we may often stop on this side of that point, provided that which is deduced is higher than that for which it is deduced, as, "Rain water in its ultimate genus is that which descends from heaven and is increased by showers," but in reference to its more proximate sense, under which the right of keeping it off is comprised, the genus is, mischievous rain water. The subordinate species of that genus are waters which injure through a natural defect of the place, or those which are injurious on account of the works of man: for one of these kinds may be restrained by an arbitrator, but not the other.

Again, this argumentation is handled very advantageously, which is derived from a species when you pursue all the separate parts by tracing them back to the whole, in this way "If that is _dolus malus_ when one thing is aimed at, and another pretended," we may enumerate the different modes in which that can be done, and then under some one of them we may range that which we are trying to prove has been done _dolo malo_. And that kind of argument is usually accounted one of the most irrefragable of all.

The next thing is similarity, which is a very extensive topic, but one more useful for orators and for philosophers than for men of your profession. For although all topics belong to every kind of discussion, so as to supply arguments for each, still they occurs more abundantly in discussions on some subjects, and more sparingly in others. Therefore the genera are known to you, but when you are to employ them the questions themselves will instruct you. For there are resemblances which by means of comparisons arrive at the point they aim at, in this manner. "If a guardian is bound to behave with good faith, and a partner, and any one to whom you have entrusted anything, and any one who has undertaken a trust then so ought an agent." This argument, arriving at the point at which it aims by a comparison of many instances, is called induction, which in Greek is called [Greek: _ipago_]. and it is the kind of argument which Socrates employed a great deal in his discourses.

Another kind of resemblance is obtained by comparison, when one thing is compared to some other single thing, and like to like, in this way "As if in any city there is a dispute as to boundaries because the boundaries of fields appear more extensive than those of cities, you may find it impossible to bring an arbitrator to settle the question of boundaries, so if rain water is injurious in a city, since the whole matter is one more for country magistrates, you may not be able to bring an arbitrator to settle the question of keeping off rain-water" Again, from the same topic of resemblance, examples are derived, as, "Crassus in Cunus's trial used many examples, speaking of the man who by his will had appointed his heir in such a manner, that if he had had a son born within ten months of his death, and that son had died before coming into possession of the property held in trust for him, the revisionary heir would succeed to the inheritance. And the enumeration of precedents which Crassus brought forward prevailed". And you are accustomed to use this style of argument very frequently in replies. Even fictitious examples have all the force of real ones, but they belong rather to the orator than to you lawyers, although you also do use them sometimes, but in this way. "Suppose a man had given a slave a thing which a slave is by law incapable of receiving, is it on that account the act of the man who received it? or has he, who gave that present to his slave on that account taken any obligations on himself?" And in this kind of argument orators and philosophers are allowed to make even dumb things talk, so that the dead man be raised from the shades below, or that anything which intrinsically is absolutely impossible, may, for the sake of adding force to the argument, or diminishing, be spoken of as real and that figure is called hyperbole. And they may say other marvellous things, but theirs is a wider field. Still, out of the same topics, as I have said before, arguments are derived for the most important and the most trivial inquiries.

After similarity there follows difference between things, which is as different as possible from the preceding topic, still it is the same art which finds out resemblances and dissimilarities. These are instances of the same sort--"If you have contracted a debt to a woman, you can pay her without having recourse to a trustee, but what you owe to a minor, whether male or female; you cannot pay in the same manner."

The next topic is one which is derived from contraries. But the genera of contraries are several. One is of such things as differ in the same kind; as wisdom and jolly. But those things are said to be in the same kind, which, when they are proposed, are immediately met by certain contraries, as if placed opposite to them: as slowness is contrary to rapidity, and not weakness. From which contraries such arguments as these are deduced:--"If we avoid folly, let us pursue wisdom; and if we avoid wickedness, let us pursue goodness." These things, as they are contrary qualities in the same class, are called opposites. For there are other contraries, which we may call in Latin, _privantia_, and which the Greeks call [Greek: _steraetika_]. For the preposition _in_ deprives the word of that force which it would have if _in_ were not prefixed; as, "dignity, indignity--humanity, inhumanity," and other words of the same kind, the manner of dealing with which is the same as that of dealing with other kinds which I have called opposites. For there are also other kinds or contraries; as those which are compared to something or other; as, "twofold and simple; many and few; long and short; greater and less." There are also those very contrary things which are called negatives, which the Greeks call [Greek: _steraetika_]: as, "If this is the case, that is not." For what need is there for an instance? only let it be understood that in seeking for an argument it is not every contrary which is suitable to be opposed to another.

The next topic is drawn from efficient circumstances which are called causes; and the next from the results produced by these efficient causes. I have already given instances of these, as of the other topics, and those too drawn from civil law; but these have a wider application.

There are then two kinds of causes; one which of its own force to a certainty produces that effect which is subordinate to it; as, "Fire burns;" the other is that which has no nature able to produce the effect in question, though still that effect cannot be produced without it; as, if any one were to say, that "brass was the cause of a statue; because a statue cannot be made without it." Now of this kind of causes which are indispensable to a thing being done, some are quiet some passive, some, as it were, senseless; as, place, time, materials, tools, and other things of the same sort. But some exhibit a sort of preparatory process towards the production of the effect spoken of; and some of themselves do contribute some aid to it; although it is not indispensable; as meeting may have supplied the cause to love; love to crime. From this description of causes depending on one another in infinite series, is derived the doctrine of fate insisted on by the Stoics. And as I have thus divided the genera of causes, without which nothing can be effected, so also the genera of the efficient causes can be divided in the same manner. For there are some causes which manifestly produce the effect, without any assistance from any quarter; others which require external aid; as for instance, wisdom alone by herself makes men wise; but whether she is able alone to make men happy is a question.

Wherefore, when any cause efficient as to some particular end has inevitably presented itself in a discussion, it is allowable without any hesitation to conclude that what that cause must inevitably effect is effected. But when the cause is of such a nature that it does not inevitably effect the result, then the conclusion which follows is not inevitable And that description of causes which has an inevitable effect does not usually engender mistakes; but this description, without which a thing cannot take place, does often cause perplexity. For it does not follow, because sons cannot exist without parents, that there was therefore any unavoidable cause in the parents to have children. This, therefore, without which an effect cannot be produced, must be carefully separated from that by which it is certainly produced. For that is like--

"Would that the lofty pine on Pelion's brow Had never fall'n beneath the woodman's axe!"

For if the beam of fir had never fallen to the ground, that Argo would not have been built; and yet there was not in the beams any unavoidably efficient power. But when

"The fork'd and fiery bolt of Jove"

was hurled at Ajax's vessel, that ship was then inevitably burnt.

And again, there is a difference between causes, because some are such that without any particular eagerness of mind, without any expressed desire or opinion, they effect what is, as it were, their own work; as for instance, "that everything must die which has been born." But other results are effected either by some desire or agitation of mind, or by habit, or nature, or art, or chance. By desire, as in your case, when you read this book; by agitation, as in the case of any one who fears the ultimate issue of the present crisis; by habit, as in the case of a man who gets easily and rapidly in a passion; by nature, as vice increases every day; by art, as in the case of a man who paints well; by chance, as in the case of a man who has a prosperous voyage. None of these things are without some cause, and yet none of them are wholly owing to any single cause. But causes of this kind are not necessary ones.

But in some of these causes there is a uniform operation, and in others there is not. In nature and in art there is uniformity; but in the others there is none. But still of those causes which are not uniform, some are evident, others are concealed. Those are evident which touch the desire or judgment of the mind; those are concealed which are subject to fortune: for as nothing is done without some cause, this very obscure cause, which works in a concealed manner, is the issue of fortune. Again, these results which are produced are partly unintended, partly intentional. Those are unintended which are produced by necessity; those are intentional which are produced by design. But those results which are produced by fortune are either unintended or intentional. For to shoot an arrow is an act of intention; to hit a man whom you did not mean to hit is the result of fortune. And this is the topic which you use like a battering-ram in your forensic pleadings; if a weapon has flown from the man's hand rather than been thrown by him. Also agitation of mind may be divided into absence of knowledge and absence of intention. And although they are to a certain extent voluntary, (for they are diverted from their course by reproof or by admonition,) still they are liable to such emotions that even those acts of theirs which are intentional sometimes seem either unavoidable, or at all events unintentional.

The whole topic of these causes then being now fully explained, from their differences there is derived a great abundance of arguments in all the important discussions of orators and philosophers. And in the cases which you lawyers argue, if there is not so plentiful a stock, what there are, are perhaps more subtle and shrewd. For in private actions the decisions in the most important cases appear to me to depend a great deal on the acuteness of the lawyers. For they are constantly present, and are taken into counsel; and they supply weapons to able advocates whenever they have recourse to their professional wisdom.

In all those judicial proceedings then, in which the words "according to good faith" are added, or even those words, "as ought to be done by one good man to another;" and above all, in all cases of arbitration respecting matrimonial rights, in which the words "juster and better" occur, the lawyers ought to be always ready. For they know what "dishonest fraud," or "good faith," or "just," or "good" mean. They are acquainted with the law between partners; they know what the man who has the management of the affairs of another is bound to do with respect to him whose affairs he manages; they have laid down rules to show what the man who has committed a charge to another, and what he who has had it committed to him, ought to do; what a husband ought to confer on his wife, and a wife on her husband. It will, therefore, when they have by diligence arrived at a proper understanding of the topics from which the necessary arguments are derived, be in the power not only of orators and philosophers, but of lawyers also, to discuss with abundance of argument all the questions which can arise for their consideration.

Conjoined to this topic of causes is that topic which is supplied by causes. For as cause indicates effect, so what has been effected points out what the efficient cause has been. This topic ordinarily supplies to orators and poets, and often to philosophers also, that is to say, to those who have an elegant and argumentative and rich style of eloquence, a wonderful store of arguments, when they predict what will result from each circumstance. For the knowledge of causes produces a knowledge of effects.

The remaining topic is that of comparison, the genus and instances of which have been already explained, as they have in the case of the other topics. At present we must explain the manner of dealing with this one. Those things then are compared which are greater than one another, or less than one another, or equal to one another. In which these points are regarded; number, appearance, power, and some particular relation to some particular thing.

Things will be compared in number thus: so that more advantages may be preferred to fewer; fewer evils to more; more lasting advantages to those which are more short-lived; those which have an extensive application to those the effect of which is narrowed: those from which still further advantages may be derived, and those which many people may imitate and reproduce.

Things again will be compared with reference to their appearance, so that those things may be preferred which are to be desired for their own sake, to those which are only sought for the sake of something else: and so that innate and inherent advantages may be preferred to acquired and adventitious ones; complete good to mixed good; pleasant things to things less pleasant; honourable things to such as are merely useful; easy things to difficult ones; necessary to unnecessary things; one's own advantage to that of others; rare things to common ones; desirable things to those which you can easily do without; things complete to things which are only begun; wholes to parts; things proceeding on reason to things void of reason; voluntary to necessary things; animate to inanimate things; things natural to things not natural; things skilfully produced by art to things with which art has no connexion.

But power in a comparison is perceived in this way: an efficient cause is more important than one which effects nothing; those causes which can act by themselves are superior to those which stand in need of the aid of others; those which are in our power are preferable to those which are in the power of another; lasting causes surpass those which are uncertain; things of which no one can deprive us are better than things which can be easily taken away.

But the way in which people or things are disposed towards some things is of this sort: the interests of the chief citizens are more important than those of the rest: and also, those things which are more agreeable, which are approved of by more people, or which are praised by the most virtuous men, are preferable. And as in a comparison these things are the better, so those which are contrary to them are the worse.

But the comparison between things like or equal to each other has no elation or submission; for it is on equal terms: but there are many things which are compared on account of their very equality; which are usually concluded in this manner: "If to assist one's fellow-citizens with counsel and personal aid deserves equal praise, those men who act as counsellors ought to enjoy an equal glory with those who are the actual defenders of a state." But the first premiss is certainly the case; therefore so must the consequent be.

Every rule necessary for the discovery of arguments is now concluded; so that as you have proceeded from definition, from partition, from observation, from words connected with one another, from genus, from species, from similarity, from difference, from contraries, from accessories, from consequents, from antecedents, from things inconsistent with one another, from causes, from effects, from a comparison with greater, or lesser, or equal things,--there is no topic of argument whatever remaining to be discovered.

But since we originally divided the inquiry in such a way that we said that other topics also were contained in the very matter which was the subject of inquiry; (but of those we have spoken at sufficient length:) that others were derived from external subjects; and of these we will say a little; although those things have no relation whatever to your discussions. But still we may as well make the thing complete, since we have begun it. Nor are you a man who take no delight in anything except civil law; and since this treatise is dedicated to you, though not so exclusively but that it will also come into the hands of other people, we must take pains to be as serviceable as possible to those men who are addicted to laudable pursuits.

This sort of argumentation then which is said not to be founded on art, depends on testimony. But we call everything testimony which is deduced from any external circumstances for the purpose of implanting belief. Now it is not every one who is of sufficient weight to give valid testimony; for authority is requisite to make us believe things. But it is either a man's natural character or his age which invests him with authority. The authority derived from a man's natural character depends chiefly on his virtue; but on his age there are many things which confer authority; genius, power, fortune, skill, experience, necessity, and sometimes even a concourse of accidental circumstances. For men think able and opulent men, and men who have been esteemed during a long period of their lives, worthy of being believed Perhaps they are not always right; but still it is not easy to change the sentiments of the common people; and both those who form judgments and those who adopt vague opinions shape everything with reference to them. For those men who are eminent for those qualities which I have mentioned, seem to be eminent for virtue itself. But in the other circumstances also which I have just enumerated, although there is in them no appearance of virtue, still sometimes belief is confirmed by them, if either any skill is displayed,--for the influence of knowledge in inspiring belief is very great; or any experience--for people are apt to believe those who are men of experience.

Necessity also engenders belief, which sways both bodies and minds. For what men say when worn out with tortures, and stripes, and fire, appears to be uttered by truth itself. And those statements which proceed from agitation of mind, such as pain, cupidity, passion, and fear, because those feelings have the force of necessity, bring authority and belief. And of this kind are those circumstances from which at times the truth is discovered; childhood, sleep, ignorance, drunkenness, insanity. For children have often indicated something, though ignorant to what it related; and many things have often been discovered by sleep, and wine, and insanity. Many men also have without knowing it fallen into great difficulties, as lately happened to Stalenus; who said things in the hearing of certain excellent men, though a wall was between them, which, when they were revealed and brought before a judicial tribunal, were thought so wicked that he was rightly convicted of a capital offence. And we have heard something similar concerning Pausanias the Lacedaemonian.

But the concourse of fortuitous events is often of this kind; when anything has happened by chance to interrupt, when anything was being done or said which it was desirable should not have been done or said. Of this kind is that multitude of suspicions of treason which were heaped upon Palamedes. And circumstances of this kind are sometimes scarcely able to be refuted by truth itself. Of this kind too is ordinary report among the common people; which is as it were the testimony of the multitude.

But those things which create belief on account of the virtue of the witness are of a two-fold kind; one of which is valid on account of nature, the other by industry. For the virtue of the gods is eminent by nature; but that of men, because of their industry.

Testimonies of this kind are nearly divine, first of all, that of oration, (for oracles were so called from that very same word, as there is in them the oration of the gods;) then that of things in which there are, as it were, many divine works; first of all, the word itself, and its whole order and ornaments; then the airy flights and songs of birds; then the sound and heat of that same air; and the numerous prodigies of divers kinds seen on the earth; and also, the power of foreseeing the future by means of the entrails of victims: many things, too, which are shown to the living by those who are asleep: from all which topics the testimonies of the gods are at times adduced so as to create belief.

In the case of a man, the opinion of his virtue is of the greatest weight. For opinion goes to this extent, that those men have virtue, not only who do really possess it, but those also who appear to possess it. Therefore, those men whom they see endowed with genius and diligence and learning, and whose life they see is consistent and approved of, like Cato and Laelius, and Scipio, and many others, they consider such men as they themselves would wish to be. And not only do they think them such who enjoy honours conferred on them by the people, and who busy themselves with affairs of state, but also those who are orators, and philosophers, and poets, and historians; from whose sayings and writings authority is often sought for to establish belief.

Having thus explained all the topics serviceable for arguing, the first thing to be understood is, that there is no discussion whatever to which some topic or other is not applicable; and on the other hand, that it is not every topic which is applicable to every discussion; but that different topics are suited to different subjects.

There are two kinds of inquiry: one, infinite; the other, definite. The definite one is that which the Greeks call [Greek: hupothesis], and we, a cause; the infinite one, that which they call [Greek: thesis], and which we may properly term a proposition.

A cause is determined by certain persons, places, times, actions, and things, either all or most of them; but a proposition is declared in some one of those things, or in several of them, and those not the most important: therefore, a proposition is a part of a cause. But the whole inquiry is about some particular one of those things in which causes are contained; whether it be one, or many, or sometimes all. But of inquiries, concerning whatever thing they are, there two kinds; one theoretical, the other practical. Theoretical inquiries are those of which the proposed aim is science; as, 'If it is inquired whether right proceeds from nature, or from some covenant, as it were, and bargain between men. But the following are instances of practical inquiry: "Whether it is the part of a wise man to meddle with statesmanship." The inquiries into theoretical matters are threefold; as what is inquired is, whether a thing exists, or what it is, or what its character is. The first of these queries is explained by conjecture; the second, by definition; the third, by distinctions of right and wrong.

The method of conjecture is distributed into four parts; one of which is, when the inquiry is whether something exists; a second, when the question is, whence it has originated; a third, when one seeks to know what cause produced it; the fourth is that in which the alterations to which the subject is liable are examined: "Whether it exists or not; whether there is anything honourable, anything intrinsically and really just; or whether these things only exist in opinion." But the inquiry whence it has originated, is when an inquiry is such as this, "Whether virtue is implanted by nature, or whether it can be engendered by instruction." But the efficient cause is like this, as when an inquiry is, "By what means eloquence is produced." Concerning the alterations of anything, in this manner: "Whether eloquence can by any alteration be converted into a want of eloquence."

But when the question is what a thing is; the notion is to be explained, and the property, and the division, and the partition. For these things are all attributed to definition. Description also is added, which the Greeks call [Greek: charaktaer]. A notion is inquired into in this way: "Whether that is just which is useful to that person who is the more powerful." Property, in this way: "Whether melancholy is incidental to man alone, or whether beasts also are liable to it." Division, and also partition, in this manner: "Whether there are three descriptions of good things." Description, like this: "What sort of person a miser is; what sort of person a flatterer;" and other things of that sort, by which the nature and life of a man are described.

But when the inquiry is what the character of something is, the inquiry is conducted either simply, or by way of comparison. Simply, in this way: "Whether glory is to be sought for." By way of comparison, in this way: "Whether glory is to be preferred to riches." Of simple inquiries there are three kinds; about seeking for or avoiding anything, about the right and the wrong; about what is honourable and what is discreditable. But of inquiries by way of comparison there are two; one of the thing itself and something else; one of something greater and something else. Of seeking for and avoiding a thing, in this way: "Whether riches are to be sought for: whether poverty is to be avoided." Concerning right and wrong: "Whether it is right to revenge oneself, whoever the person may be from whom one has received an injury." Concerning what is honourable and what is discreditable: "Whether it is honourable to die for one's country." But of the other kind of inquiry, which has been stated to be twofold, one is about the thing in question and something else; as if it were asked, "What is the difference between a friend and a flatterer, between a king and a tyrant?" The other is between something greater and something less; as if it were asked, "Whether eloquence is of more consequence than the knowledge of civil law." And this is enough about theoretical inquiries.

It remains to speak of practical ones; of which there are two kinds: one relating to one's duty, the other to engendering, or calming, or utterly removing any affection of the mind. Relating to duty thus: as when the question is, "Whether children ought to be bad." Relating to influencing the mind, when exhortations are delivered to men to defend the republic, or when they are encouraged to seek glory and praise: of which kind of addresses are complaints, and encouragements, and tearful commiseration; and again, speeches extinguishing anger, or at other times removing fear, or repressing the exultation of joy, or effacing melancholy. As these different divisions belong to general inquiries, they are also transferable to causes.

But the next thing to be inquired is, what topics are adapted to each kind of inquiry; for all those which we have already mentioned are suitable to most kinds; but still, different topics, as I have said before, are better suited to different investigations. Those arguments are the most suitable to conjectural discussion which can be deduced from causes, from effects, or from dependent circumstances. But when we have need of definition, then we must have recourse to the principles and science of defining. And akin to this is that other argument also which we said was employed with respect to the subject in question and something else; and that is a species of definition. For if the question is, "Whether pertinacity and perseverance are the same thing," it must be decided by definitions. And the topics which are incidental to a discussion of this kind are those drawn from consequents, or antecedents, or inconsistencies, with the addition also of those two topics which are deduced from causes and effects. For if such and such a thing is a consequence of this, but not a consequence of that; or if such and such a thing is a necessary antecedent to this, but not to that; or if it is inconsistent with this, but not with that; or if one thing is the cause of this, and another the cause of that; or if this is effected by one thing, and that by another thing; from any one of these topics it may be discovered whether the thing which is the subject of discussion is the same thing or something else.

With respect to the third kind of inquiry, in which the question is what the character of the matter in question is, those things are incidental to the comparison which were enumerated just now under the topic of comparison. But in that kind of inquiry where the question is about what is to be sought for or avoided, those arguments are employed which refer to advantages or disadvantages, whether affecting the mind or body, or being external. And again, when the inquiry is not what is honourable or discreditable, all our argument must be addressed to the good or bad qualities of the mind.

But when right and wrong are being discussed, all the topics of equity are collected. These are divided in a two-fold manner, as to whether they are such by nature or owing to institutions. Nature has two parts to perform, to defend itself, and to indicate right. But the agreements which establish equity are of a threefold character: one part is that which rests on laws; one depends on convenience; the third is founded on and established by antiquity of custom. And again, equity itself is said to be of a threefold nature: one division of it having reference to the gods above; another, to the shades below; a third, to mankind. The first is called piety; the second, sanctity; the third, justice or equity.

I have said enough about propositions. There are now a few things which require to be said about causes. For they have many things in common with propositions.

There are then three kinds of causes; having for their respective objects, judgment, deliberation, and panegyric. And the object of each points out what topics we ought to employ in each. For the object of judicial judgment is right; from which also it derives its name. And the divisions of right were explained when we explained the divisions of equity. The object of deliberation is utility; of which the divisions have also been already explained when we were treating of things to be desired. The object of panegyric is honour; concerning which also we have already spoken.

But inquiries which are definite are all of them furnished with appropriate topics, as if they belonged to themselves, being divided into accusation and defence. And in them there are these kinds of argumentation. The accuser accuses a person of an act; the advocate for the defence opposes one of these excuses: either that the thing imputed has not been done; or that, if it has been done, it deserves to be called by a different name; or that it was done lawfully and rightly. Therefore, the first is called a defence either by way of denial or by way of conjecture; the second is called a defence by definition; the third, although it is an unpopular name, is called the judicial one.

Nor is it only entire pleadings which are assisted by these topics, but the same are useful in the separate parts of an orator; being partly peculiar and partly general. As in the opening of a speech, in which the orator must employ peculiar topics in order to render his hearers well disposed to him, and docile, and attentive. And also he must attend to his relations of facts, so that they may have a bearing on his object, that is to say, that they may be plain, and brief, and intelligible, and credible, and respectable, and dignified: for although these qualities ought to be apparent throughout the whole speech, still they are peculiarly necessary in any narration. But since the belief which is given to a narration is engendered by persuasiveness, we have already, in the treatises which we have written on the general subject of oratory, explained what topics they are which have the greatest power to persuade the hearers. But the peroration has other points to attend to, and especially amplification; the effect of which ought to be, that the mind of the hearer is agitated or tranquillized by it; and if it has already been affected in that way, that the whole speech shall either increase its agitation, or calm it more completely.

For this kind of peroration, by which pity, and anger, and hatred, and envy, and similar feelings of the mind are excited, rules are furnished in those books, which you may read over with me whenever you like. But as to the point on which I have known you to be anxious, your desires ought now to be abundantly satisfied. For, in order not to pass over anything which had reference to the discovery of arguments in every sort of discussion, I have embraced more topics than were desired by you; and I have done as liberal sellers often do, when they have sold a house or a farm, the movables being all excepted from the sale, still give some of them to the purchaser, which appear to be well placed as ornaments or conveniences. And so we have chosen to throw in some ornaments that were not strictly your due, in addition to that with which we had bound ourselves to furnish you.

* * * * *

_Cicero Fil._ I wish, my father, to hear from you in Latin the rules which you have already given me in Greek, concerning the principles of speaking, if at least you have leisure and inclination to instruct me in them.

_Cicero Pat._ Is there anything, my Cicero, which I can be more desirous of than that you should be as learned as possible? And in the first place, I have the greatest possible leisure, since I have been able to leave Rome for a time; and in the next place, I would willingly postpone even my own most important occupations to the furthering of your studies.

_C. F._ Will you allow me, then, to ask you questions in my turn, in Latin, about the same subjects on which you are accustomed to put questions to me in regular order in Greek?

_C. P._ Certainly, if you like; for by that means I shall perceive that you recollect what you have been told, and you will hear in regular order all that you desire.

_C. F._ Into how many parts is the whole system of speaking divided?

_C. P._ Into three.

_C. F._ What are they?

_C. P._ First of all, the power of the orator; secondly, the speech; thirdly, the subject of the speech.

_C. F._ In what does the power of the orator consist?

_C. P._ In ideas and words. But both ideas and words have to be discovered and arranged. But properly the expression "to discover" applies to the ideas, and the expression "to be eloquent" to the language; but the arranging, though that is common to both, still is usually referred rather to the discovery. Voice, gesture, expression of countenance, and all action, are companions of eloquence; and the guardian of all these things is memory.

_C. F._ What? How many parts of an oration are there?

_C. P._ Four: two of them relate to explaining any subject,--namely, relation and confirmation; two to exciting the minds of the hearers,--the opening and the peroration.

_C. F._ What? Has the manner of inquiry any divisions?

_C. P._ It is divided into the infinite, which I term consultation; and the definite, which I call the cause.

_C. F._ Since, then, the first business of the orator is discovery, what is he to look for?

_C. P._ He is to seek to find out how to inspire those men whom he is desirous to persuade, with belief in his words; and how to affect their minds with such and such feelings.

_C. F._ By what means is belief produced?

_C. P._ By arguments, which are derived from topics either existing in the subject itself, or assumed.

_C. F._ What do you mean by topics?

_C. P._ Things in which arguments are concealed.

_C. F._ What is an argument?

_C. P._ Something discovered which has a probable influence in producing belief.

_C. F._ How, then, do you divide these two heads?

_C. P._ Those things which come into the mind without art I call remote arguments, such as testimony.

_C. F._ What do you mean by those topics which exist in the thing itself?

_C. P._ I cannot give a clearer explanation of them.

_C. F._ What are the different kinds of testimony?

_C. P._ Divine and human. Divine,--such as oracles, auspices, prophecies, the answers of priests, soothsayers, and diviners: human,--which is derived from authority, from inclination, and from speech either voluntary or extorted; and under this head come written documents, covenants, promises, oaths, inquiries.

_C. F._ What are the arguments which you say belong to the cause?

_C. P._ Those which are fixed in the things themselves, as definition, as a contrary, as those things which are like or unlike, or which correspond to or differ from the thing itself or its contrary, as those things which have as it were united, or those which are as it were inconsistent with one another, or the causes of those things which are under discussion, or the results of causes, that is to say, those things which are produced by causes, as distributions, and the genera of parts, or the parts of genera, as the beginnings and as it were outriders of things, in which there is some argument, as the comparisons between things, as to which is greater, which is equal, which is less, in which either the natures or the qualities of things are compared together.

_C. F._ Are we then to derive arguments from all these topics?

_C. P._ Certainly we must examine into them all, and seek them from all, but we must exercise our judgment in order at all times to reject what is trivial, and sometimes pass over even common topics, and those which are not necessary.

_C. F._ Since you have now answered me as to belief, I wish to hear your account of how one is to raise feelings.

_C. P._ It is a very reasonable question, but what you wish to know will be explained more clearly when I come to the system of orations and inquiries themselves.

_C. F._ What, then, comes next?

_C. P._ When, you have discovered your arguments, to arrange them properly, and in an extensive inquiry the order of the topics is very nearly that which I have set forth, but in a definite one, we must use those topics also which relate to exciting the required feelings in the minds of the hearers.

_C. F._ How, then, do you explain them?

_C. P._ I have general precepts for producing belief and exciting feelings. Since belief is a firm opinion, but feelings are an excitement of the mind either to pleasure, or to vexation, or to fear, or to desire, (for there are all these kinds of feelings, and many divisions of each separate genus,) I adapt all my arrangement to the object of the inquiry. For the end in a proposition is belief, in a cause, both belief and feeling wherefore, when I have spoken of the cause, in which proposition is involved, I shall have spoken of both.

_C. F._ What have you then to say about the cause?

_C. P._ That it is divided according to the divisions of hearers. For they are either listeners, who do nothing more than hear; or judges, that is to say, regulators both of the fact and of the decision; so as either to be delighted or to determine something. But he decides either concerning the past as a judge, or concerning the future as a senate. So there are three kinds,--one of judgment, one of deliberation, one of embellishment; and this last, because it is chiefly employed in panegyric, has its peculiar name from that.

_C. F._ What objects shall the orator propose to himself in these three kinds of oratory?

_C. P._ In embellishment, his aim must be to give pleasure; in judicial speaking, to excite either the severity or the clemency of the judge; but in persuasion, to excite either the hope or the fear of the assembly which is deliberating.

_C. F._ Why then do you choose this place to explain the different kinds of disputes?

_C. P._ In order to adapt my principles of arrangement to the object of each separate kind.

_C. F._ In what manner?

_C. P._ Because in those orations in which pleasure is the object aimed at, the orders of arrangement differ. For either the degrees of opportunities are preserved, or the divisions of genera; or we ascend from the less to the greater, or we glide down from the greater to the less; or we distinguish between them with a variety of contrasts, when we oppose little things to great ones, simple things to complex ones, things obscure to things which are plain, what is joyful to what is sad, what is incredible to what is probable; all which topics are parts of embellishment.

_C. F._ What? What is your aim in a deliberative speech?

_C. P._ There must either be a short opening, or none at all. For the men who are deliberating are ready for their own sake to hear what you have to say. And indeed it is not often that there is much to be related; for narration refers to things either present or past, but persuasion has reference to the future. Wherefore every speech is to be calculated to produce belief, and to excite the feelings.

_C. F._ What next? What is the proper arrangement in judicial speeches?

_C. P._ The arrangement suitable to the accuser is not the same as that which is good for the accused person; because the accuser follows the order of circumstances, and puts forward vigorously each separate argument, as if he had a spear in his hand; and sums them up with vehemence; and confirms them by documents, and decrees, and testimonies; and dwells carefully on each separate proof; and avails himself of all the rules of peroration which are of any force to excite the mind; and in the rest of his oration he departs a little from the regular tenor of his argument; and above all, is he earnest in summing up, for his object is to make the judge angry.

_C. F._ What, on the other hand, is the person accused to do?

_C. P_. He is to act as differently as possible in every respect. He must employ an opening calculated to conciliate good-will. Any narrations which are disagreeable must be cut short; or if they are wholly mischievous, they must be wholly omitted; the corroborative proofs calculated to produce belief must be either weakened or obscured, or thrown into the shade by digressions. And all the perorations must be adapted to excite pity.

_C. F._ Can we, then, always preserve that order of arrangement which we desire to adopt?

_C. P._ Surely not; for the ears of the hearers are guides to a wise and prudent orator; and whatever is unpleasing to them must be altered or modified.

_C. F._ Explain to me then now, what are the rules for the speech itself, and for the expressions to be contained in it.

_C. P._ There is, then, one kind of eloquence which seems fluent by nature; another which appears to have been changed and modified by art. The power of the first consists in simple words; that of the second, in words in combination. Simple words require discovery; combined expressions stand in need of arrangement.

And simple expressions are partly natural, partly discovered. Those are natural which are simply appellative; those are discovered which are made of those others, and remodelled either by resemblance, or by imitation, or by inflection, or by the addition of other words. And again, there is this distinction between words: some are distinguished according to their nature; some according to the way in which they are handled: some by nature, so that they are more sonorous, more grave, or more trivial, and to a certain extent neater: but others by the way in which they are handled, when either the peculiar names of things are taken, or else others which are added to the proper name, or new, or old-fashioned, or in some way or other modified and altered by the orator,--such as those which are used in borrowed senses, or changed, or those which we as it were misuse; or those which we make obscure; which we in some incredible manner remove altogether; and which we embellish in a more marvellous manner than the ordinary usage of conversation sanctions.

_C. F._ I understand you now as far as simple expressions go; now I ask about words in combination.

_C. P_. There is a certain rhythm which must be observed in such combination, and a certain order in which words must follow one another. Our ears themselves measure the rhythm; and guard against your failing to fill up with the requisite words the sentence which you have begun, and against your being too exuberant on the other hand. But the order in which words follow one another is laid down to prevent an oration being a confused medley of genders, numbers, tenses, persons, and cases; for, as in simple words, that which is not Latin, so in combined expressions, that which is not well arranged, deserves to be blamed.

But there are these five lights, as it were, which are common to both single words and combined expressions,--they must be clear, concise, probable, intelligible, agreeable. Clearness is produced by common words, appropriate, well arranged, in a well-rounded period: on the other hand, obscurity is caused by either too great length, or a too great contraction of the sentence; or by ambiguity; or by any misuse or alteration of the ordinary sense of the words. But brevity is produced by simple words, by speaking only once of each point, by aiming at no one object except speaking clearly. But an oration is probable, if it is not too highly decorated and polished; if there is authority and thought in its expressions; if its sentiments are either dignified, or else consistent with the opinions and customs of men. But an oration is brilliant, if expressions are used which are chosen with gravity, and used in metaphorical and hyperbolical senses; and if it is also full of words suited to the circumstances, and reiterated, and having the same sense, and not inconsistent with the subject under discussion, and with the imitation of things: for this is one part of an oration which almost brings the actual circumstances before our eyes, for then the sense is most easily arrived at but still the other senses also, and especially the mind itself, can be influenced by it. But the things which have been said about a clear speech, all have reference also to the brilliant one which we are now speaking of, for this is only a kind somewhat more brilliant than that which I have called clear. By one kind we are made to understand, but by the other one we actually appear to see. But the kind of speaking which is agreeable, consists first of all of an elegance and pleasantness of sounding and sweet words, secondly, of a combination which has no harsh unions of words, nor any disjoined and open vowels, and it must also be bounded with limited periods, and in paragraphs easily to be pronounced, and full of likeness and equality in the sentences. Then again, arguments derived from contrary expressions must be added, so that repetitions must answer to repetitions, like to like and expressions must be added, repeated, redoubled, and even very frequently reiterated, the construction of the sentences must at one time be compacted by means of conjunctions, and at another relaxed by separation of the clauses. For an oration becomes agreeable when you say anything unexpected, or unheard of, or novel, for whatever excites wonder gives pleasure. And that oration especially influences the hearer which unites several affections of the mind, and which indicate the amiable manners of the orator himself, which are represented either by signifying his own opinion, and showing it to proceed from a humane and liberal disposition, or by a turn in the language, when for the sake either of extolling another or of disparaging himself, the orator seems to say one thing and mean another, and that too seems to be done out of courtesy rather than out of levity. But there are many rules for sweetness in speaking, which may make a speech either more obscure or less probable, therefore, while on this topic, we must decide for ourselves what the cause requires.

_C. F._ It remains, then, now for you to speak of the alterations and changes in a speech.

_C. P._ The whole of that, then, consists in the alteration of words, and that alteration is managed in such a way in the case of single words, that the style may either be dilated by words, or contracted. It may be dilated, when a word which is either peculiar, or which has the same signification, or which has been coined on purpose, is extended by paraphrase. Or again, in another way, when a definition is held down to a single word, or when expressions borrowed from something else are banished, or made use of in a roundabout sense, or when one word is made up out of two. But in compound words a threefold change can be made, not of words, but only of order, so that when a thing has once been said plainly, as nature itself prompts, the order may be inverted, and the expression may be repeated, turned upside down, as it were, or backwards and forwards. Then again the same expression may be reiterated in a mutilated, or re arranged, form. But the practice of speaking is very much occupied in all these kinds of conversion.

_C. F._ The next point is action, if I do not mistake.

_C. P._ It is so, and that must be constantly varied by the orator, in correspondence with the importance of his subjects and of his expressions. For the orator makes an oration clear, and brilliant, and probable, and agreeable, not only by his words, but also by the variety of his tones, by the gestures of his body, by the changes of his countenance, which will be of great weight if they harmonize with the character of his address, and follow its energy and variety.

_C. F._ Is there nothing remaining to be said about the orator himself?

_C. P._ Nothing at all, except as to memory, which is in a certain manner the sister of writing, and though in a different class greatly resembles it. For as it consists of the characters of letters, and of that substance on which those characters are impressed, so a perfect memory uses topics, as writing does wax, and on them arranges its images as if they were letters.

_C. F._ Since, then, you have thus explained all the power of an orator, what have you to tell me about the rules for an oration?

_C. P._ That there are four divisions in an oration, of which the first and last are of avail to excite such and such feelings in the mind, for they are to be excited by the openings and perorations of speeches: the second is narration: and the third, being confirmation, adds credibility to a speech. But although amplification has its own proper place, being often in the opening of a speech, and almost always at the end still it may be employed also in other parts of the speech especially when any point has been established, or when the orator has been finding fault with something. Therefore, it is of the very greatest influence in producing belief. For amplification is a sort of vehement argumentation; the one being used for the sake of teaching, the other with the object of acting on the feelings.

_C. F._ Proceed, then, to explain to me these four divisions in regular order.

_C. P._ I will do so; and I will begin with the opening of a speech, which is usually derived either from the persons concerned, or from the circumstances of the case. And openings are employed with three combined objects, that we may be listened to with friendly feelings, intelligently and attentively. And the first topic employed in openings has reference to ourselves, to our judges, and to our adversaries; from which we aim at laying the foundations of good-will towards us, either by our own merits, or by our dignity, or by some kind of virtue, and especially by the qualities of liberality, duty, justice, and good faith; and also by imputing opposite qualities to our adversaries, and by intimating that the judges themselves have some interest on our side, either in existence, or in prospect. And if any hatred has been excited against, or any offence been given by us, we then apply ourselves to remove or diminish that, by denying or extenuating the cause, or by atoning for it, or by deprecating hostility.

But in order that we may be listened to in an intelligent and attentive manner, we must begin with the circumstances of the case themselves. But the hearer learns and understands what the real point in dispute is most easily if you, from the first beginning of your speech, embrace the whole genus and nature of the cause,--if you define it, and divide it, and neither perplex his discernment by the confusion, nor his memory by the multitude, of the several parts of your discourse; and all the things which will presently be said about lucid narration may also with propriety be considered as bearing on this division too. But that we may be listened to with attention, we must do one of these things. For we must advance some propositions which are either important, or necessary, or connected with the interests of those before whom the discussion is proceeding. This also may be laid down as a rule, that, if ever the time itself, or the facts of the case, or the place, or the intervention of any one, or any interruption, or anything which may have been said by the adversary, and especially in his peroration, has given us any opportunity of saying anything well suited to the occasion, we must on no account omit it. And many of the rules, which we give in their proper place, about amplification, may be transferred here to the consideration of the opening of a speech.

_C. F._ What next? What rules, then, are to be attended to in narration?

_C. P._ Since narration is an explanation of facts, and a sort of base and foundation for the establishment of belief, those rules are most especially to be observed in it, which apply also, for the most part, to the other divisions of speaking; part of which are necessary, and part are assumed for the sake of embellishment. For it is necessary for us to narrate events in a clear and probable manner; but we must also attend to an agreeable style. Therefore, in order to narrating with clearness, we must go back to those previous rules for explaining and illustrating facts, in which brevity is enjoined and taught. And brevity is one of the points most frequently praised in narration, and we have already dwelt enough upon it. Again, our narrative will be probable, if the things which are related are consistent with the character of the persons concerned, with the times and places mentioned,--if the cause of every fact and event is stated,--if they appear to be proved by witnesses,--if they are in accordance with the opinions and authority of men, with law, with custom, and with religion,--if the honesty of the narrator is established, his candour, his memory, the uniform truth of his conversation, and the integrity of his life. Again, a narration is agreeable which contains subjects calculated to excite admiration, expectation, unlooked-for results, sudden feelings of the mind, conversations between people, grief, anger, fear, joy, desires. However, let us proceed to what follows.

_C. F._ What follows is, I suppose, what relates to producing belief.

_C. P._ Just so; and those topics are divided into confirmation and reprehension. For in confirmation we seek to establish our own assertion; in reprehension, to invalidate those of our adversaries. Since, then, everything which is ever the subject of a dispute, is so because the question is raised whether it exists or not, or what it is, or of what character it is, in the first question conjecture has weight, in the second, definition, and in the third, reasoning.

_C. F._ I understand this division. At present, I ask, what are the topics of conjecture?

_C. P._ They arise from probabilities, and turn wholly on the peculiar characteristics of things. But for the sake of instructing you, I will call that probable which is generally done in such and such a way as it is probable that youth should be rather inclined to lust. But the indication of an appropriate characteristic is something which never happens in any other way, and which declares something which is certain as smoke is a proof of fire. Probabilities are discovered from the parts and, as it were, members of a narration. They exist in persons, in places, in times, in facts, in events, in the nature of the facts and circumstances which may be under discussion.

But in persons, the first things considered are the natural qualities of health, figure, strength, age, and whether they are male or female. And all these concern the body alone. But the qualities of the mind, or how they are affected, depends on virtues, vices, arts, and want of art, or in another sense, on desire, fear, pleasure, or annoyance. And these are the natural circumstances which are principally considered.

In fortune, we look at a man's race, his friends, his children, his relations, his kinsmen, his wealth, his honours, his power, his estates, his freedom, and also at all the contraries to these circumstances. But in respect of place, some things arise from nature as, whether a place is on the coast or at a distance from the sea, whether it is level or mountainous, whether it is smooth or rough, wholesome or pestilential, shady or sunny, these again are fortuitous circumstances,--whether a place is cultivated or uncultivated frequented or deserted, full of houses or naked, obscure or ennobled by the traces of mighty exploits, consecrated or profane.

But in respect of time, one distinguishes between the present, and the past, and the future. And in these divisions there are the further subdivisions of ancient, recent, immediate, likely to happen soon, or likely to be very remote. In time there are also these other divisions, which mark, as it were natural sections of time as winter, spring, summer and autumn. Or again, the periods of the year: as a month, a day, a night, an hour, a season, all these are natural divisions. There are other accidental divisions such as days of sacrifice, days of festival, weddings. Again, facts and events are either designed or unintentional, and these last arise either from pure accident, or from some agitation of mind, by accident when a thing has happened in a different way from what was expected,--from some agitation, when either forgetfulness, or mistake, or fear, or some impulse of desire has been the acting cause. Necessity, too, must be classed among the causes of unintentional actions or results.

Again, of good and bad things there are three classes. For they can exist either in men's minds or bodies, or they may be external to both of these materials, then, as far as they are subordinate to argument, all the parts must be carefully turned over in the mind, and conjectures bearing on the subject before us must be derived from each part.

There is also another class of arguments which is derived from traces of a fact, as a weapon, blood, an outcry which has been raised, trepidation, changes of complexion, inconsistency of explanation, trembling, or any of these circumstances which can be perceived by our senses, or if anything appears to have been prepared, or communicated to any one, or if anything has been seen or heard, or if any information has been given.

But of probabilities some influence us separately by their own weight, some, although they appear trifling by themselves, still, when all collected together, have great influence. And in such probabilities as these there are sometimes some unerring and peculiar distinguishing characteristics of things. But what produces the surest belief in a probability is, first of all, a similar instance, then the similarity of the present case to that instance sometimes even a fable, though it is an incredible one, has its influence, nevertheless, on men's minds.

_C. F._ What next? What is the principle of definition, and what is the system of it?

_C. P._ There is no doubt but that definition belongs to the genus, and is distinguishable by a certain peculiarity of the characteristics which it mentions, or else by a number of common circumstances, from which we may extract something which looks like a peculiar property. But since there is often very great disagreement about what are peculiar properties, we must often derive our definitions from contraries, often from things dissimilar, often from things parallel. Wherefore descriptions also are often suitable in this kind of address, and an enumeration of consequences, and above all things, an explanation of the names and terms employed, is most effectual.

_C. F._ You have now then explained nearly all the questions which arise about a fact, or about the name given to such fact. The next thing is, when the fact itself and its proper title are agreed upon, that a doubt arises as to what its character is.

_C. P._ You are quite right.

_C. F._ What divisions, then, are there in this part of the argument?

_C. P._ One urges either that what has been done has been lawfully done, for the sake either of warding off or of avenging an injury, or under pretext of piety, or chastity, or religion, or one's country, or else that it has been done through necessity, out of ignorance, or by chance. For those things which have been done in consequence of some motion or agitation of the mind, without any positive intention, have, in legal proceedings, no defence if they are impeached, though they may have an excuse if discussed on principles unfettered by strict rules of law. In this class of discussion, in which the question is, what the character of the act is, one inquires, in the terms of the controversy, whether the act has been rightly and lawfully done or not; and the discussion on these points turns on a definition of the before-mentioned topics.

_C. F._ Since, then, you have divided the topics to give credit to an oration into confirmation and reprehension, and since you have fully discussed the one, explain to me now the subject of reprehension.

_C. P._ You must either deny the whole of what the adversary has assumed in argumentation, if you can show it to be fictitious or false, or you must refute what he has assumed as probable. First of all, you must urge that he has taken what is doubtful as if it were certain; in the next place, that the very same things might be said in cases which were evidently false; and lastly, that these things which he has assumed do not produce the consequences which he wishes to be inferred from them. And you must attack his details, and by that means break down his whole argument. Instances also must be brought forward which were overruled in a similar discussion; and you must wind up with the complaints of the condition of the general danger, if the life of innocent men is exposed to the ingenuity of men devoted to calumny.

_C. F._ Since I know now whence arguments can be derived which have a tendency to create belief, I am waiting to hear how they are severally to be handled in speaking.

_C. P._ You seem to be inquiring about argumentation, and as to how to develop arguments.

_C. F._ That is the very thing that I want to know.

_C. P._ The development, then, of an argument is argumentation; and that is when you assume things which are either certain or at least probable, from which to derive a conclusion, which taken by itself is doubtful, or at all events not very probable. But there are two kinds of arguing, one of which aims directly at creating belief, the other principally looks to exciting such and such feelings. It goes straight on when it has proposed to itself something to prove, and assumed grounds on which it may depend; and when these have been established, it comes back to its original proposition, and concludes. But the other kind of argumentation, proceeding as it were backwards and in an inverse way, first of all assumes what it chooses, and confirms it; and then, having excited the minds of the hearers, it throws on to the end that which was its original object. But there is this variety, and a distinction which is not disagreeable in arguing, as when we ask something ourselves, or put questions, or express some command, or some wish, as all these figures are a kind of embellishment to an oration. But we shall be able to avoid too much sameness, if we do not always begin with the proposition which we desire to establish, and if we do not confirm each separate point by dwelling on it separately, and if we are at times very brief in our explanation of what is sufficiently clear, and if we do not consider it at all times necessary to sum up and enumerate what results from these premises when it is sufficiently clear.

_C. F._ What comes next? Is there any way or any respect in which those things which are said to be devoid of art, and which you said just now were accessories to the main argument, require art?

_C. P._ Indeed they do. Nor are they called devoid of art because they really are so, but because it is not the art of the orator which produces them, but they are brought to him from abroad, as it were, and then he deals with them artistically; and this is especially the case as to witnesses. For it is often necessary to speak of the whole class of witnesses, and to show how weak it is; and to urge that arguments refer to facts, testimony to inclination; and one must have recourse to precedents of cases where witnesses were not believed; and with respect to individual witnesses, if they are by nature vain, trifling, discreditable, or if they have been influenced by hope, by fear, by anger, by pity, by bribery, by interest; and they must be compared with the authority of the witnesses in the case cited, where the witnesses were not believed. Often, also, one must resist examinations under torture, because many men, out of a desire to avoid pain, have often told lies under torture; and have preferred dying while confessing a falsehood to suffering pain while persisting in their denial. Many men, also, have been indifferent to the preservation of their own life, as long as they could save those who were dearer to them than they were to themselves; others, owing to the nature of their bodies, or to their being accustomed to pain, or because they feared punishment and execution, have endured the violence of torture; others, also, have told lies against those whom they hated. And all these arguments are to be fortified by instances. Nor is it at all uncertain that (since there are instances on both sides of a question, and topics also for forming conjectures on both sides) contrary arguments must be used in contrary cases. There is, also, another method of disparaging witnesses, and examinations under torture; for often those answers which have been given may be attacked very cleverly, if they have been expressed rather ambiguously or inconsistently, or with any incredible circumstances; or in different ways by different witnesses.

_C. F._ The end of the oration remains to be spoken of by you; and that is included in the peroration, which I wish to hear you explain?

_C. P._ The explanation of the peroration is easy; for it is divided into two parts, amplification and enumeration. And the proper place for amplification is in the peroration, and also in the course of the oration there are opportunities of digressing for the purpose of amplification, by corroborating or refuting something which has been previously said. Amplification, then, is a kind of graver affirmation, which by exciting feelings in the mind conciliates belief to one's assertion. It is produced by the kind of words used, and by the facts dwelt upon. Expressions are to be used which have a power of illustrating the oration; yet such as are not unusual, but weighty, full-sounding, sonorous, compound, well-invented, and well-applied, not vulgar; borrowed from other subjects, and often metaphorical, not consisting of single words, but dissolved into several clauses, which are uttered without any conjunction between them, so as to appear more numerous. Amplification is also obtained by repetition, by iteration, by redoubling words, and by gradually rising from lower to loftier language; and it must be altogether a natural and lively sort of speech, made up of dignified language, well suited to give a high idea of the subject spoken of. This then is amplification as far as language goes. To the language there must be adapted expression of tone, of countenance, and gesture, all in harmony together and calculated to rouse the feelings of the hearers. But the cause must be maintained both by language and action, and carried on according to circumstances. For, because these appear very absurd when they are more vehement than the subject will bear, we must diligently consider what is becoming to each separate speaker, and in each separate case.

The amplification of facts is derived from all the same topics as those arguments which are adduced to create belief. And above all things, a number of accumulated definitions carries weight with it, and a repeated assertion of consequents, and a comparison of contrary and dissimilar facts, and of inconsistent circumstances. Causes too, and those things which arise from causes, and especially similarities and instances, are efficacious; so also are imaginary characters. Lastly, mute things may be introduced as speaking, and altogether all things are to be employed (if the cause will allow of them) which are considered important; and important things are divisible into two classes. For there are some things which seem important by nature, and some by use. By nature, as heavenly and divine things, and those things the causes of which are obscure, as those things which are wonderful on the earth and in the world, from which and from things resembling which, if you only take care, you will be able to draw many arguments for amplifying the dignity of the cause which you are advocating. By use; which appear to be of exceeding benefit or exceeding injury to men; and of these there are three kinds suitable for amplification.

For men are either moved by affection, for instance, by affections for the gods, for their country, or for their parents; or by love, as for their wives, their brothers, their children, or their friends; or by honourableness, as by that of the virtues, and especially of those virtues which tend to promote sociability among men, and liberality. From them exhortations are derived to maintain them; and hatred is excited against, and commiseration awakened for those by whom they are violated.

It is a very proper occasion for having recourse to amplification, when these advantages are either lost, or when there is danger of losing them. For nothing is so pitiable as a man who has become miserable after having been happy. And this is enough to move us greatly, if any one falls from good fortune; and if he loses all his friends; and if we have it briefly explained to us what great happiness he is losing or has lost, and by what evils he is overwhelmed, or is about to be overwhelmed. For tears soon dry, especially at another's misfortunes. Nor is there anything which it is less wise to exhaust than amplification. For all diligence attends to minutiae; but this topic requires only what is on a large scale. Here again is a matter for a man's judgment, what kind of amplification we should employ in each cause. For in those causes which are embellished for the sake of pleasing the hearers, those topics must be dealt with, which can excite expectation, admiration, or pleasure. But in exhortations the enumerations of instances of good and bad fortune, and instances and precedents, are arguments of great weight. In trials those topics are the most suitable for an accuser which tend to excite anger; those are usually the most desirable for a person on his trial which relate to raising pity. But some times the accuser ought to seek to excite pity, and the advocate for the defence may aim at rousing indignation.

Enumeration remains; a topic sometimes necessary to a panegyrist, not often to one who is endeavouring to persuade; and more frequently to a prosecutor than to a defendant. It has two turns, if you either distrust the recollection of those men before whom you are pleading, either on account of the length of time that has elapsed since the circumstances of which you are speaking, or because of the length of your speech; in this case your cause will have the more strength if you bring up numberless corroborative arguments to strengthen your speech, and explain them with brevity. And the defendant will have less frequent occasion to use them, because he has to lay down propositions which are contrary to them: and his defence will come out best if it is brief, and full of pungent stings. But in enumeration, it will be necessary to avoid letting it have the air of a childish display of memory; and he will best avoid that fault who does not recapitulate every trifle, but who touches on each particular briefly, and dwells only on the more weighty and important points.

_C. F._ Since you have now discussed the orator himself and his oration, explain to me now the topic of questions, which you reserved for the last of the three.

_C. P._ There are, as I said at the beginning, two kinds of questions: one of which, that which is limited to times and persons, I call the cause; the other, which is infinite, and bounded neither by times nor by persons, I call the proposition. But consultation is, as it were, a part of the cause and controversy. For in the definite there is what is infinite, and nevertheless everything is referred to it. Wherefore, let us first speak of the proposition; of which there are two kinds: one of investigation; the end of this science, as for instance, whether the senses are to be depended upon; the other of action, which has reference to doing something: as if any one were to inquire by what services one ought to cultivate friendship. Again, of the former, namely, of investigation, there are three kinds: whether a thing is, or is not; what it is; of what sort it is. Whether it is or not, as whether right is a thing existing by nature or by custom. But what a thing is, as whether that is right which is advantageous to the greater number. And again, what sort of a thing anything is, as whether to live justly is useful or not.

But of action there are two kinds. One having reference to pursuing or avoiding anything; as for instance, by what means you can acquire glory, or how envy may be avoided. The other, which is referred to some advantage or expediency; as how the republic ought to be managed, or how a man ought to live in poverty.

But again in investigation, when the question is whether a thing is, or is not, or has been, or is likely to be. One kind of question is, whether anything can be effected; as when the question is whether any one can be perfectly wise. Another question is, how each thing can be effected; as for instance, by what means virtue is engendered, by nature, or reason, or use. And of this kind are all those questions in which, as in obscure subjects or those which turn on natural philosophy, the causes and principles of things are explained.

But of that kind in which the question is what that is which is the subject of discussion, there are two sorts; in the one of which one must discuss whether one thing is the same as another, or different from it; as whether pertinacity is the same as perseverance. But in the other one must give a description and representation as it were of some genus; as for instance, what sort of a man a miser is, or what pride is.

But in the third kind, in which the question is what sort of thing something is, we must speak either of its honesty, or of its utility, or of its equity. Of its honesty thus. Whether it is honourable to encounter danger or unpopularity for a friend. But of its expediency thus. Whether it is expedient to occupy oneself in the conduct of state affairs. But of its equity thus. Whether it is just to prefer one's friend to one's relations. And in the same kind of discussion, in which the question is what sort of thing something is, there arises another kind of way of arguing. For the question is not simply what is honourable, what is expedient, what is equitable; but also by comparison, which is more honourable, which is more expedient, which is more equitable; and even which is most honourable, which is most expedient, which is most equitable. Of which kind are those speculations, which is the most excellent dignity in life. And all these questions, as I have said before, are parts of investigation.

There remains the question of action. One kind of which is conversant with the giving of rules which relate to principles of duty; as, for instance, how one's parents are to be reverenced. And the other to tranquillising the minds of men and healing them by one's oration; as in consoling affliction, in repressing ill-temper, in removing fear, or in allaying covetousness. And this kind is exactly opposed to that by means of which the speaker proposes to engender those same feelings of the mind, or to excite them, which it is often requisite to do in amplifying an oration. And these are nearly all the divisions of consultation. XX. _C. F._ I understand you. But I should like to hear from you what in these divisions is the proper system for discovering and arranging the heads of one's discourse.

_C. P._ What? Do you think it is a different one, and not the same which has been explained, so that everything may be deduced from the same topics, both to create belief, and to discover arguments? But the system of arrangement which has been explained as appropriate to other kinds of speeches may be transferred to this also.

Since therefore we have now investigated the entire arrangement of the consultations which we proposed to discuss, the kinds of causes are now the principal things which remain. And their species is twofold; one of which aims at affording gratification to the ears, while the whole object of the other is to obtain, and prove, and effect the purpose which it has in view. Therefore the former is called embellishment, and as that may be a kind of extensive operation, and sufficiently various, we have selected one instance of it which we adopt for the purpose of praising illustrious men, and of vituperating the wicked ones. For there is no kind of oration which can be either more fertile in its topics, or more profitable to states, or in which the orator is bound to have a more extensive acquaintance with virtues and vices. But the other class of causes is conversant either with the foresight of the future, or with discussions on the past. One of which topics belongs to deliberation and the other to judgment. From which division three kinds of causes have arisen; one, which, from the best portion of it, is called that of panegyric; another that of deliberation; the third that of judicial decisions. Wherefore let us first, if you please, discuss the first.

_C. F._ Certainly, I do please.

_C. P._ And the systems of blaming and praising, which have influence not only on speaking well but also on living honourably, I will explain briefly; and I will begin from the first principles of praise and blame. For everything is to be praised which is united with virtue; and everything which is connected with vice is to be blamed. Wherefore the end of the one is honour, of the other baseness. But this kind of discourse is composed of the narration and explanation of facts, without any argumentations, in a way calculated to handle the feelings of the mind gently rather than to create belief or to confirm it in a suitable manner. For they are not doubtful points which are established in this way; but those which being certain, or at least admitted as certain, are enlarged upon. Wherefore the rules for narrating them and enlarging upon them must be sought for from among those which have been already laid down.

And since in these causes the whole system has reference generally to the pleasure and entertainment of the hearer, the speakers must employ in them all the beauties of those separate expressions which have in them the greatest amount of sweetness. That is, he must often use newly-coined words, and old-fashioned words, and metaphorical language; and in the very construction of his periods he must often compare like with like, and parallel cases with parallel. He must have recourse to contrasts, to repetitions, to harmoniously-turned sentences, formed not like verses, but to gratify the sensations of the ears by as it were a suitable moderation of expression. And those ornaments are frequently to be employed, which are of a marvellous and unexpected character, and also those which are full of monsters, and prodigies, and oracles. And also those things must be mentioned which appeared to have befallen the man of whom the orator is speaking in consequence of some divine interposition, or decree of destiny. For all the expectation and admiration of the hearer, and all unexpected terminations, contribute to the pleasure which is felt in listening to the orator.

But since advantages or evils are of three classes, external, affecting the mind, or affecting the body, the first are external which are derived from the genus; and this being praised in brief and moderate terms, or, if it is discreditable, being passed over; if it is of a lowly nature, being either passed over, or handled in such a way as to increase the glory of him whom you are praising. In the next place, if the case allows it, we must speak of his fortune and his abilities, and after that of his personal qualifications; among which it is very natural to praise his beauty, which is one of the greatest indications of virtue. After that we must come to his actions. The arrangement is threefold. For we must have regard either to the order of time, or the most recent actions must be spoken of first, or else many and various actions of his must be classified according to the different kinds of virtue which they display. But this topic of virtues and vices, which is a very extensive one, will now be brought into a very brief and narrow compass, instead of the many and various volumes in which philosophers have discussed it.

The power of virtue then is twofold, for virtue is distinguished either by theory or by practice. For that which is called prudence, or shrewdness, or (if we must have the most dignified title for it) wisdom, is all theoretical. But that which is praised as regulating the passions, and restraining the feelings of the mind, finds its exercise in practice. And its name is temperance. And prudence when exerted in a man's own business is called domestic, when displayed in the affairs of the state is called civil prudence. But temperance in like manner is divided according to its sphere of action, whether displayed in a man's own affairs, or in those of the state. And it is discerned in two ways with respect to advantages, both by not desiring what it has not got, and by abstaining from what it is in its power to get. Again, in the case of disadvantages it is also twofold; for that quality which resists impending evils is called fortitude; that which bears and endures the evil that is present is termed patience. And that which embraces these two qualities is called magnanimity. And one of the forms of this virtue is shown in the use of money. And at the same time loftiness of spirit in supporting disadvantages, and especially injuries, and everything of the sort, being grave, sedate, and never turbulent. But that division of virtue which is exercised between one being and another is called justice. And that when exercised towards the gods is called religion; towards one's relations, affection; towards all the world, goodness; when displayed in things entrusted to one, good faith; as exhibited in moderation of punishment, lenity; when it develops itself in goodwill towards an individual its name is friendship.

And all these virtues are visible in practice. But there are others, which are as it were the handmaidens and companions of wisdom; one of which distinguishes between and decides what arguments in a discussion are true or false, and what follows from what premises. And this virtue is wholly placed in the system and theory of arguing; but the other virtue belongs to the orator. For eloquence is nothing but wisdom speaking with great copiousness; and while derived from the same source as that which is displayed in disputing, is more rich, and of wider application, better suited to excite the minds of men and to work on the feelings of the common people. But the guardian of all the virtues, which avoids all conspicuousness, and yet attains the greatest eminence of praise, is modesty. And these are for the most part certain habits of mind, so affected and disposed as to be each of them distinguished from one another by some peculiar kind of virtue; and according as everything is done by one of them, in the same proportion must it be honourable and in the highest degree praiseworthy. But there are other habits also of a well-instructed mind which has been cultivated beforehand as it were, and prepared for virtue by virtuous pursuits and accomplishments: as in a man's private affairs, the studies of literature, as of tunes and sounds, of measurement, of the stars, of horses, of hunting, of arms. In the affairs of the commonwealth his eager pursuit of some particular kind of virtue, which he selects as his especial object of devotion, in discharging his duty to the gods, or in showing careful and remarkable affection to his relations, his friends, or those connected with family ties of hospitality. And these then are the different kinds of virtue. But those of vice are their exact contraries.

But these also must be examined carefully, so that those vices may not deceive us which appear to imitate virtue. For cunning tries to assume the character of prudence, and moroseness, in despising pleasures, wishes to be taken for temperance; and pride, which puffs a man up, and which affects to despise legitimate honours, seeks to vaunt itself as magnanimity; prodigality calls itself liberality, audacity imitates courage, hardhearted sternness imitates patience, bitterness justice, superstition religion, weakness of mind lenity, timidity modesty, captiousness and carping at words wishes to pass for acuteness in arguing, and an empty fluency of language for this oratorical vigour at which we are aiming. And those, too, appear akin to virtuous pursuits, which run to excess in the same class.

Wherefore all the force of praise or blame must be derived from these divisions of virtues and vices. But in the whole context, as it were, of the oration, these points must above all others be made clear,--how each person spoken of has been born, how he has been educated, how he has been trained, and what are his habits; and if any great or surprising thing has happened to any one, especially if anything which has happened should appear to have befallen him by the interposition of the gods; and also whatever the person in question has thought, or said, or done, must be adapted to the different kinds of virtue which have been enumerated, and from the same topics we must inquire into the causes of things, and the events, and the consequences. Nor ought the death of those men, whose life is praised, to be passed over in silence; provided only, there be anything noticeable either in the manner of their death, or in the consequences which have resulted from their death.

_C. F._ I have attended to what you say, and I have learnt briefly, not only how to praise another, but also how to endeavour to deserve to be praised myself. Let us, then, consider in the next place what system and what rules we are to observe in delivering our sentiments.

_C. P._ In deliberation, then, the end aimed at is utility, to which everything is referred in giving counsel, and in delivering our sentiments, so that the first thing which requires to be noticed by any one who is advising or dissuading from such and such a course of action is what is possible to be done, or what is impossible; or what is necessary to be done, or what is unnecessary. For if a thing be impossible there is no use in deliberating about it, however desirable it may be; and if a thing be necessary, (when I say necessary, I mean such that without it we cannot be safe or free), then that must be preferred to everything else which is either honourable or advantageous in public affairs. But when the question is, What can be done? we must also consider how easily it can be done: for the things which are very difficult are often to be considered in the same light as if they were totally impossible. And when we are discussing necessity, although there may be something which is not absolutely necessary, still we must consider of how much importance it is. For that which is of very great importance indeed, is often considered necessary. Therefore, as this kind of cause consists of persuasion and dissuasion, the speaker who is trying to persuade, has a simple course before him; if a thing is both advantageous and possible, let it be done. The speaker who is trying to dissuade his hearers from some course of action, has a twofold division of his labour. One, if it is not useful it must not be done; the other, if it is impossible it must not be undertaken. And so, the speaker who is trying to persuade must establish both these points; the one whose object it is to dissuade, may be content with invalidating either.

Since, then, all deliberation turns on these two points, let us first speak of utility, which is conversant about the distinction between advantages and disadvantages. But of advantages, some are necessarily such; as life, chastity, liberty, or as children, wives, relations, parents; and some are not necessarily such; and of these last, some are to be sought for their own sakes, as those which are classed among the duties or virtues, and others are to be desired because they produce some advantage, as riches and influence. But of those advantages which are sought for their own sake, some are sought for their honourableness, some for their convenience, which is inherent in them: those are sought for their honourableness which proceed from those virtues which have been mentioned a little while ago, which are intrinsically praiseworthy on their own account; but those are sought on account of some inherent advantage which are desirable as to goods of fortune or of the body: some of which are to a certain extent combined with honourableness, as honour, and glory; some have no connexion with that, as strength, beauty, health, nobleness, riches, troops of dependents. There is also a certain sort of matter, as it were, which is subordinate to what is honourable, which is most particularly visible in friendship. But friendships are seen in affection and in love. For regard for the gods, and for our parents, and for our country, and for those men who are eminent for wisdom or power, is usually referred to affection; but wives, and children, and brothers, and others whom habit and intimacy has united with us, although they are bound to us by affection, yet the principal tie is love. As, then, you know now what is good in these things, it is easily to be understood what are the contrary qualities.

This also must be considered, how much greater eagerness men display in fleeing from what is disadvantageous, than in seeking what is advantageous; for they are in the same manner not so zealous in seeking what is honourable, as in avoiding what is base. For who ever seeks for honour, or glory, or praise, or any kind of credit as earnestly as he flees from ignominy, infamy, contumely, and disgrace? For these things are attended with great pain. There is a class of men born for honour, not corrupted by evil training and perverted opinions--on which account, when exhorting or persuading, we must keep in view the object of teaching them by what means we may be able to arrive at what is good, and to avoid what is evil. But before men who have been properly brought up we shall dwell chiefly on praise and honourableness, and speak chiefly of those kinds of virtues which are concerned in maintaining and increasing the general advantage of men. But if we are speaking before uneducated and ignorant men, then we shall set before them profits, emoluments, pleasures, and the means of escaping pain; we shall also introduce the mention of insult and ignominy; for no one is such a clown, as not (even though honour itself may have no influence on him) to be greatly moved by insult and disgrace.

Wherefore we must find out from what has been already said, what has reference to utility; but as to what is possible to be done or not, with reference to which people usually inquire also how easily a thing can be done, and how far it is desirable that it should be done, we must consider chiefly with reference to those causes which produce each separate result. For there are some causes which of themselves produce results, and some which only contribute to the production of a result. Therefore, the first are called efficient causes; and the last are classed as such, that without them a thing cannot be brought about. Again, of efficient causes, some are complete and perfect in themselves; some are accessory to, and, as it were, partners in the production of the result in question. And of this kind the effect is very much diversified, being sometimes greater or less; so that which is the most efficacious is often called the only cause, though it is in reality but the main one. There are also other causes which, either on account of their origin or on account of their result, are called efficient causes. But when the question is, what is best to be done, then it is either utility or the hope of doing it which urges men's minds to agree with the speaker. And since we have now said enough about utility, let us speak of the means of effecting it.

_C.F._ I understand the topics of panegyric and persuasion. Now I am waiting to hear what is suited to judicial oratory, and I think that that is the only subject remaining.

_C.P._ You are quite right. And of that kind of oratory the object is equity, which is regarded, not in a single point of view only, but very often by a sort of comparison: as when there is a dispute as to who is the most appropriate prosecutor; or when the possession of an inheritance is sought for without any express law, or without any will. In which causes the question is, which alternative is the more equitable or which is most equitable. And for these causes a supply of arguments is sought for out of those topics of equity which will be mentioned presently. And even before the decision is given, there is often a dispute about the constitution of the bench of judges, when the question is either whether the person who brings the action has a right of action, or whether he has it at the present time, or whether he has ceased to have it, or whether the action ought to be brought under the provisions of this law, or according to that formula. And if these points are not discussed, or settled, or decided, before the case is brought into court, still they often have very great weight even at the trial itself, when the case is stated in this way:--"You demanded too much; you demanded it too late; it was not your business to make such a demand at all; you ought not to have demanded it of me; or you ought not to have done so under this law, or in accordance with this formula, or in this court." And this class of cases belongs to civil law, which depends on laws respecting public and private affairs, or on precedent; and the knowledge of it seems to have been neglected by most orators, but to us it appears very necessary for speaking. Wherefore, as to arranging the right of action, as to accepting or standing a trial, as to demurring to the illegality of a proceeding, as to comparisons of justice, all which topics usually belong to this class of oration, so that although they often get mixed up with the judicial proceedings, still they appear to deserve to be discussed separately; and therefore I separate them a little from the judicial proceedings, more, however, as to the time at which they are to be introduced into the discussion, than from any real diversity of character. For all discussions which are introduced about civil law, or about what is just and good, belong to that sort of discussion in which we doubt what sort of thing such and such a thing which we are going to mention is. And this question turns chiefly on equity and right.

In all causes, then, there are three degrees, of which one at least is to be taken for the purposes of defence, if you are limited to one. For you must either take your stand in denying that the act imputed to you has been done at all, or in denying that that which you admit to have been done has the effect which, and is of the character which, the adversary asserts. Or if there can be no doubt as to the action, or the proper name of the action, then you must deny that what you are accused of is such as he states it to be; and you must urge in your defence that what you have done must be admitted to be right. Accordingly, the first objection,--the first point of conflict with the adversary, as I may call it, depends on a kind of conjecture; the second, on a kind of definition, or description, or notion of the word; but the third plea is to be maintained by a discussion on equity, and truth, and right, and on the becomingness to man of a disposition inclined to pardon. And since he who defends ought not always to resist the accuser by some objection, or denial, or definition, or opposite principles of equity, but should also at times advance general principles on which he founds his defence, the first kind of objection has in it the principle of asserting the charge to be unjust, an absolute denial of the fact; the second urges that the definition given by the adversary does not apply to the action in question the third consists in the advocate defending the action as having been rightly done, without raising any dispute as to the name of it.

In the next place, the accuser must oppose to every argument that, which if it were not in the accusation, would prevent, there being any cause at all. Therefore, those arguments which are brought forward in that way, are said to be the foundations of causes, although those which are brought forward in opposition to the plan of the defence, are no more so in reality than the principles of the defence themselves; but for the sake of distinction, we call that a reason which is urged by the party on his trial in the way of demurrer for the sake of repelling an accusation; and unless he had such a refuge he would have nothing to allege by way of defence: but the foundation of his defence is that which is alleged by way of undermining the arguments of the adversary, without which the accusation can have no ground to stand upon.

But in corroborative arguments of the most important character, those points must also be established which can be opposed to the defence, being derived either from the letter of the law, or of a will, or from the language of a judicial decision, or of a stipulation, or of a covenant. And even this kind has no connexion with those causes which depend upon conjecture. For when an action is denied altogether, it cannot be impeached by reference to the letter of the law. It does not even come under definition, as to the character of the letter of the law itself. For although some expression or other is to be defined by reference to the letter of the law, so as to be sure what meaning it has: as when the question arises out of a will, what is meant by provisions, or out of the covenant of a lease, what are moveables or fixtures; then it is not the fact of there being written documents, but the interpretation of what is written, that gives rise to controversy. But when many things may be implied by one expression, on account of the ambiguity of some word or words, so that he who is speaking on the other side may be allowed to draw the meaning of what is written as is advantageous to him, or in fact, as he pleases; or, if the document be not drawn up in ambiguous language, he may either deduce the wish and intention of the writer from the words, or else say that he can defend what has been done by a document which is perfectly different relating to the same facts; then a dispute arises from a comparison of the two written documents; so that the writings being ambiguous, it is a question which is most strongly implied; and in a comparison between the letter and the spirit of the documents an argument is adduced to show which the judge is the most bound to be guided by; or in documents of a wholly contradictory nature, which is the most to be approved.

But when the point in dispute is once established, then the orator ought to keep in view, what is to be proved by all the arguments derived from the different topics for discovering arguments. And although it is quite sufficient for him who sees what is concealed in each topic, and who has all those topics, as a kind of treasury of arguments, at his fingers' ends; still we will touch upon those which are peculiar to certain causes.

In conjecture, then, when the person on his trial takes refuge in denial of the fact, these are the two first things for the accuser to consider, (I say accuser, meaning every kind of plaintiff or commencer of an action; for even without any accuser, in the strict sense of the word, these same kinds of controversies may frequently arise;) however, these are his first points for consideration, the cause and the event. When I say the cause, I mean the reason for doing a thing. When I say the event, I mean that which was done. And this same division of cases was made just now, when speaking of the topics of persuasion. For the rules which were given in deliberating upon the future, and how they ought to have a bearing upon utility, or a power of producing effects, a man who is arguing upon a fact is bound to collect, so as to show that they must have been useful to the man whom he is accusing, and that the act might possibly have been done by him. The question of utility, as far as it depends upon conjecture, is opened, if the accused person is said to have done the act of which he is accused, either out of the hope of advantage or the fear of injury. And this argument has the greater weight, the greater the advantages or disadvantages anticipated are said to be. With reference to the motive for an action we take into consideration also the feelings of minds, if any recent anger, or long-standing grudge, or desire for revenge, or indignation at an injury; if any eagerness for honour, or glory, or command, or riches; if any fear of danger, any debt, any difficulties in pecuniary matters, have had influence; if the man is bold, or fickle, or cruel, or intemperate, or incautious, or foolish, or loving, or excitable, or given to wine; if he had any hope of gaining his point, or any expectation of concealing his conduct; or, if that were detected, any hope of repelling the charge, or breaking through the danger, or even postponing it to a subsequent time; or if the penalty to be inflicted by a court of justice is more trifling than the prize to be gained by the act; or if the pleasure of the crime is greater than the pain of the conviction.

It is generally by such circumstances as these that the suspicion of an act is confirmed, when the causes why he should have desired it are found to exist in the party accused, together with the means of doing it. But in his will we look for the benefit which he may have calculated on from the attainment of some advantage, or the avoidance of some disadvantage, so that either hope or fear may seem to have instigated him, or else some sudden impulse of the mind, which impels men more swiftly to evil courses than even considerations of utility. So this is enough to have said about the causes.

_C.F._ I understand; and I ask you now what the events are which you have said are produced by such causes?

_C.F._ I think I know now how conjecture ought to be dealt with. Let me hear you now on the subject of definition.

_C.P._ With respect to that the rules which are given are common to the accuser and the defender. For whichever of them by his definition and description of a word makes the greatest impression on the feelings and opinions of the judges, and whichever keeps nearest to the general meaning of the word, and to that preconceived opinion which those who are the hearers have adopted in their minds, must inevitably get the better in the discussion. For this kind of topic is not handled by a regular argumentation, but by shaking out, as it were, and unfolding the word; so that, if, for instance, in the case of a criminal acquitted through bribery and then impeached a second time, the accuser were to define prevarication to be the utter corruption of a tribunal by an accused person; and the defender were to urge a counter definition, that it is not every sort of corruption which is prevarication, but only the bribing of a prosecutor by a defendant: then, in the first place, there would be a contest between the different alleged meanings of the word; in which case, though the definition, if given by the speaker for the defence, approaches nearest to general usage and to the sense of common conversation, still the accuser relies on the spirit of the law, for he says that it ought not to be admitted that those men who framed the laws considered a judicial decision as ratified when wholly corrupt, but that if even one judge be corrupted, the decision should be annulled. He relies on equity; he urges that the law ought to have been framed differently, if that was what was meant; but that the truth is, that whatever kinds of corruption could possibly exist were all meant to be included under the one term prevarication. But the speaker for the defence will bring forward on his side the usage of common conversation; and he will seek the meaning of the word from its contrary; from a genuine accuser, to whom a prevarication is the exact opposite; or from consequents, because the tablets are given to the judge by the accuser; and from the name itself, which signifies a man who in contrary causes appears to be placed, as it were, in various positions. But still he himself will be forced to have recourse to topics of equity, to the authority of precedents, and to some dangerous result. And this may be a general rule, that when each has stated his definition, keeping as accurately as he can to the common sense and meaning of the word, he should then confirm his own meaning and definition by similar definitions, and by the examples of those men who have spoken in the same way.

And in this kind of cause that will be a common topic for the accuser,--that it must never be permitted that the man who confesses a fact, should defend himself by a new interpretation of the name of it. But the defender must rely on those general principles of equity which I have mentioned, and he must complain that, while that is on his side, he is weighed down not by facts, but by the perverted use of a word; and while speaking thus he will be able to introduce many topics suited to aid him in discovering arguments. For he will avail himself of resemblances, and contrarieties, and consequences; and although both parties will do this, still the defendant, unless his cause is evidently ridiculous, will do so more frequently. But the things which are in the habit of being said, for the sake of amplification, or in the way of digression, or when men are summing up, are introduced either to excite hatred, or pity, or to work on the feelings of the judges by means of those arguments which have been already given; provided that the importance of the facts, or the envy of men, or the dignity of the parties, will allow of it.

_C.F._ I understand that. Now I wish to hear you speak of that part which, when the question is what is the character of such and such a transaction, will be suitable both for the accusation and also for the defence.

_C.P._ In a cause of that kind those who are accused confess that they did the very thing for which they are blamed; but since they allege that they did it lawfully, it is necessary for us to explain the whole principles of law. And that is divided into two principal divisions,--natural law and statute law. And the power of each of these is again distributed into human law and divine law; one of which refers to equity and the other to religion. But the power of equity is two-fold: one part of which is upheld by considerations of what is straightforward, and true, and just, and, as it is said, equitable and virtuous; the other refers chiefly to requiting things done to one suitably,--which in the case of that which is to be requited being a kindness, is called gratitude, but when it is an injury, it is called revenge. And these principles are common both to natural and statute law. But there are also other divisions of law; for there is both the written and the unwritten law,--each of which is maintained by the rights of nations and the customs of our ancestors. Again, written law is divided into public law and private law. Public law is laws, resolutions of the senate, treaties; private law is accounts, covenants, agreements, stipulations.

But those laws which are unwritten, owe their influence either to custom or to some agreement between, and as it were to the common consent of men. And indeed it is in some degree prescribed to us by the laws of nature, that we are to uphold our customs and laws. And since the foundations of equity have been briefly explained in this manner, we ought to meditate carefully, with reference to causes of this kind, on what is to be said in our speeches about nature, and laws, and the customs of our ancestors, and the repelling of injuries, and revenge, and every portion of human rights. If a man has done anything unintentionally, or through necessity, or by accident, which men would not be excused for doing if they did it of their own accord and intentionally, by way of deprecating punishment for the action he should implore pardon and indulgence, founding his petition on many topics of equity. I have now explained as well as I could every kind of controversy, unless there is anything besides which you wish to know.

_C.F._ I wish to know that which appears to me to be the only point left,--what is to be done when the discussion turns upon expressions in written documents.

_C.P._ You are right to ask: for when that is explained I shall have discharged the whole of the task which I have undertaken. The rules then which relate to ambiguity are common to both parties. For each of them will urge that the signification which he himself adopts is the one suited to the wisdom of the framer of the document; each of them will urge that that sense which his adversary says is to be gathered from the ambiguous expression in the writing, is either absurd, or inexpedient, or unjust, or discreditable, or again that it is inconsistent with other written expressions, either of other men, or, if possible, of the same man. And he will urge further that the meaning which he himself contends for is the one which would have been intended by every sensible and respectable man; and that such an one would express himself more plainly if the case were to come over again, and that the meaning which he asserts to be the proper one has nothing in it to which objection can be made, or with which any fault can be found; but that if the contrary meaning is admitted, many vices, many foolish, unjust, and inconsistent consequences must follow. But when it appears that the writer meant one thing and wrote another, then he who relies on the letter of the law must first explain the circumstances of the case, and then recite the law; then he must press his opponent, repeat the law, reiterate it, and ask him whether he denies that that is the expression contained in the writing, or whether he denies the facts of the case. After that he must invoke the judge to maintain the letter of the law. When he has dwelt on this sort of corroborative argument he must amplify his case by praising the law, and attack the audacity of the man who, when he has openly violated it, and confesses that he has done so, still comes forward and defends his conduct. Then he must invalidate the defence when his opponent says that the writer meant one thing and wrote another, and say that it is intolerable that the meaning of the framer of the law should be explained by any one else in preference to the law itself. Why did he write down such words if he did not mean them? Why does the opponent, while he neglects what is plainly written, bring forward what is not written anywhere? Why should he think that men who were most careful in what they wrote are to be convicted of extreme folly? What could have hindered the framer of this law from making this exception which the opponent contends that he intended to make, if he really had intended it? He will then bring forward those instances where the same writer has made a similar exception, or if he cannot do that, at least he will cite cases where others have made similar exceptions. For a reason must be sought for, if it is possible to find one, why this exception was not made in this case. The law must be stated to be likely to be unjust, or useless, or else that there is a reason for obeying part of it, and for abrogating part; it must be that the argument of the opponent and the law are at variance. And then, by way of amplification, it will be proper, both in other parts of the speech, and above all in the peroration, to speak with great dignity and energy about the desirableness of maintaining the laws, and of the danger with which all public and private affairs are threatened.

But he who defends himself by appeals to the spirit and intention of the law, will urge that the force of the law depends on the mind and design of the framer, not on words and letters. And he will praise him for having mentioned no exceptions in his law, so as to leave no refuge for offences, and so as to bind the judge to interpret the intention of the law according to the actions of each individual. Then he must cite instances in which all equity will be disturbed if the words of the law are attended to and not the meaning. Then all cunning and false accusation must be endeavoured to be put before the judge in an odious light, and complaints uttered in a tone of indignation. If the action in question has been done unintentionally, or by accident, or by compulsion, rather than in consequence of any premeditation,--and actions of those kinds we have already discussed,--then it will be well to use the same topics of equity to counteract the effect of the harshness of the language.

But if the written laws contradict one another, then the connexion of art is such, and most of its principles are so connected and linked together, that the rules which we a little while ago laid down for cases of ambiguity, and which have just been given with reference to the letter and spirit of the law, may be all transferred to this third division also. For the topics by which, in the case of an ambiguous expression, we defended that meaning which is favourable to our argument must also be used to defend the law which is favourable to us when there are inconsistent laws. In the next place, we must contrive to defend the spirit of one law, and the letter of the other. And so the rules which were just now given relating to the spirit and letter of the law may all be transferred to this subject.

I have now explained to you all the divisions of oratory which have prevailed, as laid down by the academy to which we are devoted, and if it had not been for that academy they could not have been discovered, or understood, or discussed. For the mere act of division, and of definition, and the distribution of the partitions of a doubtful question, and the understanding the topics of arguments, and the arranging the argumentation itself properly, and the discerning what ought to be assumed in arguing, and what follows from what has been assumed, and the distinguishing what is true from what is false, and what is probable from what is incredible, and refuting assumptions which are not legitimate, or which are inappropriate, and discussing all these different points either concisely as those do who are called dialecticians, or copiously as an orator should do, are all fruits of the practice in disputing with acuteness and speaking with fluency, which is instilled into the disciples of that academy. And without a knowledge of these most important arts how can an orator have either energy or variety in his discourse, so as to speak properly of things good or bad, just or unjust, useful or useless, honourable or base?

Let these rules then, my Cicero, which I have now explained to you, be to you a sort of guide to those fountains of eloquence, and if under my instruction or that of others you arrive at them, you will then acquire a clearer understanding of these things and of others which are much more important.

_C.F._ I will strive to arrive at them with great eagerness, my father; and I do not think that there is any greater advantage which I can derive even from your many excellent kindnesses to me.

For, since eloquence consists of words and sentences, we must endeavour, by speaking in a pure and correct manner, that is to say in good Latin, to attain an elegance of expression with words appropriate and metaphorical. As to the appropriate words, selecting those which are most suitable; and when indulging in metaphor, studying to preserve a proper resemblance, and to be modest in our use of foreign terms. But of sentences, there are as many different kinds as I have said there are of panegyrics. For if teaching, we want shrewd sentences; if aiming at giving pleasure, we want musical ones; if at exciting the feelings, dignified ones. But there is a certain arrangement of words which produces both harmony and smoothness; and different sentiments have different arrangements suitable to them, and an order naturally calculated to prove their point; but of all those things memory is the foundation, (just as a building has a foundation,) and action is the light. The man, then, in whom all these qualities are found in the highest perfection, will be the most skilful orator; he in whom they exist in a moderate degree will be a mediocre orator: he in whom they are found to the slightest extent will be the most inferior sort of orator. All these, indeed, will be called orators, just as bad painters are still called painters; not differing from one another in kind, but in ability. So there is no orator who would not like to resemble Demosthenes; but Menander did not want to be like Homer, for his style was different.

This difference does not exist in orators; or if there be any such difference, that one avoiding gravity aims rather at subtlety; and on the other hand, that another desires to show himself acute rather than polished: such men, although they may be tolerable orators, are certainly not perfect ones; since that is perfection which combines every kind of excellence.

But as there was a great error as to the question, what kind of eloquence that was, I have thought that it became me to undertake a labour which should be useful to studious men, though superfluous as far as I myself was concerned. For I have translated the most illustrious orations of the two most eloquent of the Attic orators, spoken in opposition to one another: Aeschines and Demosthenes. And I have not translated them as a literal interpreter, but as an orator giving the same ideas in the same form and mould as it were, in words conformable to our manners; in doing which I did not consider it necessary to give word for word, but I have preserved the character and energy of the language throughout. For I did not consider that my duty was to render to the reader the precise number of words, but rather to give him all their weight. And this labour of mine will have this result, that by it our countrymen may understand what to require of those who wish to be accounted Attic speakers, and that they may recal them to, as it were, an acknowledged standard of eloquence.

But then Thucydides will rise up; for some people admire his eloquence. And they are quite right. But he has no connexion with the orator, which is the person of whom we are in search. For it is one thing to unfold the actions of men in a narration, and quite a different one to accuse and get rid of an accusation by arguing. It is one thing to fix a hearer's attention by a narration, and another to excite his feelings. "But he uses beautiful language." Is his language finer than Plato's? Nevertheless it is necessary for the orator whom we are inquiring about, to explain forensic disputes by a style of speaking calculated at once to teach, to delight, and to excite.

Wherefore, if there is any one who professes that he intends to plead causes in the forum, following the style of Thucydides, no one will ever suspect him of being endowed with that kind of eloquence which is suited to affairs of state or to the bar. But if he is content with praising Thucydides, then he may add my vote to his own. Moreover, even Isocrates himself, whom that divine author, Plato, who was nearly his contemporary, has represented in the Phaedrus as being highly extolled by Socrates, and whom all learned men have called a consummate orator, I do not class among the number of those who are to be taken for models. For he is not engaged in actual conflict; he is not armed for the fray; his speeches are made for display, like foils. I will rather, (to compare small things with great,) bring on the stage a most noble pair of gladiators. Aeschines shall come on like aeserninus, as Lucilius says--

"No ordinary man, but fearless all, And skill'd his arms to wield--his equal match Pacideianus stands, than whom the world Since the first birth of man hath seen no greater."

For I do not think that anything can be imagined more divine than that orator. Now this labour of mine is found fault with by two kinds of critics. One set says, "But the Greek is better." And I ask them whether the authors themselves could have clothed their speeches in better Latin? The others say, "Why should I rather read the translation than the original?" Yet those same men read the Andria and the Synephebi; and are not less fond of Terence and Caecilius than of Menander. They must then discard the Andromache, and the Antiope, and the Epigoni in Latin. But yet, in fact, they read Ennius and Pacuvius and Attius more than Euripides and Sophocles. What then is the meaning of this contempt of theirs for orations translated from the Greek, when they have no objection to translated verses?

However, let us now come to the task which we have undertaken, when we have just explained what the cause is which is before the court.

As there was a law at Athens, that no one should be the cause of carrying a decree of the people that any one should be presented with a crown while invested with office till he had given in an account of the way in which he had discharged its duties; and another law, that those who had crowns given them by the people ought to receive them in the assembly of the people, and that they who had them given to them by the senate should receive them in the senate; Demosthenes was appointed a superintendent of repairs of the walls; and he did it at his own expense. Therefore, with reference to him Ctesiphon proposed a decree, without his having given in any accounts, that he should be presented with a golden crown, and that that presentation should take place in the theatre, the people being summoned for the purpose, (that is not the legitimate place for an assembly of the people;) and that proclamation should be made, "that he received this present on account of his virtue and devotion to the state, and to the Athenian people." Aeschines then prosecuted this man Ctesiphon because he had proposed a decree contrary to the laws, to the effect that a crown should be given when no accounts had been delivered, and that it should be presented in the theatre, and that he had made false statements in the words of his motion concerning Demosthenes's virtue and loyalty; since Demosthenes was not a good man, and was not one who had deserved well of the state.

That kind of cause is indeed inconsistent with the precedents established by our habits; but still it has an imposing look. For it has on each side of the question a sufficiently clever interpretation of the laws, and a very grave contest as to the respective services done by the two rival orators to the republic. Therefore the object of Aeschines was, since he himself had been prosecuted on a capital charge by Demosthenes, for having given a false account of his embassy, that now a trial should take place affecting the conduct and character of Demosthenes, that so, under pretence of prosecuting Ctesiphon, he might avenge himself on his enemy. For he did not say so much about the accounts not having been delivered, as to the point that a very bad citizen had been praised as an excellent.

Aeschines instituted this prosecution against Ctesiphon four years before the death of Philip of Macedon. But the decision took place a few years afterwards; when Alexander had become master of Asia. And it is said that all Greece thronged to hear the issue of the trial. For what was ever better worth going to see, or better worth hearing, than the contest of two consummate orators in a most important cause, inflamed and sharpened by private enmity?

If then, as I trust, I have given such a copy of their speeches, using all their excellencies, that is to say, their sentiments, and their figures, and the order of their facts; adhering to their words only so far as they are not inconsistent with our customs, (and though they may not be all translated from the Greek, still I have taken pains that they should be of the same class,) then there will be a standard to which the orations of those men must be directed who wish to speak Attically. But I have said enough of myself--let us now hear Aeschines speaking in Latin. (_These Orations are not extant_.)