Institutes of eloquence; or, The art of speaking in public, in every character and capacity. Translated into English after the best Latin editions, with notes critical and explanatory by W. Guthrie

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R^UINCTJUAN^S INSTITUTES

2>

OF

eloquence:

OR,

THE ART OF SPEAKING IN PUBLIC,

IN EVERY CHAR.4CTER AND CAPACITY.

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH, AFTER THE BEST LATIN

EDITIONS,
WITH NOTES, CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY,
BY W. GUTHRIE, ESQi

Quot Officia Oratoris, tot sunt Genera dicendi.

ClfKRO

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IN TWO VOLUiMEJ

VOL. II. f ,-y/ .

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LONDON

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PniXTEl) FOR R. nrTTON, W. J. \ :. RICHARDSnNS, R. LEA,
.1. MAWHAN, VERNOR OS HOOl), R. KLOVLR, J. NLNN, ANU J. CA\\T110M>,

By Dcwitk and Clarkr, .Mdcrsjato-ittecu

80A.

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PA

.^f»-

M. FABIUS QUINCTILIANUS 3

TO

TRYPHO Tim BOOKSELLER,

HEALTH.

You have daily importuned me in the most
violent manner, to begin to publish my book,
concerning the education of an orator, which
1 addressed to my friend Marcellus. For my
own part, I did not think them as yet ripe
for publication. You know that though I
was engaged in a great deal of other business,
I bestowed no more than two years in com-
posing them ; and that time was employed
less in writing, than in consulting an infinite
variety of authors, and in the almost endless
toil of searching after materials for finishing
the plan I had proposed. Add to this, I was
for taking the advice which Horace lays down,
in liis art of poetry, by keeping this work
nine y^ars by me, lest 1 should publish it too
precipitately. This was the reason why I
delayed the publication : for 1 thought that
the tbndncss of an author being by that time
;d3ated, when I came to review it, I could

examine

/ examine it with the eye of a critic. But if

V the demand for it is so great as you say, let us
spread our sails to the uinds, and wish each
other a happy voyage, now that we are weigh-
ing anchor. But remember, that a great deal
depends upon your care and exactness, in
giving this work with all possible correctness
to the public.

J

eUINCTILIAN^S INSTITUTES

OF

ELOQUENCE.

BOOK VII.

INTRODUCTION.

CONXERNING THE UTILITY OF A PROPER DISPOSITION.

I PRESUME, that 1 have said enough concerning
invention ; for I have not only laid down the princi-
ples upon which the judgment is formed, but those
by which the jjassions are moved. But as it is not
enough for one who undertakes a building to bring
together his stones, his materials, and every thing
that is proper for carrying it on, unless the whole is
disposed of and conducted by the skill of an able
architect ; so, in the study of eloquence, it is not
enough that a large mass of materials be piled and
heaped up together, unless disposition shall reduce
them into order, and connect them into strong, but
graceful, uniformity.

Disposition, therefore, is very justly entitled to
be the second of the five divisions 1 have laid down.
A figure, though all its limbs are complete, is not a
statue till it is properly placed ; and though a man
may have every member of his body complete, yet,
if the situation of any one of them is otherwise than

VOL. II. B nature

2 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

nature desigiu'd it to be, he must be considered as
a monster. A limb, if ever so slightly put out of
its place, loses its vigour ; and troops, when con-
fused, fall foul of one another. Nay, I agree with
those who tliink that the system of nature is main-
tained by order, and, were that order broken, the
whole of it must rush into confusion.

In like manner, speaking, without an order being
observed, is no other than a confused heap of words,
floating, like a ship without a steersman, without any
determined course. The speaker is guilty of many
repetitions, and many omissions, and is no better
than a traveller wandering in the night-time in a
strange country. For, having marked out neither
beginning, progress, nor end, he is guided by chance
rather than design.*

The whole of this book, therefore, treats of dis-
position. And if any certain rules could be laid
down to answer all occasions, by far the greatest
number of ^\Titers would not have been ignorant of
it. But, as the number of causes is infinite, and as
there never were, nor ever will be, two causes re-
sembling each other in all respects, the pleader is to
pry, he is to watch, he is to invent, he is to judge,
and he is to ask counsel from his own breast. At the
same time, I do not deny that some part of this divi-
sion admits of rules, and 1 shall not omit them.

• [Design.] There is somewhat pretty particular in this in-
troduction ; for, in the compass of a very few lines, we have no
less than seven or eight comparisons, viz. to architecture, statuary,
anatomy, mutilations, war, natural philosophy, sailing, and tra-
velling.

CHAP. I.

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 3

CHAP. I.

CONCERNING DISPOSITION AND ITS MANNER.

As I have already intimated, division separates
complex propositions into single ones; partition,
single propositions into parts. Separate order is a
certain right placing ot" propositions, comiecting the
following with the foregoing. Dii!|)Osition is the
proper distribution of things and parts into their
right places. But still we are to remember, that
disposition may be varied as the interest of a cause
requires ; and that, in the same cause, the defend-
ant is lot tied up to begin with the same point the
prosec itor had begun with. Not to multiply ex-
amples, this method is justified by the practice of
Demosthenes and iEschines. For the former, in
the trial of Ctesiphon, begun his pleading with mat-
ters of law, where he thought his strong point lay ;
but Demosthenes, who spoke for the defendant*
before he touched upon any point of law, said all,
or almost all, he had to say, and thereby prepared
the judges for the matter of law. And, indeed, it is
but reasonable that both parties should begin witli.
what points they please; otherwise, the defendant
must be tied down to the pleasure of the prosecutor.
In short, in recriminations, when each party be-
comes a defendant, before the one accuses the other,
the order of the whole matters between them must
necessarily be diflferent.

I shall, therefore, lav before my reader the method
oi my practice, of which I never have made any
mystery, and which is founded partly upon rules,
partly upon experience. Now, my first care was,
m all the trials 1 was concerned in, to make myself

B Q thoroughly

4. QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

thoroughly master of all the points that could come
into the controversy. For, in schools, a few stated
points, which the Greeks call themes, and Cicero
propositions, were explained before the declamation.
When 1 had made these pass, as it were, in review
before me, I then set myself to study what could be
said on one side of the question, as well as on the
other, and that with equal application to both.

To effect this, my first business was (and indeed,
though it is no ditficult, yet it is an important matter)
to settle the point which each party wanted to
establish, and the mea«s by which they were to
establish it. In this I observed the following method:
1 first considered what was advanced by the pro-
secutor. This was either admitted on both sides or
controverted. If admitted, it could be no point of
debate. I next bestowed the same pains upon the
answer of the defendant : and, sometimes it happen-
ed, that it was admitted by the prosecutor. Now,
the question began at the very first point of their
difference. For example : You have killed a
man. — I have. Thus far the fact is admitted. I
then pass to the defendant, who is to justify the
fact. The law, says he, justifies a man in killing an
adulterer with the adultress. Admitted. Thus far
•both parties agree ; and then comes the third point,
which is to be the matter of dispute between them.
They were not adulterers. — They were. Here is
the question, the fact comes to be disputed, and the
cause is conjectural.

Sometimes even the third point is admitted on
both sides, viz. that the parties killed were adulter-
ers ; But, replies the accuser, it was unlawful in you
to kill them; you was a banished man, you was
branded with infamy. Here the matter turns upon
a point of law, sometimes the very first charge is de-
nied. You killed the man. — I di<i not kill him.

1 • Here

Book VII. OF ELOQUENXE. 5

Here the controversy is formed. In this manner
are we to consider, where the controversy begins,
and upon what the first question is founded.

Sometimes the charge is simple, llabirius killed
Saturninus. Sometimes it is complicated. Lucius
A'arenus has incurred the penalty of the statute
against stabbing ; for he ought to be condemned for
killing Caius V'arenus, for wounding Cneius, and
likewise for killing Saiarius. Thus the propositions
are ditlerent; and the same observation holds with
regard to several causes.

But several questions and states may be formed
from a complex proposition. For instance, where a
defendant denies one charge, defends another, and
destroys a third because the action is not risrhtlv
laid. I such cases, the prosecutor ought to be
very careful as to the points he is to answer, and the
order in which he is to reply. As to the part of the
prosecutor, I am much of the same sentiments with
Celsus, who follows those of Cicero ; but 1 think he
makes too great a point of it, that some very strong
argument should be placed in the front of the plead-
ing, and something, if }X)ssible, still stronger in the
rear ; and that all our weakest arguments should take
place in the middle; because the judge, in the
beginning of a pleading, ought to be touched, and,
at the close of it, convinced.

The defendant's advocate, however, ouyht to begin
with the strongest charije aoainst him, lest the iudire,
being wholly intent upon that, should pay the less
regard to all his preceding defences. And yet,
sometimes, this order ou2;ht not to be observed.
For instance, when the slighter charges are evidently
false ; for, in that case, by destroying them, he de-
stroys all the credit of his prosecutor, and thereby
prepossesses the judge against the whole of the
charge, when he comes to answer the strongest

points.

6 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

points. It may, however, he proper, on such occa-
sions, to preface the pleading with some reasons
wliy the main charge is not immediately spoken to,
and to promise to sjjeak to it. For this manner re-
moves all suspicion of our being afraid to encounter
immediately the main charge.

It is generally proper to begin with clearing a de-
fendant from the crimes imputed to him in any
former part of his life, in order to reconcile the judge
to the defence which he is to make upon the matter
for which he is tried. But Cicero, directed not by
the general practice, but by the circumstances of the
case, in his pleading for Varenus, delayed this part to
the last.

In single charges, we are to consider whether we
are to answer by a single proposition, or by several.
If by the former, it is, that we may rest our defence
upon the fact, or upon the law. If upon the fact,
we are to consider whether we are to deny or to
justify it. If upon the law, we are then to resolve
upon what branch of law we are to proceed, and
whether we are to attach ourselves to its words, or
its meaning. In this we are determined by examin-
ing the nature of the law upon which the prosecu-
tion is founded, and upon which judgment is to be
pronounced. For, in schools, certain cases are laid
down that connect several circumstances in one
question. For example, " A father, after exposing
his child, comes to know him again ;" Whether, in
that case, he has not a right to take him home, upon
paying for his subsistence ? AVhether a father has
not aright to disinherit an untowardly son? Whether
a father has not a right, after taking home a son that
has been exposed, to oblige him to marry the
daughter of a rich kinsman, though the son wants
to marry the daughter of the poor man who brought
him up ? Here the laws about exposed children are

very

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 7

very proper for moving the passions, but tlje laws ot
disinheriting must determine the question. Mean-
while, a question is not always determined by one
law, for one law may clash with another: and this
matter must be carefully canvassed before the main
question can be settled.

Several defences may be made against the same
charge. Thus, in the case of Rabirius, if he had
killed the deceased, he would have done right ; but
he did not kill him. Now, in matters where we have
a great deal to offer* against a single proposition, a
pleader is first to consider all that can be said upon
the subject, and then the manner in which he is to
arrange it. Upon this head, I am not for the method
which 1 recommended a little above, and in pro-
bative argu ents, when I said that we sometimes
may begin with our strong proofs. For matters of
evidence ought always to grow, by proceeding from
the weakest to the strongest proofs, whether they
are the same, or of different kinds.

Now, matters of law generally admit of contests
upon different points; in matters of fact, one point
only is to be established. iJut let us speak first of
those that admit of different points. Of such, we
ought always to begin with the weakest. For this
reason, sometimes, after we have handled a few of
them, we use to put them aside, or bid our op{»o-
nent make his best of them ; for we cannot proceed
to others without passing some by : but we are to
manage this so as not to seem to condemn tiiem,
but to set them aside, because we can cany our
cause without them.

One pets a letter of attorney to receive the r»'nts
of anoth(?r man's paternal estate. One considera-
tion, that may be proper, is, whether the person,

* [Offer.] I have been a little explicit upon this head, becaus4
the original requires it.

who

8 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

who has got this power, is in a capacity to use it >-
After we have touched upou this point, suppose we'
give it up, or are forced to give it up. Another point
occurs, whether the person, who gives the power,
is qualified to give it? Well, we give up that
point hkewise ; and then another question is started,
whether the party, who sues, is heir, or sole heir ?
This likewise is given up ; and then comes the main
question, whether the debt is really due?

By this method a pleading gathers strength in its
progress ; whereas he must be a madman, who shall
begin by giving up his strongest points and finish
with his weakest. Thus, I have known a case like
the following brought into a school: " You are not
to disinherit the man whom you have, adopted ; ad-
mitting you may disinherit another, you are not to-
disinherit a brave man, like this ; nay, granting you
may disinherit a brave man, you are not to doit merely
because he does not comply with all your whims.
' I shall grant you may even do it in that case, yet you
are not to do it upon suspicion ; and grant that you
might do it upon suspicion, it ought to be better
grounded than yours is." This is a sample of the
diflerence that prevails in causes that arise in law.
In those that turn upon the fact, several questions
may tend to establish the same point ; and such as
do not affect the main question may be given up.
A man, for instance, is upon his defence against a
charge of theft; " You must prove," says he to his
prosecutor, " that you had the goods ; you must
prove that you lost them; you must prove that you
lost them by theft, and you must prove me to be
the thief." Now, the first three points may be
given up, but we must stick to the last.

It was likewise my practice to retrace the specified
fact, upon which a cause generally hinges, back to
the original general proposition; and sometimes^

even

PoQK VII, OF ELOQUENCE. 9

even in deliberative matters, I have proceeded from
the general proposition to the last specified question :
for example, Numa dehberates whether he is to
accept of the sovereignty offered him by the Romans.
Here the general question is, whether he is to be a
sovereign ? The first specified question is, whether in
a foreign state? The next is, whether at Rome >•
And the last is, whether it is for the advantage of all
parties for him to accept of the offer ?

Ill like manner, with regard to matters of contro-
versy. A man, for his public services, demands hia
neighbour's wife. The last specific question is,
whether he has a right to make such a demand >
The general qu tion is, whether he ought to be
gratiiied with whatever he demands ? And then,
whether he can demand her, she belonging to a pri-
vate person ? W hether he can demand her in mar-
riage ? Whether he can demand her at all, as being
cloathed with a husband? But a matter like this isi
not to be debated in the same order that it presents
itself to us; for the first thing that suggests itself to
us, is the last thing that comes in the arrangement of
the plea, Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife.
Therefore, when we are in a hurry, this arrange-
ment escapes us. We are not to be contented with
what immediately presents itself. Let us go a little
farther; let us exainine whether he has a right to
demand even a widow ; nay, any thing that is private
property; nay, which is the last (and yet the same
with the first) consideration, any thing that is
unjust.*

My practice was to mark the points in which my
opponent and I were agreed, provided they were to
my purpose. 1 then not only pressed him upon his

* I have, with Mr. Rollin, omitted translating a paragraph or
two that follows in the original^ becau-e, in fact, the reading is
fiut only very depraved, but the sense trifling and useless.

concessions.

10 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

concessions, but 1 multiplied them by partition.
Thus ill tlie followinpf case, " A general, who, in a
competition tor public honours, had got the better of
his father, was taken prisoner; ambassadors being
sent to redeem him, they met his father on his return
from the enemy, and he told them they came too
late; they, however, searched the father, and in the
lappet of his robe found a sum of money ; then pro-
ceeding in their intention, they found their general
fastened to a cross, with just life enough to say, be-
ware of the traitor." Upon this the father was im-
peached.

Let us now consider in what we are agreed.
Treason is come to light, and that too by means of
the general. We are now to search for the traitor.
You own you went to our enemies, that you went
privately, that you returned safe from them, that
you brought with you a sum of money, which money
was found concealed about your person. Now a
single fact sometimes strikes deeper, when laid
down in this manner; and when it happens to make
a strong impression upon the mind, we become in a
manner deaf to all the defence that is offered. This
way of accumulating charges is most proper for an
impeacher, but I would recommend it to the defend-
ant to make head against them separately.

1 likewise used, in disposing of the whole of my
subject, to do the same thing I recommended under
the head of arguments. For I laid down all that
could be urged against me, and then set aside every
thing, till nothing remained but the very matter
which 1 wanted to establish. Thus, in a charge of
prevarication,* we urge, " That every person, who

is

* This passae;e is suflBcient to fix the meaning of this word,
which in the English language is very indeter mined. It is farther
fixed by our author, 1. 9, c. 2. where he says,, that a pleader

should

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 11

is accused, must be acquitted either by his own in-
nocence, or by the interposition of power, violence,
or money, or by the difficulty of iinding evidence, or
by the partiality of the judge. You acknowledge
that this man had offended, you complain of no in-
terposition of violence, none of power, none of
money ; there was no difficulty in the proof; to
what then could his acquittal be owing, but to your
betraying your charge ?"

In pleading, when I could not carry every point,
i carried as many as 1 could. A man is killed.
Where? Not in a solitary place, which might make
us suspect him to have been murdered by villains.
He was not killed by robbers, for he was rifled of
nothiiijr; nor bv his next heir, for he was worth
nothing. Some one then must have borne him a
grudge. But who that was is the question. Now
this manner of examining all that can be said upon a
head, and as it were rejecting every thing, but that
which makes for our purpose, greatly facilitates the
division of a pleading. Milo is accused for killing
Clodius. He either killed him, or he did not kill
him. To deny the fi\ct would be most for our pur-
pose, but that is not to be done ; we are therefore to
acknowledge it. We arc next to inquire whether
he did it lawfully or unlawfully. If lawfully, he
must either have done it through design or neces-
sity; for ignorance cannot be pleaded. Design is
generally looked upon to be equivocal, and therefore
a reason by way of defefice is to be added, by urging
that his design was thereby to serve his country.

should not prevaricate, or play booty with his cause. The Abbe
Gcdoyn applies the prevarication here spoken of to a judge, but
against our author's meaning. (See Cicero in his pleading
against Ca'ciliu?, in the Translation of the Orations, Vol. 1.
p. 170.) The learned have assigned several whimsical Etymolo-
gies to this word, which sfcro to be no other than varus, crooked, or
winding.

Did

V2 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

Did he kill him through necessity? Then the en-
counter on one side must have been accidental, and
not premeditated. Consequently, one of them
must have way-laid the other. Was Milo or Clodius
the way-layer ? Clodius, to be sure. Thus the
chain of circumstances, as they naturally follow one
another, guides the pleader to the strong point of his
defence.

Farther, it was, or it was not Milo's intention to
kill Clodius, when he found the latter had way-laid
him. His safest defence is, that it was not. The
slaves of Milo, therefore, acted without the orders,
without the knowledge, without the presence of
their master. Had Cicero rested here, some imputa-
tion of backwardness must have stuck to Milo, which
would have hurt the credit of his defence, because
he maintained it to be a right thing to kill Clodius.
He therefore adds, as every one would wish his own
servants to act, were he in the like circumstances.
This manner is the more useful, because, very often,
something must be said, and yet we can say nothing
to our own liking. Let us, therefore, survey the
whole, and thereby we shall say somewhat that
either does the greatest service, or the least disservice,
to our cause. Sometimes we may lay hold of our
opponent's proposition, for I have already observed,,
the same propositions may be of equal service to,
both parties.

Whole volumes have, I know, been written by pro-
fessors, in examining which party ought to begin
first. This is determined by the dreadful inflexibi-
lity of formulas,* or by the manner of laying the
process, or by lot. This question is of no conse-

* These were particular sets of words, which pleaders were
obliged to repeat, and their failing in a single syllable lost them
their cause. See Cicero's Character of an Orator, 1. 1, where
they are finely ridiculed. They afterwards were abolished by the
Emperor Justinian.

quence

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 13

quence in schools, where both prosecutor and de-
fendant are at hberty, in the same declamations, to
lay a charge, to refute it, and to reply to that refuta-
tion. There are, however, many causes, where it is
very difficult to find out which party has a right to
speak first; as for instance, the following: A man
has three sons, one an orator, another a philosopher,
and the third a physician ; and he leaves by his will
a fourth part of his estate to each, with a direction
that the remaining fourth should go to that son who
was of most service to his country. The sons go to
law, and though the proposition of the question is
very clear, yet it is not clear who has a right to
speak first. For each advocate will be for taking
the preference for his client. Thus far I have
thouGi^ht fit to speak in general concerning division.
But how are we to find out questions that are
more knotty and less common ? My answer is, by
the same means that we apply sentences, expres-
sions, figures, and descriptions, by our genius, our ap-
plication, and practice. Scarcely do they ever
escape any man of the least attention, if he takes
nature for his guide. But most people, smitten with
an itch of reputation in eloquence at the bar, take
up with the most showy, but least serviceable, quali-
ties; while others, without taste or judgment,
throw out whatever comes uppermost. To illustrate
what I now say, 1 will 2:ive my reader a sketch of a
school exercise, which is far from being either new
or difficult. The law says, " that a son who does
not appear with his father, when the latter is tried
for treason, is to be disinherited. Every man con-
demned for treason is to be sent into banishment,
with his advocate. A man who had two sons, one
of them eloquent, and the other illiterate, was tried
for treason, and the former attended him as his advo-
cate,

U< QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIL

cate, but the latter did not: being condemned, he
was, with his advocate, sent into exile. The ilhterate
son, (or liis pubhc services, obtained, by way of re-
ward, the repeal of the sentence against his father
and brother. The father, being thus returned, died
intestate; the ilhterate son claims part of his estate,
but the eUxjuent son claims the whole."

Here those eloquent gentlemen, who pity us for
the pains we take about causes that seldom or never
haj)pcii, will instantly lay hold of the favourable cha-
racters ; they will plead for the illiterate against the
ehxjuent son; for the brave man, against the milk-
sop; tor the son who has restored the family, against
him who never had served it; for him who offered
to be contented with a part of his father's fortune,
against him who would seize the whole of it. All
these are material considerations, and greatly to the
purpose, but they are far from being decisive. In
such a pleading as this, the present practice is to
ramble after rumbling, puzzling expressions, for in
modern times, tumult and clamour at the bar take
place of beauty and eloquence.

Others, who have more sober sense, but take up
with whatever first presents itself, will see the follow-
ing considerations floating, as it were, upon the sur-
face of the cause; " That the illiterate son was ex-
cusable for not attending his father upon his trial,
because he could have done him no service, if he
had ; nay, that the eloquent son himself had not a
great deal to boast of, since his father was condemn-
ed; that the restorer of the family was more worthy
of the inheritance, than a fellow who was covetous,
ungrateful, and unnatural ; one who refused to give
any thing to his brother, who had so well deserved
his share of the estate." They will likewise observe
that the first point depends upon the words, and the
2 intention

Book VII. OF ELOaUENXE. 15

intention of the law, without setthng which, every
thing that can be said must go for nothing.

But the man who follows nature will immediately
see, that the first plea the illiterate son has to offer,
is, " My father, who died without a will, left two
sons; and I, as one of them, claim, by the law of
nations, part of his estate." Is there a man so void
of sense and learning, as not to enter his plea in that
manner, even supposing him to be ignorant what a
proposition is ? He will run out a little in commend-
ing the justicQ of that law of succession, which is
established in all countries. Well, let us now con-
sider what may be offered against a demand that ap-
pears to be so well founded. Nothing can be more
clear than that the law says, " that the man who
does not appear as an advocate for his father, when
be is tried for treason, is to be disinherited : and you,
the illiterate son, did not appear, when your father
was in that situation." This is the proposition, and
It necessarily introduces a flourish in praise of the law,
and a reproach to the absentino^ son.

Hitherto the propositions of both parties are unde-
niable, when separately considered. Let us, there-
fore, return to the claimant. If he is not void of
common sense, his first reflection will be. If tliis law
stands in my way, there can be no process, and I can
have no plea. Now that there is such a law, and
that the illiterate son incurred the penalties of it,
is past all doubt. What then is he to plead next ?
I am a plain man, says he, iuid 1 lived in the coun-
try. But the law makes no distinction of persons,
therefore that plea can avail you nothing. Let us,
therefore, try whether this law has not a weak side,
where we may attack it. Nature (I Cannot too often
repeat it) ought still to be our guide, and nature di-
rects us to have recourse to the intention of a law,
when the letter of it is against us. A general con-
sideration

15 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book \\l

Bideration arises, whtthcr, in this case, the letter or
the intention of the law is to decide. But if we keep
to general terms, we may be eternally disputing
upon this point without ever coming to any determi^
nation ; let us, therefore, find out in this case some
speciality, that sets aside the letter of the law.
Then you say, The son, who does not appear, is to be
disinherited. Every son, without exception ? Now,
we can scarcely avoid urging the following argu-
ments. " Supposing a son is an infant, or sick in
bed, or abroad, or in the army, or upon an embassy ;
is he under such circumstances to be disinherited^
if he does not appear ? surely not." Here is a great
point gained, if we can but establish the possibility
of a son's succeeding to his father, though he did not
attend him on his trial.

Now, let us shift the flute, as Cicero says, from
one hand to the other, and consider what the man
of eloquence has to urge. Admit, says he, that
some exceptions may lie to the letter of the law, yet
your case is not one of them ; you was not in your
infancy, you was not ill in bed, abroad, or in the
army, or upon an embassy. The other still recurs to
his first defence: 1 am, says he, a plain man. The
orator naturally rejoins, It was not required of you to
plead for your father, but to appear with him. This
is fact. Well ; then the plain man's next recourse
is, to the meaning of the law : The law, says he, was
meant to punish unnaturality in a son, but 1 am no
unnatural son. You w^as unnatural, replies the other,
when you incurred the penalties of this law, though,
either through remorse or ambition, you demanded
the repeal of our banishment. Besides, it was by
you my father was condemned ; your not appearing
determined the judges against him.

To this the plain man may reply. You, sir, was the
cause of my father's condemnation ; you had dis-
obliged

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 17

obliged a trreat many pcopl,' ; you had contracted
many family (luarreis. Jkit these are allegations
only ; as is another plea, which the plain man might
urge, That the father was unwilling to expose all his
family to his danger. Such are the contents of the
first question, as arising from the letter and meaning
of the law.

Let us stretch our inquiries farther, and let us ex-
amine whether, and in what manner, another method
Tnay not be found out. Here I am careful to imitate
a real examination; for 1 want to instruct how to
search things out; and, dro])|jing all ornament of
language, 1 suit myself to the instruction of my
pupils. Hitherto we have drawn all our arguments
from the person of the claimant; but why are we not
to examine concerning the father? Says the law,
Whoever does not appear as advocate for his father,
let him be disinherited. Why are we not here to ex-
amine whether the law does not admit of exceptions?
This we often do in cases where sons are prosecut(;d
for not supporting their fathers. For, we inquire
whether the father has not given evidence against
his sons in a court of justice? Whether he had not
sold his son to prostitution? Now, what are we in
inquire concerning the father in question here ?
He was condemned. Does -the law, then, relate
only to fathers who are acquitted? This, at first
sight, is a knotty suggestion. However, let us do
our best. The meaning of the law, probably, was
to prevent parents from beini( deprived, if innocent,
of the assistance of their children. Hut this makes
au;ainst the illiterate son, for he admits that his
father was innocent. The question furnishes another
argument. He who is coiidt-mned lor treason shall
be sent, with his advocate, into banishment. Now,
it is unreasonable to suppose that the law intended
to inflict the same punishment, if the son did ap-

VOL. 11. c pear,

18 QUIXCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

pear, as it he did not npjHwr, Besides, exiles have
no benefit i>t" the law. Ihcivfore, it is not probable
that this law was meant to affect the son who did
not appear ibr his father, it" condemned. Now, in
both cases, the illiterate son makes it doubtful,
whether, bein*^ an exile, he could have possessed
any property.

In op|)osition to this, the eloquent son will urge
the letter of the law, which admits of no exception,
])ecause the very meaning of it was to punish sons
who do not appear for their fathers, through fear of
being sent into exile ; and he atfirms that his brother
did not appear for his innocent father. Here it is
proper to observe, that two general questions may arise
out of one state of a case. If the obligation lies upon
every son ? And, If the right belongs to every father.

Hitherto we have only discussed the right of two
persons ; for as to the third, the defendant, no
question can arise, because there is no dispute about
admitting him to his part of the estate. Let us,
however, attend; for all this might have been said,
even though the father had remained in exile. Nor
are we immediately to take up with our first obvious
suggestion, that the father was restored by the illi-
terate si)n. If this point is carefully examined, we shall
find it but an introduction to others ; for, as the species
follow s the kind, so the kind goes before the species.

Supposing, therefore, the father had been restored
by any other person; there then arises a disputable
point, whether his being restored did not repeal the
sentence, and had the eflfect of putting him in the
same situation, as if no sentence had been pronounced
against him. Mere the claimant may alleoe, that,
beini,'- entitled to make onlv one demand, he could
not have obtained the recall of his father and brother
at the same time, had not the father's recall implied
that he was to be considered as a man who never had

been

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 19

been tried, and that this circumstance remitted all
the penalty of exile to the brother who had appeared;
and the supposition of there having bt^en no trial,
supposes that the brother, who did aj)j)ear, never did
appear. Now, we come to our Hi'st suggestion, that
the father was recalled bv the illiterate son. Here
again we may reason, whether by this recall, the son
is not to be considered as an advocate, because he
performed what the advocate only endeavoured to
perform ; and it is fiiir to give for an equivalent, what
is more thatian ei[uivalent.

What remains is matter of equity, which plea is
the most just. This too admits of a division. Sup-
posing each claimed the whole ; or, supposing the
case to be as it is, that the one claims only his share,
and the other the whole ; when this matter is dis-
cussed, the memory of the father will be of (jreat
importance to the judges, especially in a cause that is
to settle the succession to his estate. A conjectural
question will here arise, What could the father's in-
tention be in dying intestate ? But this beloniis to
the (|uality or character of the action, which forms
another state.

Now, most orators chuse to reserve the equity of
their cause to the close of their ))lcading, because
there is nothing the judges hear with more pleasure.
The interest, however, of a client may require that
method to be altered. For, if a plea is weak in point
of law, the pleader, in order to prepare the judge,
ought to begin with equity. I have nothing to add
upon this head in general. 1 shall now proceed to
the several parts of judicial causes; but, as I cannot
minutely specify them through every case or question
that may arise, I shall keep to generals, but so, as
to handle the points that most commonly arise in
each: and, as the first question naturally is, Whether
a thing is so ? 1 will begin with that.

CHAIMI.

?0 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

CHAP. II.

CONCERNING CONJECTURE.

All conjecture relates either to a thing, or an
intention : and both achiiit of three times, the past,
the present, and the future. With regard to things,
the questions are either general, or particular ; the
latter are contained in certain circumstances, and
the former are not contained. As to the intention,
there can be no question concerning it, unless where
there is a party, and where the fact is admitted.
With regard to things, therefore, we examine eithet*
what has been done, or what is doing, or what will
be done. To give examples of these three in
general (juestions: " Whether the world was formed
by a fortuitous concourse of atoms ? Whether it is
governed by providence? Whether it will have an
end V Examples of particular questions are, " Whe-
ther Roscius murdered his father? Whether Manlius
aspired to sovereignty? Whether Caecilius had a
right to impeach Yerres?"

Trials turn upon the time that is past ; for a man
can be tried only for what he has done. As to what
is doing, or may hereafter happen, we can form no
judgment, but from past circumstances. We may
likewise try to find the original of a thing. Of pes-
tilence, for example, " Whether it arises from the
.anger of the Gods, the distemperature of the air, the
corruption of waters, or the noxious exhalations of
the earth ?" We likewise may investigate the motive
of an action ; the motive, for instance, that induced
fifty kings to sail to Troy. " Whether they were
obfiged by their oath, or impelled by example ? Or,
Whether they did it out of respect to the family of
Atreus ?" These two kinds are pretty much the same.

With

BooK-VIL OF ELOQUENCE. 91

With regard to the present time, if it docs not re-
quire proofs from certain antecedent circumstances,
but is to be adjudged by our eye-sight, there is no
room for trial; because \ve are at a certainty. Thus,
it would have been absurd in the I^acedaemonians to
have debated, " Whether the Athenians were sur-
rounding their city with a wall ?" Ihit there is a kind
of conjecture, which does not seem to come under
this head ; I mean, when we are in doubt, as to
the identity of a man's person. Thus, in the dispute
amongst the heirs of Urbinia, a doubt arose, whether
the person who, as her son, demanded her estate,
was really Clusinius Figulus, or Sosipater. Now,
there could be no question as to the existence of a
person, because one was before their eyes ; as we
do not examine what exists beyond the ocean, or
what its qualities are, but whether any thing exists
at all. Meanwhile, this kind of trial depends upon
what is past. For, in fact, the question is. Whether
this man is the identical Clusinius Figulus, who
was born of Urbinia ? Even in my time (and I have
been concerned in some of them) several causes of
this kind have been tried.

Conjectures upon the intention, undoubtedly, may
comprehend all the three times. " What was the
intention of Ligarius when he went to Africa ? Witli
what intention does Pyrrhus solicit this peace ? How
will Caesar proceed, if I'tolemy shall put Pomfxy
to death?" iiy conjectural reasoning we likewise
examine into quantities and qualities; by which I
mean, the accidents of manner, appearance, and
number: "Whether the sun is greater than tii ■
earth ? Whether the moon is gloinilar, or Hat, nr
sharp ? Whether there is but one world, or several ?"
We mav say the same thine: with reirard to (luestions
that do not depend upon ])hysical reasoning : " Whe-
ther the Trojan or l*eluponnesian war was the most

considerable ?

5^2 QUINXTILIAXS INSTITUTES Dook VU.

consi(loral)K' ? WInt worn the properties of the
sl)iel(l of Achilles ? Was there hut one Hercules ?"

Now, ill those causes which consist of an impeach-
ment and a defence, the conjecture runs upon a fact,
and the author of it. Sometimes both considerations
are connected, and both denied. Sometimes they
are separate : " AV^hether the fact did, or did not, hap-
pen ?" And, if the tact is admitted, " Wiio was the
author of it ?■' The fact itself sometimes gives rise
to a single tpiestion : " Whether the man is dead r"
sometimes to a double one : " Whether he died by
poison, or a bad habit of body ?" There is another
kind which rests upon the fact only, and where, if
that is ascertained, there can be no doubt as to the
author. There is a third kind that relates to the
author only, when the fact is admitted by both
parties, and the dispute turns, who was the author
of it. But, this last is not a simple conjecture ; for
the impeached does no more than barely deny the
fact, or he throws it upon another. Now, we trans-
fer facts in several forms. Sometimes it is done by
way of recrimination, or by each par\y accusing the
other. Sometimes it is thrown upon some person
who is not tried for it, and who is sometimes pitched
upon, and sometimes not. The person pitched
upon is either one who is out of the question, or the
deceased, who is alleged to have put himself to
death. And here, as in cases of recrimination, fol-
lows a com{)arison of causes, persons, and things.
Examples of which we see in Cicero's Pleading for
V'arcnus, where he transfers a charge upon the slaves
of Ancharis : and in his ])leading for Scaurus, where
he throws the imputation of the death of Bostaris
upon hisowti mother.

There is a kind of comparison of a quite different
nature from what I have now mentioned, in which
both parties claim the glory of an action ; and

another,

Book VIT. OF ELOQUEXCE. 23

another, in which there is no jarring as to persons,
but as to facts. I mean, wIkmc there is no dispute
as to the party who committed the fact, but whether
the fiict is of this or of that qnahty. When both the
fact and its autlior are aduiitted on all hands, the
intention may next be examined. But 1 shall now
proceed to particulars.

When the charge, both as to the fact and the
author, is denied, it is done in this manner. I have
not committed adultery. 1 have not aspired to
sovereignty. In cases of bloodshed and j)oisouing,
it is connnon to say, The thing did not happen :
and if it did, it did not happen dn'ough me. But the
probatory part lies uj)on the impeacher only, when
the defendaut calls tor proof of the party being dead.
All the business of the defencUmt, in such a case,
is to throw out certain hints, and to scatter them as
effectually as he can ; because, if he rests his charge
upon that single defence, and does not make it good,
he is in danger of being condemned. For, when
the judges examine what is said on both sides, they
presume one of them to be right ; and, by sheltering
ourselves behind one decisive point, we give an ad-
versary leave to press us. as much as he pleases, upon
the others.

When acause turns upon the ambiguous symptoms
of indigestion and poison, there is no third defence,
and therefore each party nuist maintain his aliesfa-
tion. Now, sometimes we reason from the thing
itself: Was it pf)ison or indigestion ? without any
consideration of the person of either party. For, it
may be of importance to know, whether the deceased
before his death had been at a debauch, or was me-
lancholy ; w hether he had been toiling, or reposing ;
watching, or sleeping. His age, likewise, is of im-
portance ; and it is proper to know whether he died
sudderdy. or whether he wasted away through long*

indisposition.

24- QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

indisposition. A Iari;rr firld or<Jisi)utation will open
tor both jnirtics, if the qurstion turns upon the sud-
denness of the death alone. Sometimes the proof
of a faet may be soufrht from the person of a l)arty :
It is probable that the deceased died of poison, be-
cause the defendant was a person very likely to have
given it. The reverse obtains in making; th(? defence.

But. when both the person and the fact is in
que.stion, the natural order is, for the prosecutor first
to establish the proof of the fact, and then to fix it
u|X)n the defendant. If the proofs against the per-
son are various, this order may be altered. As to the
defendant, the most eligible defence for him is, to
deny the fact; and, if he succeeds in this, be has no
occasion to say any thing farther. If he does not, he
nnist have recoui*se to other arguments.

In cases, likewise, where the whole dispute turns
upon the fact, and, when that is proved, there can
be no question as to the author, proofs are drawn
both from the person and from the thing ; but all
with regard to the single question of the fact. 1
shall here give a familiar example of what 1 am say-
ing, as being best adapted to the use of the students.
*' A person, who had been disinherited by his father,
followed the study of medicine ; the father happened
to fall sick, and was given over by all the physicians,
excepting the son, who said he could cure him, if he
would take a draught which he had prepared for him.
The father took the draught from the son, drank
j)art of it, ajid said he was poisoned ; upon which,
the son drank what remained. The father dying,
the son was accused of parricide." There is hero no
dis|)ute that the son administered the draught;
therefore there can be no question as to the author ;
the only question is. Whether the draught was
poisonous ? and tliat must })e decided by proofs arising-
from the person of the defeiidant.

A third

Boox VII. OF ELOaUENCB. 95

A third kind of conjectural causes is, when the
fact is admitted, but the author uncertain. As cases
of that sort happen every day, it is needless to give
any particular instance. For we daily know that
murder and sacrilege is committed, and the parties
tried for them deny that they were guilty. This
may give rise to recrimination ; and two parties may
charge one another upon a fact, the reality of which
is admitted by both. Celsus (and I believe nobody
disputes it) tells us, that causes in that shape cannot
be tried in the Forum. One party must be tried
upon one impeachment, and, if he impeaches ano-
ther, there must be another trial. Apollodorus
says, that this method of recrimination contains two
matters of accusation; and, in fact, the practice of our
courts allows of two pleas. Causes of this kind,
however, may come under the cognizance of the
senate, or the sovereign. But with regard to the
common course of trials, it is of no importance whe-
ther sentence be given at once upon both charges, or
upon each apart.

But in such cases, each party is always to begin
with his own defence; first, because we naturally
seek to ensure our own safetv, before we attack that
of another. In the next place, if we first clear our
own innocence, we can urge our charge with the
more weight. Lastly, the cause thereby becomes
twofold. 1 did not kill him is the defence : You
killed him is the charge. But if I ftrst urge, You
killed him, it is needless for me to show, that I did
not kill hin^.

These causes consist wholly of comparisons, and
various are the methods of comparing. For we
either compare the whole of our cause, with that of
our adversary; or we compare proof with proof, and
presumption with presumption. But, which method
is best, can be determined only by the nature of the

cause.

9G QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

Thus Cicero, in liisdetciicu of Varenus, thought it for
his chents interest, to compare his proofs singly,
Aviiile lie was speaking to the first head of the im-
p( aehnient. And, indeed, upon the whole, to com-
pare proof widi proof, is generally the best method,
if it can be done. But if we find it not for our ad-
vantage to retail them in that manner, we are to do
it in general. In recriminating cases, or where the
party denies a charge, but without impeaching his
antagonist (as in the case of lloscius, who turned the
charge agaiiist him upon his accusers, though he did
not prosecute them), or where the fact is alleged to
be connnitted by the deceased's own hand ; all such
cases, I say, are managed in the same manner as those
of recrimination, by comparing together the argu-
ments of both parties.

Hut the case 1 last mentioned is very often
handled, not only in the schools, but even at the
bar. I'or Nanius Apronianus was tried upon the
single question. Whether he broke his wife's neck,
or she broke it herself? This was the first pleading 1
ever published ; and, I own, I was prevailed upon to
publish it from youthful vanity. As to the other
pleadings, published under my name, they are all of
them corrupted through the carelessness of those
who took them down for the benefit of the copyists,
so that there is in them very litde that is mine.

There is another double conjecture, which is
handled pretty much in the same manner, and relates
to recompenses, as in the following case : " A tyrant
suspecting himself to be poisoned by his physician,
put him to the rack, and upon his denying the
charge, called in another physician, who told him he
had been poisoned, but that he could give him an
antidote. Upon the t}Tant's drinking the antidote,
he died. Both physicians claim the reward for
having killed the tyrant." Now, as in the former

cases,

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 27

cases, eacli party endeavours to fix the cbari^e upon
the other ; so, in tliis case, each party endeavours to
detract from the other, by comparino- persons, causes,
means, times, instruments, and evidences.

The other kind, though it is not recrimination, is
handled in the same manner ; I mean, that in which
no person is accused ; hut all the question is, Which
party committed the tact ? For each party has his
own manner of setting forth the fact; as in the case
of Urhinius's heritage^, the advocate for the claimant
said, " That Clusinius Figula, the son of Urbinia,
finding the army, where he served, defeated, fled
from the field of battle; and alter various adventures,
and being kept captive by a king, he found means to
return to Italy and his native country, where he was
known to be the person he pretended to be." Pollio,
who was advocate for the other party, urged in his
turn, " That this pretended Figulus had served two
masters at Pisaurum, and had practised medicine ;
that being set free, he had entered into another com-
pany of slaves, and had been bought in consequence
of his own request, to serve with them." Does not
the whole of this action consist in a comparison of
the circumstances alleged by each party, and does
it not contain two different conjectures ? Now, in
such cases, whether criminal or civil, both parties pro-
ceed in the same manner.

Conjecture is determined by what is past, and
certain persons, causes, and designs. For the order is,
Whether a person meant to do a thing, could do
it, or has done it? Our first point, therefore, is to ex-
amine carefully the nature of the question. It is the
business of an accuser to urge his charge in such a
manner, as that it shall not only appear scandalf^us,
but be suited, as much as is possible, to the crime that
is tried. For if he should reproach a person accused
of murder, with being lascivious and lewd, the imj)ii-
2 tatio|i

28 OUINCTILIAN'S INSTITtJTES Boot VII.

tation will indeed hurt him, but the charge will not
thereby obtain so much credit, as it would, were
the accused person shown to be audacious, passionate,
cruel, presumptuous, and rash. The business of an
advocate for the defendant is, by all means, either to
deny, to defend, or to soften reproaches. He is then
to separate them from the fact that is to be tried.
For such reproaches have generally no relation to the
charge ; nay, they actually sometimes destroy it.
Thus, were we to reproach a thief with being a pro-
digal, careless fellow, there seems some inconsist-
ency between the charge and the reproaches. Where
we have no opportunity of showing this, the accused
party may have recourse in saying, that those impu-
tations have no relation to the affair in question ; and
that though a man may be wrong in one respect, yet
he is not therefore to be presumed to be wrong in all ;
and that his accusers never would venture to have
loaded him with so many false imputations, but
from the hopes of prepossessing the court so strongly
against him, that he must fall under the weight of
slander.

Certain accusations give rise to personal, and
sometimes to general, observations. It is im.probable
that a father should murder his son, or a wife her
husband, or that a general should betray his country
to his enemies. But, it may be said in reply, that
some people are capable of all crimes, as daily ex-
perience proves by their being detected, and that it
is absurd to defend a crime upon no other principle
but its being over and above atrocious. Sometimes
the argument is particular, and this is managed in
difierent manners ; for a party's dignity, while it is
his guard against his being suspected of a charge,
may sometimes be turned so as to help to fix the
imputation upon him, by alleging, that, in it, he
placed his hopes of impunity. The hke different

t arguments

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 29

arguments may arise from defences founded upon
poverty, meanness, and wcallh ; and e.icli parly
avails himself of them accordinoj to his abihties. But
the moral virtues, and integrity of conduct through
life, have always great influence in a party's favour.
If nothing particular is urged against the accused,
his advocate ought to make the best he can of that
circumstance.

With regard to the prosecutor, he will confine his
pleading entirely to the proof of the fact or question
that is tried ; he will observe that all wickedness has
a beginning, and that we know of no sanction that
is allowed to the commission of a first crime. Thus
much by way of reply ; but in his first pleading he
will manage matters so, that he will seem rather to
be unwilling than unable to urge any thing that may
bear too hard upon the accused. He will chuse to
avoid all reflections upon his past life, rather than
urge against him what is invidious, or frivolous, or
palpably false; because such allegations destroy all
the credit of the rest of his pleading. An orator,
who avoids personalties, may seem to do it, because
they are not very material to his cause; but heaping
up trifling charges implies a justification of the party's
former life, because he chuses, rather than be silent,
to let his cause suffer. The other circumstances
that are personal, have been explained in the chapter
.concerning arguments.

The next kind of pioof arises from causes them-
selves, and consists chiefly of passion, hatred, fear,
avarice, and ho[)cs ; for all others are but subdivi-
sions of those. If any of them is applicable to the
defendant, the prosecutor is to take care to manage
so as to show how every particular o])erated in the
case he speaks to ; and he is to argue upon them so
fis to exaggerate every circumstance. If none of
them are applicable, he is to allege that there may

bo

30 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

bo motives, ihoiitrli they do not appear; or that the
motives are iininalerial, when the fact can be proved ;
or he may even say, that the atrocity of the fact is
exaggerated, by its having been wantonly com-
mitted, and without any motive. As to the advocate
for the defendant, lie will insist upon it, as long as
he can, that it is absurd to imagine, that a man can
ho guilty of a crime, without any motive for it.
Cicero does this very strenuously in many of his
orations, especially in that for Varenus, who is loaded
with all kinds of imputations: and so was condemned.

But, should the accuser assign a motive for the
conunission of the ftict, the defendant is to allege,
that that motive is either false or frivolous, or such as
nuist have been vmknown to him. Now some mo-
tives, though alleged, may be such as the defendant
must be a stranger to ; for instance, That the deceas-
ed was about to make him his heir, or that the de-
ceased was al)0ut to impeach him. Should all other
defences fail, he may say, That motives, even though
proved, ought seldom to have much weight with a
court : that no man alive is entirely void of fear,
hatred, or hopes ; and yet those passions do not
make villains of them, lie may observe farther,
That every motive is not prevalent with every per-
son. Poverty, for instance, may be a motive for one
man's committing a theft, but it makes no impression
upon a Curius or a Fabritius.

There is some doubt whether a pleading ought to
begin with the cause, or the person. And the prac-
tice of orators have been different in this respect,
for Cicero generally begins with the cause. For my
own part, if there is no pecuhavity in the question to
determine it otherwise, i think it most natural to be-
gin with the person. For the follov.inio- is the most
general and proper division of a pleading. " This
charge can be scarcely believed of any man, far less

of

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 31

-of the defendant." But in this, as in most other cases,
we must be determined by the utiHty of the cause.

We are sometimes to loolv lur accidental and er-
roneous, as well as wilful, motives, for the commission
of a fact, such as drunkenness and ignorance. For
thouf,di these two moti\"es soften a charge when the
quality alone of it is regarded, so they aggravate it in
the conjectural part. Besides, I know not if it ever
happened in a trial before a court of justice, tliat
neither party spoke of the person. ^Vhereas, it
often happens, that neither party mentions the mo-
tives ; i\s in cases of adultery and theft, w hich carry
their motives upon the face of the charge.

A pleader is next to examine the purpose, for
which a fact is committed ; and this opens a large
field. For example : " Whether it is most probable
that the defendant was in hopes that he would be
able to effect the villainy, or to be concealed after
he had effected it? Whether he did not expect, cvcq
though he was tried for it, to be acquitted, or to bt;
censured with a very slight punishment, or to put it
otY to a lono- dav?" Or, " Whether he was not to
reap more benefit by the connnission, than the omis-
sion, of the act?" Or, '-' Whether he was so deter-
mined upon it, that he resolved to run all hazards?"
1 le will next examine, •' Whether the fact could have
been committed at another time, or in another man-
ner, more easily, or more securely ?'' as Cicero does
in his pleading for Milo, when he enumerates the
many occasions in which he might have kilK.d
Clodius with impunity. He will likewise inquire
" Why he chose to do it in d)at j>lace, at that time,
and in that manner ?'' All which, too, is handled by
Cicero with great accuracy, in the same pleading.
It is likewise to be ct)nsidered, '' Whether, induced
by no reason, In? was not impelled by a tit of
passion, wh«Mi reflection had left him ? For, as

the

32 QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Booe VII.

the proverb says, guilt blinds the reason. Whether
lie Nvas not enticed to it l>y the liabits of villainy ?"

liavini;- discussed the first point, with regard to
i\\v defciidaut's intention, \vc are next to ex-
amine the means or power he had to commit the act.
Here, the proofs arise from time and place, " Whe-
ther the place where the theft was committed was
close or open ? Whether it was solitary or frequent-
ed ? At what time it was committed, in the day-time,
where many might have seen it ; or in the night-
time, which makes the proof the more difficult?"
Now, was one to examine all difficulties and oppor-
tunities, they are so infinite, that they require no ex-
amples. Hut this second point is of such a nature,
that if the impeacher does not make it good, the
prosecution must drop. But if the power is proved,
the next consideration is, " Whether he carried it
into actual execution? But these proofs likewise
relate to the conjectural intention, by which we
gather, whether the party designed to commit the
fact. Therefore we ought to examine the means,
as Cicero does when he examines the equipages of
Clodius and of Milo.

The question. Whether the party did commit the
fact? relates to the then present time, and the time
immediately succeeding it, when the sound, the
shrieks, the groans, the skulking, and the like, hap-
pened. To these we are to add the indications, or
eigns, of which we have already treated ; with the
words and actions, that immediately preceded or
followed, and which must have proceeded either
from ourselves or from others. But words, either
more or less, hurt our cause. Our own words hurt
it more, and serve it less, than those of others do; the
the words of others do it more service, and hurt it
less than our own. As to actions, our own are
fometiraes more serviceable to us, and sometimes

those

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 35

those of others are : for instance, when the opposite
party does any thing- that nriakes for us. But our
own actions always hurt us more than other mens*
can.

Expressions are either plain or doubtful. Doubt-
ful expressions, whether they come from ourselves or
from others, are of the least service to either party:
but generally our own hurt us most. Thus, " When a
son was asked where his father was, he answered,
Wherever he is, he is alive. But soon after, he was
found dead in a well." J)oubtful expressions, coming
from other people, never hurt us, unless the author of
them is either unknown or dead. " A voice* was
heard in the night-time," Beware of the tyrannicide.
" And the question being put to the prisoner, who
was meant by that expression, he answered, that is no-
thing to you." For if the person who speaks the
words is alive, and can be examined upon them, he
can explain them. Now, with regard to our own
doubtful expressions and actions, we can defend
them only by explaining their meaning; but there are
various methods to attack those of others.

Hitherto, 1 have spoken only of one kind of con-
jectural causes ; but somewhat or other that I have
said upon them, is applicable -to all the other kinds.
For in all trials upon deposits, thefts, debts, and the

* [Orlg.] Nocte audita est vox, cavete tyrannicidam & interro-
e;atus, cu]us veneno moreretur, respondit. Non expedit tibi scire.
The words of this example are as obscure as the meaning of it,
ishich I can scarcely think was tlie author's intention. The obvious
sense is, " That a tyrant being poisoned, called out in the night-
time to his attendants, Beware of the poisoner. They asking
him who the poisoner was, he answered, that is nothing to you."
The Abbe Gedoyn seems to have understood it in this manner. But
upon nearer inspection, I think the words, cujus veneno moreretur,
must be understood to have an antecedent, ille or vir; and conse-
quently are not to be understood interrogatively, and I have trans-
lated it in that sense. There may be a false reading in the word
Eiorcretur.

VOL. II. p like.

:i\ QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

like, the proofs must arise from the means and the
person ; " Whether such a thin?; was actually depo-
sited ; or whetiier it is prohahlr that such a person
trusted or lent it to such another person? Whether
the plantirtis nt)t a troublesome sort of a person, and
xvhetiifi the defendant is not a sharper and a rogue."
Nay, in trials of theft, tlKMpicstion turns (as in those
of l>loor!slu>d) upon tlu' fact and its author. In trials
upon loans and deposits, two (piestions arise, which
are seldom or never joined, whether the sui)ject was
tictually entrusted ? And whether it was not re-
turned ?

Trials of adultery are peculiarly circumstanced, be-
cause two people are generally tried, and the plead-
iiig must turn upon their lives and characters, though
a iloubt may arise, whether both are to be defended
at the same time. IJut this can be determined only
by the nature of the cause. For, if the one party's
character or conduct can be serviceable to that of the
other, 1 am for joining them together; if not, I am
for separating them. It is not without reason I have
said, that two people are generally tried, for that does
not always happen ; for the woman alone may be
tried for adultery with an unknown person. Presents
are found in her possession, and money, of which
she can give no account, and love-letters with no ■!
address. The same thing may happen in matters of I
forgery; for either one, or more, must be charged
with it. Now, the writer of an instrument ought al-
ways to answer for the subscription, but the sub-
scriber cannot alwavs answer for the writincr, because
he possibly may be imposed upon; but the person
who produces the instrument, and in whose favour it
was drawn up and signed, is obliged to justify both
the writini^ and the subscription. The same methods
of proof take place in all causes of treason, and an
undue ambition after sovereignty.

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 3^

But the practice of declaiiiiers may hurt us in real
pleadings, because they injudiciously presume every
circumstance, that is not in their tlieme, to be in
their favour. You accuse me of adultery. What evi-
dence, what presumption, have you ? What did 1
pay? >\'ho was the pimp?-— You accuse me of
poisoning. Where did I buy the poison? From
whom ? At what time ? At what price ? By whom
did 1 administer it ? — I am accused of aspiring to so-
vereignty. Where are the arms, where are the
guards. 1 have prepared ? Y^et lam far from denying,
that these considerations, properly urged, may be of
great service to a cause, for 1 have myself called for
such proofs at the bar, when I have found my oppo-
nent puzzled to make them good. The judicious
use of them is every thing ; for there scarce can be a
cause in which we may not avail ourselves of some
adventitious circumstance; in like manner as at the
close of a pleading, 1 have known the friends of the
defendant equip him with children, a father, nurses,
and all the other implements for moving compassion.*

As to intention, 1 have said enough upon it, when
I laid down the division of the will, the power, and
the execution. For the intention is discovered by
the will, and both are tried in the same manner,
that is, whether the party willed, or intended, to do
a wicked action. There is, likewise, in things, a cer-
tain natural order, which gives either credit, or dis-
credit, to the intention, by the fitness, or repugnancy,
of circumstances, liut all this depends upon the
texture of the cause. It is, however, proper, in
every cause, to inquire into the connections and fit-
ness of circumstances.

* No part of this paragraph has been taken notice of, or been
translated by the Abbe Gtdoyn. The orig;inal seems indeed toba
very depraved. But in this, as in many other places, the author's
meaning may be found out though the reading cannot be justified-

CHAP. Ill

36 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

CHAP. III.

CONCERNING THE DEFINITION, OR QUALITY, OP A THING.

Dfii n iTioN follows conjecture ; for, where a man
cannot ahsolutcly deny every circumstance, the next
thing he has to do is, to say that what he did does
not amount to what is charged against him. Defi-
nition, therefore, is conducted by the same rules as
conjecture ; only the nature of the defence is chang-
ed. Thus, in trials of thefts, deposits, and adultery,
the defendant, in the conjectural state of the ques-
tion, says, " I did not commit adultery: 1 did not
receive the deposit: I am not guilty of adultery."
So, when he depends upon conjecture, he says, " My
action was not theft : what I received was not a
deposit: what 1 did is not adultery." Sometimes
we proceed from the quality to the definition, as in
trials of lunacy, mal-treatment of a wife, or treason.
In such trials, where the actions of a party are not to
be justified, our next recourse is, to say that such an
acton does not amount to lunacy, to mal-treatment,
or to treason.

A definition, therefore, consists in expressing the
nature of a thing in question, with propriety, per-
spicuity, and conciseness. As I have already ob-
served, it contains a kind, a species, differences, and
properties. Thus, if we were to define a horse (for
1 chuse a familiar example), an animal is the kind,
mortal is the species ; but a man is mortal, therefore
irrational is the difference, and neighing is the pro-
perty. Definition takes place in most causes. For
sometimes we are agreed upon the term, but differ
as to the subject. Sometimes the subject is clear,
but the term is contested.

When

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 57

When the doubt turns upon the subject, we some-
times proceed by way of conjecture; as when we
inquire, What is God ? Now, they who deny that
God is a spirit, di ft used through all parts of the
universe, do not say, that the term God is an im-
proper appellation of the Divine Being ; for Epicurus
gives God a human form, and places him in a space
between the worlds: both of them use the same
term, though their sentiments are very different;
but the conjecture turns upon the subject.

Sometimes Ave examine the quality, as when we
examine whether rhetoric is the power of persuad-
ing, or the knowledge of speaking well. This kind
often occurs in trials. For we have occasion some-
times to examine, " Whether a man caught in a
brothel with another man's wife is an adulterer."
For here can be no doubt of the term, but whether
the quality of the fact amounts to that degree of
guilt, for if it does, we must find him to be an
adulterer.

There is a different kind of definition, Avhen the
controverted point consists in a term, the meaning
of which depends upon a law, and which could not
come to be tried was it not for the terms that give
rise to the controversy. For example, " Whether
the person who kills himself is a homicide ? Whe-
ther he who forces a tyrant to destroy himself is a
tyrannicide ? Whether the incantations of magicians
are poisons ?" All the acts here are plain. For
every body knows, it is not the same thing for a man
to kill himself, as to kill another; to kill a tyrant,
and to force him to destroy himself; to pronounce
incantations, and to administer a deatily draught:
and yet, the doubt is, whether they do not come
under the same denomination.

Cicero, after many authorities, says, that a defin -
tion turns upon a thing that is alleged to be so, anid

at

^S QUINXTILIAN S INSTITUTES Book VII.

at the same time alleged not to be so. For when
a man (leiiifs that a delinition is just, he ought to
cstahlisli what is just. Bui, with due deference to
his great authority, I think there are three sorts of
definition. For example, we may define it to be
adultery for a man to keep company wMth another
man's wife in a brothel. Hut if tliis is denied, there
is no occasion for tlie person who denies it to define
what it is, because the whole charge is denied.
Sometimes we may inquire whether an action is
theft or sacrilege, ilere, it is not sulficient to deny
it to be sacrilege, for if it is not sacrilege, we must
define it to be theft. And therefore we must define
both charges. Sometimes the question turns upon
things that have quite different appearances, whether
they fall under the same term, though each has a
term appropriated to itself. For exam])le, a love-
potion, and pois<^n.

Now, in all disputes of this kind, we inquire whe-
ther a thing falls under a denomination, the mean-
ing of which is fixed in other matters. There is no
doubt, that the stealing consecrated effects out of a
temple is sacrilege ; but there may be a great doubt,
whether stealing private property out of a temple,
can be called sacrilege likewise. The lying with
another man's wife is undoubtedly adultery, but is it
adultery to be found in her company in a brothel ?
It is certainly tyrannicide to kill a tyrant: but is it
tyrannicide, to force a tyrant to kill himself? A syl-
logism, therefore, which 1 shall treat of afterwards,
is no other than a definition, but of a weaker kind.
In the definition we examine, whether two actions
ought to fall under the same denomination ? And,
in the syllogism, whether we ought to reason upon
them, as being of the same nature ?

The diversity of definitions for the same thing,
hath made some question, whether the same thing
i 2 can

Book VII. OF ELOQUEXCE. 59

can be dt^fined in quite difllrcnt terms. Thus rhe-
toric is defined to be " The knowledge of s|>eakii)f^
\vell." By otliers, it is defined to consist " In happy
invention and proper expression." And by others,
" The caUing up all the powers of speech, and com-
mand in o- them so as to serve our purpose." We
must examine, at the same time» whether though
the sense is in the main the same, they are not too
iar diiferent in the expression. But disputes of
this kind may be proper for the schools, though they
are not for the bar.

There is no way of defining some things, but in
terms more obscure, than the term that is defined.
Other things are so clear in their sense, that they
require no definition as to the term. This variety
hns occasioned a great deal of logical jargon, which
is very unprofitable to the business of an orator.
For though, in ordinary discourse, he may make use
of his abilities to pin an opponent down, so as to
force him either to be quite silent, or to make con-
cessions that; hurt him, yet he cannot practise this
maimer at the bar. f lis business there is to con-
vince the judge, for though he may be hampered by
the terms, and the reasoninus of the orator, yet still
he must be dissatisfied within himself, if the thing
is not made clear to his apprehension.

But what has the practice at the bar to do with
all this precision of speaking ? Says an orator,
" Though 1 do not define man to be a mortal, rea-
sonable animal, yet may 1 not, by expatiating upon
the various ])r(»perties of his soul and body, distin-
guish him suiiiciently both from gods and brutes?"
Farther, are we ignorant, that w ith Cicero we may
define a thing in several manners, each of which is
free and agreeable ? Nav, that this has been the
universal practice of orators? Seldom are they, like
philosophers, confined to the slavery (for slavery it

certainly

40 QUINCTIUAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

certainly is) of treading the same dull round in rea-
Boning, and of using the same identical expressions
in speaking: this is what Marcus Antonius, in Ci-
cero's Treatise concerning the character of an orator,
cautions us against. *

Now, as it is dangerous to hazard our whole cause
by the slip of a single word, 1 recommend that mid-
dle way, which Cicero makes use of in his pleading
for Caecinna, where he establishes the meaning of
the thing, with all the freedom of expression. " For,
gentlemen," says he, " violence does not consist en-
tirely in what masters the person, and puts an end
to life : no ; the greatest violence is that which, by
affecting us with the fear of death, fills the soul with
such dread, that she is driven from all her functions,
and loses all her properties." The definition like-
wise may be secure, by premising a proof. Thus
Cicero, in his Philippics, after establishing the proof
of Servius Sulpitius being killed by Antony, finishes
the period in this manner; " For, give me leave to
say, that he who is the occasion of a man's murder,
is his murderer." I am sensible at the same time,
that this rule must be practised according to the
nature of the cause, and that when a definition is
unexceptionable, it appears with greater effect, as
well as with greater elegance, when it is couched in
expressions short and striking.

The order of defining is, What is the thing? and.
Is this the thing ? And here it requires more pains
to establish, than to apply, your definition. Now,
as to the first point, What is the thing? Sacrilege,
for example; we have two points to observe; for we
are to establish our own definition, and to destroy
that of our opponent. In schools, therefore, where
we dispute ourselves, we ought to lay down the de-
finitions on both sides as properly as is possible. But
* See de Oratore, 1.2. c. 2»;

at

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 41

at the bar we are to examine, whether any part of a
definition is superfluous, or impertinent, or immate-
rial, or equivocal, or inconsistent, or in common to
other subjects ; all which are faults that can be im-
puted only to the pleader.

Now, to enable us to define rightly, we are first to
settle in our own minds, the point we want to esta-
blish, and then we can be at no loss for expressions
that suit our meaning. To explain this, let me re-
turn to the well-known example I have already
given. The man who has stolen private property out
of a temple, is accused of sacrilege. That there is
a criminality in this charge, is admitted on both
sides. Hut the question is, whether it amounts to
that crime which the law calls sacrilege ? The im-
peacher says it does, because the money was stolen
out of the temple. The defendant, because the mo-
ney was private property, denies his crime to be sa-
crilege, but acknowledges it to be theft. The pro-
secutor's definition therefore will be. It is sacrilege
to steal any thing out of a sacred place. The defi-
nition of the defendant will be, It is sacrilege to steal
any thing that is sacred. Here, each will attack the
definition of the other, either because it is false, or
because it is defective. As to a definition being
wholly impertinent and immaterial, such definitions
can only come from fools.

If vou sav that a horse is a rational animal, the de-
finition is false ; for though he is an animal, yet he
is an irrational one. Where a definition agrees with
other subjects, it wants propriety. In the last ex-
ample, the defendant alleges that the prosecutor's
definition is false ; but the prosecutor cannot say the
same thing of the defendant's definition ; because to
steal any thing that is sacred, is undoubtedlysacrilege.
But, says the prosecutor, his definition is imperfect,
for he ought to have added, Or from a sacred place.

But

45 QUhXCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIL

But tlu* best way for establishing or destroying a
(lelinition, is by having recourse to properties and
clilVerences, and sometimes to etymology. But all
this, as well as all other reasonings, is confirmed by
refleeti(jiis upon natural equity, and sometimes by
satracitv ol" disceriniient. We seldom have recourse
to etymology ; yet it may happen that the definition
of a thing may be expressed by its name. But dif-
ferences antl properties admit of very refined distinc-
tions: tims, when we examine, " Whether a per-
son, whom the law obliges to serve his creditors till
he pays his debt, is a slave." Here one party defines a
slave to be a person whom the law subjects to servitude.
Another says, that a slave is a person who is in the
condition of a slave, or, as the ancients expressed it,
who serves as a slave. Now, though this is a plausible
definition, yet it is a very foolish one, unless it is sup-
ported by properties and differences. Says your op-
ponent, the person in question serves as a slave, or is
in the condition of a slave. This definition, being laid
down, it is then incumbent upon you to examine
into the ])roperties and differences of freedom and
slavery, which I but just transiently touched upon
in the fifth book. A slave, when manumitted, is a
freeman. The debtor, when he recovers his liberty,
is a freeman. A slave cannot, but by his master's
consent obtain his libertv. The other, the moment
he discharges his debt, is free, whether his master
consents or not. The slave is entitled to no benefit
of law ; but the debtor is. A freeman, and he only,
has a first name, a name, a surname, and a tribe to
which he belongs. The debtor has all these.
Having thus examined what a slave, and what
a freeman is, it brings us near to the question
concerning the propriety of the definition, which
it is our business to fit as much as we can to our
purpose.

Quality

Book VII. OF ELOQUENXE. 43

Quality prevails chiefly in definitions; for in-
stance, " Whether a person is possest by love, or hy
madness?" Proofs come under this head, which,
Cicero says, are the properties of a definition fiom
antecedent consequences, adjuncts, contrarieties,
causes, eifects, and the like. But I have already con-
sidered the nature of such arguments. Cicero, in
his pleading for Caecinna, very concisely comprehends
proofs drawn from the rise, the cause, the etiect,
the antecedent, and the consequence. " Why theu
did they tly ? liecause they were afraid ? Of w hat
were they afraid? Of violence, undoubtedly ; canyon
then deny the principle, when you admit of the con-
sequence?" lie likewise applies similars. "That which
in astatcof war must be admitted to be violence, shall
it loose that name during peace ?" Proofs are like-
wise drawn from contrarieties. " Whether or not is
a love-potion poison, since poison is not a love-
potion ?"

I used to explain the other manner of defining, I
mean the imperfect one, to my young gentlemen
(for youth shall be always dear to me), by the follow-
ing imaginary circumstance : " Some young men
designing to be merry, resolved to regale themselves
by the sea-side, and missing one of their companions
at the entertainment, they erected a tomb for him
upon the spot, and inscribed it with his name: the
young gentleman's father, who ha))pened to be then
abroad, landed at this very spot, and, upon reading
the name, immediately hanged himself" The young
gentlemen are impeached for occasioning his death.
Says the prosecutor, by way of definition, "Every
man who does an action bv which another dies, is
the cause of that man's death." Says the dt fendant,
" He who does an action, which he knows nuist of
necessity kill another man. is the cause of that man's

death."

4-4. QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

death." Now, setting aside the definition, it is suf-
ficient for the prosecutor to say, " Ye have been
the cause of my friend's death : it was through
you lie was destroyed ; because, had you not built
that monument, he had been still alive." To this it
may be replied, Surely a man is not immediately to
be condemned for doing a thing, through which
another man dies. Else what should become of
prosecutors, witnesses, and judges, in trials upon
life and death ? A man may innocently be the cause
of another's death. Should one man, for instance,
persuade another to pay a visit to his friend beyond
seas, and he is drowned in his passage : another
man invites his friend to sup with him, and by over-
eating himself, he dies of a surfeit : the old man's
death was not solely occasioned by what the young
gentlemen did, but his own credulity, and his in-
ability to support his affliction. Had he possessed
a larger stock of resolution or prudence, he had been
alive. In short, the young gentlemen could have no
ill intention in what they did ; and could the old man
have allowed himself ever so little time for reflection,
he would have seen by the place, and the manner of
the fabric, that what he mistook for a monument was
none. How then are these young gentlemen to be
punished upon a charge that turns wholly upon
homicide, which it is not alleged they either intend-
ed or actually committed ?

Sometimes, there is a stated definition in which
both parties agree. " Majesty," says Cicero, " re-
sides in the government and in the whole dignity
of the Roman people. A question may arise, how-
ever, whether this majesty be not wounded, as
happened in the case of Cornificius. But even
that, and other cases like it, depends greatly upon
defining rightly. Now, if the definition is agreed

upon,

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 45

upon, the cause must turn upon the quality of the
action that is tried. Which happens to be the next
point I am to treat of.

CHAP. IV.

CONCERNING THE QUALITY OF AN ACTION.

Quality is the most comprehensive kind of
reasoning that can enter into a cause ; and it is vari-
ously distinguished. Forvve mayreason upon the qua-
lity of the nature, and upon the quality of the form of
a being. For instance, " Whether the soul is immor-
tal? VV^hether God has a human form?" It like-
wise comprehends magnitude and number. " How
large is the sun? Are there worlds besides this?"
All these questions, it is true, are managed by con-
jecture, and yet all of them contain a question con-
cerning quality.

Sometimes deliberative cases require to be handled
in the same manner. Were Caesar, for instance,
to deliberate about attacking Britain, he would in-
quire into the nature of the navigation ; " Whether
Britain is an island ?* (a circumstance that till now

was

• There seems here to be somewhat of a compliment to Domi-
tian, and his great general, Agricola, if the Caesar spoken of is the
former. Nothing can be more certain than that Julius Caesar
mentions Britain as an island ; and it is more than probable, that
the Romans, in the time of Claudius Caesar, were in possession
of the Orcades, now the islands of Orkney and Schetland. How- •
ever this may be, Tacitus undoubtedly, though a professed histo-
rian, fell into the same mistake, when he tells us, that Agricola
was the first who sailed round the island, and discovered the Or-
cades. See his Life of Agricola, c. 10. Commentators, how-
ever, have inferred from this expression, that our author mu'^t have

composed

4G QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Boor VII.

was uiikn(3\vn). How much land it contains? What
number of soldiers will be required to subdue it ?"
AVliat we ought to do, and what we are not to do,
come likewise under the head of quality; as does
whatever we ought to court or to avoid. It is true,
those matters are chiefly deliberative, but sometimes
they come to be agitated at the bar likewise; with
this diflcrence, that we deliberate upon what may
happen, but we plead upon what has happened.
Under this head talis likewise all the demonstrative
part of pleading, as when the fact is acknowledged,
we speak to its q^iality.

Now all controversies at the bar relate either to
property or to punishment, or to their proportions.
The first constitutes a cause that is either simple or
comparative. In the former, we only examine into
what is equitable: in the latter, into what is more
equitable, or most equitable. When the controversy
turns upon punishing, the accused party must either
defend the charge or diminish it, or excuse it, or,
according to some, have recourse to deprecation.
The strongest defence by far is (supposing the fact
to be acknowledged), to maintain that what we did
was brave and virtuous in itself. " A ftither, for
instance, disinherits his son, because, against his in-
chnation he had served his country, or stood for
public employment, or had married." The father
persists in what he had done. Here the only ques-
tion is concerning the thing, whether what the
father has done is just or not? Now justice is of two
kinds, natural and positive. Natural justice corn-
composed this treatise eighty-six years after the birth of our Savi-
^our, which falls in with the time that Agricola's navigation was
performed. But, after the most accurate calculation, I cannot
place it so late by upwards of a year. The learned Dodwell, in
his Annales Quinctilianae, is greatly puzzled about this affair;
but I agree with him in fixing the time of the discovery hinted at
here, to the eighth year of Agricola's government in Britain.

prehends

Book VII. OF ELOOUENXE. 47

prebends piety, honesty, abstinence, and the like.
Positive justice rests upon the laws of the land,
upon use and custom, upon legal decisions and
compact. This defence we call an absolute de-
fence, because it is independent of all considerations
but justice.

There is another defence which we call assump-
tive, because we proceed upon it by assuming cir-
cumstances, foreign to the cause, in order to justify
an action, that of itself is indefensible. Here our
strongest plea is to justify the motive upon which
such an action is committed. Of this kind is the jus-
tification of Orestes, and of Milo ; and both of them
partake of recrimination, because they proceed upon
accusing the party, for whose death the impeach-
ment is brousrht. " Such a man was killed. Yes ; but
he was a robber. Such a man was castrated. He
deserved it, for he was a ravisher."

But there is an assumptive defence of a different
kind, in which we neither, as in the absolute de-
fence, defend the fact upon its own bottom, nor do
we defend it by recrimination, but by its having
been of service either to our country, or to multi-
tudes, or to the prosecutor himself; nay, sometimes
to ourselves ; if it is of such a nature, as that we are
allowed to do it for our private interest. But this last
defence must be confined only to family differences
that may be brought into a court of law ;* for it is
very improper to urs^e it, when we have no connt^c-
tions with the prosecutor, and when we must stand
or fall by the rigour of the law.

For in declamatory cases, where a father aban-
dons his son ; where a woman sues her husband for
mal-treatment ; where a son wants to prove a father
insane ; the several parties may very becomingly

* This, I think, must be the meaninp; of my author, though the
Abbe Gedoyn seems to have understood him in ancthcr scribe.

urq:e

48 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

urge their private interest as a justifiable motive for
what they do. I am, liowever, to observe, that the
plea of preventing loss is much better than that of
pursuing- profit.

Such matters are often brought to the bar. In the
schools, the son is abandoned. At the bar, he is
actually disinherited by his father, and comes before
the consuls to reclaim his family estate. The wo-
man, who in the schools is mal-treated, is actually
divorced at the bar, where the justice or injustice of
the divorce is tried ; and the son, who alleges in
the school, that his father is insane, pleads at the
bar that he may be put under the care of com-
mittees.*

Next to arguments of utility, it is of great service
to a defence, when the defendant can shew that,
had he not acted in the manner he did, something
worse must have happened. Thus, whenMancinus
was upon his defence for making the Numantine
league, he might very properly have urged that, had
he not made it, the whole Roman army must have
perished. This 1 call the comparative manner, and
finishes what I have to say upon the head of justi-
fying an action.

But if it can be justified neither in the absolute
nor assumptive manner, that is, neither in itself,
nor by circumstances, our next recourse is to trans-
fer the charge to another party. Now, the methods
that I have already mentioned are applicable to this
of transferring a charge. Sometimes the fault is
thrown upon a person ; thus, Gracchus, when im-
peached for the Numantine league, which gave rise,
afterwards, to many laws in prejudice of the no^
bility, justified himself with saying, that what he<

* [CommiUees.] Though this word may seem to have too
modern an air, yet it acswera exactly to the. original petendi
«uratore3.

3 did

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 49

did was by command of his general. Sometimes
the chari^o is transferred to a thing ; thus, when a
man is charged with not fulhUing the last will of
another person, he is at liberty to say, that the laws
were against it.

Should this method of defence likewise fail us, we
have still recourse to excusing the fact. This we
may do by pleading ignorance, or necessity. Thus,
a man picks up one, who can give no good account
of himself, and brands him in the forehead as a run-
away slave. 13ut it afterwards appearing that he was
free born, the person so doing may plead, '-That
he did not know him to have been so." When a
soldier is not present at a muster, he may plead,
" That he was detained by floods, or by sickness."
Sometimes too, we throw the blame upon fortune;
sometimes we confess the thing to be wrong, but
plead that our intention was ,2;ood ; but examples of
such defences are endless, and therefore unnecessary.

The next means of defence is by diminishinc^ the
charge. And this some call, the state of proportion.
But as it is applicable only to penalties or rewards,
it is determined by the quality of the fact, and there-
fore comes under the head of quality, as do several
other states or kinds of pleading mentioned by the
Greeks.

The last kind is deprecation, which, some think,
never ought to be reckoned a part of judiciary plead-
ing. Nay, Cicero seems to give some sanction to
that opinion, when, in his pleading for Ligarius, he
says, " Caesar, 1 have pleiided many causes, even
with you, while your progress in honours led you to
the practice of the forum ; but never sure in this
manner: pardon him, my good lords; he has done
amiss; he has slipped; he did not think: if he shall
ever do sO any more." This is the way of pleading,
indeed, when one speaks to a lather; but to the

VOL. II. jE judges,

^ QUINCTIUAN 9 INSTITUTES Book VII,

judges, " lie did not do, lit' did not intend to do it;
the evidence is t'alse; thr crime is forged." In plead-
ings, how<!ver, before the senate, the people, or the
sovereign, or before any judge that has power to
soften thi' riL:;()r of the law, deprecation may be very
proj)er, cs]M*cially if the impeached party can plead
tliat die foregoing part of his life was inoljensive, and
serviceable to his eountjy ; that there are grounds
to believe that the remaining part of it will not only
be harmh'ss, but useful to the state. 'Iliese sug-
gestions have the greater weight, if it can be farther
urged, that he has been already sufficiently pu-
nished by other hardships he has suffered; by the
danger he now undergoes, or by the riMuorse he
feels. Independent of hisjperson, his nobility, his
dignity, his relations, and his friends may likewise
be urged. Great care, however, ought to be taken to
manage his defence so, that, should he be pardoned,
the judge should not be blamed for his weakness,
but honoured for his compassion.
. But though this topic of deprecation may not pre-
vail through the whole of the pleading at the bar,
yet it very often takes up the greatest part of it.
For a pleader frequently has occasion to say, *' My
client did not commit the fact, but, supposing he had
committed it, he ought to be pardoned ;" and this is
a consideration that is often prevalent in doubtful
causes; and the windings-up of most pleadings ge-
nerally hinge upon supplications. Nay, sometimes
the defendant places upon them the stress of his
defence. Thus, supposing a father disinherits his
son, because he is in love with a whore, and for no
other reason. Here the whole question is, whether
this was a fault which the father ought not to have
pardoned, and whether the centumvirs ought to be:
as rigorous as the father ? But even in penal prose-
cutions, aud prosecutions for defamatory words, we

. generally

Book Vri. OF ELOQUENCE. 61

generally distinguish, " whether the party has in--
curred the penalty of the law ? And whether he
ought to undergo it?" It is true at the same time,
that when a judge is bound down to act according to
law, he is not to acquit a party, who has no other
defence to make, but supplication.

With regard to matters of property ; rewards, for
instance, we are to examine two things; whether
the claimant has a right to any recompense, or to so
large a one as that which he claims. Jf two claim-
ants appear, we are to examine which has the best
right ; and should more appear, we are to examine
the claims of them all : and we are to decide for
him who has the best grounded pretension. At the
same time, we are not to consider the thing only,
whether it comes before us bv way of alleviation or
comparison ; but the person likewise. It makes a
great difference, whether the person who kills a ty-
rant is a young man, or an old man ; a man, or a
woman ; a stranger or a relation. The place too on
several accounts is to be considered. If he tvraniz-
ed in a state that was enslaved, or free ; whether he
fell in a fortified or an unfortified place ? The man-
ner too is to be considered; whether he fell by the
sword, or by poison ? The time too ; whether in
war, or peace ; and whether he was killed at the time
when he was about to resign his power, or at a time
when he was meditating fresh oppressions and cruel-
ties ? The popularity of a party too, the risque he
ran, and the difficulties he underwent, are likewise
material considerations.

In like manner, in cases of liberality we are to dis-
tinguish between parties. There is more merit in
the liberalitv of a man in indifferent, than of a man in
opulent, circumstances : When it confers, than
V hen it requites an obligation : From a man who
has a family to maintain, than from him who has

none.

02 QUINCTIUAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

none. We are likewise to consider the (1eg;ree of
the bcnefictioii, th(' time whtMi, and tht; intention
with wliieh it was coiiicrred ; that is, whether the
niotivrs were quite (hsint< rested.

UthiT aetions are to be eonsidered in the same
manner. Therefore, those causes, that turn chiefly
upon the quahly of an action, require all the pow-
ers of genius and elo(|uence : it is there they exert
themselves to the greatest advantage ; it is there they
make the greatest impression upon the passions,
whatever side of the question the orator takes. He
there employs all kinds of |)roofs ; sometimes from
foreign circumstances, sometimes he is supplied from
the nature of his cause, and eloquence alone fur-
nishes him with the means of placing it in the most
favourable light; here she reigns ; here she controuls;
here she is despotic and decisive.

To this head Virginius refers causes of disinherit-
ance, of insanity, of maltreatment, and of forced
marriages, when an orphan can oblige her next rela-
tion to marry her; all which, according to some, turn
upon the principles of civil duty.

But such causes sometimes admit of other states.
The conjectural prevails in most of them, where the
fact is denied, or where it is alleged to have been
committed with a good intention, of which we have
many examples. Cases of insanity, or maltreatmept,
require definitions. For the points of law are gene-
rally first discussed, and the reasons for any devia-
tions from the law are setded. But when the fact
is not to be defended, it must rest upon the law. We
are therefore to examine, in what cases a father is
not at liberty to disinherit a son, nor a wife at hberty
to bring an action against her husband for maltreat-
ment ; or for one relation to sue out a commission
of lunacy against another. A father hjis a right
to disown a son upon two accounts; first, if the

latte

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 63

latter has actually coimnitted a crime, such as
adultery, or r\ivislimeiit ; the second is, where no
actual crime has been committed, but is even-
tual, as when a father disowns a son merely for
beino- refractory to his commands. The former case
is always odious, because what is done is irrecover-
able; the second case is favourable, aiid admits of
persuasion ; for it may be presumed that a father
chuses rather to correct a son than to disown him. But
in either case the son is to behave with submission,
and to appear ready to give his father all satisfaction.
Some, 1 know, pay but little regard to a father's
professions upon such occasions, and 1 am sensible
that a case may be so circumstanced that little or
none is to be paid. But open disregard is to be
avoided if possible. Cases of maltreatment are to be
managed in the same manner, for the woman who
prosecutes ought to observe the same decency.

Cases of insanity too are brought before a court,
either on account of the party having committed
certain acts of insanity, or the probability of his act-
ing insanely, or his inability to act sanely.*

With regard to what has been actually committed,
the prosecutor is at liberty to make the best of it, re-
membering' always, that how^ever he paints out the
action, he is still to express a becoming concern for
his father, whom he is to compassionate, because the
disorders of his body have brought on those of his
mind. As to those matters that nray yet be prevent-
ed, the son is to use variety of entreaties and inter-
cessions, and to end them by assuring the court,
that his father's infirmities, and not his morals, have
rendered his actions thus irregular ; and the greater
commendations the son bestows upon his father's

* [Orig. Vel non fieri potest] Abbe Gedoyn has not trans*
lated this expression; and some Commentators thiak it impertinent,
but I durst not omit it.

past

64- QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

past life, he will he tlic more readily believed as to
the change, which his tlisorder has brought uj)Ou
bill). As to the accused party, if his cause admits
of it, he ought to ofler his defence with great calm-
ness, lest he should convict himself by discovering
emotions of passion, eagerness, and violence, all
w hich nearly resemble frenzy. But in causes of this
kind, the accused do not always defend the fact,
but often have recourse to asking pardon, and ex-
cusing- w hat thev have done. For when it is a fa-
mily dispute, a party is sometimes acquitted, if it is
his first fault, if he fell into it through a mistake, or if
the charge appears to be aggravated.

Many other kinds of causes turn upon quality.
Assaults, for instance, and damages; for though the
defendant sometimes denies the fact, yet most causes
of that kind turn upon the quality of the fact, and
the intention of the party. As to trials upon the
right of prosecuting, called divinations; Cicero, who
impeached Yerres at the desire of the Roman allies,
lays down the following division: That the court
ought to regard the desires of the complainants in
appointing the prosecutor, and likewise the person
whom the impeached most dreads in that capacity.
In such causes, however, the following consider-
ations frequently occur: Which party had the great-
est provocations ; which would be most active, and
most powerful, in supporting the impeachment; and
which would be most zealous in carrying it on.

Cases of guardianship come likewise under this
head. Here the question generally is, whether the
guardian is accountable for aught but the money
and effects that are in his hands, and whether he
ought to give security not only for them, but for
whatever may happen to the estate in consequence
of his admhiistration and advice. Causes of mis-
management of other people's affairs are of the same

kind.

BookVji. of eloquence. 4a

kind. For such causes inav \m. brou'^ht bctore a
court of justice, as mav likewise all matters of com-
mission or intromission. In schools we declaim
likewise upon libels; and here we try first, who was
theaut-lior; and secondly, whether the matter charg-
ed is libellous.* But cases of this kind seldom
happen at the bar.

Amongst the Greeks, real impeachments were often
broujiht against those embassadors that had misbe-

or?

haved in their functions. Here a point of law fre-
quently arose, whether embassadors ought to act in
any other manner than their instructions direct them,
and how far their powers extend. For their public
character ceases, when they have reported the suc-
cess of their embassy. f Hut IJeius, before he return-
ed to Sicily, commenced evidence against Verres,
w horn, as embassador, he had highly extolled, and
tlierefore was liable to prosecution. Hut it is a mat-
ter of the greatest consequence to know the mean-
ing of the words, betraying the public. It has given
rise to at least a thousand law-cavils. What it is to
betray tlu; public? Whether it has not been rather
served, than betrayed ? Whether it has been be-

• [Libellous] The origioal here is very particular. Praetcr hate
finguntur inScholls& .Scriptamaleficia, inquibusaul hoc quaaritur,
an scriptum «it : aut hoc, an maleficium sit : ra^'^ utrumque. Some
commentators have been of opinion, that the scripta maleficia
here mentioned were a kind of poisonous incantations, conveyed in
certain characters, because the Maleficse Muhers were a kind of
enchantre-ses : but I chu^e to refer the expression to the Libri
famosi, whith answer our defamatory or treasonable libels, whifh
were so famous amonp^ the first emperors of Rome. The
manner in which I ha\e translated it is almost literal, but it agrees
exactly with the practice of the courts of law in England. The
Abbe Gedoyn has omitted the whole passage-

+ [Embassy] The best reading here seems to be that of Ste-
phanus, Q-uoniam alii in renunciando sunt. Burman coniectures,
that for sunt we ought to read hunt, which is much to the same
purpoie.

traycd

^6 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Vlf.

trayed by him, or upon his arrount? But a great
deal depends on the nature of tho proof.

Causes of ingratitude come, hkewise, under this
denomination. Hi're the question is, whether the.
person prosecuted did really receive the obiip^ation ?
This seldom is denied, because such denial alone
mi'^ht fix the charge. We then inquire, whether he
has requited the obligation ; and, whether, because
he has not requited it, he has deserved the charge
of ingratitude. Whether it was in his power to re-
quite it ; whether he owes any such obligation as is
alleged ; and with what intention it was conferred,
or with-held ?

Cases of unjust divorce are more simple, but with
this peculiarity, that the prosecutor becomes the
defendant, and the defendant the prosecutor. Un-
der this head likewise comes the case ofa man giving
to the senate his reasons, why he intends to put him-
self to death. ^\'here the only point of law is, whe-
ther a man, who wants to put himself to death, ought
jiot to be restrained from doing it, if he is to do it in
order to elude the laws of his country ? All the rest
of the cause turns upon quality. We have likewise
sham pleadings upon supposed latter wills, where the
only point to be discussed is, the intention of the
deceased. Such is the case that I have already men-
tioned, in which a physician, a philosopher, and an
orator, lays each of them a claim to the fourth part
of the father's estate. The same manner prevails,
where several persons equally related to an orphan
claim her in marriage; the question is, which kins-
man will make the fittest husband for her? Hut I
have here no intention to touch upon every subject
of this kind ; for many yet remain unmentioned, and
all of them have their peculiarities, according to
their different states of the question. 1 am, however,
surprised that Flavius, (to whose authority 1 pay the

1 greatest

Book VII. OF ELOCIUENCE. 51

greatest deference, yet no more than lie deserves)
when he composed his system of rhetoric for tlie
11S3 of schools only, comprehended this head of qua-
lity under such narrow bounds.

I have already observed, that generally, though
not ahvays, proportion, whether it relates to measure
or number, is comprised under the head of quality.
But the measure sometimes is determined bv the
estimation of the action, whether it be hurtful, or be-
neficial. Sometimes by law, when we debate upon
the law that is to award punishment or recompense.
*' Whether a ravisher shall be acquitted for paying
the sum of money,* which by hiw is to ransom the
penalty of the crime; or whether he ought not to be
put to death, as causing that of the ravished person,
who could not survive his ravishment?"

Now, they are mistaken, who in this case say that
the dispute turns upon the two laws only; for there
can be no manner of dispute concerning the money,
l)ecause it is not sued for. The question is, whether
the defendant was the cause of the other man's
death ? Questions of this kind are sometimes
conjectural : " Whether a malefactor shall be ba-
nished for five years, or for life? Whether such a
one was guilty of wilful murder?" Questions rela-
ting to proportional numbers are likewise to be de-
termined by law. " Whether Thrasybulus was not
entitled to thirty rewards for expelling thirty
tyrants?" When two thieves are detected in steal-
ing a sum of money, " Whether each shall restore it
fourfold, or twofold ?"t But here too the nature of
the fact is considered, and the law itself is construed
according to the quality of the action.

* Viz. Ten thousand asses, which in our money is between
thirteen and fourteen pounds.

+ [Twofold] Tiie civil law con lemned such a thief as is here
snentioned, to refund four limes the sum ho had stolen. The
question therefore was, whether, if each thief contributed dou'^Ie,
the intent of the law was not answered ?

CHAP. V.

N.

58 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

CIIA1\ V.

CONCERMNC? THE INSUFFICIENCY OF PROCEEDINGS.

An impeadu'd party, who neither can deny a fact,
nor ilistiu'^^uish it away, nor detend it, is obhged to in-
trench himself within the law ; and here he gener^
ally lays hold on the impropriety of the action. But
this is not a point which, as some think, is always
treated in the same manner. For sometimes it goes
before the trial, as when the praetor wants privately
to satisty himself, whether such a man is a proper
• person to impeach another. And often it occurs in
the very trial itself. The manner of debating this
matter is either by attacking the action, as being
wrong laid, or by excepting against the party who
lays it.

Now, some have made excepting, or challenging,
ahead of pleading by itself, as if it did not take place
in all the same questions as the other laws. While
the dispute rests upon the exception, the fact
that is tried is out of the question. For instance ;
a son excepts against the father, as an improper per-
son to bring an action against him, because he is
notoriously infamous. In this case, the only ques-
tion then is, " Whether the son has a right to make
such an exception?" But in all such cases a party
ought to throw in as much as he can, to prepossess
the judge in his favour upon the main question.
Thus in questions upon interlocutory judgments,
when the title turns upon possession, and not upon
light, the defendant should endeavour to show, that
he had not only the actual, but the rightful possession
of the premises.

But this question most commonly turns upon the
demand itself. The law savs, that " the man who

serves

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 59

serves his country has a right to demand, for recom-
pense, what he pleases." Now, I deny that he ought
to be gratified with whatever he demands. 1 have
no exception to the man, but I except against the
words of the law, in favour of its meaning. Vet,
both those kinds of causes admit of the same state of
the question.

Every law either gives, or takes away; or punishes,
or enjoins; or prohibits, or permits. It is canvassed
either for its own meaning, or as it stands in relation
or opposition to another law. The (piestion turns
either upon its terms, or its meaning; and the for-
mer are either clear, dark, or equivocal. AH I here
say of laws is applicable to last wills, to bargains,
contracts, and, in short, to all written instruments,
and even to verbal contracts. And, because upon
this head I have laid down four states, or questipj;is,
1 will touch upon each.

CHAP. VI.

CONCERNING QUESTIONS ARISING FROM THE TERMS, AND
THE MEANING OF A LAW.

The terms, and the meaning, of a law are the points
most frequently agitated at the bar, and in most
causes are decisive. No wonder, therefore, that
they prevail greatly in schools, vvliere causes turn-
ing upon this distinction, are assiduously invented.

I'he first division upon this head is, where botl>
the terms and the meaning of the law come into,
question. This happens when there is some dark-
ness in the law, which each party makes ad,vantage.
of, to establish his own construction of it, or to de-
stroy that of his opponent. Thus, tholawsass, a,
thief shall refund fourfold what hi', steals. Now,
'2 two

60 QUINCTlLIANS INSTmiTES Book VTI.

two thieves steal twenty pounds, and they are sued to
refund fourscore pounds a-piero, hut each olfers to
lay down only forty. 1 demand no more than four-
fold, says the prosecutor. And we offer you four-
fold, s-ay the defendants. Here both hin.c^e upon
the meanins?of the law. The same thing happens
when one part of the law, in one sense, is clear, and,
in another, doubtful. Says the law, the son of a
whore is to be debarred from the rights of the people.
Now, a woman, after having a lawful son, turns
whore ; and that son is debarred from the rights of
the people, liad this son been born while she was
a whore, he comes plainly under the description of
this law. But, says the son, 1 was born wdien my
mother was an honest woman. You are her son,
replies the other party, and she is a whore. Some-
times it is doubtful, to what object the terms of the
law relate. Says the law, You are to bring no ac-
tion twice for the same thing. Now, it is doubtful,
whether the word twice relates to the prosecutor, or
the thing prosecuted. All such questions arise from
the obscurity of the law.

Another sort of causes, under this head, is, where
the law is clear and express, both in its terms and
meaning; and yet one party hinges upon the terms,
and the other upon the meaning. Now, the terms
of the law may be combatted three ways. First,
upon the impossibility of the observance. Says the
law, Children are either to maintain their parents, or
be put in irons. But an infant cannot come under
the description of this law. This leads us to other
points of inquiry: AVhether the meaning of the
law is, every child ? Whether this party comes un-
der the meaning ?

For this reason, some lay down a kind of plea
in which no argument can be drawn from the law
itself, but from the nature of the action upon

which

Book VIL OF ELOQUENCE. 61

-which the prosecution is founded. Says a law, If a
stranger sliall momit the fortifications of the city, let
him be put to death. The enemies attempt to storm
the city ; a stranger mounts the fortifications, and
drives them back. Here, there is no question about
every stranger, or this stranger, because the very
action, for which the stranger is prosecuted, is the
strongest arguments against the terms of the law.
What ! is not a stranger to mount the ramparts of the
citv, in order to save the city ? Here the stransfer's
defence rests upon natural equity, and the meaning
of the legislature.

In some cases we may bring examples from other
laws, to prove that we cannot always go by the
terms of a law, as Cicero does in his pleading for
Cecinna.

A third division is when, in the very words of
the law, we find some circumstance to prove the
meaning of the legislature to have been different.
Says the law. The man who in the night-time shall
be caught with steel about him, is to he put in irons.
A magistrate puts a man in irons for wearing a steel
ring in the night-time. Now, the very word caught,
implies the meaning of the law, to regard only steel
weapons. But as the party, who attaches himself
to the meaning of the law, should do all he can to
explain away its terms, so he who hinges upon its
terms should endeavour to avail himself of its mean-
ing likewise.

In testamentary matters it sometimes happens,
that the testator's intention is evident, but that it
appears by no expression of his will. Thus, in
the trial between ManiusCurius * and Marcus Co-
ponius, when the noted contest happened between
JNIutius and Scaevola, the former was left heir by the
testator, if the son, who was to be born after his

* [Curius] See Cicero de Oratore, 1. i. c 39-

death,

6* aUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VH.

dcatli (for he Ixlioved his wilfe to he with child),
should die hetore he came of age. No child was'
born ; the heirs at law demand the estate. NoW
there can be no doubt the moaning of the testator
was, that Curiiis should be his heir, either in case he'
had no son, or in case he hu(1 no son that came of
age. But this meaning was not cxijressed in his will.'
Cases the reverse of this sometimes happen, by
the words of the will evidently contradicting the
meaninofof the testator. One left to his friend in a'
lesracv five thousand sexterces : h^ afterwards al-
tered his will, and instead of sexterces, inserted
pounds-weight of silver, without expunging the
three cyphers, which appeared not to be the inten-
tion of the testator, who certainly meant five pound-
weight of silver, and not the other great and incre-
dible sum. Gerleral cpiestions likewise arise under
this head. Such as, whether we are to stand by the
terms or tiie intention, and what was the testator's
intention ; all which questions relate to conjecture
or quality, of w'hich I have already sufficiently
treated.

CHAP. VII.

CONCERNING CONTRADICTORY LAWS.

I AM now to speak of contradictory laws ; be-
cause all rhetoricians agree, that such contrarietj'^'
contains two states ; that relating to the terms, aYid
that relating to the intention; Bec'ause w^hen onie
law contradicts another, each party litigates the
terms and meaning of his opponent's law. And
thereby the question becomes double ; w liich of
the two laws is to take place. Now common sense

tells

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 6d

tells us, that a law cannot be enacted professedly in
contradiction to another, without repealing that
other ; but then two laws may be so circumstanced,
that accidentally or eventually they may clash with
one another.

Now this may be the case with two laws equally
in force ; one law says, that the destroyer of a ty-
rant shall be gratified with whatever he shall de-
mand. Another makes the same provision, for the
man who shall eminently serve or save his country.
Both of them demand the same recompense, and
this introduces a comparison of their respective me-
rits, dangers, and deserts. Sometimes two parties,
ill the same circumstances by law, clash the one
with the other : two })atriot heroes, two destroyers
of tyrants, two women who had been ravished. *
In such cases there can be no question put with re-
gard to time. Who had the priority ? Or the qua-
lity. Which claim is justest ? Ditierent or similar
laws sometimes clash with one another. A com-
mandant is not to leave the garrison. A hero, who
has served his coimtry, is to be gratified in his de-
mand. Now this hero may be a commandant,
and his demand may be to leave the garrison. Nay,
without regard to any other law, a doubt may arise,
whether such a hero ought to be gratified in what-
ever he shall demand. As to the commandant, a
thousand reasons may oblige him to leave his s^rri-
son ; for instance, should it be set on fire, or should
he be obliged to repel the enemy. To similar laws,

* [Ravislied] The reader is to understand, that in cases where
it was plainly proved, that a woman had been ravished, she had
her option either to demand the ravishcr in marriap;i', without
bringing him any fortune, or that he should he put to death. The
case here alluded to is that of a man who in one night ravished
two women, the one of whom demanded him in marriage, and the
other demanded his bead.

nothing

64 aUlNCTILlAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIF.

hothnip: l)iit the words; of tlic one can be opposed
to the words ot" the other. One law says, the sta-
tue of a pei-soM ^vho has killed a tyrant ahull be
erected in the public place of exercise ; another law
says, the statue of no woman shall be erected there :
now, a woman kills a tyrant. Here, and in no other
case, can the woman's statue be erected, or that of
the t}'rannicide rejected.

M hen there is an inequality in two laws, the one
admits of great opposition, and the other of none
but w hat is the subject of the litigation. Thus the
lierol have already mentioned, demands pardon for
a deserter. Now 1 have already shown, that great
opposition m.;\y be made to the gratifying such a
hero in his demands ; but no opposition, excepting
his demand, can be made to the law, which dooms u
deserter to death.

Again, the sense of both laws is either admitted
on both sides, or it is doubtful. If it is admitted,
we next examine, v/hich law is most powerful f
Whether it relates to God or man ? To the com-
monwealth, or to pri\ ate persons ? To rewards or to
punishments ? To matters of importance or to tri-
fles ? Whether it permits, prohibits, or commands ?
Sometimes we examine likewise, which law is most
antient, and consequently most oblig-atory ; and
which law will be least violated. As in the case I
have just now mentioned of the deserter and the
hero. Because, if the deserter is suffered to live,
the law is totally violated : but if he is put to death,
the hero may be indulged in making a second de-
mand. But in such cases, the must decisive consi-
deration ought to be, which law can be observed
with the greatest justice and equity; and this caH
be determined only by the subject matter in question.

If the sense of the two laws is doubtful, the
doubt must arise, either from one or both parties,

who

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 65

who reciprocally dispute one another's construction
of it. As in the follow iug case ; " A father may
hy law claim the property of his son, and a master'
of his frced-man ; the freed-mcn descend to the
heir." Now a certain person makes the son of a
freed-man his heir ; this freed-man's master, and the
freed-man himself, both claim the property of the
son and his estate. Says the one, "• 1 have the
property of him because he is my son. But, says
the other, you can have no property, but what is
mine, for you yourself are my property." Two
provisions in the same law are often opposed to one
iinuther, as if they were two different laws ; for ex-
ample, " A bastard, born before a legitimate son, is
to be held as legitimate, if born after he is to
be considered only as a citizen." What I have
said concerning laws, is applicable likewise to de-
crees of the senate, either when some are contra-
dictory to others, or when they are inconsistent
with the laws. For the same considerations prevail
through all.

CHAP. viii.

CONCERNING SYLLOGISTICAL OR LOGICAL REASONING.

The syllogistical manner resembles what I have
already observed concerning the terms and the
meaning of the law; with this difference, that there
we dispute against the terms, and here upon them.
There, he who hinges u})on the terms, insists ujMm
the literal observation of the law; here, he requires,
that nothinc,^ shall be done but what the terms of
the law direct. And it has some aliinity to the
head of definition ; for verj'^ often an iinpntper defi-
nition slides into a sylloc;ism. Supposing a law, that
every woman who is guilty of poisoning shall be put

VOL. II. F to

G6 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Boo« VII.

to death ; and that the following case happens ; " A
woman G!;ives a love-potion to a husband who is
unfaithful to \wy bed, and then leaves him ; the re-
lations on both sides entreat her, but all in vain, to
return to her husband, who, upon that, hangs him-
self, and the woman is accused of poisoning." Now
the strongest plea of the prosecutor is to say, that
a love-potioii is poison. This is a definition, but if
it does not answer, he has recourse to reasoning,
and without insisting upon his definition, he shows,
that the woman ought to be punished in the samtj
manner, as if she actually had killed her husband
by poison. Thus the state of reasoning infers some-
what that is disputable from the terms of the law,
and because this inference is made by reasoning, it
is called a rational inference.

Of the like kind are the following questions ;
Whether the law^ ought to be executed oftener than
once for the same crime, and upon the same person ?
For instance, " A woman is condemned to be thrown
from the top of the Tarpeian rock ; the sentence is
executed, but she lives. And the prosecutor de-
mands that she shall imdergo the sentence again."
Whether the same person may claim several re-
wards for the same thing r " A man kills two ty-
rants at one time ; and he demands a recompense
for each." Whether what ought to have been done
before, may be done after ? " A w^oman is ravished,
the ravisher flies, the woman is married to another
person, the ravisher returns, and she makes her de-
mand of opiion, that the ravisher shall either marry
her, or be put to death." Whether what is law as
to the whole, is not law as to a part of that whole ?
" A creditor cannot detain a plow *, but he detains

• [Plow] This was not an imaginary, but an actual provision
in the civil law ; and the reason was, that the plow could be of
▼ery little service to the creditor, but that the loss of it might be
of the utmost detriment to the debtor and his family.

the

Book Vli. OF ELOQUENCE. 6?

the plow-share." Whether what is law as to a part,
is not law as to the whole ? " A certain state pro-
hibits the exportation of wool * ; a merchant there-
fore exports sheep."

In all syllogistical reasonings of this kind, one
party pleads the letter of the law ; the other says,
the law has made no provision against the case in
question. " I demand, says one party, the execu-
tion of what the law awards against that woman
convicted of incest." By law the ravished woman
has her demand of option. If the merchant ex-
ported sheep, he exported wool likewise : and so
of the others.

But it may be answered, " that the law does not
say, the incestuous woman shall be thrown twice
from the Farpeian rock ; that the ravished woman
shall have her option after she is married ; that the
tyrannicide shall have two recompenses. The law
speaks nothing of the plow-share ; the law speaks
nothing of the sheep." Therefore the doubtful is
collected from the evident matter.

It is more difficult to find out in the letter of the
huv, that which is not expressed in the law. The
law says, He who kills his father, is to be sewed up
in a sack, and thrown into the sea. But it ex-
presses no penalty against the man who kills his
mother. The law says. That a man is not to be
forced out of his own house for any matter of debt.
But it makes no express provision against his being
forced out of his tent. In all such cases, we are to
in(piire whether we are not at liberty to have re-
course to a similarity in some other division. Se-

* ["WoolJ I am not sure, wbetVirr the Tarentines, vhich is the
state here mentioned, prohibited the exportation of wool, or whe-
ther this is a fictitious case. Meanwhile it h certain from Co-
lumella, that the wool of Tarentum was the softest, and properest
for manufacture of any in Italy.

1 condly,

68 QUINXTILIAN'S INSTnUTES Book VII.

condly, wlictlier the mutter in question is really
like the decided point. Now similarity is implied
either in a greater, in an equal, or in a less degree.
In the first case we are to examine, whether the
matter in hand has been sufficiently provided for by
the decision of the law : and if it has not, whether
we are to insist upon either of them. In both cases
the intention of the legislature is to be considered ;
but the chief consideration is the rule of equity.

CHAP. IX.

CONCERNING EQUIVOCALITY.

Equivocality is so frequent, that some philoso-
phers have thought, there is not a word that does
not admit of more significations than one. The
kinds of it, however, are only two ; that which
arises from single, and that which arises from seve-
ral words. A single word may lead us into a mis-
take. For instance, the word cock *, which signi-
fies either a man's name, tiie cock of an instrument,
or of a vessel, or a bird. And the name Ajax may
denote either the son of Telamon, or Oileus. The
verb discern, either signifies to see or distinguish ;
or in civil matters, to decree or adjudge. The word
ingenuity is often taken for art, though it properly
signifies honesty or candour ■\. The Greeks give us

* [Cock] I have taken a very little liberty here with the ori-
ginal, because the word Gaul does not answer in English to a
castrated priest ; which it did iu Latin, to signify the priests of
Cybele.

+ [Candour] I have likewise, in this and several other examples
brought by our author, added and omitted some things, for the
same reason as above-

or

JCOK

Vll OF ELOQUENCE. 69

a great many trifling, gingling examples of the same
kind.

The equivocality is more puzzling when it runs
through a whole sentence, and where the cases of
words are ambiguous ; for example,

yEacidcs, 1 sav, the Romans shall o'ercome.
The placing of a word, though there is no ambi-
guity in the cases. Thus \ irgilsays,

The bridle yet he held

Here there may be a doubt, whether the poet
means he still held the bridle, or he held the bridl«
notwithstanding. Another dispute of the same kind
arose from a man ordering' by his latter will, That a
statue should be erected to him holding a spear all
of gold. l[ere the question is, whether the statue
was to be all of gold, or the spear. Nay, sometimes
a wrong cadence will cause an ambiguity in a line.
Sometimes a sentence may be conceived so, that
of two nominatives, whj^ch it contains, it is doubt-
ful which belons^s to the verb. Says a man in his
latter will, I ordain that my daughter shall give to
my wife a hundred pound-weight * of my plate,
such as she shall chuse. The question here is, who
is to have the choice.

I could bring many other instances, were it ne-
cessary. Upon the whole, it does not signify in
what manner an equivocality is either formed or re-
solved. For it is certain, that it always has two
senses, and that the word or the expression is
equally favourable to both. Therefore it would be
in vain to lay down any rules for accommodating
the sense of the word to our meaning ; for could

• Our author gives us several other examples of ambiguities,
which were they not, as they are, peculiar to the Latin tongue, it
would be superfluous to translate. And one of them is brought
from Cicero, but 1 think with no great justice.

th^t

70 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

tliat be done, there would be no equivocality. The
wliole dispute that can occur upon this head is,
wliich meaning is most natural, which most cqni-
tal)le, and which is best fitted to answer what pro-
bably was the intention of the speaker, or the writer ;
all wjiich considerations we have already handled,
under the heads of conjecture and quality.

CPIAP. X,

CONCERNING THE RELATION AND DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TUfSi
SEVERAL STATES OR HEADS ALREADY LAID DOWN,

Now, there is a certain relation that connects all
the states I have mentioned. For definition regards
the meuningofa word ; and syllogism, which is the
next state, the intention of the writer; and in the
contrariety of laws arise two different states ; one
of the terms, and another of the meaning. A defi-
nition itself sometimes becomes an equivocality,
M'hen the word defined admits of two senses. The
terms and the intention turn upon the expression, as
does that state which arises from the contrariety of
laws, or Antimony. Some, therefore, have re-
duced all these states to two, that of the terms, and
that of the intention. And others think that the
terms and the intention, when they appear to differ,
always contain an ambiguity which f<jrms the ques-
tion. But they are distinct. For there is a dif-
ference between the ambiguity, and the obscurity,
of a law.

lor, the state of definition contains a general
question upon the nature of a word, which may
stand un(!onnected with the circumstances of a
cause. The state arising from the terms, and the
meaning, arises from what is expressed in the law ;

and

Book VII. OF ELOaUENCE. 71

and the state of svllooisiu from what is not ex-
pressed. 'I'he equivocal state presents us with two
different senses, and the antimony makes one law
fi"ht witli another. These distinctions have had,
and still have, the sanction of the most learned and
sensible professors aiul j)leaders.

Meanv\ hile, I have laid down some (though not
all) rules relating to the distinctions 1 have here
made. Others entirely depend upon the circum-
stances of the cause, ior it is not enough to divide
the whole of a cause into several questions and
topics ; because each of these divisions themselves
have their proper arrangements. In an exordium,
for instance, somewhat comes first, somewhat is
urged in the second place, and so on. In short,
every question, every topic, that can arise, has its
proper disposition, in the same manner as general
propositions have.

Supposing an orator, in handling one of the
causes I have already mentioned, should proceed
upon the following division. " 1 shall here, says
he, examine. Whether a patriot hero is to be gra-
tified in every demand, though he should demand
private property, though he should demand an un-
married ladv for his wife, thouijh he should demand
a married lady from her husband, though he should
demand the lady here in question ?" Can we have
any opinion of such a pleader's abilites, if, w hen he
comes to speak to the first head of his divi&;ion, he
shall, without order, w ithout method, sputter out
whatever comes uppermost ? If he shall be igno-
rant, that the first point he is to examine is. Whe-
ther he is to abide by the words, or the meaning of
the law ? If he knows not, that even this must have
its proper introduction ; which introducing what
comes next, and that connecting what is subse-
quent, his pleading rises into a graceful form, like

the

72 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VII.

the human figiiro, where the hand forms part of the
person, the lingers of the hand, and the joints of the
fingere ?

I say again, that the method of dividing depends
upon thest ated, defined, sul)ject of the pleading.
For, whatcan one, vvhatcan two, what can a hundred,
nay, what can a thousand examples avail, amidst
such an inrtnite variety of subjects as occur ? All
that a master can do is, to be always taking some-
times one subject, sometimes another; and, in each,
to shew the order and relation of circumstances, so
that his pupil may, by degrees, know how to prac-
tise and apply them in other cases ; for art is inex-
haustible in its effects.

Is there a painter, who knows how to strike out
the resemblance of every subject in nature? No;
but if he is complete master of the principles and
practice of drawing and colouring, he is able to re-
present any original that comes before him, let it be
what it will. An insrenius artist can cast the mould
of a vase different from any he ever saw. There is
a kind of knowledge that is not to be taught, but
may be acquired. A physician knows, in general,
the diseases of the human body, the methods of
treating, and the symptoms that indicate them.
But his own sagacity alone directs him in the judg-
ment he is to form from the beat of the pulse, the
hectic motion, quick breathing, and shifting colour.

Great part, therefore, of a pleader's knowledge
must come from himself. He is to make himself
master of his subject, and he is to remember there
was a time when his art was practised without be-
ing taught. He will find that the disposition, or
what we may call the economy of order, which is
so decisive in pleading, can arise only from his at-
tending to the circumstances of the cause he has in
hand. These alone can direct him, whether an in-
troduction

Book VII. OF ELOQUENCE. 7-i

troduction his proper, or improper; whether the
narrative ought to be continued, or divided; whether
we should taive up our detail at the beginning-, or
with Homer * in the middle, or, even, at the end of
an action ; where a narrative is absolutely impro-
per ; w hen we are to begin with our own propositions,
when with those of our adversary, with our strongest
or weakest proofs ; when our cause requires us to
enter abruptly upon the propositions we are to lay
dow n, or when we are to guard them w ith certain
prefatory hints ; whether those hints are to be such
as shall instantly seize the affections of the judge,
or steal upon him gently, and by degi'ees ; whether
we are to refute by the lump, or one allegation after
another; whether we are to diffuse the moving pow-
ers of eloquence through the w'hole of our pleading,
or reserve it to the close ; whether we are to begin
with the matter of law, or the matter of equity ; whe-
ther in the impeachment we are to begin w ith urg-
inc: crimes, or in the defence with repelling charges
of facts that happened long before the case in ques-
tion ; or whether we are not to confine ourselves
wholly to that : If one cause contains a multiplicity
of circumstances, how we are to arrange them, in
what order we are to produce our evidences, what
writings, and of what kind, are to be read during
the pleading, and what are to he reserved till it is
over. Thus an orator acts hke an experienced ge-
neral, who stations his troops so as to answer all the
events of war, by appointing some to guard the
forts, others to garrison the towns, some to escort
the foragers, and others to secure the passes ; in
short, by making proper dispositions both by sea and
land.

* [Homer] The odyssey and the iEneid enter at the middle of
the subject ;but,thoue:h the action of the Iliad commences towards
the end of the siege of Tro)-, vet the poet, in his detail, has had
tile art to introduce almost the whole history of that siege.

No

74 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES. BooKyil.

No man, however, can make such a figure in
speaking, but the man who is possessed of genius,
learning, and apphcation, foolish is he who thinks
to become elotjucnt only from the brains of ano-
ther. Me who wants to be an orator must ply
his studies early and late ; undismayed by ditticulty,
he must renew his efforts, till he grows pale with
the labour. 1 lis powers, his practice, his manner, is
to be all his own. He is not to consult a copy, but
be himself an original. His abilities must seem not
to be implanted, but innate. Art, if there is an art
in eloquence, can soon shew us how to find her.
But art can do no more than unfold her beauties ; it
is through our own vigour that we must enjoy
them.

As to the disposition of particular parts, each has
its first, second, and third degree of relation to ano-
ther. And this is not only to be observed, so as to
range them properly ; but they are to be joined and
inlaid so smoothl}^ that the whole shall seem to be
one composition, and of the same materials. This
can only be done by our suiting expressions to things,
by making words fall in Avith words, so as each shall
strengthen, each shall embellish another. Thus
matters, though drawn from topics formerly different
and unconnected, far from clashing with one ano-
ther, shall fall into regularity and agreement ; and
the members receiving mutual support from each
other, shall be combined into a whole, expressive
not only of contrivance, but of harmony.

But the subject I have now touched upon, I be-
lieve, betrays me to transgress my allotted bounds ;
for I feel myself sliding from disposition into elocu-
tion, which 1 am to treat of in the next book.

QUINXTILIAN'S

aUIN€TIILIi\N'S INSTITUTES

OF

ELOQUENCE,

BOOK VIII.

INTRODUCTION.

The last five books of this work liave beep
pretty lull concerning the principles of invention
and disposition, the thorough knowledge of which i»
absolutely necessary to the practice of eloquence;
but, to young beginners, it ought to he taught i)i a
shorter and more simple method. For such are
either deterred by the difficulty of so compli-
cated and intricate a study, or their spirits are
oppressed by the severity of the task, at a time
when their capacities require the utmost delicacy of
management and indulgence. Or, if they make
themselves masters of these minute, though thorny,
particulars, they think themselves sulticiently <|ua-
htied to be orators: or, lastly, pinning themsrlves
down, as it were, to certain modes of speaking, they
dread every exertion of genius that deviates from
their dull round of words. This is i\\e reason
which some assign, why the authors, who have
wrote with the greatest accuracy upon this art,
have had the most i ndi ft erent success in the practice
of it.

riie

76 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII.

The young pupil, however, ought to be conducted
to the path that leads to eloquence, a path that
should be rendered plain, accessible, and easy. Let
the skilful professor, 1 have already recommended,
chuse, from the whole system of his art, the most
edifying precepts, and, at the same time, the most
palatable, i^et him feed the tender mind with these,
without troubling his pupils with the rugged and
disputable parts of it; and, as they grow up, they
will improve in learning. At first, they ought to
believe there is no other road than what is shewn
them; and, as they are acquainted with it, they are
to believe it likewise to be the best. Now, writers,
by their obstinate adherence to their several opinions,
have perplexed matters, that, of themselves, are
very plain and intelligible. A master, therefore,
amidst such various systems, is more puzzled to
chuse the most proper, than to teach it after he has
chosen it. And particularly, as to the two parts of
invention and disposition, the rules are but few ;
but if the pupil can once make himself master of
them, the practice of the rest will soon become very
easy and habitual.

What I have hitherto chiefly laboured has been to
shew, that rhetoric is the science of speaking well;
that it is useful; that it is an art; that it is an ex-
cellency or virtue of the mind; and that it is apph-
cable to every subject we can speak to: all which
may be reduced to three kinds, the demonstrative,
the deliberative, and the judiciary : that all dis-
courses are composed of things and words : that,
in things, we are to regard invention; in words,
elocution ; and in both, arrangement: that these
are what the memory ought to retain, and the action
display: that the business of an orator is to inform,
to move, and to delight : that explaining and argu-
ing are necessary for informing : th^t emotion

belongs

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE 7f

belongs to the passions ; and that, though these are
to be regarded through the whole of a pleading, yet
their great movements ouglit to prevail chiefly in its
begpning and close : that though a hearer has
deltght, both when his mind is informed, and liis
passions are touched ; yet that delight operates
/ chielly by elocution : thai some questions are gene-
ral, and others bounded by circumsiances of person^
place, and time: that in all causes there are three
points of inquiry: whether a thmg is? what it is?
and of what quality it is?

1 have likt wisti>4l^'*i ^^^^^ the demonstrative part
of rhetoric consists in praising and reproaching;
and here we are to regard what was done by the
person who is the subject of our discourse, and what
happened after his death; and that, therefore, it
treats of whatever is virtuous in itself, or serviceable
to mankind : that the deliberative part compre-
hended conjecture likewise; whether a tiling could
be done, or whether a thing is possible? 1 observed,
that here we are t<^ consider the characters in w'hich
we speak, and before whom we speak, and the pro-
priety of what we say: that, with regard to judi-
ciary controversies, some of them are simple, and
others complex ; and that, in some of them, we have
no more to do than to attack, or to defend : that all
defence consists either in denvins; the fact, or the
quality of the fact as charged, or in transferrin^: it to
another party : that every question relates either to
a matter of fiict, or cf law : that matters of fact
are determined according to their credibility, their
circumstances, or their quality ; and matters of law
by the import of the words, or the meaning of the
legislature : and this contains a minute discussion
of motives and actions ; whatever regards the
letter of the law, or its meaning, with v.hatever

turns

7fi QUINCTIUAN'S INSTlTUTf.S Book VIII.

turns upon reasoning, anihiguity, or contrariety of
laws.

1 have likewise shewn, that every judiciary plead-
ing consists ofTivc parts: the introduction, in which
we prepossess the hearer in our favour; the narra-
tive, in u hich we lay open the cause ; the confir-
mation, in which we establish and support the nar-
rative ; the refutation, which answers and destroys
the charge of our adversary ; and the peroration,
the business of which is, either to refresh the me-
mory of the judge, or to touch the passions. In
that part of my work I have introduced all the topics
from which we can argue or affect, and the several
kinds of speaking that arouse, sooth, reconipose, or
delight a judge ; and, lastly, 1 have added the me-
thod of dividing a pleading.

Here 1 am to instruct the pupil, who reads this
work for improvement, that there is a certain method
ill w'hich nature operates to excellent purpose with-
out the assistance of learning ; so that the rules I
have laid down are not the inventions of masters,
but the result of their observations and experience.
What I am to communicate, in the ensuing part of
this work, calls for more attention than the preced-
ing ; because I now design to treat of elocution,
which all authors agree to be the most difficult part
of this work. For iVIarcus Antonius, whom 1 have
already mentioned, is introduced by Cicero, in his
conferences upon the character and qualifications of
an orator, as saying, " that he had known many
good speakers, but never one orator." A good
speaker, or a well-spoken man, according to him,
thinks it enough if he speaks what is proper; but to
give ornament to propriety, is the characteristic of
perfect eloquence. Now, if this perfection was want-
ing in him, nay, in all who lived before him or with

him.

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 79"

him, even in Lucius Crassus himself, the defect must
be owing to the dilticulty of acquiring it. Cicero is
of opinion, that a man of good sense may acquire
the arts of inventing and disposing a discourse, but
an orator only can be elo(|uent. And therefore the
greatest part of the rules he lays down regards elo-
cution alone ; and the very word eloquence implies
how well he judged that matter. Now, the property
of eloquence is, to express with your tongue
whatever you conceive in your mind, so as to com-
municate it to your hearers. Without being able
to do this, all I have hitherto laid down is as useless
as a s^vord hung up for show, and rusting within its
scabbard.

This, therefore, is the great point 1 aim at. This
is unattainable but by art ; this calls for study, this
requires practice, this requires imitation ; the longest
life is short enough to acquire it ; it gives preference
amongst orators, and establishes the excellency of
one manner above that of another. For, we are
not to suppose that the Asiatics, and others, who
labour under a depravity of style, were not masters
of their materials, and knew not how to arrange
them. Neither were those, whom we call dry
speakers, destitute of sense, or the knowledge of the
causes they undertook ; but the former in speaking,
were void of all taste and elegance, and the latter
of energy. In elocution, therefore, the greatest
beauties, and the greatest blemishes of speaking
consist.

J5nt the student is not, for that reason, to confine
his cares to words alone. l'\)r I here strenuously
premise, that I do in this introduction declare war
against all who shall wrest what I have saiti to a
wrong meaning ; and by neglecting the study of
things, which are the nerves of causes, gnjw grey in
an em{)ty application to words; and all this from a

notion

80 QUIXCTIUAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII.

notion of beinp; more graceful. Now, in my opi*
uioti, uiarcfulness is the greatest charm in elo-
quence ; but it must be natural, and not aflected.
A vigorous body, whose complexion is flushed wit i
health, and whose limbs are strengthened by exercise,
receives its beauty and its strength from the same
causes. The colour is florid, the joints firm, the
aruis musculous ; but let the same body be smoothed
out, plumped up, painted and curled like a wo-
man, the very pains that are taken to make it agree-
able, render it detestable. The stately robe, and
portly air (as a Greek observes), impresses authority
and respect. But an appearance languishing and
effeminate does not adorn the body, but exposes the
mind. In like manner, an eloquence that is flimsy,
glossy, and glittering, enervates the subjects it is
meant tocloath.

About words, therefore, be careful ; but about
things, anxious. Now the best set of words are
those that arise from things, or from the subject, and
from that receive the lustre they communicate ; but
we hunt after words, as if they were retired into
creeks and corners, and wanted to keep out of our
sight. Thus we never reflect, that the matter we
speak to is always ready to supply us with expres-
sions ; but we first look for them in strange places,
and, when we find them, we twist and torture them
from their natural meaning. Eloquence requires
a more exalted genius ; and, provided the whole
of her appearance be strong and vigorous, she minds
not the scraping of the nails, or the fashion of the
hair.

But it generally happens that this finical curiosity
spoils a style of language. ^ For words, the less
they are forced, are so much the better ; becau:>e they
have, thereby, the greater resemblance to truth and
|;implicity. But, expressions professedly nice, and

far-fetched,

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 81

far-fetched, cany, in their very sound, stiflness, and
affectation ; and, far from being graceful, they create
distrust in the hearer, by cloudnig, as it were, his
senses ; and, like rank, weeds, they choak the rising
corn/ For, instead of coming directly to the point,
ourlove of words leads us round and round it. in-
stead of stopping, when we have said enough, we
repeat the same things over and over ; when one
word would make a thing clear,^we cloud it with a
thousand ; and we make a ridiculous emphasis
often supply the place of an intelligible expression.
A shame it is, thus to disregard propriety and na-
ture, and to think it incompatible with eloquence to
make use of an expression that others have used
before ! Our figures and metaphors we borrow from
the vilest of poets ; and we measure our own capa-
cities by the greatness of capacity that is required
to understand us.

Cicero, however, is expressly of opinion, " that
in eloquence the most dreadful blunder that can
be committed is, to deviate into abstruse expres-
sions, out of the beaten track of common sense."
But, says a modern, " Cicero was a pedant ; he had
no genius, taste, or learning. We are the fine gen-
tlemen ; for we nauseate every thing that nature
dictates. ^Ve love not a style that is ornamented,
but bedizened." Stranoe infatuation ! to believe,that
Avords can have any beauty, but by being fitted to
their subject. Nay, if this fitness does not fall in
of course, were we to s])end our whole life-time
upon them, vain would all our endeavours be to give
them propriety, perspicuity, beauty, and ]>roportion.
Mean while, the whole labour of nKxlern orators
is employed in huntm? after single words, and, after
they catch them, in weighing and measuring their
meaning. Supposing they were always sure of em-
ploying only the best expressions, yet a curse upon
VOL. II. G the

B2 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIU.

the success,* it' purchased by doubts and delays,
that cri|)i)le the career of clotiuence, and damp the
warmth of imaj^ination. Wretched, and, 1 may
say, poor, must tliat orator be, vvlio cannot aftbrd to
lose a single word without re))iningv lint he cannot
lose it, if he is wt'li j^roinidcd m the princij)les of
elocjuenre. I'or, a|)plication to well-chosen books
will furnish him with a large stock of words, and
instruct hnn in the art of placing them properly.
And these advantag(^s will be so improved by daily
practice, that he never can be at a loss, either to
find or to ap})ly them.

To an orator, who follows this method, things
and expit^ssions will present themselves at tlie same
time. Hut to this purpos<.> he must be prepared by
study ; he must have earned, and, as it were, stored
up, the means of speaking. All the trouble of ex-
amiiung, judging, and comparing, must be ov^er be-
fore we come to the bar. An orator who does not
lay a foundation in study, like a man who has no
substance in reserve, is perpetually at a loss how to
proceed. If an orator is prepared with the requi-
sites of speaking, every word will, without being
called for, know its duty, and lie as obsequious to
his meaning as the shadow is to the substance.

Yet, even in this preparation, we ought to know
when we have done enough. When we are pro-
vided w ith words that are proper, significant, beau-
tiful, and fitly disposed, what can we require farther ?
Yet the capriciousness of some people has no
bounds ; they dw^ell upon, almost, every syllable ;
and, when they have the very best of expressions to
convey their meaning, they still hanker after some-
what that is more antique, more curious, and more

* [Orig.] Abominanda tamen hasc infoelicitas erat. But, if -we
change infoElicitas for fcelicitas, the sense will be much better.

surprizing ;

Book Mil. OF ELOQUENCE. 83

surprizing ; without reflecting, that the sense is most
wanting, where the words are most admired.

We cannot, upon the whole, be too careful of our
style; but, still remembering that we are to say
nothing for the sake of words ; for words were in-
vented, only, for the sake of things : and that their
greatest merit lies in expressing our sentiments with
the greatest efficacy, and bringing the hearer over to
favour the cause we espouse. '1 hey ought, indeed,
to strike and to captivate ; but we are not to be
struck so as we are at the sight of a monster of
nature, nor to be captivated so as we are with dis-
honest pleasure ; for their beauty ought to be such
as is expressive of virtuous dignity.

CHAP. I.

CONCERNING WHAT IS GENERALLY REQUISITE IN ELOCUTION.

Elocution regards either sins-le words or sen-
tences. It requires single words to be pure, perspi-
cuous, ornamented, and fit for our purpose, it
requires sentences to be correct, well-placed, and
animated. Now in my first book, when 1 touched
upon grammar, I laid down rules for the purity and
chastity of language ; but there I only cautioned
against the errors of speaking, and here it is proper
I should recommend to my reader, that his style
should be as little foreign or outlandish as possible.
We know many w ho are masters of language, and
yet their style is rather finical, than pure. Theo-
phrastus, one of the best speakers in the world, was
found out to be a foreigner, by an old woman of
Athens, who observed his aftectation of a single
word ; and being asked how she found it out, she

said

84 aUlNCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII.

said, it was by liis over-atticism. And Pollio Asi-
nius, tlioir^lu tluit Titus 1 jvius, a man of wonderful
rloqiience, retained in his style a certain l*ativinity.
Therefi^re we ovii^ht, if we possibly can, to bring- our
languau^e nm\ pronunciation to that ])urity, that they
may setMn to !)e the natives of our country, and not
naturahzed into her.

)(^ CHAP. II.

CONCERNING PERSPICUITY.

Propriety of expression contributes the most
to give it perspicuity ; but propriety is taken in
more senses than one ; for at first sight, the real
name of a thing is its proper name, and yet we
sometimes avoid to express it ; for instance, if it is
obscene, dirty, and mean ; because there is a mean-
ness that is below all dignity or character. But
here some are ridiculous enough to reject all ex-
pressions that are usual, nay, necessary to their sub-
ject. Thus a certain pleader talked about Spanish
shrubs, without one of the court knowing what he
meant, till Cassius Severus, to expose his affectation,
told them that he meant a bulrush ; nor can I see
how the famous orator, who made use of the ex-
pression, fishes hardened by smoak, * bettered the
words which he industriously avoided.

But there is no great merit in keeping to that
propriety, that adapts words to things. There is
however a fault, the very reverse of that, which we

* [Orip:. Duratos muria pisces] There is a great difference
here in the original, but the speaker was certainly talking of red
or pickled herrings, or some such fish.

call

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 85

call in»proj)riety, and which associates a word with
an opposite idea ; thus virgil says,

— To hope for so much pain.*

And in an oration of Dolabella, I observed the ex-
pression, He carried Death, f to signify he died.

But though a thing may not have a proper term
annexed to it, yet the term annexed to it may for
all that not be improper. To ^ lance a man, is the
propiT term of an operation performed with that
instrument, but we originally had no such term an-
nexed to the same operation, when performed by an-
other instrument, such as a knife or a sword. We
say, to stone a person, when we throw stones at him,

• The text of my author is so corrupted, that one cannot really
venture to pronounce upon what is his, and v»hat is not. The re-
mark here upon Vireil, however, if it is his (as I believe it is
not), does no great honour to his taste. Such an association of
ideas as Virjj;il g;ivcs us an example of in this pabsasje, is perhaps
one of the greatest beauties in poetry ; and I am not sure whether
it is not one species of writing, in which tho F.nglish have ex-
celled the anticiits themselves. The association of ideas which
we meet with in Milton, where he says, Death

Grinn'd horribly a ghastly smile

is of the same kind as this of Virgil ; but it presents us with a
portrait that perhaps never was equalled in so few words. To en-
joy grief, is of the same kind, and thousands of the same sort may
be found in the works of our best poets.

t [Orig. Mortem ferre] Which is a very common expression
in speaking of another ; ejus mortem fcrt farniliater. But per-
haps the impropriety lay in its being applyed to a man putting
himself to death. The margin of Stephen's edition, instead of
mortem, hss morem, whiili seems to be the true reading ; and
then our author seems to blame the substitution of an improper
word. Morem ferre, for morem gerere ; a3 if we should say in
English, to be acquitted of obedience, instead of, to pay obedience.
I have omitted the two lines that follow in the original, because
the reading of them is desperate, and were it not, the sense of
them could be of no service to an Engli^h reader.

+ [^''g-l Nam 6c qui jaculum emittit, jaculari dicitur : qui
pilam aut sudem, appellatione privatim sibi assignata caret.

bur

8fJ QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES BookVlll.

but we cannot in strict propriety say, we stoned hi in
with dirt or rubbish. Abuses however of this kind
are sometimes necessarily applied. For metapho-
rical speakmg, which is one of the greatest embel-
lishments of language, is no other than applying to
one thing, the term that originally was appointed to
another. IVopriety of speech therefore does not
relate to words but to their significations. We are
to judge of it, not by the i^ar, but by the understand-
ing. In the second place, we call a word proper,
though it belongs to several things, but particularly
to one thing, from which it is appropriated to the
rest. Thus the word Top * originally signified a
boy's play-thing, put into a gyral motion ; from
thence the upper part of the head, where the hairs
grow in a gyral form, received the same term ; and
from that it was communicated to the highest part
of a mountain. Now all these are very rightly
called Tops, though originally and properly it signi-
fied only the boy's play-thing. Thus there is a fish
we call a Sole, from its flatness, and resemblance to
the sole of the foot.

There is yet a third and a different manner ; when
one particular thing is distinguished by a word that
is in common to many. Thus a Howl f, in some
countries, signifies, by way of distinction, a noise
made at funerals, and the word Flag is appropriated
to the ornament of a capital ship. In like manner,

* [Top] The Latin here is vertex, and answers in every respect
to our word Top, which is of Celtic ori^jinal, and was retained
by the Tuscans, Germans, and Britons. The whole passage in the
original is, ut vertex est contorta in se aqua, vel quicquid aliud
similiter vertitur. Inde propter flexum capillorum, pars est summa
capitis, & ex hoc quod est in montibus eminentissimum. Recte
inquam dixeris haec omnia vertices, proprie tamen unde initiura est.

+ f Howl] The translation here answers tolerably well, which
is, ut carmen funebre proprie Naenia : & tabernaculum ducis, Au-
gustale.

certain

Book. VIII. OF iiLOGUENCE. 87

certain words arc appropriated to many objects, and
peculiarly understood of one ; tor example, The
town was understoood to be Rome, a bov is under-
stood to be a servant, and bronzes, to be figures in
brass ; thouLfh none of the words, solely and neces-
sarily imply what tluy sumd for ; but all this calls
for very little of the orator's abilities.

There is, however, another kind of propriety, that
I g-reatly regard, and consists in its being S(j signifi-
cant, that it is characteristical of its subject. Thus
Cato said, '' that Caius Casar came soberly to de-
stroy his country." \ irgil speaks of a hne-spun
line, and Horace of the shrill pipe, and of the dire-
ful Hannibal.* Under this head some rank epi-
thets, or pro'perties expressive of things, as pleasant
wine, white teeth. But of these 1 am to treat else-
where. A happy metaphor is likewise ranked under
the head of propriety, and sometimes a person is best
known by the most striking part of his character,
which is applied to him with propriety. 'Ihus, though
Fabius had many characters of a great general, yet
his characteristic was, The Delayer.

Some may think that the emphatic manner by
wiiich more is understood than is expressed, ought
to come under the head of perspicuity. Hut 1 chuse
to refer it till I treat of the ornaments of style, be-
cause it does not communicate intelligence to Ian-
guage, but improves it.

Obscurity attends obsolete words. Thus, were a
man to peruse the diaries of the priests, our antient
leagues, and our very old authors, he might com-

• I thoug;ht fit to translate these examples, thougjh it must be
owned that there is a propriety in the original, acer, and dirus,
which the English does not come up to. The original of the
whole is, Ut Cato dixit C. Caesarem ad evertendam rempublicam
sobrium accessisse : ut Virgilius deductum Carraun, & Horatius
acrcmTibiam, Hannibaleraque dirum.

pose

88 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIJI.

pose an unintelligible style of -language. For in
tact, some people are desirous of being thought
learned, by possessing a knowledge unknown to all
but themselves. We may likewise become obscure
by making use of terms that are peculiar to coun-
tries, or trades. W hen we are speaking to a person
who is not aequainted with such terms, we ought
either to explain them, or to avoid them. We ought
to observe the same rule with regard to a term that
may be several ways applied. Thus, the word bull
is applied to an animal ; at the same time it is a way
of speaking, a man's name, and an instrument in
writiuir.

Obscurity, however, is of the greatest importance,
and occasions the most mistakes when it is contain-
ed in the structure and thread of a discourse. Our
periods, therefore, ought not to be so long, as that
the attention of a hearer cannot keep up with them ;
nor our Avords so disordered, as to take some time to
replace them so, as to make sense of them. A con-
fusion of words is still worse, and of this we have
an example in Virgil*. A parenthesis intervening
in the middle of a discourse, is apt to perplex the
sense, unless it is short, and yet parentheses are
common with poets and orators. We have an ex-
ample of a parenthesis in Virgil, j* when describing
a colt, he savs.

Nor dreads he empty sounds ;
after a parenthesis of four lines, he resumes his sub-
ject in the fifth, +

Impatient at the din of distant war.

As I observed before, we are to shun, above all
things, such a placing of words as puzzles the sense.

* fVirgil] Saxa vocant Itali, inediis quae in fluctibus aras.
+ Nee vanos liorret strcpitus,

% Turn siqua sonum procul arma dedere.

Stare loco nescit.

? For

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 89

For example, *' Chremes,* Demca, 1 hear, lias
" beat thee ;" and likewise such a disposition as,
thoii;^^h it does not disturb the sense, yet may create
a pause. For instance, if I should say, " 1 have seen
a " man a letter writing.''^ For though upon re-
flection it is very plain that the man writes th(.' letter,
yet still it requires a pause to understand the word.^
in that sense, and in fact they are as ill plactd as pos-
sibly they can be.

Some are troubled with a flux of empty words ;
and that they may avoid speaking as others do, mis-
led by false notions of elegance, they wrap up the
plainest meaning in circumlocutions, then tacking
one long period to another, and making that run to
a third, thev extend the whole bevond what a man's
breath can compass without drawing it. Ihey take
pains to bring upon themselves this disease of ver-
bosity; and, to say the truth, it is of an old standing.
For 1 tind that Livy+ mentions a professor, who
enjoined his pupils to darken, as he called it, from
the Greeks,§ every thing they said ; and the high-
est commenclation he could give a scholar was, well
done, my lad, that exceeds even mycom])reh(nsion."

Others, fond of brevity, retrench from their style
even words that are necessary ; and, pleased that
they know their own meaning, never consult the
satisfaction of others. For my own part, I think all
discourse idle, if it requires an interpreter.

But the worst of all clouds arises, when plain

* Chrcmetem aucHvi percussisse Demeatn.

+ Visum a sc hnminem librum 'xribentem. But a* these words
Stand, I see notlunf>; to bo blamed. I am therefore of opinion with
the learned Chifletius, that they ought to be placed visum k se li-
brum hominem scribentem, and according to this la:t arrangement
1 have translated them.

I In Quinctilian's time some letters of Livy were extant, from
which this ancedote probably was taken.

6 Ori<^. f*''r*t.

■\^T)rtls

90 QUINCriLIAX'S INSTITUTES Book Vlil.

words have a mysterious sense; for example, " Ho
hired* a blind man to observe the passers-by.''
Thus, when a person gnaws his own Jimbs, he is in
sehool terms said, " To lie above himself. f" Sueh
sayings are thought tobe ingeniousand strong:, and to
borrow elo(juenoc from ambiguity. Nay, many arc
firmly persuaded, that there is no elegance or beauty
of diction, but that which requires an interpreter;
even some hearers are pleas(^d with this manner, l)e-
cause when they discover a meaning in it, they arc
proud of their own capacity, and exult, not that
they heard the thing, but they solved the difhculty.
For my own part, the first properties I require in
a style are perspicuity, fitting words, natural order,
and a well turned period, so that nothing in it may
be wanting, and nothing superfluous. Such are the
characters that render a style pleasing to the learned,
and profitable to the ignorant. Thus much I thought
proper to say with regard to elocution. For as to
the rules for attaining to perspicuity, I have already
laid them down, when 1 treated of the narrative, but
all are managed in the same manner. For if a pe-
riod is neither defective, nor redundant in wordfi",
if it is neither confused nor clouded, it must be dis-

* [^""'R] Conductus est caecus secus vlam stare. The Abbe Ge-
doyn lias not translated this example, which has in it an audible gin-
gle, and though commentators have given the meaning of it up, as
desperate, yet our author very probably took it from some w liter,
■who meant thereby to express, that some person or other threw out
money as idly as if he had given it, to hire a blind beggar to beg ;
or, in the sense that I have translated it, he means one who had
thrown out money to hire one for a spy, who could not make a
common observation in life.

+ [Orig.] Supra se cubasse. This example is likewise held by
commentators to be desperate, though I think we may find out the
concealed meaning, by having recourse to the 13th ode of the I
Lib. of Horace, where the ardor of a lover is described by making
the blood come from the lips of his mistress ; see the note 1 Cap.
59, lib. 3. In my translation of Cicero's character of aa Orator,
where this expression is farther explained.

tinct

liooK VIII. OF ELOQUENXE. 91

tinct and plain, let the hearer give it but an indif-
ferent de'-rce of attention. We are likewise to re-
fleet that a judge is [lot always so extremely desirous
to understand what he hears, as that he will employ
the force of his own understanding to clear up an
ol)3eurity, or apply all his mental powers to en-
lighten the darkness of a pleaders style; that he has
many avocations to divert his thoughts, and that,
therefore, wliatever we say ought to have an elfect
upon his mind, such as light has upon our eyes,
thoudi thev arc not turned towards the sun. We
are to take care, therefore, that we not only render
ourselves understood, but that we render it impossi-
ble that we should not be understood ; for this rea-
son it is that orators often repeat, when they think
that they are not sufficiently understood; " I have
not been clear enough in my representation of this
matter. It is mv fault if you do not understand it;
1 will therefore endeavour to exj)lain it in clearer
and more inteligible terms." And this is a manner
which is always best received, when the orator takes
all the blame upon himself, for not explaining the
matter sufficiently at first.

^^

CHAP. XL \\^

CONCERNING THE EMBELLISHMENTS OF STYLE.

That all Embellishment ouj^ht to be manly, not efteminate. —
That it ought to be marked according; to the Subject. — Con-
cerning the Choice of Words. — Of Words venerable by their
Antiquity. — Concerning Words that are made, and metapho-
rical Expressions. — Concerning false Ornaments of Speech. —
Of representing or painting an Object. — Concerning Similies.
—Of Quickness of Description and Emphasis.

I AM now to speak of the embellishments or or-
naments of style; and here an orator, doubtless,
may give a frtx-v play to his own fancy, than he can
1 * in

99 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII,

in tlie other parts. To sj)cak clearly and correctly
is but a poor accomplishment. All an orator gains
by it is, the character of rather being free from
blemish, than possessed of excellency. The illiterate
themselves can often invent; it requires a very small
degree of learning to divide a discourse, and the
deeper arts of speaking generally consist in the art
of concealing them. In short, all these are qualifica-
tions which regard only the interest of the client.
But the ornaments and embellishments of style re-
gard the orator, and recommend his character.
Other parts of his practice may procure him the ap-
probation of the learned, but, by this, he wins the
ajiolause of the public.

MVhen Cicero appeared on the side of Cornelius,
he fought in armour that was not only strong but rci-
fulgent; but it was not by barely instructing the
judges; it was not by the artfulness of his dispo-
sition, nay, nor by the perspicuity and purity of his
style, that the admiration of his eloquence drew
from the Roman people, not only acclamations, but
tumults of applause. Believe me, it was the sub-
lime, the pompous, the magnificent manner in w hich
he spoke, that carried their approbation into uproar i
nor had it been expressed in so unn usual a manner,
had he spoke like other orators, without any cha-
racter to distinguish his eloquence above that of all
mankind. For my own part, 1 believe his hearers
were insensible of what they were doing; the ap-
plause they gave him burst involuntarily from them ;
and losing all reflection, unmindful of their own
dignity, and that of the place, they unwittingly
hurried into that noisy enthusiam of delight.

But the ornaments of style, give mc leave to say
it, are of great service to a cause. The man who
is most pleased to hear, is the most ready to attend,
^d the most apt to believe; he is generally won ovet

by

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 93

by the delight he feels, nay, sometimes admiration
hurries him from reflection. The gleam of the
sword strikes us with terror; nor would thunder
itself dismay us so much, were it not that we are
daimtcd by the effulgence as well as the force of the
lightning. Cicero therefore had good reason to say,
in one of his epistles to Brutus, "■ I hold that elo-
quence for nought that does not strike with admira-
tion and surprise." Aristotle likewise thought this
was the true character that an orator ought to
aspire at.

But, let me repeat it, there ought to be no em-
bellishment, but what is manly, strong, and chaste.
It ought to bear no mark of effeminate levity; it
ought not to consist of a plaister of red and white ;
its complexion must be florid, from health and
strcns^th of constitution. To prove the truth of
this, 1 obsene, that as, in this matter especially, the
blameful borders very near upon the beautiful, so
it is very common to adopt blemishes under the name
of beauties. But let not the patrons of false taste
iu speaking think that I am against the culture
of eloquence : no ; I think it is a beauty, but that
they do not possess it. Which field is b( st cul-
tivated? That which is bedecked with lilies and
daises, and watered from pretty gurgling cascades,
or that which is full bosomed with a plentiful crop,
or loaded with vines bending under the weight of
their grapes? Am I to prefer the barren plantain,
and tile figured yew, to the kindly elm, and the
fruitful olive ? Let the rich enjoy such prettinesses,
let them have their oddities, but what would they
be, had they nothing else?

Hut, is the garden, that is for use, to admit of no
ornament ? By all manner of means. Let these
trees be planted in a regular order, and at certain

distances.

9^ QUINCTILIANS INSTITUTES Book VIII.

distances. Observe that (luijicunx, liow beautiful
it is ; view it on every side; what ean you observe
more strait, or more graceful ? Jlegularity and ur-
rangenuiit even improves thesoil, because the juices
rjee more regularly to nourish what it bears. Should
1 observe the branches of yonder olive-tree shooting
into luxuriancy, 1 instantly should lop it; thj eti'ect
is, it would form itself into a horizontal circle, which
at once adds to its beauty, and improves its bearing.
Sec yonder horse, how short his back ; how beauti-
ful it renders him, and, at the same time, how ser-
viceable ! I low distiuct are the veins, how well
marked is the muscleing of the practised wrestler !
It adds, you say, to the comehness of his form ; and
1 say, that it likewise denotes his agility and strength.
True beauty can never be separated from real utility;
and this we may perceive from a very moderate de-
gree of observation.

But here it is very proper to observe, that even the
manly, the graceful, ornaments 1 have mentioned are
lobe varied according to the nature of our subject.
That 1 may return to my first division : the same or-
naments do not suit demonstrative, deliberate, and
judiciary, causes. For when a speaker wants only,
what we call, to shew away, his whole purpose is to
charm his audience; he therefore unlocks all the
stores of his art, he displays the ornaments of elo-
quence; he avows his intention, Vt'hich is not to be
crown'd with success in his cause, but with wonder
and applause in his pleading. Therefore, as a shop--
keeper does his wares, he will expose to the eyes, and
almost to the touch, of his customers, every pomp
of sentiment, every blaze of language, every l)eauty
of figures, every richness of metaphor, and every
elegance of composition ; because he does not speak
to carry his cause, but to recommend himself, i'ut

when

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 9«5

when vvc are about business, when we are pleading
ill good earnetit, our own glory should be last in our
tlioughts.

It therefore ill becomes a pleader to be nice and cu-
rious in the choice of his words, when he is engaged
in an aiialr of the utmost importiince. Not that 1 say,
even then, he is to disregard all ornament, but that it
should be more chaste, more severe, and less glaring,
than at other times; and above all other considera-
tions, let it be suited to his subject. The senate re-
quires a sublime, and the people a spirited, style of
pleadirifj; and in courts, upon matters of property,
life, and reputation, we are to speak in the most grave
and accurate manner. But in petty causes, and in
pleadings of very little consequence (for many such
happen), it is enough if our manner is simple and na-
tural. .Must not a pleader be asham'd to employ a
pomp of periods in recovering a paultry debt? Or
to attempt to touch the passions, while he is talking
about his neighbour's drain ? Or to work himself up
into enthusiasm, while he is describing the fault of a
naughty slave ? liut to return to my subject.

Having observed that the onmment, as well as per-
spicuity, of style, consists either in single words, or
sentences, I come now to consider how each is to be
managed. >■ I

It is true that perspicuity chiefly requires expres- a ^ ^
sioiis that are proper ; and ornament, those that are ^\l f-
metaphorical. But I am to observe at the same time, -^ * ^'
that nothing improper can admit of ornament. Very
often several words have the same signification (and
these we call synonymous words), and yet some words "
are more graceful, some more sublime, some more >
brilliant, some more agreeable, and some better "•
sounding than others. 1 say, better sounding; foi',A
as syllables composed of the best sounding letters are
clearest in the prommciation, the same observation

holds

96 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book Vllt.

holds with irf::aid to words composed of the best
soimdins: s\ llahlcs ; and the fuller a word is pro-
noiiDcvd, it is the more j)leasirig to the car. Now the
coinhmation of words into senteiires has the same
cHcet, as that of syllables into words; for this word
joined to tliat mav have a much better sound, than
if it was ioniedto anv other.

We ouj^ht, however, to employ words accordmg to
our sulyeet. in matters of honor, we are to harrow
up the souls of the audience by the terrors of ex-
pressimi. And indeed it is a general rule Avith regard
to single words, to prc^fer those which are the most so-
norous, and the most sweet in the pronunciation,
(ienteel expressions, too, are always pref(Table to
coarse ones ; and a polite style never admits into it
any thing that is indecent. We are to employ the
pomp and elevation of expression, as our subject shall
direct us. For that which, on one occasion, may ap-
pear truly sublime, may, on another, be mere bom-
bast; and that which in an important subject might
seem mean, if applied to an indifferent one may be
proper. But as a servile word appears a disgrace, and ''
as it were, a blot, in an elevated style, so sublimity -'
and splendor are inconsistent with a plain style. Fof -
they spoil it, by appearing, as it were, excresences
from a body that should be smooth.

There are some proprieties of style, which rnay
be easily perceived, but cannot be accounted for, thus
Virgil says :* Caesa

* This is a very fine observation, and cannot fail to touch G\exy
reader of true ta^te, either in verse or pro?e. And the thing seems
to be owing to the ideas, which, in certain languages, are annejted
to certain words. 1 he very example before us is an eminent proof
of what 1 say. In Engli>h we call the male of the sow, a boar,
and the Latms call it jxircus. Now Quinctilian says, that had
Virgil, Uj.on this occasion, sacrificed a boar, the image would have
been ludicrous, but by killing a sow it is elegant. This happens
to be the very reverse in tiis English tongue. For an Englir^h

poet

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 97

-Caesa jungebant foedera porca.

By making free witli th(3 word porca, he rendei's
elegant a circumstance, whicli would have been
mean had he kept the word porco. In some cases,
the reason of this ridicule is evident. We used
very often to laugh at the poet, who introduced the
following line:

The boyish mice his robes embroider'd gnaw'd.*

Yet we admire Virgil when he says,

Oft the tiny mouse. j*

For the word tiny is proper for the subject, which
is thereby painted as diminutively as possible ; and it
receives additional graces by its being put in the sin-
gular number, and by the line ending by so short a
word, which in the original gives it an unusual ca-
dence. Horace observed and imitated the same
beauty, when he says.

And the huge mountain bears a foolish mouse.J

An orator, however, is not, in speaking, always to
keep up the dignity of style. For sometimes he is to
lower it, because the meanness of a word often gives

poet, with Virgil's iud2;ment, would most certainly have sacrificed
the boar, even though tlie sow had been the proper sacrifice. The
reader may jude;e tor himself.

Their faith they plighted, and they slew the boar.

In the other manner :

Their faith they plighted, and they slew the sow.
But how much more ludicrous is the image, should an English
writer fall upon the word that signifies both a sow and a boar, a
circumstance which Virgil thought himself happy in, for I find the
word porca signifies both, and say :

Their faith they plighted, and ihey slew the pig.
I might, from Englirh authors, multiply a vast number of quotati-
ons to justify our author's observation ; but I think what is said
is suflicient.

* Orig. Praetextam ia rista mures roserecamilli. I must here
acquaint my readers, that the wordcamilli contains an amphibolia ;
for it may either be the genitive of camillus, or it may be the
comiriative plural of cami'.lu., which signifies a young boy who
attended sacrifices.

+ Orig. Ssepe exignus mus.

J Or g. Nascctur ridiculus mus.

VOL. II. u enerev

9S QUliVCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII.

energy to expnssioii. When Cicero says to Piso,
" When all your family, sir, was carried to you in
one dunu^-cart;"* the last is a moan word, but does
he not thtTi'by render the man he was prosecuting-
the more ellcctually contemptible? In another place
he says to him, " you op})ose your skull to that of
your ailversary, and you fall a butting- with him."-|*
Some jokes do very well with people of the meanest
capacities. Thus Cicero says of Clodius, " and, like
a little master as he is, he pigged in every night with
his great sister."^ In like manner, speaking of Cneius
Flavins, he says, " lie i)icked out the eyes of those
crows, the lawyers." § Jn his pleading for Milo he
says, " You Ruscio, you Casca, take care you don't
lye." And 1 remember, when 1 was at school, such
vulgarities were greatly in vogue. Nothing was
more common for us, in one of our declamations,
than to say, " bestow upon your father the bread that
you throw to your dogs and your bitches." jiut
this low manner, unless it is very happily hit off, is
always dangerous, and often ridiculous ; especially at
this time, when people, with regard to w^ords, are so
ridiculously squeamish, that a great part of our lan-
guage seems to be amputated.

Now, all words in a language are either proper,
made, or metaphorical. fAgc gives dignity to the
proper. For words not in common use impress an
awe and a sanction upon a style, for which rea-
son, Virgil, by his wonderful penetration avails him-
self of this advantage ; for the obsolete jj words
iwith which he dashes his poem, gives his lines that
inimitable melowness, which is so pleasing in poetry

* Orig. Quum tibi tota cognatio in sarraco adrehatur.

-f" Orig. Caput opponis cum eo coniscans.

'X Orig. Pusio qui cum majore sorore cubitavit.

§ Orig;. Qui cornicum oculos confixit,

II OUi, Quia nam^ &.c.

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 99

as well as in painting, and which age alone can com-
municate.] liut we are to be cautious in the use of
old words ; nor ought we to bring them from the
most remote antiquity. 1 will not in pr se say, a
propine, instead of a present, nor sooth, for truth ;
for all such atlectation is ridiculous. ■ A\ hy should 1
say, whilk, when 1 can say, which ? Even methinks
now sounds foolish. 1 conjecture, is still tolerable.
He raised up seed, is too solemn ; and, his whole
progcnitorship,* is pedantic. In short, tlie whole of
our language has undergone an alteration., Some
old words, however, are more grateful through anti-
quity, and others are necessary to our language,
and a judicious use of them has an excellent etii^ct ;
but artectation by all means is to be avoided. Vir-
gil | has left us an epigram, in which he rallies this

* [Progenitorship] I have done my best in translating this very-
difficult passage, to retain the sense of the instances produced by
our author. Upon an attentive view, however, of my author's
meaning, I cannot believe that he absolutely condemns the use of
the last four expressions, but rather condemns the levity of the
age, for thro. ving thera into desuetude. The truth is, the Latin
language had undergone great revolutions between the time of
Cicero and Quinctilian. For thoui^h we have little or nothing
that is barbarous or affected in the style of Paterculus, Seneca,
Tacitus, and other writers within that period, but on the contraiy,
as great beauties as any that are to be found in Cicero, nay,
some may think greater ; yet 1 cannot be persuaded, that the
Roman noblemen or gentlemen in general, either pleaded or
wrote with the same propriety. This appears 1 y ma'iy accidental
fragments, that are still extant, as well as by our author s obser-
vations.

As this translation is entirely designed for the use of English
readers, it is proper I should* observe that the rules he lays dowa
are applicable to the English.

+ [Virgil] I have omitted the ep'gram here spoken of, because
the reading is so depraved that it is unintelligible ; and I have
likewise omitted translating great part of (his chapter, because it
is applicable to the l,atin language only, and can be of no manner
•f use to an English reader.

alfectation

100 QUI\CTH,IAX'S INSTITUTES Book VIH

afi'cctalion o( iinti«|uity Avith j^rcat Iminour. Kven
Salhist Inmsoit' is reflected upon, in the following
epigram :

I'hoii ihat .ln<;urlha's story didst compile,
And tVom old C'alo pilfer'dst half thy style.
The truth is, this is a most ungrateful task, for it
is what the very Morst speakers may practise, and
tlie worst is, that pcoph^ who have this turn are so
far from adapting tlieir expressions to their subject,
that they go round and round for subjects that may
introduce their expressions.

The CinH'ks have great opportunities from the ge-
nius of their language, to coin words, and some-
times they make expressions according to sounds
and affections, in the same manner as the first in-
ventors of language gave names to things accord-
ing to their several properties or appearances. But
when we take this liberty, either in compounding
or adopting words, we very seldom succeed in it. I
remember, when I was a young man, there was a
great dispute between J*omponius and Seneca, about
some words compounded of verbs; but Cicero was
of opinion, that though such words at first might ap-
pear harsh, yet practice would soon reconcile them
to the ear. Nay, that great orator has coined verbs
put of proper names; to sullalize,* for instance;
Asinius has done the same.f

We have many new words from tlie Greek, and a
great many from Sergius Flavius, but they are not
much relished, thougPi 1 do not see for what reason,
but because we are willing to condemn ourselves to
a perpetual poverty of language. Meanwhile, some
words make their way in our language; for those

* Orig. Sallatiirit, meaning that Pompey wanted to copy after
Sylla.

i Fimbriaturit, Figulaturit.

which

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 101

which are now old, once were new, and some that
are now cnirent are of a very late standinLi;.

We are tliercfore sometimes to strike a Ijold stroke;
for I cannot agree witli Celsus in thinkinc;-, that an
orator is not at liberty to coin a word, l^or, as
Cicero says, some words are radical, and had dieir
present signification from the beginning of lan-
guage. Others have beentbrmed from those radical
words; and though we cannot alter the original sig-
nification of them from what was given them by our
rude ancestors, yet 1 know no period that debarred
us from the power of deriving, declining, and com-
pounding them, in the same manner as their de-
scendants did. Nay, supposing that we are afraid of
being too hardy in coining a word, there are ways
to take off the imputation of rashness by prefacing
it with. If I may so speak; if the expression is al-
lowed ; in a manner ; give me leave to make use of
that expression. These precautions do service when
a metaphor seems a little too bold; and indeed in
that case, a speaker is not safe without them, at least
they show that our judgment is not imposed upon,
and that we suspect we may have gone to<j far.

As to metaphors, their propriety can only be de-
termined according to the thread of a discourse. I
have therefore said enous^h concerning; sinaie words,
which, as 1 have observed in another place, con-
sidered of themselves, are lame and imperfect, but
they never are void of ornament, unless they are be-
low the dignity of their sui)ject, or flatly o!)sccne.
J. know there are some, who think that, naturally,
there is no such thing as an indecent expression,
and therefore no word ousjht to he avoided, and that
if there is any indecency in the subj(.'ct, the mean-
ing is still conveyed to us, thou<;h w(^ make use of
circumlocutory expressions. For my own part, sa-
tisfied as I am with those forms of decency now

practised

102 QUfNCTTLTAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII.

practised in im country, I am (as I said on another
occasion) tor vindicatmjj^ her modesty by silence.
Ikit now I proceed to consider words as they stand
conni-ct d with one anotlier in sentences.

I heir ornament consists in observing two capital
points; first, in impressing ourselves with the idea of
the el<>(juenee we are to make use of; and secondly,
in making- ourselves master of its practice. Here,
the fust re(juisite is to consider, what we are to am-
plify, and what we are to diminish; when we are to
speak with spirit, and when with calmness; whether
we are to speak in a manner that is chearful or se-
vere, flowing or concise, sharp or gentle, sublime or
minute, grave or gay? We are next to consider
what kind of metaphors, figures, sentiments, manage-
ment and arrangement we are to employ, in order
to etlect our purpose. But as 1 am to treat of the
ornaments of style, it is proper 1 should first show
its depravities ; for the first step to excellency is to
be free from blemishes.

1 am therefore to premise, that no st3'le can admit
of ornament, if it is destitute of probability. Now,
Cicero defines a i)robable style to be that which em-
ploys neither more nor fewer words than it ought.
Not that he is against neatness and polishing, for
that is part of the ornament of a style ; but he
thinks tliat all excesses are blemishes. He there-
fore requires expressions to have weight and autho-
rity, and such sentiments as are either solid in them-
selves, or such as are suited to the opinions and
mainers of mankind. These requisites being se-
cund, he is then for giving the speaker liberty to
employ all the means which he thinks can embel-
lish his style; metaphors, heightnings, epithets,
descriptions, words that are synonymous, nay,
a manner in imitation of the very subject he
treats of.

But,

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 103

But, as I undertake to point out the blemishes of
style, let me first vecoinmend it to avoid all inde-
cencies of expression ; nay, to pay so mucii regard
to general thouuh erroneous prepossessions, as to
avoid the use ot a word, tiiat originally was chaste
and pure, if, in time, any obscene or loose ideas shall
be annexed to it.* In like manner it is decent
to avoid all conjunctions of syllables, let the subject
be ever so innocent, that in the ex])ression suggest
any thing that may be mistaken or Avrested into
looseness; nay, a lewd thing s«^)metimes may be
implied, even by concealing it ; for men, as Ovid says,

Are apt to love a thing because 'tis hid.
And indeed this may be the case, where both ex-
pressions and the meaning are perfectly pure and
innocent. And yet I am not for carrying this deli-
cacy too far, for if we think with Celsus, that the
line in Virgil,

The agitated sea begins to swell,
conveys an indecent idea, 1 know no such thing as
chastity in writing or speaking.

* Though this is a very proper caution, yet the nature of the
Latin language makes our author insist mo:e against it, th^a
there is any occasion to do in this translation. He g'ves us ia
particular two examples from Sallust, which lh" inferno is (!<'pfa-
vity of his age was apt to construe into obsreniiy ; the first is,
ductare exercitum, and patrare helium. Now though the word
ductare in Sallust's time signified no more than to conduct, yet it
came in the days of our author to signify, to pimp. As to the ex-
pression, patrare helium, the ohsreuitv seems to lie only in the
word helium, which ^ifrmfie-, a hai d-i'tne p-rson, a'> well as a war.
I need not enlarge on this suhjecr, or inform my reader, that it h
impossible, as it would be immaterial, t^ translate the other ex-
amples our author brings on thi-; occasion.

1 cannot however htiish this note without observing the exces-
sive decency of the ancient Romans in their expressions. They
banished ou' of their Ungua^e the word interc ape 'o, because the
two last 8\ Uabies form a veib that has an ind^•(e.nl s'j'iincati in,
but they u^ed th'> word in otht*r cases. I could from m> author
bring instances of other delicai ies of that kind ; but I have been
contented with translating his OQcaaingia this paragraph.

Next

104- QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII

Next to ol)scrnity, a mraiiiioss of expression is
to be avoided; for thereby the greatness or dignity
of a thiiii;- is ilimiiiished. For example : on the
sum in it of yonder mountain there is a stony wart.
()p|)osite to tliis, but equally absurd in its nature, is
the manner of swelling a small uialter with pompous
terms, unless you dv'sign to turn them into ridicule.
I'ponthe whole, therefore, we are not to eall a par-
ricide a roguish felKnv ; nor a young man who loves a
girl, an atrocious ruffian ; because the first term is
too weak, and the latter too strong. We are, next,
to guard against all dulness, sordity, dryness, whin-
iui]f, harshness, and vulgarity of style. All these
blemishes are best discovered by their oppositcs,
which are briskness, neatness, richness, chearfulness,
gaiety, and chastity in speaking.

We are likewise to avoid a curtailed style, by
which our discourse becomes defective, and our ex-
pressions scanty. This, however, is a blemish in point
of perspicuity, rather than in point of ornament.
But sometimes it is a matter of prudence, only half
to express a thing ; and we may say the same thing
of tautology, which is a repetition of the same words,
and the same expressions, or sentiments. This some-
times has a bad effect, though several very great
authors have not been at great pains to guard against
it. Cicero, as disdaining the minuteness of criti-
cism, often falls into it ; for instance, when he says,
my lords the judges, this was a judgment not only
unlike a judgment — Therefore, this manner of repe-
tition may have its beauties, and is indeed one of
the figures of speech ; and 1 shall give examples
of it when 1 come to point out their excellencies.*

* I believe my reader will scarcely be of opinion, that the tau-
tolog;y our author here speaks of is quite the same with what we
understand by that expression, which in English admits of no kind
of apology, and seems to be a compound of the manners he menti-
ons in this and the followice; paragraph.

Of

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 106

Of a worse kind than this is a sameness of ex-
pression, which relieves us by no variety, but pro-
ceeds all upon one dead flat, and is distinijjuished only
by being disagreeable and void of art ; for the repe-
tition and drawling of periods, figures, and composi-
tion, is not only painful to the mind, but to the
cars.

We are likewise to avoid prolixity, that is, the
spinning out a circumstance to a greater length than
is needful ; an example of which we have in Livy.
The embassadors, says he, failing in their design, re-
turned home : they went back to the place from
whence they came. But the enforcins^ a thino; bv a
kind of vehemence, though very near akin to prolix-
ity, is sometimes an excellency.

A pleonasm is likewise a blemish in style, because
it loads a discourse with needless words. For ex-
ample, Isaw it with my eyes. I saw it, had been
enough. Cicero, with great humour, corrected Hir-
tius,who, in declaimingagainst Pansa,* fell into a slip
of this kind ; for Hirtius mentioned a mother, who,
for ten months, had carried her son in her belly;
belike, said he, then, other mothers carry their sons
in budgets before they bear them. A pleonasm,
however, sometimes increases the energy of a narra-
tive; as Virgil says,

These ears drew in the sound.
But all pleonasms are blemishes, when they are idle
and superfluous, and convey no additional meaning.

There is likewise a fault in over-doing, by which
I mean, rmployino- superfluous pains ; which is as
diflerent from the finishing of a style, as foppery "j*
is from neatness, or superstition from reliijicni. To
say it all at once: every word, that contributes n^i-

* Hirtius and Pansa studied eloquence under Cicero.
T Utfl diligent! curiosus.

thcr

106 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII.

tlior to stMise iiur umumcnt, may be culled a blemish
in a style.

Att'ectation is the poison of every style; for it
comprclionds whatever is swelling, whatever is fini-
cal, whatever is loathsome, hixiiri<'Us, impertinent,
and unt'(|ual in sj)eakiiig. In short, ail'ectation is an
endiavour to belter whal is best, and always results
from want oi jiidgmeiit, and our being iujposed upon
by false appearanees. And, of all biemisiies in elo-
cjuence, it is the most blameful. Other blemishes
we avoid, but this we court: and it consists wholly
in elocution.

Folly, trifling, contradiction, and over-doing, are
blemishes that afleet things ; but the vices that cor-
rupt a style lie in impropriety, redundancy, the diffi-
cult meaning and the jolting composure of expressi-
ons, or a boyish playing upon v/ords of the same
kind, or ambiguous meaning. But, tho' all affecta-
tion is a blemish, yet all blemishes do not lie in af-
fectation. Because a man may speak so as quite to
mistake the nature of his case; he may speak what
is improper, and he may speak what is superfluous.

There are as many ways of corrupting, as there
art of embellishing, a style. But of this I have
treated more fully in another work ; yet I shall not
forbear to touch frequently upon it in this. For I
I shall take all occasions to do it, when, speaking of
the ornaments of style, 1 shall be led to point out its
blemishes, and the resemblance they bear to its beau-
ties. Now, the beauties of style are disfigured by
an improper disposition of a discourse, by an igno-
rant or injudicious use of figures, and by a harshness
of periods. But I have already treated of disposi-
tion, and I shall have an opportunity to speak of
figures and composition. There is, amongst the
Greeks, a blemish, which consists in a writer's con-
founding their different dialects ; for instance, the

Doric

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 10?

Doricwith the Attic, and the Ionian with the yRolic.
We are hable to a like contusion, if we mingle lofty
expressions with mean ones, anti(|iiatecl with mode;n
wo.ds, and the flights of poetiy with the creeping*
of prose. Such a medley would produce a monster
hke that of Horace, mentioned in the fn^st line of his
art of poetry.

Should on a horse's neck, a painter place
'I'he form and features of a human face.

The ornaments of style raise it above the charac- ^\

ter of either perspicuity or probability. The first step \ % y
towards it is, a vigorous conception ; next is, a j)ro-
per expression; and this leads to a third, which con-
sists in the embellishment of both, and is what we
pr 'perly term ornament. As the force of colouring
(which I have taken notice of in the rules I have iaici
down concerning the narrative), is of more eificacy
than a bare delineation ; or, as some express it, as re-
presentatioi! excels perspicuity ; the former realizing,
the lattiT only describing, the object ; I, therefore,
reckon representation among the ornaments of style.
There is a 2:reat beauty in describing a thing in so
lively a manner, as to make us think, we actually see
it. For eloquence does not exert all her powers, or
assert her dominion to the full, if she informs us|~|
throui;h the ears only, by giving the judge a bare
narrative of th«^ matter that is to be tried, without
drawing and colouring it, so as to strike the mental
eye. JJut, as tliis excellency is effected in various
manners, which some through ostentation ad'cct to
multiply, 1 shall not descend into every minuteness,
but only touch upon tht> most capital beauties.

The first is, ])lacing the object in our full view by
a happy touch of the pen. Thus \ irgil, describing
the two champions, says,

Each stood erect, impending o'er his foe
Quick or to aim, or ward, the fatal l)low —

with

-*»

108 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII.

with all tliat follows, and which gives us as hvcly a
rcpivscMitatioii of the boxiiig-uiatch, as if we really
were si)ectatoi's of it. This maiinor of painting was
one of the many excellences that Cicero possessed as
an orator. Can any imac^ination be so cold as not to
see \erres in llu! following description ? " Upon the
shore, stood the Roman prajtor, dressed in rich
buskins, a purple cloak, thrown cross his shoulders,
above a flowing robe that swept the ground, leaning
on, and toying with, an ordinary little wench."
Here we have not only a description of his look,
situation, and dress, but our imagination figures to it-
self several circumstances that are supj)resscd. For
my own part, from the whole of the description, 1
think I see the glances, the looks, and the indecent
dalliances f)f tliis scandalous pair, with the silent de-
testation and fearfnl bashful ness of their attendants.

Sometimes a variety of circumstances enter into
the picture we want to exhibit. Thus, the same
great orator, who, of himself, furnishes us with every
species of ornament that can enter into a style, in
describing a debauch, says, " I think I still see some
crowding m, others crowding out, some stagger-
ing under vn hat they had drank to-day, others,
yawning from what they drank the day before,
while the principal figure of the group was Gal-
lius, daubed in ointments and decked with gar-
hmds : here lies a heap of faded flowers, there a
pile of fishes' bones, and all the ground be^
smeared with filth, and bemired with wine."*
Could we see more, had we been present at the de-
bauch ?

* The examples here brought by our author are certainly very
picturesque J but the piece of Cicero, from which this is quoted^
is now lost. It may be proper to inform the reader, that the Ro-
mans in their great entertainments wore garlands of flowers upon
their heads, and that fibhes formed the most considerable part of
their repasts.

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. lOQ

In like manner, we can increase compassion, sup-
posing, for instance, we are speaking ot" a town be-
ing taken ; wliOn we say that it was stormed, we
doubtless comprehend all the miseries that attend
such an event ; but then the narrative is too quick to.;
leave a due impression upon our minds. But if we {
unfold the various particulars, which that word im-
plies, then we behold " houses and temples wrapt
in flames ; we hear the crash of roofs falling in, and
one general uproar proceeding from a thousand
different voices ; we see some flying they know not
whither, others hanging over the last embraces of
their families and friends; we see mothers agonizing
over their frightened infants, and old men, in the bit-
terness of heart, cursing themselves for being reserv-
ed to so dismal an hour. Athwart this scene we see
houses plundered and tem{)les rifled, soldiers carrying
off the bootv, and returning- for more ; each driving
before him a band of captive citizens in chains ; the
mother tearing from the ruffian's grasp her hc^lplcss
babe ; and the victors cutting one another's throats
wherever the plunder is most inviting." All these
particulars, it is true, are implied, when we say, " a
town is stormed;" but there is a great deal of differ-
ence between the mention of the whole that hap-
])ened, and of all that happened.* Now, we bring
a repiesentation near to reality, by painting circum-
stances that are likely to have happened, and gene-
rally happen upon such occasions, though perhaps
tliey did not upon that.

A representation is greatly animated by throwing
in accidental circumstances, as Virgil says,

Through all my blood a chilly horror came.
My joints refus'd to prop my tott'ring frame.

Or in the following beautiful image ;

'I he mother prest,

In pale dismay, her infant to her breast.

* Orig. Minus est tamen totum dicerc quann omnia.

Now

ilO QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII

Now ill my opinion, it is very easy to acquire this
capit;"!! ptrliCtioM. ior we lu-etl but set nature be-
fore our eyes, aiul copy after her. AH elo(pience is
employed upon what is traiisactetl in life, hvery one
judges of what he hears, by what he feels ; and the
mind receives the deepest impression from the cir-
cumstances with which it is best acquainted.

Similes contribute greatly to enliven a description.
Now tiiere are two sorts ; those that are assumed to
illustrate or strengthen an argument, and those that
are introduced the better to express an object ; and it
is of the latter kind 1 now treat. For example, Virgil
says :

Like wolves, that prowling, in the dusk, for prey.
And in another place,

Thus water-fowl, in search for scaly food.
Now soar, now skim the surface of the flood.
But here we are, above all things, to observe, never
to bring by way of simile any object, or any subject
that is either dark or unknown ; for every thing that
IS intended to illustrate another thing, ought to be
more clear than the thing that is illustrated. There-
fore we indulge poets in similes like the following,
which V^irgil makes use of;

Like fair Apollo, when he leaves the frost
Of wintry Xanthus, and the Lycian coast: -
When to his native Delos he resorts,
Ordains the dances, and renews the sports.

Drydex.
But an orator is not to be indulged in this practice
of illustrating a visible object by one that is in-
visible.

^ : But the kind of similes which I mentioned, when
JAl\ \ I treated of arguments, renders a style sublime, flo-
\irid, agreeable, and surprizing. For the farther-fetched
they are, they are the more unusual and striking, be-
cause unexpected. The following similies are com-
mon, but at the same time they are of that kind that are
4 fitted

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 1 1 1

fitted to persuade. " As culture renders the ground,
so learnins: renders the mind, more rich and fertile."
" As suri^eons cut otllimbs that are gangrening, so we
ought to cut oti" from society the vile, the degene-
rate, and the wicked, even, tho' they form part of our
own flesh and Mood." In Cicero's oration for Archias,
there is a more sublime passage. " Kocks and de-
serts are respondent to the voice, music has charms
to sooth and tame the horrid savage; and shall we,
with all the advantaoes of excellent education, he
deaf to the voice of the bard?" i^ut this sublime
kind has been greatly abused by the licentiousness
of our dcclaimers. For very often their similies are
false, and are not applicable to the objects which they
are introduced to resemble. 1 remember two, when
I was a young man, that wTrc vast in vogue, though
with no great n ason; " the greatest rivers are naviga-
ble at their sources. A good tree is no sooner planted
than it bears fiuit."

Now, in all comparisons, the simile either goes , ^, .
before, and the subject follows, or the subject goes ^ '^l
before, and the simile follows. Sometimes it is free K.>'
and fletached. But far the best way is to connect it
so with the thing, or your sul)ject, as that they may
reflect a likeness on each other, and seem as coun-
terparts. In the passage about the wolves, which 1
gave from \ irgil, the simile goes before ; but in th(r
first gcorgic, where he bemoans the long continuance
of the civil and foreign war, the simile follows.
Thus the fleet coursers on the listed plain
Burst from the post, and o'er the level strain ;
In vain the driver checks them as thev run.
And sees thedangers that he cannot shun.
But there is here no mutual resemblance, the ef-
fect of which is to set before our eves both the sub-
ject and the simile, and to show both at once in such
a light as that they illustrate each other. We have

many

11'^' QU I NXTl MAN'S INSTITUTES Book VlU.

many ii«>l)le cxanij)l(s of tliis kiiul in Virgil, Imt tlifiy
are not proper to be used in oratory. Cicero, in liis>
pleading tor Miinna, says, " As \\c say of Grecian
players, that an iiidiHerent harper may make an ex-
cellent pijjer; thus we see souu- people, who cannot
turn out speakers, tall into the {profession of lawyers."
In the same pleading he approaches nearer poetry^
hut all the w hile he preserves a mutual resemblance^
which gives it a beautiful propriety. " For though
<'ertain constellations sometimes occasion tempest^
yet they often happen suddenly, without any visible
reason, and from some unaccountable cause. Thus it
hajjpens in the tempests of popular elections ; you
often uiiderstand the motive by which they rise ;
but sometimes they are so obscure, that it seems to
be owing to chance." Similies consist but of a word
or two; for instance, " They wandered through the
woods like wild beasts." And Cicero says of Cio-
dius, " That he escaped from a certain trial, like a
man who escapes out of a house that is on fire, na-
ked." Daily observation furnishes us with many si*-
miliesof this kind.

There is great beauty when a thing is painted to
our eyes, not only in doing it in a lively, but in a
quick, pithy, manner. That conciseness, that leaves
nothing unsaid, has wonderful beauties, greater than
that which expresses only wdiat is necessary, and it
forms a figure of speech. Jjut the most beautiful
manner of all is, when a great deal is comprehended
in a few words ; thus Sal lust, speaking of Mithridates,
has a stroke of this kind.-* A brevity, how^ever, of
this nature generally leads the unskilful imitator into
obscurity.

* Ori^. Mithrldate<; corpore ingenii perinde armafus. This is
from a work of Sallust that has not come to our hand-;. A nd 1 am of
opinion with the Ahbe Gedoyn, that it is r,ot to be translated. The
meaning of it seems to he, that Mithridates, btin^ a ■. eiy large man,
•without armour, must, v. hen armed, have been a stupendous figure.
2 ■ Of

BookVIII. of eloquence. 113

Of kin to this beautiful brevity, but of greater ex-
cellency, is the emphasis, because it conveys more
meaning than the words express. Of this there are two
sorts, one which implies more than it expresses, and
the other which signifies that which it does not ex-
press. An example of the former kind is in Homer,
who makes Menelaus say, " That a whole army sat
within the belly of the horse." Thereby, in one word
expressing the largeness of that wooden machine.
Virgil likewise says,

And thence descending by a rope they came.
An expression which sufficiently indicates its height.
In like manner, Virgil mentioning the Cyclops, says,
" that he lay along all the cave," thereby implying
the vast space of ground which his body covered.

The second sort of the emphasis is, where a word
is eit hercntirely suppressed, or suddenly cut short.
A word is suppressed in the following passage of
Cicero's pleading for Ligarius, " Were not thy own, I
say, thy own clemency, 1 know what I speak, as ex-
tensive as thy fortune, every success that attends thee
would but swell the sorrows of the afflicted." Here he
suppresses that which we very well understand, that
there were not wanting many, who were ready to
prompt Caesar to cruelty. AVe retrench words by
another figure, which 1 shall take notice of in its
proper jilace. Even some common expressions ad-
itiit of an emphasis ; for example, " You must show
yourself a man. He is a man. Now we begin olive."
So great is the conformity between art and nature.

Eloquence is not contented with explaining Avhat
she says ; for many and various are her methods of
polishing a style. The most plain and unaffected
has in it an elegant sim])licity, such as we are
charmed with in a woman. And that which excels
in the propriety and significancy of expressions,
carries with it a prettiness, such as arises from an at-

voL. II. I tention

lU QUIXCTILIAN'S INSTITUTRS Book VIII.

tention to propriety null neatness \i\ lesfj^jr mattors.
One style is rich and noble, another smiUvig and tlon
rid, anil all have their dillerent powers, according to
the degreiis of perfection thoy attain to. The great-
est power, however, consists in exaggerating an indig-
nity, and in an elevation of style upon other occasi-
ons ; in a richnt^s of fancy ; in the freedom of ex-
pression ; by pushing all our sentiments and argu-
ments full home, with so repeated an earnestness,
that we produce a snperabundancy of proof. And
(which is pretty much of the same nature) an energy ;
the proptM-ty of which is to make every word we
speak be felt, as well as understood. There is like-
wise a bitter manner, which is almost affrontive; for
example, when Cassius said, " How will you behave
when I shall attack your property ? That is, when 1
shall give you reason to believe, that you are but a
novice in railing." There is likewise a sharp manner;
as when Crassus said to Philippus, " Shall 1 treat you
as a consul, when you do not treat me as a senator?
The utmost efforts of eloquence, however, consist
in exaggerating or alleviating, both which admit of
the same rules, the principal of which 1 shall touch
upon, which will be sufficient for the comprehension
of the others. Now, the whole of them consists in
things and words. As to the invention and disposi-
tion of the former, 1 have already treated of them. I
therefore proceed to consider the exaggerating and
alleviating properties of elocntioi?.

CHAP. IV.

Book Vlir. OF ELOQUENCE. US

CHAP. IV.

CONCERNING EXAGGERATION OR AMPLIFICATION AND 0^1-
NUTION OR ALLEVIATION.

The first kind of exaggeration depends upon the
nature of the terms we use. For example, " If a
man is wounded, we say he is murdered. If a fellow
is importLinate, we call him a highwayman." Con-
trariwise,we call a severe drubbing, " a little brush,
and a wound a scratch." We liave an example of
both manners in Cicero's pleading for Ca;lius, speak-
ing of Clodia. " If she is wanton in widowhood,
says he, insolent in airs, profuse in wealth, and if
her lusts should lead her into a keeping expence, can
1 think a man an adulterer, who shall make some free
addresses to such a lady?" Here he exaggerates the
lady's failings in point of chastity, and softens the
long criminal conversation his client had with her,
into the tenns of, some free addresses.

But this manner is greatly improved and height-
ened by our opposing exaggerating terms, to the
real terms, which we want to enforce. What I
mean will be best comprehendedby the following pas-
sage of Cicero's pleading against Verres. " Whom,
my lords, have we brought before the bar of your
justice? Not a thief, but a plunderer ; not an adul-
terer, but the avowed enemy of all chastity ; not one
guilty of sacrilege, but a prophaner and pillager of
whatever is sacred or religious »*Iiot a murderer, but
the inhuman butcher of your countrvmen and allies."
The former manner multiplies circumstances, but
his manner rende^rs oftences, that are very atrocious
in themselves, still more atrocious.

Aggravatioa

116 aUINCTlLIAN'S INSTITUTES. Book VIII

AggTavatioii or •aniplilicaLioii, however, is olVccted
by tour kinds of maiiam-'uimt ; by heightening-, by
comparing-, by reasoning, and by aecunudating.
That of heightening- has the greatest ctleet, when it
Raises things, that are of tliemselves but indilTerent,
into momentous appearances. Now this is done
either all at once, or gradually ; and we are thereby
raised not only to the sunnnit, but sometimes, as it
were, even al)Ove the sunuuit hi' the subject. One
example from Cicero \\ill illustrate my meaning:
*' To bind a Roman citizen is a misdemeanor; to
strike him is a crime ; to kill him is next to parri-
cide ; but to crucify him is — What ?" Now, had he,
the citizen, been only beat or whipt, Cicero would
have exaggerated, by one degree, the guilt of Yerres,
in making another degree inferit»r to it; had he been
barely killed, the guilt was exaggerated in more de-
grees; but when he said, that to kill him is next to
parricide, though he could express nothing more cri-
minal, yet still he continues to rise ; to crucify him,

says he, is W'^hat ? I'hus, though he comes to

the height of expresssion, he is carried even beyond
that, by not having words that can go farther.

There is another method of being carried beyond
the summit. Thus N'irgil says of Lausus,

No lovelier youth that trod the ground,

Except [iaurentian Turnus, could be found.
Here he adds something to perfection itself, which he
had expressed, when he said, that no youth was
more lovely. There is a third manner of exagger-
ating, which does not proceed by way of climax,
or by steps, because the crime is nT)t only excessive,
but such as cannot be exceeded. " You have killed
vour mother. Am 1 to ajrirravatc that charoje ? You
have killed your mc»lher.'* For it is a vTry good me-
thod of aggravation, when we carry the charge so
liir. that we plainlv see, it admits of no affcrravation.

There

BookVIII. of ELOaUEXCE. 117

Thero i^ a less sensible, thoiiiili perhaps not a less
cfiectual, eliniax, when we ponr forth, without dis-
tinction or pause, somewhat more severe than wliat
goes immethatelv l)et'ore. Thus, wli{>n Cicero is de-
scribing Antony vomitinj; in pnbhc, he says, " JJut
in a full assembly of the Jloman people, vested with
a public cliaracter, the general of the horse." Here,
every word proceeds by a climax. To vomit, is
scandalous in itself, though not in an assembly,
though not in an assembly of the [)eople, though not
in an assembly of the Roman people : though the
person had had no character, though he had liafi no
f)ublic character, though he had not been general of
the horse. An orator of less uenius would have di--
vided these characters, «nd dwelt upon each of them.
But nothing can retard the career of Cicero ; he does
not cbmb, but spring to the summit.

But as this amplification proceeds from less to
greater, so that, which is efiected by comparison,
owes its powers to the exagueration of meaner cir-
cumstances. For, by mngnifying an inferior object,
we necessarily increase tlu; bulk of every object that
is superior to it. Thus, in the very passage 1 last
quoted, Cicero says, " Had you done this in the,
time of supper, amidst your extravagant debauch of
drinking, who would not have thought it scanda-
lous ? But in a full assembly of the Roman people.'*
And in his invective against Cntiline, " j5y heavens,
says ye, if my slave should have an equal horror f»jr
me, as every countryman you have has for you, I
should think it |)roper to abandon my own house :
Shall you then presume to remain in this city?"

Sometimes an example, being proposed by way of
simile, serves to exaggerate, and to amplify the
niatter we are handlincr- The sam<' great orator,
for instance, pleading for Cluentius, mentions j Mi-
lesian wonuui, who had taken money i'l'oin thu heiij

in

lis QUI XCTI LI AN'S INSTITUTES Book VllJ.

in reversion, to procure hei-self an abortion. ** I]o\v
much uiori', says he, does Oppiniacus deserve to be
puiushed tor the same erime; for that woman, by
the violence she did to her own body, put lierself to
torture ; but he tortures and excruciates the body of
another pei-son." Nor is it to be thought that the
present o!)servation is the same with that I laid down
in treatinj^ of arguments, vvlien I spoke of a greater
bcini: collected from a smaller. The two passages
indeed resemble one anf)ther, but there I spoke of
jMoofs, and liere I speak of amplification. Thus, in
the case of Opjjiniacus, the comparison that is brought
is not to prove that he had committed a crime, but to
exaggerate whiit he had committed.

i here may, however, be a resemblance between
things, though tliey are quite different. I will there-
fore repc at an example 1 have already used, though 1
did not apply it to the same piu'pose ; for I am now
to show that we may exaggerate, not only by compar-
ing a whole with a whole, but parts with parts.
Thus Cicero, in his first invective against Catiline,
says, " Could the noble Scipio, when sovereign
Pontiff, as a private Roman, kill Tiberius (Jracchus
for a shght encroachment upon the rights of his
country ; and shall we, her consuls, with persevering
patience, bear with Catiline, whose ambition is to
desolate a devoted world with fire and sword ?"
Here the comparison runs between Catiline and
Gracchus, between the state of the public and that
of the world ; between a slight encroachment, and a
desolation by fire and sword ; between a private
man, and the consuls of Rome. All which will
furnish plenty of matter to any one who will be at the
pains to examine them closely.

1 have mentioned a method of amplifying, by in-
duction of reasoning ; let me here consider the pro-
priety of thai; term, though in that respect I am the

le^s

BootVirf. OF fiLOaUENCE. 119

ioss solicitous, prnvidcd those who are wiUinci to he
instriKtecl understand my meaning. Now this me-
thod ot am})litying has its place in one part, and its
ttfect in another; for one circumstance is exagger-
ated, anotlier is heightened, and thereby we are ra-
tionally led to the amphlication we intend. When
Cicero charnes Antony witli his debauch and his vo-
miting in public, " Such a load of wine, says he,
did you pour down that throat iiito these sides, and
«o thoroughly did you soak all that prize-fighting-
person of your's." liere the mention of the throat
and the sides greatly exaggerates the charge of drink-
ing, because it gives us an idea of the quantity of
wine which Antony drank at the marriage of Hip-
pias ; and which was so great, that e\cn his priiie-
fighting person could not carry and digest it. Now,
where one circumstance is inferred from another, that
inference may properly be termed an induction by
reasoning, and 1 have accordingly ranked a state of
^•auses under the same term.

In like manner, an exasperation may be effected
by consequences. For, in the last-mentioned ex-
ample, the gushing of the wine from i\ntony's body
<lid not proceed from accident, or design, but neces-
sity, which forced him to vomit in so public a place,
and in so indecent a manner, whereby he threw up
the indigestefl morsels of what he had swallowed the
day before ; a circumstance that sometimes happens
after a debauch.

Exaggeration is sometimes effected by what is pre-
mised ; thus, \ iriiil savs, after the answer of yEolus
to Juno's request :

He said, and hurlVl against the mountain side
His quiv'ring spear, and all the god apply'd.
The raging winds rush thro' the hollow wound,
And dance aU)ft in air, and skim along the ground.

Drydf.n.
Here,

1^0 QUINCIILIAN'S INSTITUTES BookVUI.

Hero, ulmt is premisod gives us a clear idea of the
tempest that was to follow. Souutimes, after re-
presentii)<j; crimes in the most dreadful colours, we
aH'ect to extenuate them, in order to exaggerate what
is to ft^lknv. " Such wickedness," says Cicero
against \'erres, " is but trifling- in such a criminal.
A ship-master, the native of a noble state, ransomed
himstlfby a sum of money from the whipping-post.
This in Verres was compassionate. Another gave a
siMii to save his head from being cut off. This was
customary." Here the orator uses an induction
by reasoning, to give the hearers an idea of the
superior atrocity of those circumstances, compared
to which, these he mentions, are compassionate and
customaiy.

In like manner, one thing may be heightened by
heightening another. Thus, by heightening the
warhke character of Hannibal, we magnify that of
Scipio. And by raising the courage of the Gauls
and Germans, we heighten the glorv of Julius Caesar.
There is hkewise a method of amplifying, by way of
reference; when a thing is said without having any
direct relation to the matter in question ; for exam-
ple, " Priam's counsellors thought it was no wonder
that the Greeks and Trojans endured so many cala-
mities, and for such a length of time, for so beautiful
a creature as Helen was." From this we infer, what
transcendent charms she must have been possest of.
For this reflection does not come from Paris, who
had carried her off, nor from a youthful lover, nor
from a vulgar person, but from the aged, the wise
noblemen of Troy sitting in council with Priam.
jS'ay, that prince himself, though exhausted by a ten
years war, in which he had lost so many of his sons,
and though he was then upon the point of ruin, is so
far from hating and detesting a beauty that had been
the source of such calamities, that he hears her com-
mended,

IBookVIIL of eloquence. 121

mended, he calls her his daughter, he places her by
his person, he excuses her, and even says, that his
calamities did not arise from her. We have a like
example by way of inference, in the symposium of
Plato, to illustrate the continence of Socrates*.
The circumstances of the arms and weapons of
heroes give us an idea of their prodigious bulk and
strength. The seven-fold shield of Ajax, for in-
stance ; and the l^elian spear of Achill(?s. \Vc have
a fine example of this kind in Virgil, where he says,
that the Cyclops made use of a mountain pine as a
walking-stati"; how immense then must his bulk
have been 1 And when he mentions a helmet that
two men could scarce support upon their sliouldei's,
what an idea does it raise of its owner, before whom
the trembling Trojans tied ! Can we have a higher
idea of Antony's luxury than we have from Cicero,
in the followino- sentence : '•' You miiiht ha\ e seen
the purple quilts of l^ompey bedecking the coucheg
of slaves in their bed-rooms." One should think,
nothing could exceed the indignant ideas raised by
the mention of purj)le quilts, of the great Pompey,
and the bed-chambers of slaves, and yet our indig-
nation is still hio:her raised, when we reflect that
these were but slaves: then what must the luxury
of the master have been ? This manner somewhat re-
sembles the emphasis ; only in the emphasis our
ideas are affected by a word, and here by aa
object ; and consequently the latter is as much more
powerful, as things are more powerful than words.

Exaggeration or amplification may likewise be af-
fected by strinq^ing together words and senliments
of the same importance. For thouGjh tlicy do not
proceed bv wav of climax, vet they have streni- th by

* I have not tl)ou{;ht proper to translate this example, because
1 think it is botli a little fancif"ulj and improper.

their

152 CiUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Edok Vllf.

^their beini? arciiiimlatod. Say« Cicero, in his plead-
ing for Lij;arius» " Wliat did thy armour imply?
Thy spirit ? Thy eyes ? Thy hands ? Thy forward
zeal? What didst thou wish? What didst thou
want ?" Here is, we see, an accumulation of
various circumstances. But we may exaggerate by
multiplying one personal circumstance into many,
'lliis mann(?r rises higher and higher, through every
expression we make use of; for example, "Near
him stood the jailor of the prison, the butcher
employed by the Praetor, the murderer of our Al-
lies, and the terror of Romans, 1 mean, the Lie tor
Sextius."

Circumstances are diminished in the same man-
ner; for the anticlimax contains as many degrees of
descent, as the climax does of ascent. 1 shall
therefore bring only one example of it, from Cicero,
where mentioning the oration of Rullus, he does it
in these terms; " And yet a few, who stood nearest
him, fancied that he intended to say somewhat, I
do not know what, about the Agrarian law." If
we apply this example, to Rullus being heard by
those who w^ere near him, it comes by way of dimi-
nution. If it denotes the obscurity of his harangue,
it comes by w-ay of exaggeration.

Some, I am sensible, think that the hyperbole is
a manner of exaggerating, because it may be made
use of both in the climax, and in the anticlimax.
But, as the very term of hyperbole implies an ex-
cess, I shall treat of it amongst the tropes ; to
which I would immediately proceed, did they not
compose a manner of speaking that consists not in
proper, Imt metaphorical, expressions. Therefore,
1 shall so far conform myself to the geneml taste, as
not to omit that manner which some think to be
the principal, nay, almost the only embellishment of
stvle.

CHAP. V.

Hook Vllt. OF ELOQURNCK. 19:)

CHAP. V.

CONCERNING SENTIMENTS.

Our forefathers termed all the conceptions of
the mind, sentiments. Orators often make use of
the word in that sense, and we have some remains
of the same in daily usage. For we swear, and
compliment, according- to the sentiments of our
mind. But, originally, they made use of the word
thought for the same purpose ; for the word senses,
in those days, was only applicable to the body. But
this practice is altered ; for we term the conception
of the mind our sense, and our brightest thoughts
(especially those that are finely turned) our senti-
ments. This manner, formerly, was not much
minded, but now it prevails to excess. 1, there-
fore, think proper to point out its different manners,
and to say somewhat concerning the application
of them.

Our forefathers appropriated the term of senti-
ments to what the Greeks call rules ; and indeed
they considered them both, in some nuasure, as
containino^ moral maxims or directions. Now, 1 de-
fine this term to contain some matter that is laud-
able, though independent of the sui^ject we treat of.
But sometimes, it may be applicable to the subject
only; for example, the following is an independent
sentiment; Nothing is so popular as afJ'ability ; some-
times to a person, such as the sentiment of Aser
Domitius. The prince, who wants to see every
thing, must wink at a great deal.*

* The quirk I have made use of in translating this sentiment,
arises from a tj;ingle in the orij^inal, the tnie reading otwliith
seems to be, Princeps, qui vult omnia nosccre, neci'sse habet
multa ignosccre.

Without

124- QUINXTILIANS INSTITUTES Book VlU.

Williout onlcrini; into needless distinctions and
definitions, a sentiment sometimes is simple, as the
first examj)le I liave mentioned. Sometimes it is'
connected with the reason, as in the following ex-
ample ; " In all contests, the most powerful seems
to be the aggressor, even though he has received the
Vvrong : antl the reason is, because he is the strong-
est." A sentiment sometimes is double ; " obse-
quiousness procures us friends, but plain dealing,
enemies." In short, sentiments admit of all figures
of speech. Sometimes they distinguish ; for exam-*
pie, " Death is not a woe, but the approaches to
It are woeful." Sometimes they are affirmative:
*' The covetous man has as little use of what he has,
as of what he has not." But by the help of a figure
they make the greater impression ; for example, Is
death so great a woe ? makes a greater impression,
than if we were to say, Death is no woe. Sometimes
we make a general sentiment personal : " It is easy
to hurt, but difficult to serve, a person," is a general
sentiment; but it becomes more forcible, when Ovid
introduces it in the person of Medea, saying, " Was
it in my power to preserve, and can you doubt that
it is in my power to destroy ?" Cicero likewise
renders the same sentiment personal. In pleading
for Ligarius he says to Caesar, " In your fortune,
there is nothing more exalted than that you have
the power, in your nature there is nothing more
amiable than that you have the inclination, to pre-
serve numbers." Here he turns a general property
into a personal compliment.

But with regard to sentiments, we ought to guard
against using them too frequently, and using such as
are palpably false, which is frequently practised by
those who hav^e a standing set of sentiments which
they use upon all occasions, and advance with a pe-
remptory air whatever they think can serve their

4 cause.

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE, IQ5

cause. We ought likewise to take care not to pro-
stitute our sentiments, and to consult our own abili-
ties and character. For the sentimental manner of
speaking is most becoming those whose personal au-
thority gives weight to what they say. Nobody
qould bear with a boy, a stripling, or a scoundrel,
who should deliver his sentiments in a magisterial,
dogmatic<il maimer.

The enthymema is a species of sentiment. Now,
the enthymema denotes any conception of the mind.
But it properly is applied to a sentiment arising from
an opposition to another object, in comparison of
"which it is eminent : as Homer amongst poets, and
Rome amongst cities. 13ut I discussed this matter in
treating of arguments. The enthymema, however,
is sometimes introduced rather for embellishment
than proof. Thus Cicero says to Caesar, " Shall then,
O Caesar ! they who are the monuments of your
unpunishing clemency, by their language, exaspe-
rate you into cruelty ?" Now, Cicero does no^
bring this as a fresh argiunent, but to crown what he
had elsewhere observed concerning the injustice of
such a conduct ; and he introduces it at the end
of the period, not by way of proof, but as a finish-
ing kind of insult upon 4iis antagonist. This man-
ner is called an epiphonema, and is introduced by
way of a final exclamation, after a thing has been
narrated and proved. We have an instance of this
kind in Virgil :

It caird for all the toil of lab'ring fate ;
Of such importance was the Roman state !

And in Cicero's pleading for Milo, speaking of the
Marian soldier, he says, " The virtuous youth chose
to avoid, at the hazard of his life, w hat he could not
suffer without the violation of his honour."

The

Igf, QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Vlll.

The word iiiKU'istaiKlins: maybe incliffcrently ap-
plied to all operations of the intellects. But when
we say that a thing- is understood, we suppose it to
he suj>pressed. Thus a fellow, whose sister had se-
veral times redeemed him from the profession of
prize-fighting, sued her, upon the statute of Talio,
ibr cutting off his thumb, while he was asleep.
*• It is true," said she to him, " you deserve that
your hand should be unmaimed," giving him and
the court to imdcrstand, that he deserved to be a
prize-fighter as long as he lived.

There is such a thing as a point, by which, if we
mean the quick close of a period, it may be very
proper, and sometimes necessary. Thus Cicero
says, in his pleading for Ligarius, " You arc there-
fore under a necessity of confessing yourself guilty,
before you can impeach the conduct of Ligarius."
Some however do not mean this, but require that
every topic, and every period, should end with some
point that strikes the ear. Such gentlemen think
it a scandal, nay, almost a prophanation, for an orator
ever to recover his breath, but to give an opportu-
nity for applause. This leads them to hunt for
petty, false, glittering points of wit, that are quite
foreign to the matter. F(^' it would be impossible
for them to introduce into a discourse so many true
sentiments as they do ginghng periods.

Of all those thoughts, the most pleasing is that
which is most unexpected. Thus, when a man
walked up and down the foium in armour, pre-
tending that he was afraid of his person, says Vibius
Crispus to him. Who gave you permission, sir, to
be afraid at that rate ? And Africanus paid a re-
markable compliment to Nero, upon his mother's
death ; your Gallic provinces, great sir, beseech
you to bear your good fortune with firmness. Some
thoughts, that seem to rise from one thing, are ap-
2 plicable

Cook VIII. OF ELOQUENXE. 127

piicahle to another. Thus, when Afer Domitius
pleaded for Cloantilla, whom Claudius afterwards
pardoned tor having buried her husl)and, who had
been one ot the rebels, he addresses himself in the
end of his speech to her sons, Young gentlemen,
savs he, be ye sure to bury your mother. A thought
sometimes is transferred from one topic to another.
Thus, Crispus, pleadin;? in the cause of a courtezan,
whose lover, who had left her a large legacy, died
when he was but two and twenty years of age,
" What a provident young fellow he was, said he,
to make so g<X)d a use of so short a lifp* 1" The
point of a sentiment lies sometimes in the repetition
of a word ; thus, in the rescript which Seneca drew
up for Nero, on occasion of his mother's death, and
which was sent to the Senate, when he hints that
he thought himself in danger, Nero says, That I am
in safety, neither do 1 believe, neither do I rejoice.
This manner has a better effect, when it contains an
opposition ; Alas 1 says Cicero to Atticus, 1 know
the man 1 ought to fly, but not the man 1 ought to
follow. The wretch could not speak, says another
writer, nor could he be silent. J5ut the finest man-
ner is that which is marked by some comparison ;
thus, Trachallus, pleading against the courtezan I
have already mentioned, said. Ye laws ! Ve faithful
guardians of female honour ! do you award to a
man's wife the tenth, and to his whore the fourth,
of his estate ?

But all these manners may readily lead us into
false, as well as true, wit. A play upon words is
foolish. Fathers Conscript, said an advocate w1k»
was pleading for a father against a son, (for 1 begin
with that word to put you in mind of what is due

* Though both the reading and the wit of these two last ex-
amples are pretty obscure, yet I durst not venture with the Abb6
Gedoyn, to omit translating them.

to

12S QUINCTILIAN'S hXSTITUTES Book Vlll.

to fathers.) 'i'hrre is perhaps a more execfable
kind of this wit, when equivocal words are connected
uiih false ideas of things. When 1 was a young
man, I renieml)ir a famous pleader, who gave to a
motlur a frw bones that had been picked out of a
\>()nnd her son had received upon liis head, merely
foi the sake of the following miserable clench ; Most
unliappy woman ! you have not yet attended your
son to his funeral pile, and yet you have col-
lected his bones.

Some take pleasure in little quirks, which at first
promise some humour, but, upon reflection, deserve
only contempt. Thus, in a declamation at school
ujx^n a man, who, after being ruined by bad crops,
suriered shipwreck, said a d(3claimer, The man who
is rejected i>oth by land and by sea, ought to hang.
Of kin to this kind, is what the father said to the
son, in the example I formerly mentioned, M'hen he
gave him poison, as he was biting his limbs, lie
who eats this, ought to drink this. Said one to a
rake, who was deliberating whether he should hang
or poison himself, The rope will hurt your throat,
and a professed debauchee ought to die by drinking.
Some clenches are still more puerile ; thus, a de-
claimcr persuading Alexander's captains to bury him
under the ruins of Babylon, by setting it on fire at
the same time; Then, says he, every one may from
his own window enjoy the sight of iVlexander s mo-
nument. As if this had been the most melancholy
circumstance in the whole affair. Sometimes we
are apt to overdo ; thus, 1 have heard a man, in de-
scribing a German, say, As to his head, it stood I
know not where. And describe a brave man by
saying, His buckler repelled the whole war. But
there would be no end, were I to instance all the
absurdities of this kind, that arc now so much in

vogue.

fiooK VIII. OF ELOaUENXE. 129

vogue. 1 shall therefore proceed to matters of more
importance.

Learned men are divided in their opinions upon
the use of pointed sentiments. Some think, that
eloquence is made up of nothing else, while others
entirely cond«nnn them. Tor my own part, I am
tbnd of neither opinion. When they are too thick
planted, they choke each other ; in the same man-
ner as we see corn and seeds, when they are too
thick sown, never rise to full maturity for want of
room. In like manner, it is a hapj^y disposition of
lights and shades that gives a picture a beautiful re-
lief. Painters, therefore, when they design several
figures in the same piece, lake care to proportion
the distances so, as that the shades may nc>t fall too
directly upon the objects. When we do not observe
this manner of speaking, we are perpetually mincing
and clipping t'le thread of our discourse. Tor every
st-ntimental jK^int brings us to a full stop ; and then
we are to begin anew. This disjoins the whole
structure of the style, for not being composed of
members, but of scraps and pieces, it has neither
strength nor symmetry. Jlere is a square, there a
sphere; the one can give the other no support; the
whole, therefore, becomes an unconnected mass.

Add to this, let the colouring or complexion of
such eloquence be ever so bright in general, yet it
must be patched, and every patch is a blemish. A
purple border, when properly disposed upon a robe,
gives it an air of dignity ; but were a robe to be laid
over with borders of various colours, it would be
ridiculous. Let, therefore, such points play and
sparkle ever so brightly, yet 1 cannot compare their
brightness to that of the flame, hut to that of sparks
mounting, glittering, and \anishing amidst clouds
ofsmoak. Were the whole of the pleading illumi-
nated with eKKjuence, they would no more be even
. yf>i" II. K visible.

130 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VITI.

visible, than the stars are at noon-day, wlien the
sun is shuiing. The eloquence that is perpetually
atteniptinu: to rise by hops and bounds, is always
unet^nal and rugged: it has neitlier the charms of
suMiniity, nor the elegance of simplicity. It labours
under another mischief; for while we hunt tor no-
thmp: but points, we must make use of a great many
that are trifling, dull, and impertinent ; besidrs,
their number is soiireatas to shew that they are not
picked. Sometimes, therefore, you see a division
have the air of a sentiment, and an argument become
.sentimental only by throwing it into the close of a
period. Thf)Ugh an adulterer yourself, you have
murdered your wife. Had you ojily put her away,
1 should have prosecuted you. Here is a division:
now follows an argument. Am 1 to prove that the
love pot. on was poisonous ? The man had still been
alive had he not drank it. In general, though such
sp'^akers deliver very few real sentiments, yet they
speak every thing with a sentimental air and manner.
Oppos 'd to this is another class of speakers, who
avoid all pointed periods, as productive of false plea-
sure, and approve of nothing but what is flat, mean,
and spiritless. Thus, for fear of falling, they are
always creeping. Give me leave to ask such gentle-
men, what harm is there in a well-timed, and a
well-turned, sentiment ? May it not be of service to
a cause ? May it not affect the judge ? May it not
recommend the pleader ? But, answer they, there is
a sentimental manner, which tlie antients were
strangers to. But to what part of antiquity do you
refer? Go as far back as Demosthenes, he gave
eloquence heautias unknown before his time. And
if you think, that the m.inner of a Cato, or a Grac-
chus, ought not to be altered, do you not condemn
Cicero ? But Cato and Gracchus found eloquence
plain, and left her adorned ; for my own part, I

consider

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 131

consider an enlightened style to be, as it were, the
eye-sight of eloquence ; but I am not for having
eyes through the whole body, lest its other members
should lose their functions ; nay, were 1 to take my
choice, 1 should prefer the antient uncouthness to
the modern affectation. But a middle way is open ;
as in dress and living-, there is a neatness and ele-
gance which is so far from being hlameable, that it
is beautiful, and ought, to the best of our power, to
be engrafted upon the virtues of our ancestors. Our
first care, however, ought to be to get rid of every
false manner, lest, while we pretend to improve upon,
we only differ from, the antients.

I now come to treat of tropes, which, as I observed
before, come next in order, and which our best au-
thors call removes, or motions. Grammarians use
to lay down rules for them too. But while I was
speaking of the business of a grammarian, I did not
think proper to discuss this subject ; but referred it
till now that I am treating of a much higher subject;^
I mean, the embellishments of eloquence.

CHAP. VI.

CONCERNING TROPES.

A Trope is an advantageous removal of a word
or discourse from its original, to another significa-
tion. \ arious and endless have the disputes been
amongst grammarians and philosophers concerning
their kinds, their species, their number, and sub-
divisions. For my part, omitting all cavils, as
being foreign to the education of an orator, I
shall treat only of such tropes as are most neces-
sary and most usual. And here it is sufhcient to re-
mark, that some Tropes are employed for signifi-
cancy, others for ornament; some lie in proper*,

• The Roman was victorious instead of the Romans were vic-
torious. I.ivy.

and

l;]'.' QUlNCriMAN'S INSTITUTES Hook Vllf,

and oth(Ms in bornmcd cxprossions, and that not
only the tornis of words but of an entire period, nay,
of a wliole composition, are liaMe to clian^c and
alteration. Therefore ihev are mistaken, who think
there is no trope, but \vh<>re one word stands for
anothir. Meanwhile I am sensible, that the most
significant tropes are always the most beautiful,
liut the reverse of this does not hold, for some are
calcidated for ornament alone.

1 shall therefore be<;in with what the Greeks call
, a metaphor, whicli is no other than the borrowing- of
' a sense ; and is the most usual, as well as by far the
most beautiful, species of tropes. So natural is it
for a man to talk metapliorically, that the most ig-
norant and inattentive ])eoplc fre(]ucntly do it, with-
out being sensible they are doing it ; nay, they make
use of metaphors so beautiful and bright, that they
are distincjiiishable, by their own radiance, in the
most illuminated discourse. For, provided a meta-
phor is properly managed, it can have nothing about
it that is vulgar, mean, or disagreeable. Metaphors
likewise enrich a language, by the changings and
borrowings it introduces. Nay, they have the almost
incredible power of giving a name to every thing
that exists.

Now, a name, or a word, is removed from its ori-
ginal signification into another signification, in order
to express somewhat that cannot be expressed by any
original term of its own; or, by such removal, to
better the original term. This practice we go into,
either because it is neces.iarv, or because thereby
we heighten either the force or the beauty of our
style. But, where none of these reasons are found,
none of these ends are answered. Necessity teaches
the countryman to say, thegemmof a vine, because
he knew no other single word, by which he could
express its young-, swelling buds. He likewise tells
you, the fields are thirsty, and the corns are sickly.
2 Necessity

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 133

Necessity compels us to transfer the epithets linrsh
and rough, to a man ; tor there is no orij^inal epith»:t
expressive of such afleetions. We say, for tlie mou;
significancy, that a man is kindled into a passion ;
that he burns with lust; that he has fallen into a
mistake: for we cannot express the circumstances
in their proper, hetter than we do in their borrowed, ^
terms. Some metaphors are merely for ornament.
Thus we say, an enlightened discourse ; an illus-
trious race; the • storms of the vulgar; and the
streams of eloquence. In one passage Cicero calls
Clodius the fountain that supplied Aiilo's glory ; .
and, in another place, the source and ripener of his '^
renown. Sometimes, a metaphor is called in, that a i
thing may be expressed with the more decency. Of i
this we have a fine example in Virgil's Georgics.*

Upon the whole, a metaphor is shorter than a si-
mile. A simile introduces a comparison to a thing
we want to express ; a mctaj)hor stands for the very
thing itself. When 1 say that a man acted like a
lion, 1 speak comparatively ; hut when 1 say a man
is a lion, 1 speak metaphorically.

All metaphors are of four kinds ; first, as the5^
relate to living creatures, when one is placed lor an-
other. For example :

]Ie pilf'ttcd his horse with mighty force.
And Livy tells us, that Cato used to Lark at Scipio.
Next, when one inanimate thing is put for another
of the same nature; for example: ^ Jle gives his
fleet the reins.-' A third kind is when we substitute
inanimate for animated agents; as when it is asked,
'' Was the Greek valour daunted by steel or fate ?"
Lastly, agency may be applied to passive objects;
for example:

* Orig. Hoc faciunt, nimio nc luxu obtusior usus
Sit genitali arvo, & sulcos oblimt-t inertcs.

Georg. III. 1. 135.

The

134- QUINXTI LI AN'S INSTITUTES Book VIII.

The wond'rinj; sh«>phortl's cars drink in the sound*.
From this manner principally arises that nriarvcllous
and subhine that proceeds from bold, and what we
may call dangerous, metaphors, when we give life
and spirit to inanimated objects : for example, when
the same poet si.ys, that tlie river Araxes, disdains a
bridge. And in the famous passage of Cicero, W hat,
O Tubero, was the meaning of tliy naked sword in
the ranks of Fharsalia ? Whose breast did it seek >
What did thy armour threaten? Thy spirit? Thy
ey(^s ? Thy hands ? Thy forward zeal ? This meta-
phor is sometimes double, as when Virgil mentions,
arming steel by poison. For to arm with poison,
and to arm steel, are two metaphors.

These four manners admit of many subdivisions.
Thus we transfer one rational object to another ; or
an irrational to another irrational object. Or we
may blend irrationality with rationality. All have
the same effects, whether they are taken in the
whole or in parts. But 1 suppose that 1 am not now
speaking to young students, but that when the
reader is master of the kind, he is likewise master of
every species arising from it.

But as a well-tempered and well-timed use of me-
taphors illustrates a style, so, a frequent return of
them renders it obscure and tiresome ; and a conti-
nual return of them renders it allegorical and enig-
matical. Some metaphors are quite mean ; for ex-
ample, that which 1 have already mentioned, of an

* Orig. sedet inscius alto

Accipiens sonitum saxi de vertice pastor, Vikg.

Itisamaang, that thecommpntators, and Biirman among the rest,
have not been able to find a metaphor in "This passage, and even
the Able Gedoyn in his translation has omitted it. I have not
been able to preserve its spirit ; the metaphor certainly lies in the
word accipiens, which implies activity, being transferred to a sense
that is merely passive.

altar.

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 135

altar, which is called a stony wart. Some are inde-
cent; for if Cicero, to express the sordidity of some
of his countiymen, very properly called them the
bog- house of the commonwealth, that does not
justify an old orator, who makes use of the expres-
sion, Thou hast made an incision into the hemorrhoids
or the piles of thy country. And the same great
orator very properly puts us upon our guard against
making use of shocking metaphors; for he tells us,
that he should not chuse to say " that the republic
was gelded, after the death of Scipio Africanus."
Nor would he call (jlaucia " the excrement of the
senate." In metaphors, we are to guard against
every image that exctieds, and what more frequently
happens against every image that lessens.^ We ought
likewise to take care to preserve the similarity of
images. And when we are once convinced that
such absurdities are absurdities, we shall find them
but too frequent.

An excessive use of metaphors, especially if they
contain the same images, is likewise blameable.
Some metaj)hors are likewise hard to be compre-
hended, because of their incongruity with the ob-
ject; as when a poet says, that '• Jupiter periwiged*
with snow the bald-pate woods."

Some speakers are likewise under a very great mis-
take, when they introduce into prose the metaphors
made use of by poets who are at liberty to please
their fancy, and who are sometimes constrained by

• Orig. Capitis nives.

J'jppilcr hyliernas cana nive conspuit Alpcs.

The meaninpj of which is, that Jupitor spit the Alps whitp ; and
thi-! very line i> fir.elv ridiculed bv Horace. I ha^e b^'t•n temp»"d
tr> subsiitut*" in its niare a line of S\ lvn>tcr's. the tfnOat'u o^ Dn
Barias, which has been taken notice of bv Mr. Dr\den. containinj;
as fal'O a metaphor, and is indeed of the same import with the
Latin line.

their

l.'3(^ QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VllT.

their feet in mmilxTs, which rriulcr llieir lihcrtieH
allovvahle. luit were 1 to plead, I would luitlier
call a kiiii!: the she()her(l of his ilock, upon the
unthoritv of i lonier, uor would I witii Virgil say,
'J he stec r.iL;(' of the wiu^•s, though that j)oet applies
that expression to th(^ ihght of hees, and to that oi"
J)ii'dalus, and that too with great propriety. For
every niKta|)hor ought either to occupy an empty
space, or it ought to be more powerful than the ex-
pression that it dis])iaces.

What 1 have said concerning metaphors is equally,
if not more, applicable to the figure synecdoche.
A metaj)hor generally is made use of to make the
greater impression upon the mind, or to characterize
objects, and ))lace tliem before our eyes. But the
synecdoche diversifies a styk-^; by it, we tak(^ many
for one, the whole for a part, the kind for the
species, the consefpient for the antecedent, or the
reverse ; all which is more allowable in poets than in
orators. Jt is true, in prose we may say, a nx^f, in-
stead of a house ; but we are not at liberty to say,
a prow for a ship, nor a fir-tree for a mast. We
may even venture to say, steel for sv.ord; but that
does not authorize us to call a horse, in prose,
a quadrnped. We may, through the synecdoche,
make more free with altering the numbers of things.
I It is common with Livy, w hen he wants to tell that
/the Romans gained a battle, to say, " the Roman
was victorious." (Jicero, on the contrary, in one of
his lett«>rs to l)rutns, thoush he is only speaking of
himself, says, we imposed upon the people, and we
made them take us for orators. And this manner
is not only agreeable in formal pleadings, but is ad-
mitted into corhmon conversation.. When there is
anv thini>- understood by beinjj- omitted in a sentence,
some will call the omission a synecdoche. For then
we understand one ^^'ord by another. But some-
times

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 13/

times this comes to be an cclipsis, which is a real
blemish in a style.

Then thro' the gates th' Arcadians to rush.
Meaning, they began to rush ; but as I think this is
a figure of itself, 1 shall treat of it under that head.
Sometimes one circumstance marks out another.
Thus, \ irgil, in order to describe the approach of
night, says,

The weaiy heifers now returning home,

Their plows upon their necks —

But I know not whether this manner can ever be
proper for an orator, excepting in argumentation,
when he wants to characterize a thing. It does not,
however, belong to elocution.

The metonymy is pretty much of the same kind,
for it is a tro])e by w4iich we substitute one a])})ella-
tion for another, the cause for the effect, the in-
ventor for the invention, the sovereign for the sub*
ject. But Cicero tells us, that rhetoricians term
this figure hy])allage. An example of the meto-
nymy is (speaking of bread), Ceres spoiled by the
water. In like manner, Neptune is put for the sea,
in poetiy. But the reverse of this renders a style
harsh. It is therefore of importance for a speaker to
know how far he ought to indulge himself in the \
use of this trope. In Latin prose it is common to ^
express the fire by Vulcan ; a battle by Mars ; and
an amovu' by Venus. I much doubt whether the
severity of pleading can admit of calling wine,
liacchus; and bread, Ceres. But we may some-
times express the contents by that which contains
them ; for cxamj^le, the bottle was drank ; the city
was polite ; the times were happy. But it is
seldom that any but a poet can practise; the reverse
with any propriety. Now burns my neighbour,
says A irgil ; meaning his neighbour's house. It
may, however, be more allowable to substitute the

possessor

I3S QUIN'CTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book VIH.

possessor for the possessed ; for instance, the man is
eat up, to express his estite being consumed.

1 he same trope admits of a thousand manners ;
for insraiice, we may say in prose, that Hannibal cut
in pieces sixty thousand Komans at the battle of Can-
naj. Dramatic poets speak of thiir heroes iu the
same maimer, ^lis common to say, 1 bought a
A iri;il. And " Provisions are coming to us. He
knew a great deal of war, instead of the art of war."
It is hkewise common for orators as well as poets to
ejtpress the elFicient for the eflect. Thus, Horace
says,

Death, unrelenting death, beats down
The peasant's couch, and prince's throne.
Virgil says,

There pale diseases dwell, and drooping age.
And an orator is allowed to say, headstrong rage,
gamesome youth, indolent repose.

Ihere is some affinity between this trope and the
synecdoche. For when 1 say, " the look of man
is noble," I put that in the singular which ought to
be in the plural.*

The antonomasia is a trope which substitutes
some property or designation for a proper nam.e.
It is very common with poets, who sometimes de-
sign a person by a patronymic, instead of his own
name; for instance, they call Diomed, Tydides; and
Achilles, Pelides. Sometimes a proper name is sup-
plied by some capital distinction ; as when Virgil
calls Jupiter

Of Gods the father, and of men the king.
Sometimes a man may be designed by his actions.
The arms, the t}Tant, in the chamber left.

• There follows a sentence or two in the original, which I have
not translated, because it is both depraved, and immaterial, if not
unintelligible.

Orators

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. I.'39

Orators sometimes, but not often, make use of this
figure, l liey would not indeed say, Tydides or Pe-
lides; but they may design a parricide by the ap-
pellation of ruitian; Scipio, by that of the destroyer
of Carthage and Nuniantia; and Cicero by that of,
the glory of Roman eloquence. Cicero himself
makes use of this figure, as appears from the follow-
ing passage in his pleading for Muraena. " Says the
great monitor to his brave pupil, You are not wrong
in many things, but if you were 1 could set you
right." Here he names neither monitor nor pupil,
but leaves both to be understood.

The Greeks claimed great merit from their onoma-
topoeia, or, their coining words, but it is what we
dare scarce venture to do. We have, however, a
great many words coined by the original inventors of
language, in imitation of the sound or affection they
wanted to express; for example, the lowino- of the;
ox ; the hisses of the serpent ; and the murmur of
the dove, or of the lover. But as language is now
come to its highest perfection, we do not venture to
coin any more words, though many that were cur-
rent among our ancestors are daily wearing out.
We scarce indulj^e ourselves in the liberty of deriv-
ing words from others that are in common use.*

All other tropes besides those I have mentioned,
are not employed for the sake of their significancy,
but of their beauty ; for they rather adorn than en-
force a style. Epithets, for instance, are applied for
embellishments, and are both freely and frequently
made use of by poets, who think it sufficient, if they
make them suit with the object they are connected
with. We therefore find no fault with the saying,
white teeth, or humid wine. But unless an orator

* Somr part of what follows here cannot with any propriety be
translated ; and if it could, it would be of no manner of UiC to an
English reader.

has

140 QUINCTIMAN'S INSTITIJTFS Book Vlll.

has a nie;iniii<; in every rpithrt he employs, he falls
into hoinbast. Now we know that an epithet has a
meanini;-, where it adds to tlie thing it is connected
>vith ; ibr instance, most detestable wickedness;
most abominable hist, lint all epithets receive their
greatest beauties iiom meta|)iiors; ior exam))le, un-
bridUd lust; tasleless extravapuice. Sometimes
epithets are joined to tn^pes ; tor example, Virgil
Siiys, meagre want; a nulancholy old age. 13ut, in
such instances, the epithet has such power, that,
■without it, the style must appear naked and sordid.
A style, however, ought not to be overloaded with
epithets, tor if it is, it becomes tedious and cumber-
some, and the jiidgts in court consider theni as they
"Would so uvduy sutlers following a camp, which in-
in^ase tlie number of useless mouths, but not of
figlning men. Nay, sometimes several epithets are
applied to the same person ; thus Virgil, speaking of
Anchises, says,

By Venus blest in raptures of her joy,

Thou care of Gods, twice sav'd from flaming Troy.
This ap])lication of several epithets to one person,
has no bad effect, at least, not in verse.

Some, however, will not admit epithets to be
tropes, because, say they, they change nothing. For
if you detach the epithet from the thing it is joined
to, the signification is still the same, and becomes an
antonomasia, or a substituted expression ; for ex-
ami)le, if you say, The man who destroyed Carthage
and Numantia, you make an antonomasia ; but if
you adcl Scipio, it becomes an epithet ; here it is im-
possiij'le to separate the epithet from the person, be-
cause it can suit no other person.

On the contrary, allegory expresses ojie thing
and means another ; nay, sometimes it's quite op-
posite ; for example, in the 14th Ode of the first
liook of Horace, the poet designs his country under

the

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. Ul

the term of a ship ; civil wars by stormy seas, and
peace and trnnciuillity by a sate liarbour. Thus
Lucretius savs,

I ranofe the muses' lonclv walks.
And A irij;il,

Ikit 1 have gone a mighty way, and here

^ Tis fit 1 check my foaming steed's career.
Sometimes we meet with an allegory without any
metaphor.

I've heard, indeed, where yonder mountain's sweep

Sinks gently to the level of the deep,

A\'here yonder stream the as^ed beeches shade ;

The vales resounded, while Menalcas play'd.
Here the terms suffer no change or alteration, oidy
Virgil, under the person of ^lenalcas, allegorically
represents himself.

An orator has often occasion to make use of the
first kmd of allegory 1 have mentioned, but seldom
entirely, without throwing in some expressions that
explain its meaning. Cicero makes use of it entire,
in the following passage ; To me it api)ears both
wonderful and deploral)le, that a man should i)e so
bent to d(j another a misrliief. as rather than not do
it, he will bore a hc)le in the ship that carries himself.
The following is of the mixed kind, and is verv fre-
quently made use of by the same orator; " 1 thought,
indeed, that all the storms and tempests, which tu-
multuary faction and distracted counsels raise, must
break upon the head of Milo." Had there been no
mention of tumultuary faction, and distracted coun-
sels, the allegorv would have been \n\ic and un-
mixed ; but it is n)ixed as it stands. In sucii kind
of tropes, the beauty lies in tlie borrowed, and the
meaning in the proper, expressions.

l)Ut nothing gives so much beauty to a style, as
when similitude, allegory, and metaphor are united;
for example, in Cicero's [jleadins: for Mura'ua: '" Do

vou

142 QUINCTIUA^N'S INSTITtrrES Boor VIll.

you think that the waves of any sea, or of Euripus
itself, is tossed and agitated with as violent and vari-
ous workings, as the tumults and tides that happen
in a popular election ? One day intermitted, or one
night intervening, often throws every thing into con-
fusion, and the smallest whisper of a report fre-
quently alters their whole incHnations. We often
meet with disappointments without any visible rea-
son ; and the people sometimes stare at what is done,
as if they themselves had not done it." Here, above
all things, we are to observe to finish with the very
same kind of metaphor with which we begin. For
some speakers 1 know, in the above example, when
they had begun with the tempest, would have ended
with fire and sword; which is a most shocking in-
congruity.

Allegory likewise assists the most common under-
standings, and our daily conversation. It has intro-
buccd into pleadings the following terms, which are
now so famihar to us ; to fight firm ; to aim at the
throat, and, to draw blood ; all which expressions
give us no pain. For variety and change are pleas-
ing in eloquence, and we are delighted with the
manner which we least expect. But this has led us
into excess, and we have disfigured the beauty of
allegories by our over-fondness for them. Some
examples are given by way of allegories, when no-
thing is said that explains them. Nothing is more
common with the Greeks than to say, Dionysius
went to Corinth ;* with many other such allusions.
When an allegory is quite obscure, it is called a rid-
dle. But, in my opinion, obscurity is blameable, if
perspicuity is beautiful. The poets however make
use of it says ; Virgil,

* See concerning; this expression, what I have observed upoo
Cicero's Epistles to Atticiis. Epist. 9. b. 9.

3 Tell,

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 143

Tell, and you shall be my divining God,
AVhere seem the heavens scarce forty inches
broad.
Orators likewise make use of riddles; thus, Cacliua
mentions the farthing-hired Clyteiiincstra ; and he
speaks of aspiinge * in the dining-room, and a clap-
per in the bed-room. For though many such ex-
pressions are now unriddled, and tliough they were
not perhaps so very dark, when they were originally
spoken, yet every thing that requires an mter-
preter, before one can understand it, is a riddle.

Irony is a figure by which we mean the reverse of
what we express. Some call it a mockery, and it is
discernible either in the manner of -speaking, or in
the character of the person, or the nature of the
subject. For if any of these are incompatible with
the expressions, then it is plain that the words and
the meaning differ. But this happens in other
tropes, where we must be at pains to examine both
the subject, and the person spoken of. Because, as
I have observed before, it is allowable to make use
either of mock-praises, or mock-reproaches, when
we want to lash or to compliment a person. Thus
Cicero calls Verres, the polite praetor, the honest, in-
dustrious man. On the contrar}% when he w^ants to
praise himself, he says, I seemed to be something
of an orator by imposing upon the people. Some-
times we raise a laugh by speaking the very reverse
of what we mean ; as Cicero, addressing himself to
Clodius ; Yes, sir, you was acquitted through the
integrity of your life, you was delivered by the pu-
rity of your manners, you was saved through the
virtues of your youth.

* Quadratnriam Clytemnestram : &, in tridinio Choam : &
in Cubiculo NoUm.

Sometimes

Ui QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Vlil.

Soinctiiiics I)y alUgory wc improve upon the me-
lancholy and disaster of a narrative, and sometimes,
when we think it for our purpose, we disguise our
meanini;" hy an opposition of terms, and sometimes
without venturing upon a (hrett detail ;* all which
manm-rs 1 have already mentioned. There is an
arch, deriding manner, somewhat between irony and
sarcasm, which a speaker may sometimes employ to
good purpose. When we express one word by se-
veral, we call it a periphrase ; and sometimes this
manner is necessary, especially when we are obliged
to mention some indecent action. Thus Salust
speaks of an affair of nature. Sometimes a peri-
phrase is introduced by way of ornament only. Thus
A^irgil calls the night.

The time when mortals sink from toil and woe,

To the best blessing that the gods bestow.
This manner is pretty frequent amongst orators, but
without so much circumlocution, which is the term
we give to every thing that for ornament sake is ex-
pressed in more words than it properly requires.
This term however gives us no very advantageous
idea of a style, because it is apt to run into verbo-
sity, which is always a blemish.

The hyperbate is often necessary to the beauty of
style and composition, and has great merit in both.
It very often happens that a style becomes rugged,
harsh, loose, and yawning, by placing every word in
in its order, and by unnaturally forcing it to connect
with the word immediately preceding. We are
therefore to keep back one word, and to push for-
ward another, in the same manner as workmen, in

* I have not thought proper to translate some part that follows
in the original, as being either of no manner of use, or only a repe-
tition of what has been «aid before.

building,

UookVIII. of ELOaUENCE. 145

l)uil(ling', place the rough stones as best suits tlieir
sliape and figure ; tor it is impossible for us to cut
and chissel them in such a manner as to stand in ex-
act rank and file : no ; wc must mak<' use. of each
just as it comes to our hand, and lay it where it fits
best ;* and indeed inexpressible is the harmony of
style that arises from th(^ judieioiis use of this figure.
So sensible ^vas I'lato of this beautiful effect, and so
intent was he on making experiments upon the fi-
gure, that he several times changed the order of the
four words which begin the best of all his composi-
tions.f and they are to this day, ditiercntly placed
in different editions.

The anastrophe inverts the order of two words, as
in Latin we say, meeuni and tecum. The poets+
sometimes not only displace, but divide, a word:
but this is not allowable in prose.

1 have reserved the hyperbole to the last, because
it is the boldest of all ornamental tropes, and its
effect lies both in exaggerating and diminishing, by
superadding fiction. 'Ifiis is done se\eral ways.
I'irst, by saying more than what is fact ; as when

* Though the F'.nglish lanouaee admits of but few hvperbales,
yet it does of some, with a very fine effect. I shall give one for all,
from our translation of the Bible ; for Tophet is ordained ef old,
yea, for the king it is prepared. Isa, xxx. 33. The reader will
find many examples of tlie same kind in our Bible ; where this
manner gives the text iauuuch more serious and earnest air than if
the words stood ift ^.herr natural order. It has a very beautiful
en'cct in Engl is(i'pl.ormcnp,cv aqd compositions of all kinds. Mr.
Pope, on one occa'sron, has rnade use of it with inimitable effect
irr hig inscrtptfen-untSn Mr. "Rbwi^'s monument, wher^, comparing
hitfi/to SbakespRac, iia sAye;:':: '[

, ■ , O skjU'ttn^t liirrv. to d^\Tj7the tender tear,
. .r,or. ijever breast felt p3ssio,nmore sincere.
\^ . "^'^Ith noblfjr sentiments to fire the brave,

•■'^ ' ' For rf^ver'Ifriton mote Si^tJaiti'd a slave.

,+ Meariin|f his tccatiie.on goVernmerrt;
X As Vicgil sayS;,

-.^ y ,^' Hyperboreo'fic.ptufn subj^n ta tricni.
!or subjocta septemtrion'., and notwithstanding what my author ob-
serves,* tVarg says,- -Pet mihigruum ferecis ; and perque jucun-
dum. Some other examples may be.found in lus writings.

e y-o!.'. ir. i. Ci^«'n>

Ii6 QUIN'CTILT AX'S INSTITUTES Book VI 11.

Cicero says, that Antony filled ius own bosom, and
all the tribunal, with intli^ested morsels, smelling
rank of wine. And \ irLMi, two rocks that threat
the sky. Or the hyperbole may be ejected by
heighteninp: ihe object with a simile. Thus Virgil:

You'd think the Cyelades had floated round.
Or by comparison : Swifter tar than wings of lights
ning. Or l)y marks; as Virgil says of Lamiila,

Swift would she fly above unbending corn.
Or by a metaphor, as in the last exam])le, she flew.
The hyperbole is sometimes heightened by an addi-
tion ; as in the following passage of Cicero, speak-^
ing of Antony : Was Charibdis herself so voracious ?
What do 1 talk of Charibdis ! Charibdis, if ever
there was a C haribdis, was but a single monster,
By heavens ! it seemed impossible for the ocean it-
self so quickly to swallow down so much wealth, so
widely separated, and situated in so very various
places ! But the finest hyperbole I meet with is iq
Find '.r, that prince of the lyric poets, in one of his
books which he inscribes. The Hymn. There, in
order to sliow the fury with which Hercules attacked
the JMeropeans, who are said to have inhabited the
isle of Coos, he savs, that " he was not to be com-
pared to a fire, nor to the winds, nor to the sea," as
if the fury of these elements was unequal to his ;
but that " He was like a thunderbolt." Cicero
imitated this manner in his invective against Verres:
" There hved in Sicily, says he, after a long dis-
tance of time, not a Dionysius, nor a I halaris
(though that island formerly was fertile in cruel ty-
rants), but a new and a monstious prodigy of ty-
ranny, who was a compound of all their inhuman
ferocities. For, I venture to sav, that neither Cha-
nbdis nor Scylla was ever so destructive to sailors,
as Verres was to Sicily."

There are as many manners of diminishing an
object. Thus Virgil makes a shepherd say, to shew
the leanness of his flock.

Scarce

Book VIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 147

Scarce can their boiies and hides together stick.
And C'icero has a jocuhir epigram, "■ That his friend
Varius had a farm, which was so small, that he
could put it into a sling, and throw it away."* But,
even in this figure, we ought not to overdo ; for,
though an hyperbole is more than what we can be-
lieve, yet it ought not to be more than we can con-
ceive : for that leads us into aiTectation. I should
tire both my reader and myself, were 1 to recount
all the errors that spring from this abuse ; especially
as they are so well observed and known. It is suf-
ficient to inform him, that though an hyperbole is a
lye, yet ought it not to be a gross imposition. We,
therefore, ought to be the more careful how far we
push a way of speaking, in. which we are sensible,
we are not believed. Tor very often the hyperbole
raises a laugh of approbation, if it is witty ; and of
contempt, if it is extravagant. Now, both learned
and unlearned have, in common with one another,
a passion for either aggravating or lessening things :
and few are contented with representing things as
they really are. The hyperbole, however, passes
pretty well off, w^hen we are not too ix)sitive in af-
firming it. In short, the hyperbole has a very good
effect, when the thing we are describing or handling
is very extraordinary ; for then an allowance is
made, because it is not to be expressed by ordinary
language, and in such cases it is better to overdo
than to underdo. But I here take my leave of
this subject, because I hav(; handled it at large
in my Treatise concerning the causes of Corrupted
Eloquence.

• This is at best a very jinplini^ epipjram, and is as follows :
Fundum varro vocat, quern passim mittere sun 'a,
Ni lapis exciderit, qua cava funda patet.
The roader here is to observe, that a farm is called fundus, and a
slins; funda ; but I d;i not remember, that commentators have t;il;cr\
notice, that tha Romans slitted the part of the sling in which the
stone lay before they discharged it.

QITNCTILIAN'S

aUINCTIILIAK'S INSTITUTES

OF

ELOQUENCE.

BOOK IX.

CHAP. I.

OF FIGURES, liOW THEY DIFFER FROM TROPES ; AND THE
PROPERTIES OF FIGURES.

Having, in the former book, discussed the
subject of tropes, it naturally follows, that 1 am here
to treat of figures, though some confound them toge-
ther : for iis their name implies, there is a particular
method of forming tropes ; and they are termed
movements, because they alter the plain course of
the style ; both which are the properties of figures
hkewise. The uses of both, too, are pretty much
alike, for they give both greatei" energy and greater
beauty to things. Nay, some, amongst whom is
Caius Artorius Proculus, have called all tropes
figures. The truth is, they resemble one another so
nearly, that the difference is not instantly perceiv-
able ; there is, therefore,* the more reason why we
should carefullv distinguish them.

*• o

* There are a few sentences here in the original which I have
not translated : and 1 have taken the same liberties in other parts
of this chapter, which I thought contained no more than a repeti-
tion of what has gone before.

A trope,

SooK IX. OF ELOQUENCfe. 1 49

A trope, therefore, is a transition from a word's
natural and original signification to another, for the
sake of ornament. Or, as grammarians generally de-
fine it, it is an expression carried from a place where
it is proper, to a place, where it is not proper.

A figure, as the word itself implies, is a certain
form of style different from the common and obvi-
ous manner of speaking.

Upon the whole, therefore, tropes substitute some
words tor others ; while nothing of this kind is ne-
cessary in figures ; for they may retain the pro})er
expressiwis, without departing from their natural
<.)rder. But 1 am to remark, that very often a trope
and a figure meet in the same sentence. For
a style may be figured in metaphorical, as well
as proper, expressions. Authors, however, greatly
difier with regard to the word itself, as well as about
the kinds, and the different species of figures. Let
us, therefore, consider in what sense we are to under-
stand a figure. A figure is applicable in two man-
ners ; first, to the form of a sentence, be that form
what it will. For it is with figures, as with men's
persons ; because, however difierently they may be
formed in particular features and limbs, yet still their
general outward form is the same. The next man-
ner (and indeed ^^•hat we properly call a figure) is
where we deviate in sense and style, for good rea-
.sons, from the common and simple manner, just as
we throw our bodies into the different positions of
sitting, lying, or lookifig behind. For, when a
speaker, or a writer, makes a too constant and fre-
quent use of the same cases, tenses, numbers, or
even cadences, we desire him to vary his figures, in
<^)rder to avoid a sameness of style. Now, by this^,
way of speaking, we supjjose, that every style and '
manner has a figure annexed to it; and indeed, in
tlie first sense of figures 1 have laid down, there is

nothing

130 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX-

nothing that we do not suppose to be figured. But,
if w^ considi.T figvnes as the airs and attitudes of our
thoug:htR and expressions, we shall then inelude,
within that term, every thing that either poetically I
or oratorially ditli'rs from the simple and obvious \
fnanner of speakinc;. In this sense, we may ven-
ture to say, that tlu re is a stjle which is void of fi-
gures (and that, of itself, is no small blemish), and a
style that is figured. Upon the \vhole, therefore,
*' a figure is an extraordinary manner of speaking
by a certain art."

It is generally agreed, there are two sorts of fi-
gures : one, of meaning, or sentiment ; the other, of
words, or style : which form the ground-work of
eloquence itself But, as it is natural for the mind
to conceive ideas before they are expressed, 1 will
therefore begin with the sentimental figures, the uti-
lity of which is so extensive and various, that they
form the most beautiful part of every kind of elo-
quence. It is true, we may not think it very mate-
rial by what figure we speak, when we want to esta-
blish a proof, yet still they are useful for rendering
what we say credible, and for, as it were, insensibly
stealing upon the minds of the judges, where they
are least guarded.

Now in a combat, where the strokes are direct,
one, by seeing the simple motion of his adversary's
wrist, can easily pany and return them ; but it is
not so easy to guard against back blows and feints :
for it is a great point of art to aim at a place dif-
ferent from M'hatyou intend to strike. In like man-
ner, an orator, who is void of art, must rely upon
his strength, his size, and his fury; but when he
knows the feints and the shifts of his art, he can
then attack and reach his enemy in the belly or the
side, and while he is obliging him to guard one
place, he can strike him in another, and all this by

3 the

Book IX. OF ELOQUENXE. 151

the very turn of his eye. Indeed, nothing niakes a
greater injpression upon the aiiectif ns, than this
manner does, lor it' the eyes, the look, and tlie
gesture have a powerful ellect upon tiie niind of the
hearer, how wuch more powerful must the air of" a
discourse be, when conformable to the eflects it
should {)rojluce ? figures are of vast sers'^ice in ren-
dering eloquence agieeable ; in recommending the
manners of the pleader; in prepossessing an audi-
ence in his favour ; in relieving the fatigue of a
court by their variety ; and by throwing every object
into the most ai^reeable and least offensive light.

But, before 1 come to the application of figures,
I cannot agree in thinking them so very nu-
merous, as some do. For 1 pay no regard to those
terms, that are so readily invented by the Greeks,
Above all, 1 reject the opinion of those, who say,
there are as many figures as there are sentiments.

Cicero, when he treats of this subject, compre-
hends, under the word figure, every thing that can
give to a style lustre and ornament, and m my oj)i-
nion, he observes a certain middle way, in not ad-
mitting, as many do, that every style is figured, and . X/
by admitting cniy that style to be so, that deviates ^\
from the common usage of speaking. But he ranks, •
as fisrures, every manner of speaking, that is most
effectual for illustrating a subject, and moving the
affections of the judges. 1 shall, that I may not
deprive my reader of so great an authority, here give
him his words upon this subject, as we have them
in his third book of his treatise concerning an ora-
tor. " In the thread of a discourse, after we have
consulted the smoothness of periods, and the har-
mony of numbers, I have mentioned, the whole style
is to be marked and bespanoled by the brilliancy of
sentiment and expression, lor the figure, by which •"
we dwell upon one subject, is of great efficacy, as it is

a perspicuous

15i QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

H pi^rspiniDiis illustration, and -a lively representation
of facts, in liicsanie manner in whieli they happened.
This is very serviceable, iiist in representing a
matter, tlu-n in illustratin^j; that rc^presentation ; and
iik«,'\visc in hei^iiiening it, so that uith our hi-arers
ue make llie nu.-;t of our siihjeet, that is in the
j}OU er ot ^^ ords to make. Opi>osite to this figure is
precision, which ratner gives a hint to the under-
8tandinu; more than vou say : as is likewise brevity,
which consists in a distinct conciseness, togethev
with extenuation and illusion, which falls pretty
^^cll in with Cyesar's rules. Then comes digression,
which as it is dclightrul, your resuming your sub-
ject ought to be pro);'-r and agreeable ; then follows
the proposition of what you are to speak to; then its
disjunction from what hath been already said ; then
you return to what you proposed ; then you re-ca-
pitulate; then you draw from the premises your
conclusion ; then you enhance or evade the truth,
according as your intention is to exaggerate or exte-
nuate ; then you examine, and, what is very near
akin to examination, you expostulate and answer
upon your own principles ; then comts that bewitch-
ing figure of irony, by which a dilferent thing is un-
derstood from w hat is expressed, a figure that has the
most agreeable effects in a discourse, w hen intro-
duced not by way of argument, but entertainment ;
then comes dubitation ; then distribution ; then the
connexion of what you have either said, or are to
say ; or when you are to thnnv any thing off from
yourself, premunition regards die point you attempt
to prove ; then there is throwing the blame upon
another; then there is communication, which is a
kind of deliberation, with those to v\ hom you speak ;
then there is the imitation of morals and life, eithef
when you name or conceal the charactt^rs they be-
long to ; this is a great embellishment to a speech,

1 and .

feooKlX. OF ELOQUENCE. l63

and is chiefly calculated for conciliating tlie favour,
but often for moving the piissions, of the audience.
Then follows an imaginary induction of real persons,
which is perhaps the most heightened figure of exag-
geration ; then description ; then the introduction of a
mistake ; the impulsion to cheerfulness ; then pre-
possession • together with those two figures that
have so strong an etiect, I mean comparison and ex-
ample ; then comes unravelling, interruption, strain-
ing, suj)pression of what you insinuate you know ;
commendation ; a more free, and even an unbridled
style, when you want to exaggerate, and give an
€'mphasis to your expression ; then comes anger,
chiding, promising, deprecating, beseeching ; a short
deviati<jn from your subject, but not of the nature
with digression, which 1 have already mentioned ;
then apologizing, conciliating, blaming, wishing,
and execrating. It is chiefly by these figures that
sentiments give beauty to eloquence. As to the
figures of style, they serve as in the case of fencing,
either to shew how well the master can aim, and, as
it were, fetch a blow ; or how gracefully he can
handle his ^vcapons. For, the repetition of a word
sometimes gives force to a style, at other times it
shews wit, as does a small variation or alteration of
a word. A frecjuent repetition of the same word
from the beginning, or the' resuming it in the close
of a speech ; the giving force to words, and then
making the same words meet, adjoin, and proceed,
together with putting a certain mark of distinction
upon n particula]- winxl, which you often resume, and
those which have the like terminations, and tlie like
cadences ; those w hich tbrm the respondent parts of
a period, and have a mutual relation to one another.
I'here is likewise a certain gradation and conver-
sion, with a well-judged transposition of words ;
there is then their opposition, and detachment,

from

154. QUIKCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book TX.

from one anotluT, by throwin;^ out conjunctive
particles; then evasion, reprehension, exclamation,
diminution ; and what is laid down in many
cases, and what is drawn from particular pro|)0-
siti<ms, and applied to particular subjects ; and the
method of layinp: down a proposition, together with
subiiividing it into several parts ; and concession,
and another kind oF doubting and surprize, and enu-
mer.iting, and another connexion, and dissipating,
continuity, and interruption, and representation, and
answering one's self, and immutation, and disputa-
tion, and order and relation, and digression and pre-
cision. Those, or the like, perhaps there may be
more, are the figures that illustrate the sentiments
and the style of a speech."

The same great master has in his book, intitled
the Orator, inserted a great deal, but not all, of the
above quotation. It is, however, more distinctly
marked, because he adds a third topic after the fi-
gures of style and sentiments, which third topic, as
he himself says (addressing himself to Brutus), be-
longs to other properties of eloquence.

*' As to the ornaments, says he, that arise from
the artificial disposition of words, they reflect great
lustre and great ornament upon a style. 1 hey are
like the principal decorations of a spacious theatre
or court, that strike us not merely as they are orna-
mental, but because they are distinguishedly so.
The figures of words have the same effects ; they
give light, and, as it were, a distinguishing beauty
to a style, either by redoubling or repeating words,
or by making them undergo a slight alteration, or by
beginning or ending several successive periods with
the same word ; orw'hen the same word occurs in a
period once, and agrain ; or when words that have
similar bes-innincjs and endinsr are thrown together:
or when the meaning of a word is altered, even in

tlie

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. \55

the same period ; or wlicn the various methods are
practised for opposing one word to another; or when
the energy of a period tcradually rises to its close;
or wl\en, to render it more rapid, we throw out the
conjunctives ; or when we discover, by our manner,
the reason of our omittinc; any circumstance ; or
when we correct, and, as it were, blame ourselves ;
when we fall into exclamations, either of surprize,
or concern ; or when we vary the same word through
different cases. All this is done by means of verbal
figures.

" But the effects of sentimental figures are much
more powerful ; and because Demosthenes chiefly
attached himself to them, some think that to be the
characteristical excellency of all his eloquence ; for,
to say the truth, he seldom touches upon a point
Tvithout giving it the utmost beauty and force of
sentiment. And, indeed, the true property of elo-
quence is nothing else but the giving a beautiful
lustre to all, or most part of our sentiments. But,
as you, my friend, are so great a master of that ex-
cellency, there is no occasion for me to enter into
any minuteness or detail of examples. It is enough,
if I have touched upon the head.

Let, therefore, the orator I wish to form, know
how to vary one and the same thing, in several man-
ners, to close with, and to dwell upon, the same sen-
timent ; let him know how, sometimes, to extenu-
ate, sometimes to ridicule, to make his discourse
-take a certain bias, and his sentiments but just
glance upon his subject, that he may elude a diffi-
culty ; let him lay down the matter lie is to speak
to ; then having discussed it, bring it to a certain
point ; then recovering himself, make a short sum-
mary of what he had sdid before, and from thence
form a rational conclusion ; let him press his adver-
sary by questioning him, that he may the better con-
fute

loG QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book tX*

l\iW him by answering his own questions. Let him
know lu)W to practise irony, by making his vvorck
ditler from what is plainly liis meaning; let him he--
sitate in what manner, and in what order he is to
speak ; let him make his proper divisions, laying
dow n sojin' iK>ints, and omitting otliers. Let him
take such precautions as that, it" the omission or any
other slip is discovered, he may turn all the blame
upon his antagonist. Let him affect such a cont'u*
sion, as to seem to advise with the judges, nay^
with his opponent ; let him know how to describe
the characters and conversation of mankind, and to
give a language even to the unite creation ; when it
is for his purpose, to divert the attention of the au-
dience by frequent returns of wit and humour; to
obviate objections beforehand, to apply similies and
examples, to make a proper division, to check his
opponent for his intrusion, to pretend to conceal
some things, to acknowledge his apprehensions, to
speak with freedom and independency, to put him-
self even ill a passion; sometimes to reproach, to
deprecate, to supplicate, to apologize; to digress a
litlle, to wish, to execrate, and to assume an air of
lumiliarity with his judges.

*' Let an orator likewise know how to use the
other powers of eloquence ; let hiin be concise,
where conciseness is proper ; let him paint a thing
by his expressions ; let him make use of exaggera-
tions ; let his emphasis often contain more meaning
than his words ; let him frequently be good-hu-
moured, and fall into an imitation of life and man-
ners. By such means alone (and you see how va-
rious and extensive they are), all the powers of elo-
quence can be exerted."

CHAP. IL

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 1^7

CHAP. II.

CONCERNING SENTIMENTAL FIGURES.

Cicero has here laid clown rules for those who
shall take the doctrine of verbal and sentimental
^gures in its large extent ; nor, indeed, dare 1
say tliat it is possible for me to imj^ove upon what
he has laid down, but 1 hope the reader will apply
them to the principles of my work. For my pur-
pose is to treat of those sentimental figures which
deviate from the plain, simple, manner of e:vprcs-
sion. And for this 1 have the authority of many emi-
nent authors. As to the other manners which Cicero
has laid down, 1 mean even those which throw the
greatest lustre upon a style ; they are so much the
properties of eloquence, that, without them, it is im-
possible we can have any idea of speaking in public.
For how can a judge be informctl w ithout " a clear
explanation, jHoposition, state, definition, and divi-
sion of the case ? The opinion of the pleader, a
proper deduction by reasoning, precaution, simili-
tude, example, distribution, interruption, checking,
labouring, apologizing, and attacking ? ' In short,
what will remain to eloquence if we strip her of the
powers of heightening and extenuating? The first
requires an emphasis, which conveys more meaning
than you express ; it exceeds and exaggerates the
truth, while the latter employs only alleviation and
deprecation. On such occasions, can the passions
be roused without a freedom of voice, and a bold-
ness of resentment, without reproaching, vowing,
and execrating ? Or can they be calmed, but by
applying the lenient arts of insinuatiiin, reconcile-
pient, and good-humour"

Can

\5S QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

Can an orator ti^ivc d< light, nay, can he give one
proof of liis bein^ a man of parts, unless ho knou s how
to make an impression sometimes by repeating;, some-
times by dwelling upon what he says? Unh^ss he
knows the art of digressing from his subject, and of
bringing tluitdigrc.sioii home to his |)urpose? To re-
move an imputation from his chent, and to throw it
on another? Unless he has judgment to discern the
points he ought to admit, and those he ought to dis-
pise ? In such arts lie the spirit and action of
eloquence: if you remove them, she is no better
tlian a bodv without animation. But we must not
only be sensible of their necessity, but we ODght to
know how to employ and to vary them, so as that
our pleading, like a well-tuned instrument of music,
may communicate delight from every sound.

Such beauties, however, are generally natural and
obvious ; and are so far from disguising, that they
avow, their effects. But, as I have already ob-
served, they admit of figures: for instance, nothing
is more common than to ask a question of, or to ex-
amine a person ; for we use the former of those terms
when we want to be informed of a fact, and the other
when we want to establish a reasoning ; though
sometimes they are used indifferently. But, in what-
ever sense we take the words, the matter itself of
questioning admiis of various figures.

To begin, then, from those that render a proof
more keen and strong, which 1 first took notice of.
This may be done in a very simple itianner ; as when
Virgil makes Venus say to yEneas,
But whence are you? What country claims your birth?
13ut there is another manner, which is figured, and is
not employed by way of informing ourselves, but of
confounding our opponent: thus, Cicero says, For
what, O Tubero, was the meaning of thy naked
sword in the ranks of Pharsalia ? And, Hovv far wilt

thou,

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. \59

thou, O Catiline, abuse our patience ? Art thou in-
sensible thy practices are detected? And so through
the whole of that paragraph. How much more spirit-
ed is this manner than it' Cicero had said, You have

long abused our patience your practices are all

detected. —

Sometimes we put a question that we know can-
not be denied: thus Cicero, Has Cains Fidiculanus
Falcula at last finished his pleading ? When it is
difficult to account lor a thing, it is common for us
to say. How could that happen ? How is it possible?
Sometimes we put a question from merely to make
another person odious; for example, Seneca makes
Medea say. Whither, O whither, would you have
me go ? Sometimes, in order to raise pity. Thus,
Virgil makes Sinon say,

Alas! what earth remains, what sea

Is open to receive unhappy me ?
Sometimes we make use of the same manner, for
pressing our adversary, and, in some sort, forcing
him to understand us: thus, as Asinius said. Do
you hear me? It is the madness, the madness, I say,
of the testator, and not his injustice, that we
blame.

The whole of this manner admits of great variety.
For it serves to mark indignation: thus Virgil,

And Juno's name who henceforth will adore?
And admiration,

Of gold, thou hunger fell !

To what wilt thou not mortal minds impel ?
Sometimes it denotes a keenness of resolution ; as
Virgil makes Dido say.

Shall we not arm, not rush from everv street,

To follow, sink, and burn the traitor's fleet ?
Sometimes we put a question to ourselves; What,
then, shall I do ? Says a character in Terence, Am I
liot to go, though she sends for me ?

Answers

160 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES. Book IX.

Answers likewise admit of heincj^timirccl : for ex-
ample, when an indirret answer is given to a ques-
tion, and that for an useful purpose, because it ag-
gravates a criminars guilt. Thus, a witness being
ask I'd, \\ hether tlie aeeused party had ever whip-
ped him with rods? Though 1 was innocent, an-
swered the witness. \Vc very often make use of
this manner in defending ourselves. IJave you not
killed a man ? The answer is, A robber. Do you
possess an estate ? The answer is, My own. Some-
times we employ it at once to excuse and to ac-
knowledge an action ; thus, Virgil makes one of his
shepherds say,

Did I not see you, wretch, a goat surprize ?
The other's answer is,

Its master gave it as my lawful prize.
Akin to this manner is that which I have treated of
elsewhere ; I mean, an arch way of answering, so as
to raise a lau_ih. For if we take such answers se-
riously, we must hold them for confessions.

There is likewise an agreeablevvay of one question-
ing and answering hmiself. Says Cicero, in his
pleading. for Ligarius, " Before \\ horn do 1 own this ?
Why, before the man, who, though he knew it, yet,
without my appearing before him in person, restored
me to the bosom of my country." There is another
-manner employed in his pleading for Caelius ; " I
may be told, Is it thus you train up young gentle-
men ? Did his father recommend him, when a boy,
and deliver him to you, that you might initiate his
youth into lewdness and pleasures ? Wilt thou be
an advocate for such a course of life and studies ?'*
To this he immediately makes the fine answer that
begins with, " >,ly lords, if there is a man endued
with such fortitude of soul, with such dispositions
to virtue and chastity, as to reject all pleasures, as to
finish his career of life with the toils of the bodv,

and

Book IX. OF ELOQUENXE. I6l

and the pursuits of the mind." There is a manner
diflerent from this, when we question and answer
for another person at the same time ; Had you no
house ? But you had. Had you ready money ? But
you was in want. Some call this, a figure by sub-
jection.

The same manner is effected by comparison ;
Whether was it more easy for him to give an account
of his opinion? This figure sometimes is quick,
and sometimes lengthened ; it is applied sometimes
to one thing, sometimes to several.

The prolepsis or anticipation, by which I mean
our answering objections which we foresee, is of
great service in a pleading. This figure may prevail
through all the parts of a discourse, but it is chiefly
proper for the introduction. But though it is only
of one kind, yet it admits of several subdivisions.
Sometimes it enters by way of precaution, as when
Cicero, in his pleading against Caecilius, anticipates,
as it were, the objection, which he foresaw would
arise from his commencing impeacher, after having
always acted as a defender. Sometimes, by way of
confession ; as when the same great orator confesses
that he blames his client, Rabirius Posthumus, for
having entrusted the king with money. Sometimes,
by way of forewarning ; 1 say it not to exaggerate
his crime. Sometimes, by way of acknowledg-
ment ; 1 intreatyou, pardon me, if 1 have digressed
too far. Very often by way of preparation ; as when
we account at large for what we either have done or
are to do. This manner of anticipation serves like-
wise to fix the property and energy of a word :
Though that was not the penalty, but the prohiljitiou
of guilt. Sometimes it is employed by way of re-
proach: My countrymen, if such persons deserve to
be called my countrymen.

VOL. II. Ai Hesitation

l62 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book JX.

Hesitation may be reckoned amongst the figures
of persuasion ; when we pretend, for example, to bo
in doubt, wlicre we are to begin, where wo are to
end, what we are cliiefly to insist upon, and what
we ought to suppress. Many instances of this
occur; the follownig may suffice: "For my own
part, my lords, I know not to what hand to turn me;
shall I disown the corruption of the judges ?" This
manner may have a retrospect, by our pretending to
have been in doubt.

Consultation is a figure, or a manner, pretty much
of the same kind. Sometimes we consult our very
adverearies; thus, says Domitius Afer, in his plead-
ing for Cloantilla : '* But the trembling lady knows
not how far a woman ought to venture, or what is
decent for a wife to do, in this her forlorn condition ;
you are perhaps assembled to extricate her from her
miseries, yea, you, her brother, ye, the friends of her
father, to what will you advise her ?" We very often
apply to the judges for advice ; " What, my lords,
will you counsel us to do? 1 appeal to the bench
how we ought to have acted." Thus Cato, " Suppose
yourselves to have been in the same situation, what
could you have done else?" And in another place,
" Suppose, my lords, that the matter touches us all,
and that you are to give your verdict upon this affair?"

Sometimes, in this course of deliberation, we throw
out something that is unexpected ; and this, of itself,
is a figure ; thus, Cicero, in his invective against Ver-
res, says, " Well, my lords, what follows^ M^hat is
your opinion ? What do you look for? Some petty
thief? Some trifling plunder?" Then when he has
kept the minds of the judges long in doubt, he brings
a cliarire of a much more atrocious nature.

Celsiis calls this figure a suspense. Now, it is of
two kinds; for often, when we have raised the fx-

pectation

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 1 63

prctation of the hearer of some important, some
dreadful eharne, we bring it do\vn to someliiiiig tliat-
is trifhng and inoffensive. But as this is not done
in the wav of advising:, some call it the fiijure of
surprize. Hut I am against its being ranked as a
figure at all ; even when we pretend that something
has happened contrary to our expectation ; as when
IVlliu says, " Never did I believe, my lords, that
when Scaurus was brought before yonr tribunal, 1
should be obliged to prav, that the "reat interest he

....

has may have no influence in his trial."

Permission is almost of the same kind with advis-
ing, because, th(M'e, we leave certain matters to be
estimated by the judges, and sometimes by our op-
ponents ; thus, Calvus says to Vatinius, " Fut on a
brow, and affirm tliat you deserve the pi'aetorship
better than Cato does."

But the figures that are proper for moving the
passions, are chiefly effected by fiction. For an
orator very often feigns himself to be angry, glad,
fearful, surprized, pained, offended, and anxious;
hence Cicero says, in his pleading for Milo, " Thus
I recover my spirits, I am acquitted.'^ Hence are the
expressions of, " The affair goes finely on." And,
" What madness is this 1" " O times ] O manners !
Wretch that I am ! JNIy tears are exhausted, but
my heart is oppressed. Gape, earth, and swallow
me." Some, however, think the latter an exclama-
tion, nnil rank it amon2;st the figures of speech.

^Vhen such expressions arise from real sorrow,
they are not to be looked upon as fio;ures; as un-
doubtedly they are, when they are no other than
artful fictions. We may say the same thing of bold-
ness, or freedom in speaking ; for, w hen it is real,
nothinp; can be more removed from a figure. Yet
often this manner is made use of to convey an artful
adulation. Thus Cicero, in his pleading for Liga-

rius.

16 i- QIIXCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

rius, says, *' After t\\c war, O Caesar, was begun,
after it^ oju'mtioiis wcw iulvaiiccd, without coni|)ui-
sion, it bciun tlic ri'sult of n»y own juclgnitiil unci
cljoici*, 1 onlistcJ ujyself with that party which took
arms against you." Here, this bold avowal, at the
same tiuie that it does service to Ligarius, bestows
the highest compliinont that can be imagined upon
Caesar's clemencv. Afterwards, with what wonder-
ful art does he equally establish the merit of both
parties, and, at the same time, win over Ca;sar, who,
he thouL;ht, was at the head of the worst, when he
says, "• Jkit what, my friend, did we do, but wish to
be masters of Caesar, as he now is of us ?"

In personating characters, or in the prosopopoeia,
a bolder manner, and, as Cicero thinks, a stronger
exertion, is recpiired: and, indeed, they give won-
derful variety and spirit to a pleading. Here we are
at liberty to suppose our adversaries reasoning with
themselves, and to display their thoughts; but, if we
would succeed here, we are to keep within the
bounds of ])roljability, by making them speak what
it is not unreasonable to beheve they think. We
are likewise to observe the same rule in all our fic-
titious conversation with others, and of others
amongst themselves; and we are to introduce proper
characters, when we apply this manner to the pur-
poses of persuading, reproaching, complaining, prais-
ing, and pitying.

Nay, an orator is at liberty sometimes to employ
this figure either in bringing gods from heaven, or
ghosts from hell ; and to give a voice to towns and
cities. Some confine this figure entirely to the
introduction of supposititious persons and speeches.
As to what is supposed to pass between man and
man, they" call it dialogue, and we call it conversa-
tion. But 1 have ranked both those manners, ac-
cording to the received practice, under the same

head.

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 1^.5

head. For we certainly are as much nt liberty to
suppose characters as speeches.

But, when a prosopopoeia seems a httle too bold,
it may be softened in the following manner: " l-br,
should mv country, that country which to me is
far dearer than life; should all Italy, should all the
frame of this constitution, thus accost nie: Marcus
Tullius, what are you about ?'^ In the same plead-
ing Cicero introduces a still bolder manner : " Hear,
O Catiline, the manner in which we may interpret
tlie expressive silence of this parent ; hear the words
in which we may suppose her to accost you : from
thee, for these many years, have all ofttnces sprung;
without thee has no crime had a being."

A fine effect likewise follows, when we imagine
things and persons to be before our eyes, or when
we seem surprized that our opponents and judges
do not see what we see. For example, 1 see him, my
Lords; do you not think, my Lords, you see him?
But this manner requires the utmost powers of elo-
quence. For, whatever is incredible or fictitious in
its own nature, is either striking by being beyond,
or ridiculous by being against, credibility.

Imaginary writings, as well as speeches, are some-
times introduced. Thus Asinius, in his pleading
for Lihurnia, introduces an imaginary testament in
this manner: " 1 devise to my mother, because in
life I loved her, and she me, above all other ob-
jects ; because she seemed to live only on my
account, and because she twice saved my life in one
day, — XOTH I ng." This manner of itself is a figure,
and is doubly so when, as in this cause, it is intro-
duced in imitation of another testament, which ran
in the following manner: "I devise to Publius
Novanius Gallio, because I am obliged and indebted
to him in the highest degree, and because he has
«J^^ ays expressed tluj greatest esteem and regard for

me» —

IGG QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES • Book IX.

me, — MY wiioi.r, estate." Tliis manner liore be-
comes a parody, a term that is applied to tunes com-
posed in imitation of other tunes; and, from tiience,
to the imitation of verses and speeclies.

An orator very often invents forms, as Virgil does
one for tame; and IVodieus, as he is represented by
Xenoplion, for pleasure and virtue : and as I'nnius,
in OIK- of his Satires, brings in a com])at between
life and death, sometimes an indefinite person is
introduced speaking: Here, some may say ; Here,
one objects. Common conversation may be intro-
duced without any person at all. Thus Virgil,
describing the discourse of the Trojan, says,

Here Phoenix, here Achilles, made abode ;
Here join VI the battles, there the navy rode.

This manner is effected by suppressing the \^ ords,
isuch a man, or, such men said.

The prosopopoeia is sometimes converted into a
kind of a narrative. Historians often introduce ob-
li(jue speeches. Thus Livy, in his first book, after
tellino- us that Romulus sent out ambassadors to
procure alliances for his infant state, goes on, with-
out expressing the (they said) " that cities, like
other things, were inconsiderable in their beginning,
but that those which were supported by valour, and
favoured by the Gods, rise at last to great power and
j^reat s:lor^■."

The apostrophe, or the manner whicli turns from
a judge to another person, has a wonderiul effect,
especially in attacking our adversaries; as when
Cicero says, " What, O Tubero, was the meaning
of thy naked sword in the ranks of Pharsaiia?"
Or when we employ it by way of invocation: " Tor
you, ye Alban mounts and groves, I implore and
attest." Or by way of imploring to excite hatred ;
Ye Porcian, ye Sempronian laws ! But the prosopo-

pifiia

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. O 167

pctia may be employed in diverting a hearer from
Uie matter in hand. Thus Virgil makes Dido say,
liaste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe;
Tell him, 1 did not with the Grecians go,
Nor did my fleet against his friends employ.
Nor swore the ruin of unhappy Troy. Duyd.
This diversion is etieeted by many and various
figures. Sometimes we pretend that we expected
somewhat else ; that we feared something more con-
siderable: Sometimes that the judges, not being
fully informed, imagine the matter more important
than it is. And this is the manner employed by
Cicero, in the whole of his pleading for Cit-lius.
But that which Cicero calls the placing a thing in
our sight, is effected, not by pointing out the man-
ner in which it was transacted, but by painting the
very thing in our expressions. This is not to be
done by the lump; but by delineating every circum-
stance; but, in my last Book, I have handled this
matter. Some call this figure hypotyposis, by
which they mean, expressions that paint out the
thing in such a manner, that you may imagine you
behold it, rather than hear it. Says Cicero, '' lie
himself comes into the forum inflamed with guilt
and fury, his eyes sparkling with rage, and cruelty
painted on his countenance." We not only can
fissure to ourselves- past and present, but future
transactions. This is done with wonderful beauty
by Cicero, in his pleading for Milo, when he de-
scribes what must have happened, had Claudius
been raised to the pnetorship. l^ut this transference
of time and place, as I may call it, was more; spar-
ingly used by former orators. They generally used
it in this manner; Imagine that you behold: Or,
with Cicero, fiirure in vour minds what vou cannot
see with your eyes. But our modern orators, espe-
cially those who deal -in declamation, are nnich

bolder

158 QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

bolder in the use of tliis figure ; they charge their
images with an extravagance of action, and they are
not (l>y heavens!) animated, hut agitated. Thus
Seneca (in tlie declamation upon the controversy,
where a father being introduced by one of his sons
to a chamber, where his othiT son was in bed with
his step-mother, kills them both in the act of adul-
tery) makrs the father say, " Lead me, my son,
1 follow you; take this aged hand, direct it where
you please." Soon after he makes the son say,
*' Now behold, what for a long time you would not
believe." The father's answer is; " I see nothing,
I am surrounded with darkness, palpable darkness."
This, you may say, is hvely; Yes, but it is such a
liveliness, as is more proper for the stage than the
bar.

Under the same head of the hypotyposis some
rank a clear and expressive manner of describing a
place, though some give that the particular term of
topography.

Some, I know, call all irony, dissimulation. But
as that term, as I observed before, does not fully
comprehend what is meant by irony, I must, as
usual, adopt the Greek word. Irony, therefore, as
a figure, differs little or nothing in the kind, from
irony considered as a trope, in both cases the
meaning differs from the exjiression ; but, if we
examine narrowly, it admits of different species. In
the first place, the trope is more plain, and though
it differs in expression and meaning, yet it is not so
much disguised, and is more palpable. Thus,
Cicero says to Catiline, " being repulsed there, you
marched off to that excellent man Marcus Marcellus,
your companion." Here, as all the irony lies in the
two words, excellent man, it becomes a trope.

But where irony is a figure, the whole meaning is
disguised in a perceptible, but not a palpable man-
ner.

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. iGf)

ner. As in tlie trope one word stands for another,
so in the sense one word stands for another. Some-
times the whole proof of a cause, and all a man's
life, is a continued irony ; witness the life of So-
crates, who affected the character of a simpleton,
and an admirer of other peo;)le's wisdom, by which
he got the appellation of the ironical, or the shrewd.
Now, as a continued use of metaphors produces
an allegory, so a string of tropes produces the figure
of irony.

Some sorts of this figure, however, stand de-
tached from all tropes ; for example, that which
proceeds by way of negative, which some call an
apophasis. Thus, Cicero says, " 1 will not be too
rigorous with you, 1 will not ask what perhaps must
be granted me." And speaking of Antony, "• Why
should I disclose his decrees, his rapaciousness, the
legacies which he unjustly bestowed, and those
which he violently forced." And again, " 1 shall
not mention the first efforts of his lust ; I shall not
repeat the evidences, which prove the vast sums he
plundered." This manner is applicable to the whole
of a pleading ; as Cicero says, " Were I to handle
this matter as 1 would do, were I to answer a charge,
I should be too tedious," though he had discussed
every point of it before.

Irony likewise is practised when we affect to de-
sire or permit what we really dislike ; thus Virgil
makes Dido say,

Haste, and thy sails for lovely Latium spread.
And when we seem to compliment an adversary
with qualities that he is void of. But that kind oC
irony is most cutting, when we mention those qua-
lities which we possess, and of which our adversary
js destitute. Thus, in Virgil,

Wretch, call uie coward, when on yonder plain

Shall lie such numbers, by thy valour blain.

The

170 QUINCTILIANS INSTITUTES Book IX.

The reverse of this holds, when we, as it were, ac-
knowledixe ourselves mi iitv of crimes eoinniitted hv
our adversary, and of whieh we are really innocent.
Thus, Virgil makes Juno say to Venus,
To J lelen's arms th' adulterer 1 led.

But this contrariety, between the word and the
meaning, is apphcahle not only to persons, hut to
thino^s; as maybe seen throuuh the whole of the
introduction to ("icero's pleading for Ligarius ; and
by several exclamations we make use of, all of them
ironical, such as, Well said ! very surprizing !

A fit employment for the powers above !
says Dido to vEneas, in Virgil, And Cicero, in his
pleading for Oppius ; What wonderful affection I
what matchless kindness 1

This manner admits three kinds pretty much re-
sembling one another ; first, a confession of what can
do us no harm ; •' You have, Tubero, says Cicero
to Ligaiius, the greatest advantage which a prose-
cutor can have, the accused pleads guilty." Se-
condly, concession, by admitting through the great
confidence we have in the goodness of our cause,
something, that is very criminal, not to be so. " A
ship-master, the native of a most renowned city,
ransomed himself from the whipping-post by a sum
of money. This was compassionate." The same
orator in his pleading for Cluentius, speaking of
envy ; " Let envy, my lords, reign in the assemblies
of the people, but let her be humbled in the courts
of justice." Thirdly, consent ; as when Cicero, in
the same pleading, agrees that the judges were
corrupted. But when Ave agree to any thing, which
is to make for us, such consent is too palpable to be
called a figure, nor can wc have any such oppor-
tunity, but through the unskilfulness of our opponent.

There are some things, whieh, in irony, we aflfect
to praise ; thus, Cicero, speaking of V^c^rres plunder-
ing

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 171

ing one Apolloniusot" Drepaiium, says, " I have iio-
thiiii;to say, if you did plunder him, ijut that you
iiever did a better action in your hfe." Some-
times we aggravate crimes, when it is easy for us to
confute and deny the charge ; but this maimer is
so frequent, that 1 need j^^ive no example of it.
Sometimes, however, by this manner of exaggera-
Uon we render the charge more improbable. With
this view, (Jicero, in his pleading lor Uoscius of Ame-
riam, renders by his eloquence the crime of parri-
cide more detestable, if possible, than what the world
thinks it.

This suppressing, or as some call it, the checking
a word or a thing, is of the ironical kind, and is
expressive of passion or resentment; thus Neptune,
in N'irgil,

Whom I— but meet it is, I calm the waves.
Sometimes it expresses anxiety, or some religious
scruple ; " Can you think, my lords, that Clodius
would have dared to have even mentioned, 1 will
not say in the consulate, but in the life-time of
Milo, that Law, which, he boasts, he invented ; for

OS to us But 1 dare not speak out." There is

somewhat like this in the introduction to the jilead-
ing of Demosthenes for Ctesiphon.

This figure is likewise very proper to effect a
transition, and likewise a digression, though some
think, that a digression is not a figure, but a ])art
of a cause, l^or Cicero, in his pleading for IJalbus,
jnight, without this manntM' of checking himself,
have launched out in praise of I'ompey. As to the
s^liort, fjuick digressions mentioned by Cicero, they
admit of various manners ; the following may suffice
as examples of it. " 'J'hen Cains Vaniius, tJie same
who was killed by the slaves of Ancharis ; you
will, my lords, I hope, carefully attend to that cir-
cumstance." And .speaking of Sextiis Clodius, in

his

172 QUINCTILIAX'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

his ploadin:; for Milo, he says, "" Now he surveys
nu; with tliat look, that insolence of look, with
which lo tvory citizen he used to threaten every in-
sult," Tliere is another kind of clieck, which does
not indeed cut short the sentence, hut yet it ends it
before it comes to what appears its natural period;
says Cicero for Ligari us, " I press the younj man
too much ; he seems to be shocked." And again,
*•• Why should I go on ? you have heard the rest
from the youth himseli."

Ethoj)ceia is the imitation of another's manner,
«nd deals, as it were, with the gentler passions, for
it consists almost entirely in mimicry ; but it com-
prehends both actions and words. That which re-
lates to actions is pretty much the same with the
hypotyposis ; as to that which relates to actions, we
have an example of it in Terence, w here Phacdria
imitates Thais, when she says, " When she was a
httle child, she was conveyed hither ; my mother
has brought her up as her own ; she is called my
sister; 1 want to brink her off, that I may restore
her to her relations." Jn like manner, we imitate
even our own words and actions, by way of repre-
sentation rather than mimicry. " I told the Sicilians,
says Cicero, that they might have recourse to Quiii-
tu8 Caecilius."

There are other manners which are very agree-
able, and not only recommend a pleading by giving
it variety, but are of themselves extremely service-
able to it, by the simplicity of their appearance,
which has nothing in it that seems to be studied ; and
therefore prepossesses the judges in our favour.
Sometimes we seem to retract what we have said ;
thus Cicero, in his pleading for Ctelius, says, " But
what am 1 doing, my lords ; 1 have introduced so
grave a character that T am afraid'' -It is com-
mon with us to say, I did not reflect Or when

4 we

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 173

we seem to be at a loss, L^t me think what comes
next ; or, Have 1 omitted nothing ? 1 have one
Clime of tlie same sort to lay before you, says Ci-
cero, in one of his pleadings against Verres. And,
How one circumstance puts me in mind of another !

This manner gives us an opportunity of making
a transition more graceful. Thus, Cicero, just hap-
pening to mention the story of Piso having, while
lie was upon his tribunal, ordered a goldsmith to
make a ring for him, as if this circumstance had
started a sudden thoudit ; " This storv of the rinir,
says he, recalls to my memory a circumstance 1 had
entirely forgot : How many brave., honest mens' lin-
gers, do you think, he has strippi^d of their gold
rings ?" Sometimes we affect to be ignorant of a
thing; " JJut who was the statuary, who made

those figures ? Let me think 1 have his name

now, it was Polycletes." This serves more ])urposes
than one, as appears from the present instance ; for
while Cicero here seems to be intent on one point,
he gains another ; and while he rej)roachcs Verier
for his rage after statues and paintings, he avoids
being himself thought to have a passion for them
likewise. And when Demosthenes swears by the
ghosts of the heroes who were killed in the battles
of Marathon and Salamis, he lessens the reproach
of the public, on account of the unhappy action at
Chieronea.

A fine effect likewise proceeds from deferring to
speak of somewhat we have mentioned, and con-
siiining it, as it were, to the memory of tlie judges ;
then calliiii^r for what vou had thus consigned, and
employing- some figure (for the repetition is not a
figure), in treating certain parts of it distinctly, and
hanging upon others, till the whole of your pleading
thereby is recommended by being diversified. For
variety gives wonderful beauty to tilings ; and as

the

It^ QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

thoevcs dwell with more pleasure upon ohjects that
arc tliversified, so tlio miiid is always best pleased
when gratified with novelty.

There is a kind ot'emphasis, which may be ranked
amons^st the figures, and is formed by some expres-
sion that discovers a secret meaning. Thus, when
N'irgil makes Dido say,

INIy life I, like the savage, might have led,
Free from the woes that wait the bridal bed.

Here, though Dido seems to curse marriage, yet an
expression escapes her which discovers that she
thought a single life was only fit for the brutal part
of the creation, and not for womankind. There is
another stroke of the same kind in Ovid, where
Myrrha confesses to her nurse the passion she had
for her father.

liow happy was my mother in a spouse !
Of a like, or the same kind, is that manner, which
is now so much in use, and to which 1 now proceed,
both because it is common, and because I suppose
my readers are impatient till 1 handle it. 1 mean,
when we give a hint, so as to make our meaning
understood without expressing it; not that this hint
is to be of the ironical kind by being contrary to our
meaning, but rather somewhat that is dark, and is,
as it were, to be foimd out by the hearer. This man-
ner, as I observed already, is almost the only figure
that now prevails in schools, and hence arise our
figured declamations.

We make use of it for three reasons ; first, if what
we are to say is unsafe to botspoken without a
figure; secondly, if it would be indecent; thirdly,"
because this manner is more graceful, and more
pleasing, both by its novelty and vari-ety, than the
simple, downright manner. '

The

Rook IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 17S

The first reason freciuentlv occurs in our schoola
where wc otten suppose tyrants to resign theii
government upon terms and acts of amnesty to pass
after a civil war, which render it criminal to reproach
any person with wliat is past ; for the same laws are
supposed to prevail in the school, as in the forum.
But the figure is diflf'erently treated by the declaimer
and the orator. The declaimer may he as severe as
lie pleases against tyrants, provided what he says can
admit of a favourable interpretation, because his aim
is to avoid danger. Now, if he can skreen himself
by an artful ambiguity, he meets with applause.

In real business there is no danger of ofiendini*
against acts of amnesty ; but there may be danger of
a like, and a more difficult kind arising from the of-
fence that may be taken from what you say, by a
person in power, whom you must disoblige, before
you can gain your cause. An orator, therefore,
treads upon slippery ground, that requires all his cir-
cumspection ; for the offence is the same, whether it
is conveyed in a figure or not. And a figure ceases
to be a figure when it is pushed too far. Some, there-
fore, reject all this manner of speaking by figines
that are either understood, or obscure ; but still, i
think, we may fall u[)on a mean.

In the first i)lace, we ought to admit no figures
that are palpable, and therefore we ought carefully to
avoid all expressions that carry a doubtful or a
double meaning. Thus, a woman being suspected
of having had a criminal conversation with her
husband's f^uher ; the son, to apologize for his mar-
rying her, says, I took a wife according to my father's
liking. There is another manner which is still more
impertinent and silly, 1 mean an imbiguous disposi-
tion of words, as in the case when a father, who was
suspected of having debauched his own daughter,
2 asked

176 QUINCTILIAN'S IXSTITUTES Book IX.

asked hcv upon examination, \V ho, my child, de-
bauched you ? Her answer was, Do you not know,
my father r

The matter itself ought to direct a judge in his
conjecture, and this ought to be o\u* only aim. In
tliis case, a well-managed hesitation, backwardness,
and unwillingness to speak, has a most excellent
efl'ect, by leading the judge into an inquiry after
some circumstance or other, which, j)erhaps, he
would not have believed, had it been llatly told him,
but believes it from his fondness to think that he has
discovered it. But let this manner be ever so art-
fully managed, we ought to be sparing as to the use
of it. For figures, when too thick planted, become
too palpable, and are more provoking, though less
eflectual. A judge, then, thinks it is not modesty
but distrust of our cause, that hinders us from speak-
ing out. Jn short, this Hgure looses all effect with
the judge, unless he thinks that we are really un-
willing to speak out.

1 was once concerned in a cause, and what is
pretty extraordinary, a real cause, which was so cir-
cumstanced, that it was impossible to gain it, with-
out making use of the manner 1 am now speaking
of. A lady, my client, was accused of having
forged a will for her husband, and immediately upon
his death, of having received a conveyance of his
estate from the heirs mentioned in that will : which
last circumstance was true. Now this was done be-
cause the wife was incapable of being left her hus-
band s heir, and therefore he was obliged to make
this will in trust for her. This defence, had we
spoken it out, would have secured her life against
the law ; but then the estate must have been forfeit-
ed. My business, therefore, was to make the
judge understand the real matter of fact, without it

being

Book IX, OF ELOQUENCE. 177

being possible for those, wlio informed against the
lady, to lay any hold upon what 1 said ; arid 1 suc-
ceeded in botli. This is a matter 1 would not have
mentioned (for I hate to be thought vain), but 1 was
willing to prove, that such sort of figures are likewise
of use at the bar.

Sometimes, when you cannot prove an allegation,
insinuation, by a figure, may be of great service.
For insinuation, like a hidden weapon, sticks fast,
and it is the more difficult to pluck it out, because it is
hidden. But flat assertions are liable to a contradic-
tion, and call for proof.

The next difficulty I mentioned was our having
some powerful person, either by his character or in-
terest, to encounter with ; and w^e are to be more
cautious, because modesty is a stronger restraint
upon a good man, than fear is upon a bad one.
Here we must manage so, as that the judge may
think we are industriously suppressing great part of
what we know ; and that what we say bursts from
us through the force of truth alone, notwithstanding
all our endeavours to stifle it. For resentment, at
offensive expressions, is greatly abated in the breasts,
not only of the judges and hearers, but of our op-
ponents themselves, if they think it against our wifl,
that we throw them out. But by a too frequent
use of this manner we may discover, not only op-
position, but rancour. In such a case all we gain
is to discover to the world that we are doing, what
we are sensible we ought not to do.

This false manner prevailed mightily when I first
began to teach, as a professor of eloquence. Gentle-
men then took a delight to exercise themselves in
controversies that had an air of difficulty, though
perhaps, in fact, they w-^ve easier than any others.
A matter of fact, when it is plain and simple, re-
quires the utmost powers of eloquence to establish

VOL. II, y it,

178 QUIXCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX,

it. Whatever is romantic and extraordinary con-
tiiins such (loubiinu:s and turnings, as favour a
speaker's want of capacity. In hke manner, as a
persim \vho is pursued betakes himself to turnings
and feints, when he finds his pursuer is swifter.
Meanwliile, 1 must observe, that this figured man-
ner of speaking borders pretty near upon ridicule.
The hearer too has a plea*:ure in thinking that he
has been able to understand the hints that liave l)een
thrown out ; he a])plauds liis own penetration, and
plumes himself upon another's eloquence.

When decency is to be observed, with regard to
character, the manner, and not the figure, is to be
chiefly regarded. And yet the custom was, to have
recourse to figures, not only in such cases, but in
cases where ligures were both useless and prejudi-
cial. Thus, in the fictitious case of a father, who
had privately murdered his son, whom he suspected
of a criminal conversation with his mother, the per-
son who is supposed to plead for the father has re-
course to obscure hints and half sentences against
his wife. Now, what could be more scandalous,
than to observe any measures with such a creature.
Or still to cohabit with her as his wife ? Or what can
be supposed more absurd, than that the accused
person, by throwing out hints of his wife's detesti-
ble guilt, should discover, by his very defence, the
shame he ouofht to conceal ? Would declaimers, in
such cases, put themselves in the place of judges,
they would be sensible how unsufferable such kind
of causes are ; especially when parents are charged
with the most execrable crimes.

Now, that I am upon this subject, I will enlarge a
little more upon schools. For there an orator has
his education, and, by declaiming, he learns how to
plead. I must therefore touch upon those con_
troverted subjects, that require not only figures o

insinuation

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 179

insinuation,* but such as are tlatly contrary to the
spirit of the cause: for instance, "- a person who is
condemned for aspiriui^^ to sovereignty, is to be rack-
ed till he discovers his accomplices : the prosecutor
of this person is to be gratified in whatever he shall
desire. A son accuses his father of this crime, and
he desires that his fiitlier shall not be racked, in
which he is opposed by the father," Here the de-
claimer, who acts for the father, never fails to make
him throw out ficjures of insinuation, that while he
is upon the rack, he will name his son, as one of his
accomplices. How foolish is this ! For, whenever
the judges shall understand the drift of the father,
they surely either will not torture him, because tiiey
must be sensible of the reasons for which he desires
it ; or, if they do torture him, they will pay no credit
to what he says, liut it may be said, this is what
the father had in view, for thereby he escapes.
Then let him dissemble his purpose, if he wants to
brinj2: it about.

IJut (I speak on the part of the declaimers) what
is the use of the father's intention, if we do not make
a parade in puljlishinp^ it? Here give me leave to
ask, should the case be real, whether we would
publish such a secret intention in the father? But
supposing this was not his real intention, and that
the father had other reasons for opposing his ^on.
For instance, he might be of opinion that the law

* Orig;. Asperas fij^uras ; and this reading; is retained by
Bishop G'b5on, Burman, and the best editi ns ; but I perceive
that the Leyden edition n ad- asper-as, which seems to be the true
reading;, though one connmcntator says he cannot comprehend the
meaning; of it. But, if he had looked a pa^e or two back, he
would liave been sen-viblp that our author was all this time speaking
of the aspersac fi^urae. Fit^uria, says he, spargendae ^unt. Though
I translated this by the expression o^, insinuation by a figure, yet
the meaninij plainly is, a figure which marks a subject, and rather
hiats at, than explains it.

ought

ISO QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX

ought to be ol)served to the riu^oiir; lie miglit dis-
dain to be obliged to siirli an accuser; or, most pro-
bably, he might wish to have an opportunity ol*
piovingliis innueence, even upon tiie rack. 'Ihere-
fore the ordinary excuse here must fail them ; " 1
made the defence intended by the party." For,
perhaps, he did not intend such a defence. Hut
sup^x)sing he did, are we to plead foohslily, because
he judged foohshly? For my own part, I very often
think it is far from being proper to follow the in-
structions of a party in the defence we are to make
for hm.

Declaimers are often brought into another gross
mistake, by thinking that sometimes a party speaks
what he does not mean : especially, when they are
declaiming upon a person who petitions for leave to
put himself to death; as in the following case: A
man who had formerly served his country with great
bravery, in a succeeding war, demands to be dis-
missed from the service, because he was past fifty
years of age. His son opposing his demand, the
father was forced to serve in the army, but deserted.
The son, who had done his country vast services in
the same war, demands in right of his option, that
his father's life and honour should be preserved.
Here our declaimers make the father oppose the
son: Not, say they, that he wants to die, though he
pretends so ; but because he wants to render his
son the more odious. This supposition is, I think,
really ridiculous, for they make the father to have
the same cowardly sentiments that they themselves
would entertain, were they in this situation, without
reflecting upon the many instances we have of men,
who have voluntarily put themselves to death, and
upon the causes, for which this man, who had
formerly behaved so well, must wish t*) die, after
becoming a coward. But it is idle in me to particu-
larize

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 181

larize one case. In general, 1 think, it is shameful
tor an orator to prevaricate ;* nor can 1 understand
>vhere the dispute can lie, when both parties have
the same meaning; nor that any man can be so
stupid, if he is fond to live, to ask for death in so
aukward a manner, rather than not ask for it at all.
Yet I am far from denying that tictitious"]" contro-
versies are sometimes of use.

For examj)le, " A man is accused of parricide,
and when upon the point of being condemned,
he was acquitted by his father's evidence, of his
having done it by his order. The father afterwards
disinherited the same son." Here the father
neither totally acquits the son, neither can he flatly
disown the evidence he had given upon a former
trial, but terminates his punishment by disinherit-
ing him. And thus the father, by this fiction, did
more than he ought to have done ; and the son suf-
fered less than he ought to have suffered.

At the same time, as we do not suppose that a
person, in such a case, speaks any thing that is con-
trary to his real meaning, so it is possible he may
mean more favourably than he seems to do, by the
nature of the action he brings. " For example,
a father disinherits his son, and that son sues his
father to acknowledge for his own, a bov, who had
been exposed, and whom the father had owned for
his s(jn by taking him home, after pa^'ing for his
maintenance and education." Here the real design
of the son, perhaps, is, to be re-instated in his inhe-
ritance; but we cannot say, that he is not in earnest
in the prosecution.

* Ot\^. pravarirari. See Vol. TI. p. 10, Note (*).
f Orig. figurat.Tc cnntroversiae. This is my author's meaning; in
Eni^lish, for the Latin does not imply a figure in style, but a dis.
simulation of intention, tliouf^h it is certain ho does not always
apply the word figuratus to that sense. The context will show
what I have observed.

Sometimes

182 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES. Book IX.

Sometimes ;i cliarge may have its weight, and yet
not bo proved, lor instance: A man is j)ros('Cuted
to the rigour of the law; at the same time the
judge, by certain credible circumstances, is made
sensilfle that rigour would, in that case, be injustice.
This often happens to be the case, particularly in
the following subject of declamation. 'I'he law is
supposed to say, " ihat a ravisher is liable to the
pains of death, unless within thirty days after he
commits the rape, he shall not prevail both with his
own father, and the father of the woman whom he
has ravished, to forgive him. The criminal prevails
with the fiither of the woman whom he has ravished,
but is not able to prevail with his own father, and
therefore brings against him an action of lunacy;
in which, though the son may be norjsuited, yet
the judge may be strongly prepossessed in favour
of tlie S(^n against the father, on account of his
cruelty in n(~>t putting an end to the prosecution.*

'Ihe (jireeks were fond of figures of the same na-
ture. Theinistocies thought it would sound harshly,
should he flatly advise his countrymen to abandon
Athens; he therefore desires them " to commit it to
th(^ care of the Gods.^' Another, advising them to
melt down the golden statues of victory for the use
of the war, softened the disagreeable part of his
counsel, by telling them " they ought always to
make a proper use of their victories." All this
manner is in the nature of allegory, for the meaning
is different from our expression.

It may be thought proper to inquire, in what
manner we can best answer figurative speeches.
Some think that the figures ought to be dissected,

* The two forecoine; paragraphs h^ve not been translated by
AbbeGedoyn; bat notwithstandino; their difficulty, 1 durst not
ye ture to omit them, though I have twp^ or three lines that follow
in the original, which are impossible tobe translat.vl or understood,
unles* we c uM have recourse to the original pleadings quoted by
our author, which are not now extant,

their

Book IX. OF ELOaUENCE. 183

their blemishes exposed, nnd themselves cut off as
morbid matter. This is very often the best way of
treating them, because we cannot otherwise destroy
them, especially if the figures are employed to
establish the point in question. But when they are
only employed by way of invectives, we are then
justified in seeming not to understand them. How-
ever, if they are reiterated, so as that it is impossible
for us to avoid taking notice of them, we are then
to call upon our opponent to state fairly, and
without ambiguity, the matter which he has wrapped
up in an unintelligible jargon, and indirect sen-
tences. We are to " hope that he does not pre-
sume the judges are to uuderstand, far less believe,
that which he dares not venture to express in intel-
hgible terms." J^ometimes, likewise, a figure may
be defeated by our not seeming to understand it as a
figine. For instance (and a noted instance it is),
when a pleader solemnly called upon his opponent,
To swear by the ashes of his patron : " With all my
heart," replies the other. And then the judge very
gravely told them both (though he that called upon
the other very strongly remonstrated against it), that
he undei-stood every thing in the literal sense, and
that he had told them before, that he was not to be
trilled with by their figures of speech.*

There is a third kind, whi('h we employ merely
for the sake of wit and ornament ; and therefore
Cicero says it has nothing to do with the merits of
the cause. This manner is employed by himself
against Clodius: " llie most secret manner of devo-
tion, says he, was known to Clodius,j* and therefore

* Tlie Abbe Gcdoyn has omitted this passage; but, as I think
it extremely pertinent to our author's purjx)se, I have given what
I conceive to be the meanins:; of it.

+ Alluding to his intruding himself at the celebration of the
Eleusynian mysteries in a woman'i dress.

he

184 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book iX.

he thought it would be easy for him to appease the
Ciods." Hero, irouy is very often applied likewise;
but it never has near so fine an effect, as when we
suhstitiite one manner for another. Thus, one being
enuaj^ed in a law suit with a tyrant, who had re-
signed his power under an act of amnesty, by which
all retrospects were forbidden under a penalty, said
to him, 1 can bring no charge against you, but you
may, and can, against me, for it is not long since 1
vviiuted tj kill you.

It is a common, but, I think, no desirable prac-^
tice, to employ an imprecation by way of a figure.
Thus, one pleading for a son who had been disinhe-
rited; May he, said he, perish, who is to inherit my
estate ! For, unless an oath is absolutely necessary, it
is incompatible with the character of a man oi
sense. And Cicero very elegantly takes notice,
That swearing belongs to witnesses, and not to
pleaders. And, indeed, the man who employs an
oath for a little point of wit, deserves no credit ; nor
indeed any man who cannot swear as gracefully and
awfully as Demosthenes did, in his oath which I
have already mentioned.

The most inconsiderable figures of this kind are
such as turn upon one expression; for we have an
example of that kind in Cicero, who calls Clodia
" a lady, who has the character of extending her
good-nature to all the world, rather than of shewing
her spite to any particular person."

1 own, I do not see how comparison can be ranked
amongst the figures of speech, since it sometimes
forms the nature of a cause ; and sometimes it has
nothing of a figurative expression in it, as appears
from the following famous passage in Cicero's plead-
ing for Murena. '' You get up long before day-
light to give counsel to your clients, and he, that he
may arrive in good time with his army to the end of

his

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 183

his march. You are awaked by the crowing of a
cock, and he by the sounding of trumpets. You
draw up a process, and he marshals an army. You
make out securities for cHents, he for towns and
camps. He knows how to guard against the attacks
of an enemy, and you against the inconveniency of a
drain or water-spout." 1 am not sure whether this
manner is not rather an ornament to the sentiment,
than to the style; because the opposition does not
turn upon generals, but particulars. Celsus and
Visellius rank it amongst the ornaments of senti-
ments: Rutilius Lupus amongst those of senti-
ments, and words and style likewise; and he calls it
an antithesis. Rutilius after Gorgias (not Gorgias
of Leontium, but one who was his cotemporary), and
Celsus after him, have added many figures besides
those mentioned by Cicero; such as consummation,
or the summing up many arguments into one point;
consequences, syllogisms, threatnings, exhortations,
and the like. But I disclaim them all as figures,
unless they partake of some of the figurative man-
ners 1 have mentioned. Celsus has nuistered up a
vast army more; but, as they are rather ornaments
than figures, 1 may have an opportunity of speaking
of them in another place, though some perhaps
of the figurative kind may have escaped nie ; and if
any new ones shall occur, 1 shall willingly admit
them as such, provided they have any of the
figurative properties 1 have mentioned.

CHAP. III.

CONCERNING VERBAL FIGURES.

Verbal figures have always been changing, and,
as custom prevails, are changing to this day; tht re-

tbre

186 QUINCTILIANS INSTITUTES Book IX.

fore if we were to compare the lanQ;uage of our
ancestors with ouv's, ahiiost every tiling we spealt is
a tigure, as may be proved by a hundred ways of
speaking,* even so late as the days ot" Cicero; but, I
wish tiie innovations we have made are not for the
worse. Verbal figures, however, are of two sorts;
the one regards the propriety of speech; and the
other, the beautiful arrangement of words ; and
though both are j)ropLT to be known by an orator,
yet we may term the former grammatical, and the
latter rhetorical.

Grammatical figures, as indeed every other fi-
gure, would be so many blemishes in a style, did
they proceed from accident, and not from design;
but they are generally established by authority,
antiquity, custom, and sometimes for certain rea-
sons. Therefore a deviation from the plainness and
simplicity of speech is a beauty, if it is formed ujxjn
some of the plausible principles 1 have already men-
tioned. In one respect, they must be owned to be
of greatservice to a language, by relieving us from the
tiresome returns of common and daily expressions,
and preserve conversation from that sameness w Inch
prevails among the vulgar. But this figurative
manner is more agreeable if it is sparingly and
judiciously used, as we would high seasoning to our
meat ; for, by affecting it too much, it loses the
charms of variety. Some figures, however, are
so very much in use, that they have almost lost the
name of figures, and they may pass in the general
run of conversation without making any impression
upon our ears. But as to figures that are far-
fetched and uncommon, and therefore more elevated,
we are pleased by their novelty, but satiated by their

* Our author gives us several examples ; as, hutc rei invidere,
for hanc rem ; incumbere illi, for in ilium 3 plenum vino, for vini ;
huic adulari, for hunc.

2 profusion..

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 187

profusion. It is plain that the speaker did not
meet them, but went to search for them, and drauged
and collected them from the holes and crannies
where they lay concealed.

The gender of a noun may be changed by a
figure; and it is done by Virgil, but in cases where
the feminine termination is annexed to words that
signify either sex.* In like manner, verbs undergo
figures, "I" because a passive verb may have an
active, and an active a passive siguitication. A
number is liable to a figure, by the plural being
put for the singular, or the singular for the
plural ; as for example, The Romans are a warlike
nation. Here the reason is plain, because the
W'ord nation, implies a plurality of individuals.
Vii^ii says,+

The boys who smile not in their parent's face,
No nymph his arms, no God his board shall grace.

Sometimes the parts of speech are changed, by pla-
cing a verb for a noun.§ Sometimes a verb is placed
for a participle, and a participle for a verb.jl Some-
times the tenses are altered ; for instance, Timarch-
ides denies that he is in danger, instead of, dt nied.
And the future for the present, This Ithacus wishes.
In short, there are as many manners of making
figures, as there are of making solcisms. Sallust,
not from any desire of innovation, but from a love
of conciseness, has been pretty bold with regard to
figures. But i own, that when a manner of speak-

• Oculis capti talpae, and timidi damae.

+ Arbitror, suspicor, &c.

+ ..Cui non risero parentes.

Nee deus hunc mensa, dea nee .lignata cubili est.

§ Et ncbtrum istud vivere triste

Aspexi. Pers. Sat. 1.

\^ Magnum dat ferre taleatum. • Virg.

ing

18S QUINCTILIANS INSTITUTES Book IX.

ing is once ('stal)lisli<'d, 1 am in douht whether it
ouL;ht to be c(»nsi(lciv(l as a figure; nay, we know
luainiers of speakinii;: now in eommon use, which
were condemned both by Pollio, and by Cicero.*

Figures sometimes are recommended by their an-
ticjuity, of which Virgil was Avonderfully fond, and
we may perceive many of his hnes in which he has
had an eye to the antient dramatic poets. 1 shall
mention one in that beautiful description of the
shield of Turnus :

The monster seems to rage and glow the more,
The more the thunders of the battle roar.

Here the image is ])lainly taken from the following
passage in the old draniatic pot t ;

The more fierce pul)Iic calamity grows, the more
keen he is upon mischief.

It is common for us to make use of the positive for
the superlative degree, and 9 particular for a general
address; says Virgil,

Plant not thy vines against the setting sun,
And again,

Oh let not sleep my closing eyes invade
In open plains, or in the secret shade.

Here the poet speaks to every body, though he
seems to particularize one. Sometimes we may
speak of ourselves in the third person; says Cicero,

* Rebus agentihus, contumeliam fecit, for affici rontumelia.

I have translated as much from the orip;inal as I could do with
any manner of propriety ; nor indeed should I have trinslated so
much, had it not been that our author's remarks throw great light
upon Virgil. What I have omitted cannot be translated into any
language ; nor indeed is the sense of it very material to the Latin,
it being what every school-boy knows ; not to mention that in fact
it has been all said already.

Scrvius

Book TX. OF ELOQUENCE. 1 89

Servius affirms, and Tulliiis denies. An interposi-
tion (called by the Greeks a parenthesis) may be
likewise reckoned amongst the same kind of figures.
An example of this we have in Cicero's pleading for
Milo; When I restored you, ray friend Cicero (for
we often discourse together), to your country. To
this some add, the hyperbate, not as it is a trope,
but' an apostrophe, that alters the manner of speak-
insr, without changinsf the sense.

The Decii, Marii, great Camillus came,
And thou, O Caesar, greater still in fame !

The same poet afterwards employs the same figure
in a stronger manner, when speaking of the tyrant
who murdered Polydorc, he says,

Who, when he saw the power of Troy decline,
Forsook the weaker with the strong to join ;
Broke ev'ry bond of nature and of truth ;
And murder'd for his wealth, the royal youth.
O sacred hunger of pernicious gold.
What bands of faith can impious lucre hold I

DRYDEisr.

Little or nothing diflferent from this figure is that
of transition ; \\ hat shall I say, or where am 1 ? Wo
have a remarkable passage in Virgil, where he unites
the parenthesis and the apostrophe :

Near this, the double Metius meets his fate,
(Thou Alba, faithful to the Roman state
Remainst) his quiv'ring limbs while coursers tore*
AndTuUus triumph 'd in the traitor's gore.

All such fit'ures, whether thev are effected bv
changing, adding, retrenching, or transposing, ren-
der a hearer attentive ; and when they are properly
managed, they never are ciresome ; nay, their re-
semblance to blemishes renders them the more agree-

able»

190 aUINCTlLIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

able, in the same manner as a little acid is an im-
provement in cookery. But this etieet ceases, it"
they return too frequently ; if they are not varied ;
or if they are too nmeh crowded ; because rarity as
well as variety renders them entertaining, and keeps
them from palling upon our taste.

There is a more penetrating manner of figures,
wh'ch is not merely accommodated to elocution, but
makes an agreeable, and even a strong, impression
upon our passions and imderstanding. For instance,
when an expression is repeated ; thus, Cicero makes
Milo say, '" 1 have slain, I have slain, not a Spurius
Mehus," Here the first, " I have slain," is by way
of indication ; the second by way of affirmation,
which o;ives a climax to the sentiment. This same
manner is sometimes employed to increase compas-
sion ; thus \ irgil, O Corydon, Corydon. This man-
ner however may sometimes be applied ironically.
The repetition of a word sometimes may be used,
after an interposition of other matter. Thus Cicero,
in his second philippic, says, " at a public auction,
before the temple of Jove the Stayer, the goods of
Pompey (how wretched am I ! my tears indeed
are spent, but my grief is lively), the goods, I say,
of the great Pompey, were put up by the doleful
voice of a public crier." And in his invective
against Cataline, he says, "yet you live; you live,
not to lay aside, but to swell, your audacious guilt."
In another passage, he raises an effect wonderfully
spirited, by the repetition of the same word, at
the beginning of every sentence ; " Art thou not
abashed, by the nocturnal arms that watch the
palatium ? Not by the guards of the city'- Not by
the consternation of the people ? Not by the unan-
imity of all our patriots ? Not by the impregnable
situation of this assembly ? Not by the reproachful
looks of the fathers of Rome ?" The same manner,

at

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 191

Bt the end of a sentence, produces the same effect ;
for instance, in his pleading for Milo ; " Who de-
manded them? Apius. Wlio produced them? Apius.
From whence came they ? From Apius. Some may
think, however, that this example belongs to another
figure, because every question has the same begin-
ning- and the same answer. 1 will give another and a
very fine example of this manner; Who are they
that have repeatedly broke tiieir most solemn engage-
ments ? The Carthaginians. Who are they that
carried into the bowels of Italy a most inhuman
war ? The Carthaginians. Who are they who have
laid our country waste with fire and sword ? The
Carthaginians. Who are they who are now implor-
ing: our foro-iveness ? The Carthao'inians.

In comparisons, likewise, there generally is an al-
ternate repetition of the same words at the beginning
of every sentence ; for which reason 1 have marked
comparison as a verbal, rather than a sentimental
figure. Says Cicero, in his comparison between
Sulpicius and Murena, "You get up long before day
light to give counsel to your chents, and he, that he
may arrive in good time with his army to the end of
his march. \ou are awaked by the crowing of a
cock, and he by the sounding of trumpets. You
draw up a process, and he marshals an army. You
make out securities for clients, he for towns and
camps." But the orator, not contented with this
beauty, by the same figure inverts the order of per-
sons ; "He knows how to guard against the attacks
of an enemy, and you against the inconveniency of
a drain or water spout. He is employed in enlarg-
ing territory, and you in regulating it." The same
figure sometime s places the word which begun a line
in the middle of it. Thus \ irgil,

Tliee, Augia's groves, thee Fucine' s lucid streams.

This maimer may be varied through other parts of a

sentence.

199 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

sentence. " For his parents, many torments were
invented, forhisrtiations, many." There is a man-
ner of makinj^ a narrative, and then turning it into
repetition and division.

Behind me, Iphitus and Pehas came,
Iphitus aged was, and Pehas lame.

We have other examples of this manner in Cicero's
pleading for Cluentius ; one amongst many is as fol-
lows ; "Here, fathers conscript, appear your doings,
glorious doings indeed ; but, as I have said, they are
not mine but your's."

Sometimes the word which finishes one period begins
the next, and this manner is frequent among poets;

I sing to Callus, muses bring your aid ;
Your aid to Callus, never was delay'd.

The same manner is not unfrequent with orators, as
Cicero says of Cataline, " The traitor lives ; lives !
did I say ? he mixes with the senate." Of the same
kind is the following, where the like sentiment is
kept up through the several members of a period; " I
gave him up to all dangers, I exposed him to all
deceit, 1 abandoned him to all envy." " This, my
lords, is your decree, this is your opinion, this is
your determination." Some call this manner, me-
tonymy, others, a disjunction ; and both terms are
proper, though they vary in being separate denomi-
nations for the same thing.

Sometimes we have an aggres^ation of words of
the same sio^nification. Says Cicero to Cataline,
"Since such, O Cataline! is the situation of your
affairs, finish what you have planned; for once
march out of the city ; her gates are open, they in-
vite you to be gone." And in another place he says,
" Cataline is gone, he is vanished, he is escaped, he
is sallied out." Cecilius thinks that in this manner

there

Rook IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 193

there is a pleonasm, or a redundancy of words, and
likewise in the following passage from Virgil, " I
myself saw before my eyes." But I have already
observed, that an unnecessary redundancy of words
is a blemish in eloquence; but, here, by Virgil's
management, it gives strength and colouring to the
aitirmation ; for every word contains an idea. I
therefore cannot see why Cecilius blames this pas-
sage in particular, for he may as well give the term
of pleonasm to every expression that is redoubled, re-
peated, or added.

Sometimes, we make use of not only an aggrega-
tion of words, but of sentiments widi the same
meaning. Says Cicero, in his pleading for Roscius,
" Presumptuous guilt is the fury that torments ; an
evil conscience the fremiy that rages ; and sting-
ing reflection the terrors that distract." Circum-
stances of different meanings may likewise be ag-
gravated. " He was impelled by a woman, by
the cruelty of the tyrant, by aflfection for his fa-
ther, by blind resentment, rashness, madness." I
cannot agree with those who call this manner a
complication of figures, since it proceeds upon one
single figure, admitting of various words, some of
them signifying the same, and some a different,
thing. Thus Cicero says, " I appeal to my enemies,
Whether all those matters were not traced, found
out, laid open, removed, undone, extinguished by
me." Here three words have one signification, and
three have another. The last example, however,
and the foregoing, by throwing out the conjunctions
form another figuri which is very beautiful, when
we are speaking earnestly and eagerly, becaus(^ every
word makes an impression, and the objects are
multiplied.

This figure, which you may call the figure of
disjunction, is made use of not only in single words,

VOL. II. o but

IPi QriNCTIITAX'S INSTITUTES Ho^^kIX.

but sentonrcs. Tluis Cicero, speaking against Me-
tellus, says, *' Such of the accomplices as were
discovered, were called in, committed to custody,
brought before the senate, examined in theS(Miate.'*
Opposed to this is a figure that abounds with con-
junctions often repeated ; 'Thus \ irgil, speaking of
the Jvil)yans, describes them as having, *' each man
a hf use, and a fire-side, and arms, and a Spartan
dog, and a Cretan quiver." l^oth those figures are
formed upon the same principles, for the disjunc-
tive gives keenness and earnestness to a style, while
the re-iteration marks the passion, which, as it were,
forces out the same words again and again.

The gradation, or climax, is effected by an art,
which is less disguised, and more palpable, and
therefore it ought to be more sparingly used *. The
following is a hne example of this figure ; " Africa-
nus, by application, acquired merit; by mcrit,glory;
and by glory, envy>" We have another example
fix>m Calvus : " We have now no more trials for oppres-
sion, than for treason ; no more for treason, than for
public corruption, no more for public corruption, than
for bribery ; no more for bribery, than for every viola-
tion of every l;uv." We have some examples of this
kind amongst the poets, as >\hen f iomer dcduc(\s the
migration of a sceptre, from the hand of Jupiter to that
of Menelaus. And one of our dramatic poets brings
a progeny from .Jupiter to his own times.

Some figures suppress words, to give the stylo
more conciseness and variety. I have already
spoken of the synecdoche, which is a figure of that
kind, and its property lies in the meaning of a sen-
tence being fully comprehended, notwithstanding
the suppression. Thus Ca^lius, speaking against

* In the original, there is an example from the oration of De-
mosthenes for Ctesiphon ; but it is so depraved that I have fol-
lowed the Abbe Gedoyn in not translating it.

Antony.

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. \9o

Antony, says, '^ The Gi^eek to be astonished with
iov." Here the word beuau is understood, thoudi it
is suppressed. And Cicero writing to Brutus, " No

tdiiv but of you— for what better ?" There is a

figure akin to this, where certain expressif)ns are
w ith-held for decency sake, Virgil, for instance,
makes one of his shepherds say,

1 kno\y both how and where — the goats stood by,
The nymphs were kind and laugh'd.

Some call this figure Aposiopesis, or tlie figure of
silence, but 1 tiiink improperly ; tor in the Apo-
siopesis we do not, all at once, see what is sup-
pressed, and it requires several words to supply it,
but here only one word is wanting, and you instantly
find it out.

I have already touched u]>on the figure that is
effected, by throwing out the copulatives ; but there
is a third, which is effected by the junction of se-
veral sentences to one word, to whicii they ail re-
fer ; f(;r instance, " Modesty was defeated by lust,
bashfulness by boldness, reason by madness.'*
" Thou, O Cataline ! art none of those, whom the
sense of shame reclaims from dishonour ; fear, from
danger; or reason from rage." It is by a kind of
application of this figure we call our descendants of
both sexes our sons, wc mingle singulars with plu-
rals, and sometime^s it connects two circumstances
that are quite different from one another ; for exam-
ple, " The covetous man is in want of what he has, as
well as of what he has not.'' Some refer to this the
distinctions between resembling vijtues and vices ;
for cxiunple, " To your cunning you give the name
of wis(l<)in, of valour to your picsumption, and of
econraiiy to your avarice;" but as this manner is
entirely resolved into definition, I am in doubt whe-
ther it can be called a hq-ure.

A transition

196 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

A transition from one. quality to another, of a si-
milar kind, is another manner.

By lab 'ring to be brief, I grow obscure.

Another figure is calcuhited to strike our ears,
and to raise our attention, by a collision of similar,
equal, or opposite words. This we call a parono-
masia, and it is etfected in several manners, and the
same words may occur in different cases of the same
sentence. For example, " Of all things she is ig-
norant, in all things she is unhappy." A word, by
being subjoined, often acquires more significancy,
"• The man who devours another, is he a man ?"
These examples are easily imitated by a skilful re-
doubling the same word, " This law, says Cicero,
was not a law to private men." This last example is
pretty much the same with another kind of figure,
which we may call refraction, that is, when one
word is introduced into the same discourse in two
different senses ; for example, " Says Proculus to
his son, you are always wishing for my death." " I
do not wish for it, father," ansv/ers the son. " But,
sirrah," replies the father, " my desire is, that you
may be always wishing for it." Some effect is like-
wise raised from the similar sound of words intro-
duced in the same sentence ; for example, " He
was roosted where he ought to have been roasted."*
This manner is next to that of punning. " Redress
is not to be had from a red-dress." Says Ovid,

Furia, why should I not thee fury call ?

But this wit is low even in conversation, where
jests are allowed : I am therefore surprised that ever

* The low manner, here talcen notice of by our author, ought
to be carefully handled ; and it is impossible literally to translate
the examples he brings.

they

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 197

they should be recommended by any rules ; and the
examples 1 have given ought rather to induce my
reader to avoid, than to follow, this manner.

There is great elegance, however, when a simi-
larity of words is retained, so as to mark a distin-
guishing property. We have an example of this
in Cicero's invective against Catiline. " This pub-
lic pestilence, says he, will thus be repressed for a
time, but not suppressed for ever." The same thing
is sometimes done by a change of prepositions. For
example, " Will you suffer him, 1 say, to escape, so
that he may seem not as driven from, but into the
city ?'* It is very beautiful and spirited, when the
play of words is reconcileable to the dignity of sen-
timent ; for example, " By being mortal he pur-
chased immortality." But this manner is detestable
when it degenerates into a gingle ; for example,
when one plays upon the similarity of names and
words. Scipio looked sheepish :" " Fathers con-
scribed, said one, let us not act as if we were cir-
cumscribed." " Because he had a share in the
plow, he wanted to have a share in the govern-
ment."

Sometimes, however, a sentiment may become
spirited and beautiful, merely by being conveyed in
words that have a similarity in sound.* Some old
orators were extremely careful to keep up an anti-
thesis, by opposing, to one another, words of a simi-
lar sound, cadence, or termination. Gorgias carried
this practice to extravagance, and Isocrates struck

* Here our author pives an example from his father, \Nho it
seems was a pleader, but it cannot be translated into English. A
certain person said, he would die in his command, rather than re-
turn unsuccessful ; but happening to return unsuccessful in a few
days, says Quinctillan's father to him, Non exigo uti immoriaris
legation!, immorare : " 1 expected, said he, that you would not
fail, though you did not fall, in your command."

pretty

11)^^ QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

pretty murli into it in liis youiic;or days; nay,(rK'cro
had a taste tor it ; and it is far IVom bring disagreo-
al)le as ho manai^cd it, by puttint; it under regnla-
tion«i, and l)y niakin<>- the weiglit ot the sentiment
an over-halanee fur tlie puerility of tlie manner.
For, that which of itself would seem an insipid,
trifling, ])iece of affectation, far from l)einiTstiirand
forced, aj^pears natural and easy, when the sense
and the sound coincides.

Similarity of words is effected in four manners.
Jnrst, where the sounds are the same, or pre tty much
the same: poppies and puppies; tlamc and fame;
hop and hope. Or when words have the same ter-
mination ; " I expected a purse, and not a curse."
And this manner has a very fine eftect when it coin-
cides with the sentiment : *' A loyal subject may
be sometimes susceptible of dissatisfactifni, but
never of disaffection." Secondly, two divisions of
the same period may end alike, as in the last ex-
ample. Alliterations, or redoubing of letters at
the ends or beginnings of words, are continued
through several expressions. For example ; " It
was tiresome, tedious ; and in Latin, Cicero says,
" Abiit, excessit, erupit, evasit." Thirdly, where
the cadence falls upon the same cases, though
without similar terminations, and they answer re-
gularly to one another, either in the beginning,
middle, or end of a sentence. And sometimes the
middle answers the beginning, and the l>eginning
the end ; just as conveniency offers. " The protec-
tion 1 lately lost, says Domitius Afer, though it did
not screen me from danger, yet it saved me from
despair." Fourthly, Similarity may consist in all
tlie members of a sentence being equal, that is,
answering one another in sense and situation. For
example ; " If impudence, at the bar and in courts
of justice, is as powerful as violence is in wilds

and

Book IX. OF ELOQUENXE. 199

and deserts, my client must be as unequal a match
for his opi)onent's imi)udonre here, as he was for
his violence tiiere." This maniier has a very fine
effect.

The antidiesis, or the counterpoising one word
by another, is etiected by a regular correspondence
of one word with another ; as, " Modesty was de-
feated by lust; bashfulness by boldness; reason
was defeated by madness." Sometinies two words
are opposed to other two ; " Not my capacity, but
thy courage." Sometimes one sentinient to ano-
ther : " Let envy be powerful in assemblies of the
people, but let her be humbled in courts of justice."
Here we may very properly add an antithesis, which
is marked by a distinction ; " The people of Rome
are foes to private luxury, but friends to public
magnificence." IJut 1 shall now give an example
from Cicero, which contains all the beauties of this
manner. " This, my Lords, is a law, not adopted
by custom, but inherent to our being ; a law not re-
ceived, learned, or read, but an essential, cogenial,
inseparable character of nature ; a law which we
have not bv institution, but by constitution ; notde-
rived from authority, but existing with conscious-
ness.^' Here, through the whole of this quotation,
we see every property has its opposite. Jiut this is
not always the case ; witness the following example
from llutilius. " To us the immortal Gods first
gave corn ; we were the sole proprietors of that
gift, and we distrii>uted it through all lands. (Jur
ancestors left us a commonwealth, and we have de-
hvered our allies from slavery."

A figure mav lik<'vvise I^k? formed by a conversion
of terins, as when Socrates said, " 1 do not live
that I mav eat, but I eat that I mav live." And in
the following example from Cicero, where the cases
undergo a mutual conversion, wliich is so managed,

that

200 QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

that both imMiihns of the sentence end with the
same tenses. '' Ihat without envy, the guilt may
be punished, and without guilt the envy may be
laid aside." The following is an example of ano-
ther kind : " For though the skill of Uoscius is sueh,
that he seems the only man worthy to tread the
stage, yet his life is so amiable, that \w appears
alone worthy to be exempted from that profession."
There is likewise an agreeable manntir of opposing
names to one another: " If Antonius is consul,
]]rutus is our enemy : If Brutus has preserved his
country, Antonius is our enemy."

It is needless for me to descend to farther parti-
culars, because this subject has been handled by
writers, who have not considered it as part of their
work, but have composed whole treatises upon it,
such as Caecilius, dionysius, llutilius, Cornitlcius,
Visellins, and several others. And many moderns
now living have equal merit on the same account.
To say the truth, it is possible for one to invent
many more figures of speech ; but I deny it is
possible for him to invent any that excel those
which are to be found in our eminent authors. For
Cicero, that great master of eloquence, in his third
Book, coneerning the character and qualifications
of an orutor, mentions many figures, which by
omitting in his Speaker (a treatise which he wrote
afterwards), he seems himself to have condemned.
Some of them are sentimental, rather than verbal,
figures. And some of them are no figures at all.
1 shall therefore omit mentioning those authors who
have carried the art of inventing figures to an excess,
and have confounded the argumentative with the
figurative manner.

There is one short piece of advice I think proper
to give with regard even to real figures, which is,
that as a judicious apphcation of them embellishes a

style,

\

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 201

style, so an immoderate hunting after them renders
it ridiculous. Some speakers there are, who, neg-
lecting the weight of argument, and the power of
sentiment, think they do mighty matters, if they turn
and twist a parcel of empty words into figures, and
therefore they go on to string them together without
end. But it is as ridiculous for a man to aim at
eloquence, when he has no meaning, as it would be
to aim at gesture and attitude without a body.
Even the most beautiful figures ought not to be too
thick sown. Wc know that the command of fea-
tures, and the turn of the look have fine effects in
pleading; but if a man was for ever to be rolling
about, and torturing his eye-balls, twisting his
features, and knitting his brows, he would be laughed
at. Eloquence in her appearance is open and
simple ; but though her features ought neither to be
insensible, nor unalterable, yet the look which nature
gives her, sits in general most gracefully upon her.

The great accomplishment of an orator is to
know how to speak most suitably to place, charac-
ter, and occasion ; for the property of most of the
figures 1 have mentioned is to please the ear. But
when an orator is to raise the emotions of detesta-
tion, hatred, or compassion, can we bear him, if he
rages, weeps, and deprecates in time and measure,
in smooth-turn'd periods, and a delicate cadence?
No, upon such occasions, a curious choice of periods
makes a speaker's sincerity suspected, and the more
art he discovers, the less credit he obtains.

CHAP. IV.

CONCERNING COMPOSITION.

I KNOW not if any part of Tully's oratorial works
is more laboured, than that concerning composition.

2 Therefore,

202 QUINCTIUAN'S L\STITUTES Book IX.

Therefore, 1 sliould not liave |)rcsumcd to have
toiu'lied upon lliat snltject after hiin, Irad not several
writers, his eotenijxnaries, in letters addressed to
himself, ventured to find iault with his rules about
composition. And several, since liis days, liare
puhii-^hed treat ses upon that subject. Therefore, in
general, 1 agree with Cicero. And with regard to
those points, which are uncontrovertible, 1 shall
be c( ncise. But, perhaps, 1 siiall be more difTuso,
where J differ from him ; yet while 1 am laying
down my own judgment, 1 shall leave my rea-
der to his.

I am sensible that some are against all study of
composition, and maintain that an unpolished style,
the words standing as cliance direc'ts, is the most
manly, as well as the nmst natural. Now, if, by
natural, they mean a style tlictated by pure nature,
without the least polish or cultivation, no part of
our art can there take place. V'or mankind at first
spoke without rules or instruction ; they knew not
how to prepossess by an introduction, to instruct by
a narrative, to prove by arguments, or to work upon
passions. They -were, therefore, ignorant of all
those particulars, as well as composition ; but if it is
wrong to improve upon their manner, it was wrong
for their posterity to exchange their huts for houses,
their hides forcloaths, or their mountains and woods
for towns and cities.

Where is the art that has existed since the bei^in-
ning of the world ? Is there aught that may not be
meliorated by culture ? Why do we bind up the
vines, why do we dig round them ? Why clear our
fields of weeds, since the soil produces them ? Why
do we tame animals which are untractable bv nature?
But because whatever is best accommodated to na-
ture is most natural. Now, is a thing that is rude
and unconnected, stronger than what is well com-
pacted

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 203

parted an(] well placed ? For it' some fops* in li-
terature iniiice and fritter their style, while others
indulge themselves in wild rants and extravagant
llights, are we to call any thing of that kind com-
position ? Observe with how much more force a
river proceeds, when it roils along without c;b-
stiuction, than when its stream is divided, broken,
and weakened by interposing stones and rocks ; in
like manner a well-connected style, delivered with
its full powers, is preferable to that which is rough
and ragged.

Why theref(^rc should we imagine beauty to be
infompatible with strength, since skill improves the
force of every thing, and art is always accompanied
by gracefulness ? Have we not the greatest pleasure
in beholding the course of the javelin that is deli-
vered with the greatest address ? And the archer,
who knows how to aim his arrov/ with superior skill,
is always the most graceful in his appearance and
attitude. In all combats and exercises of arms,
they who have the finest motions, and the most
dextrous address, are most successful either in as-
saulting or defending.

In my opinion, therefore, composition serves, as
it were, to give force and velocity to sentiments, as
strings or engines do to projectiles. Therefore every
man of knowledge and exix-rience knows, of what
vast elhcacy composition is, not only in pleasin;i- the
ear, but in moving the passions. For in the first
place, that which strikes aaainst our ear cannot enter
into the mind, to which the ear is, as it were, the
vestible. hi the next place, nature is delighted with
harmony. As a proof of this, musical instrum<*nts,
when finely touched, without any e\-pression of
words, lead the hearer from one atfection to another,

• Orig. Ut Soladeorum, & G;-.lliamborum,

as

201- QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

as the mastor plensrs. In our sacred entertainments
ot "music, some notes are fitted to rouse, and others
to allay, the passions ; some are fitted to inspire cou-
rage, and others to move compassion ; and the notes
ot an army's march to battle are different from those
of its march to a rendezvous. It was a constant
practice with the Pythagoreans, while upon the
■watch, to rouse their spirits by the notes of the lyre,
that they might be more vigorous for action ; and the
same lyre, when they went to rest, composed and
soothed their minds, and setded every tumult of the
thought. Now, if there is so powerful, yet silent,
an effect in airs and tunes, the same effect must be
much more powerful in eloquence.

As it is of great importance to find proper words
for our sentiments, so it is of equal to turn those
■words in such a manner, as to produce a pleasing
and harmonious period. Sometimes a sentiment
may be but low and the exertion mean, yet a fine
effect may arise from the composition alone ; nay,
what may appear to us strong, harmonious, and beau-
tiful in the elocution, shall lose all its power, delight,
and gracefulness, if we transpose and change the
order of its words. Cicero, in his Speaker, makes
this experiment upon some passages of his own ;*
where by altering the order of the words, they
become as so many broken, pointless darts, that fall
short, without doing execution. H^ likewise cor-

* Though the observation hereisextreraely just, and applicable
to the English language, yet the passage of Cicero is not to be
translated with a view to its harmony, the particular property of
■which is incommunicable in another tongue, as the reader may
judge from the original, which is, " Nam neque me dividse mo-
vent, quibus omnes Africanos & Laelios multi venalitii mercata-
resque superarunt." Cicero says, that a slight alteration in the
dispositi in of the words would spoil the effect of this period, viz.
"Multi superaverunt mercatores, veualitiique."

rects

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 20.5

rects some passage in the orations of Gracchus, whicli
he thought were harsh. This was noble in that great
master of eloquence ; but let us be contented with
the merit of bracinsf whatever is slack, and of round-
ing whatever is rough in our own compositions. I'or
why ought we to have recourse to foreign composi-
tions, when we may make the experiment upon our
own writings ? One thing I am convinced of, that
the more beautiful a period is, either in sense or
composition, the more disagreeable it appears when
you disarrange its words. For the neglect of the
arrangement becomes more remarkable by the bril-
hancy of the expressions.

1 am therefore ready to acknowledge, that perfect
composition is the finishing excellency of an orator,
yet, at the same time, I must be of opinion that the
ancients applied to composition as far as their skill
reached. Neither does the great authority of Cicero
himself persuade me that Lysias, Herodotus and
Thucydides, disregarded composition. The manner
of each might be different from that of Demosthenes
or Plato, each of whom had a different manner.

A sprightly cadence must have corrupted and de-
stroyed the fine delicate diction of Lycias, because it
would have spoiled the gracefulness of that simple,
unaffected manner which is his characteristic, and
have hurt the credit which it commanded. For we
are to remark, that the orations he wrote were to be
pronounced by other people, who being ignorant
and illiterate, he was obliged to suit his compositions
to such characters ; and this, of itself, is the great
art of composition.

As to history-writing, its manner ous;ht to be
quick and rapid, without being broken by full-turned
periods, without admitting those breathing-places so
necessary for a pleader, and those arts which the
orator often employs in the beginning, and the close

of

50(» QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

of a sentence. Meanwhile, when Thucidides in-
troduces a speech into his narrative, we meet witli
8<une harmonious cadences, and well-marked dis-
tinctions. As to Herodotus, if 1 am a judi^c, hi»
manner is liarmonv itself, and tlie dialect in which
he wi it(\>< is so agrceahle, that it seems to comprehend
every latent property of music. But 1 shall hereafter
consitler their diHerent purposes ; at present I am
to instruct mv orator in the best maimer of com-
posing.

In the first place, then, one kind of prose style is
close and compacted ; another, such as that we use
in letters, in conversation, is loose ; unless when we
treat of subjects out of the common road of either :
such as philosophy, or government, and the like. 1
do not mean that even a loose, detached style, has
not peculiar cadences and numbers, which are per-
haj->s more difficult to hit ujX)n, than those of the
other manner ; for neither conversation nor episto-
lary writing ought to be upon a perpetual yawn by
sequent vowels, or void of proper stops, but to shun
a laboured fluencv, and a close adhesion, and all
studied regularity, of words. Nay, instead of being
constrained, they will be rendered easy by measures
and numbers.

Sometimes, in petty causes, the same simplicity of
expression is gra<:eful ; but this arises from a pecu-
liaritv of the numbers, which comes not within the
rules of art ; and even these are so disguised, that
they are not immediately perceptible, but by their
effects.

But as to the close and compacted prose-style, it
admits of three forms, distinguished by commas,
colons, full-stops, or periods. x\nd in this kind of
composition three requisites are to be observed —
order, connexion, and numbers. As to order, it
takes place in single words, or more ; with regard to

the

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 20?

the former we are to avoid a dwindlinsr of stvlo, for
whatever is weak ought to be subjected to what is
strons^. Thus, sacrilediie is a hio-her crime than
theft, and robbery than impudence. For every
sentence ought to rise and gather strength in it^ pro-
gress, as in that tine passage from Cicero, when he
mentions Anthony's " Throat, sides, and prize-fight-
ing person ;" for there, somewhat that is greater
succeeds what is more inconsiderable ; and the sen-
tence must have dwindled, had lie proceeded from
the person to the sides, and from thence to the throat.
In some cases, nature dictates the order. Thus, I
would mention men before women, day before
night ; the rising before the setting of the sun, or
any other body, rather than the reverse. A word may
be to preposterously placed as to become redundant:
Brothers that are twins ; we say no more than if we
had said twins.

I am against too great an exactitude, by placing
the nominative always before the verb, the verb
before the adverb, the substantive before the adjec-
tive and the pronoun. For the opposite practice
has often an exceeding good effect. I disappro\e
hkevvise of those, who are so scrupulously exact, as
to tie themselves down to the order of time, so us ne-
ver to mention one thing, without mentioning what
went before. This, in general, I own is right ; but a
matter may be so circumstanced as that a posterior
fact may be of infinitely more consequence than the
antecedent, which, for that reason, ought to be post-
poned.

Where the matter will suflfer it, it is by far the best
manner to terminate a period with a verb. For tiie
energy of style lies in verbs. 13ut should that man-
ner occasion any roughness, we must consult har-
mony ; as was done frequently by the greatest of the
Greek and Latin poets and orators. AVhere the verb

does

908 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX

does not close the period, the hypcil)ate takes place.
And indeed it may be ranked anionj^st those tropes
of figures that improve a style. For we have no
occasion to weigh every quantity of a word tliat en-
ters into jjrosc. 'I'herelore we can remove them
from one part of a sentence to another, where they
may stand the most conveniently : just as in a mass
of rude stones, even the largest, and the most un-
shapely, may find a place where it can serve to use
and advantage. Most happy is that style, where
regular order and proper connexion falls in with an
harmonious cadence.

I have already observed, that some transpositions
are too long ; others do hurt to the style ; and they
are aft'ected merely to give it an air of gaiety and
gallantry ; for instance, a description which Mecaenas
gives us, * where he introduces a gaiety of expression
and ideas, upon a very melancholy subject.

Sometimes a word has great energy, by standing
in a particular part of a sentence, and, in another
part of it, would be either over-looked or over-
clouded. Thus in Cicero's description of Antony's
debauches, by placing a certain word -]• in the close
of a period, he gives it a wonderful effect, which
would be quite lost, if it stood in any other part of
the sentence. Afer used, especially in his intro-
ductions, that he might give his style an air of sim-
plicity, to finish his period by some transposed word,
because being an enemy to all the enchanting deli-
cacy and smoothness of periods, while they were
gliding pleasingly on, he threw in some expression
to interrupt and disturb their current ; for example,

* Orlg. Sole & aurora rubent plurima. Inter sacra movit aqua
fraxinos. Ne exequias quidem unus inter miserrimos viderem
ineas.

f Orig. Ut tibi necesse asset in conspeclu populi Romani vo-
mere postridie.

Heartily,

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 209

Heartily, my lords, do I tliank you.* And in his
pleading for Leelia, By them both, before your tri-
bunal, my client is brought in danger. It is per-
haps needless to inform my readers that an injudi-
cious disposition of words in a period gives it often
an ambiguous meaning. Thus much 1 thought pro-
per to speak concerning the disposition of words.
For if that is ill-judged, a period may be both fluent
and harmonious, yet must the style be considered as
careless and slovenly.

1 am now to speak of smoothness. And that
consists in words, parts of sentences, and periods.
For all their beauties and blemishes consist in a pro-
per disposition. That 1 may treat of these in order:
in the first place, some blemishes are so palpable that
they hurt even the most uninstructed ; for instance,
when the last syllable of one word, and the first of
the next, running into one another, form a word that
is unseemly and indecent ; or when, by a concourse
of vowels, a period is made to yawn, to hobble, and,
as it were, to groan. j

Long vowels, following one another, have the '■
worst effect ; especially when they are such as re-
quire an extension of the throat and mouth. This is If
not so observable in the collision of the (e) or the (i), j"
when the first vowel is pronounced full, and the latter i
quick. A short vowel after a long, or a long after a
short, is not very disagreeable ; and two short vow-
els together are less so. In short, a collision of vow-
els is more or less disagreeable, according as they -^
require the same or a different extension or compres- \
sion of the organs. Meanwhile, we are not to con- J
sider this as a matter of mighty moment, and 1 know
not which extreme is worst, that of neglecting, or

• Orig. Gratias agam continuo. Eis utrisque apudtejudi-
cem periclitatur Laelia.

VOL. II. p regarding,

210 QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book JX;

regarding:, it too niiich. For, very often, too great
a fear of falling into it intormpts the beautiful career
of eloqurnco, and diverts the speaker from nobler
considerations. 'I'herefore, as it discovers negligence
to fall into this fault, so it is mean to be always in a
panic for fear of it.

There is some reason for blaming the followers
of Isocrates, and especially Theopompus, for their
over-scrupulous attention to this point ; of which
J)emosthenes and Cicero were less regardful. For
the melting two vowels into one, which we call a
synalippha, may render a period smoother than it
would be, were each word to end with its own ter-
minating vowel. Sometimes there is a grace in
words that require a large extension of the mouth ;
for, thereby, they acquire an air of dignity.* For
the long syllables, which we call the preferable ones,
give time to breathe, which is necessary, where there
is a great concourse of vowels. Here 1 shall intro-
duce the words of Cicero upon this subject : " As
to the yawning and concourse of vowels, it contains
somewhat that is indeed effeminate, but, at the
same time, it discovers a negligence that is not quite
ungraceful ; because it shows a speaker to be more
intent upon his matter, than his expression."

With regard to consonants, those which are sharp
are apt to have a disagreeable effect by their hissing
or snarling; for example, when an (s) falls in with
an (x) Virtue's Xerxes ; Art's Studies. For this
reason some -j* have been known to suppress the (s)
at the end of a word, when the next word begun
with another consonant, especially an (s). 'I'his
practice is blamed by Lauranius, and defended by

• The example given by our author is,

Pulchra oratione acta omnino jactare.
\ VI2. Ser^ius.

^lessala.

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 211

Messala. For it is thouu:ht that Lucilius, the old
Latin poet, omitted the Jast (s) when he was to say,
Serenus fuit, and, Dignus loco. This, Cicero tells
us, was a common practice with old orators,* eveii
xvith regard toother final co/isona/its. They used to
say, Bei/igerare, Po^meridieni ; and Cato the cen-
sor said, Die^ hanc ; thereby softening the (m) into
an (e). When ignorant people met with such ex-
amples in old books, they used to correct the ortho-
graphy ; and by blaming the ignorance of the copyist^
they exposed their own.

There is a peculiarity in the (>i), that when it ends
a word, which precedes another word beginning
with a vowel, it is almost sunk ; for instance, mul-
tum ille, quantum erat. Here it sounds almost like
another letter, and, without being entirely sup-
pressed, it serves as a barrier between the two
vowels. •

Care ouQfht likewise to be taken, that the last svl-
lables of one word are not the same with the begin-
ning syllables of that which immediately follows*
The reader will not be surprised that I recommend
this caution, when he reflects, that Cicero himself
falls into the error in a letter to 13rutus.f He re-
peats the same oversight in the following line.

A blessing sing, for thy most happy hap.

Too many monosyllables, succeeding one another,
have likewise a bad effect ; for they necessarily
make the period hobble, by containing so many stops
and rebounds. In like manner, we ought to guard

* These words in Italics are absolutely necessary, in order to
make sense of this passage, for they have slipped out of the
Original.

t Orig. Res mihi invisse visae sunt, Brute. I think our author
has not properly considered this passage ; for the repetition here
blamed seems to have been purposely introduced by Cicero.

against

$12 QUINCTILIAN'S iKSTITUTES Book IX.

against too long a scries of cither short or long
words ; because they render a style tiresome. For
the same reason, we ought to avoid stringing toge-
ther similar cadences, terminations, or cases ; and
introducing verbs upon verbs, and the like, without
interruption ; because, even the beauties of style
become tiresome, unless they are aided with the
channs of variety.

We are not tied down to the same rules with re-
gard to sentences, or parts of sentences, that we
observe with regard to words ; yet, even in the for-
mer, the beginnings and endings may fall in with
one another. But, in composition, we ought to take
great care to observe the order in which we place
our words. Cicero gives us an example of it in his
description of Antony's shameful behaviour after
his debauch.* But he reverses this beautiful order
in his pleading for Arcliias, when he says (for I
often repeat the same examples to make them fami •
liar to my reader), rocks and deserts are respondent
to the voice ; music has charms to soothe and tame
the horrid savage. Here, 1 say, were the order of
the words reversed, the sentiment would rise and
improve in its progress ; but, though it is more diffi-
cult to move stones than brutes, yet the order in
which Cicero has arranged the words is the most
graceful. I will now pass to numbers.

Whatever regards the structure, the dimensions,
and the connexions of words, consists either in
numbers, which are employed according to their
length or shortness, or in measures, which are appli-
cable to lines. Now, though both numbers and
measures are composed of feet, yet the difference
between them is material ; for numbers consist in a

• Nam & vomens frustis esculenlis, viaum redolentibus, gre-
mium suum & totum tribunal implevit.

certain

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 913

certain space of time, but measures require order
likewise. I'he property, therefore, of the first is
quantity, and of the other quahty.

in numbers, the feet may be equal ; for example,
the dactylus, which contains a long syllable equal to
two short ones. Other numbers have the same
property ; but this is best known. For every school-
boy knows, that a long syllable contains two times,
and a short syllable only one. llie proportion may
likewise be sesqui-alteral, that is, it may contain
two quantities, the last of which must be equal to
one and a half of the other. The pyeon is a foot of
this kind ; for it contains one long syllable, and three
short ones. Equal to this, are three short ones and
a long one ; or any other quantities that bears the
same proportion as nine does to six, or thirty to
twenty. Or the proportion may be double ; for ex-
ample, the iambus which consists of a short and a
long, which is in the same proportion as a long and a
short.

In the dactyl, considered as a foot, it is indifferent
whether the two short syllables come first or last,
because there time is only regarded. But in a verse,
an anapest, or a spondee, cannot stand for a dact^d,
and the paeon must begin with a long syllable. A
line of poetry, likewise, does not admit of one dac-
tyl or one spondee to stand for another. For exam-
ple, the following line in \ irgil has five dactyls im*
mediately succeeding one another.

Panditur interea domus omnipotentis Olympi.

Here, if you alter the position of the dactyls, you
destroy the whole structure of the verse.

Even prose * has its feet ; and very often, with-

* I have here omitted some part of the original, which can be
of no manner of service to an English reader, because it is appli-
cable only to Latin verse. What I have translated of that kind
may be of use, even io English compositions.

out

2U QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

out our being sensible of it, it runs into all kinds
of measures. Nav, we liave had grammarians so
over eurious, that they have reduced j)rose works
into Lyric and other measures. Hut Cicero again
and again says, that all the beauty of disposition
consists in numbers or notes; and he is blamed by
some, as if he wanted to bind prose down to the
laws of verse ; for versification consists in notes or
numbers, according to Cicero himself: and \'irgil
after him says,

1 have the numbers, if I knew the words.
And Horace speaks of notes or numbei-s unsub-
jected to rule.

The following passage is likewise objected to in
Cicero : " Nor would Demosthenes have brandished
so many thunderbolts, had he not, by numbers,
given them force and rapidity." Here, I cannot be
of opinion, that Cicero meant that the style of De-
mosthenes was set to notes ; because notes have one
certain regular effect, and a regular return, which
is far from being the case with regard to the style
of Demosthenes. The meaning, therefore, of Cicero
is noble, and he often repeats it, that he requires a
composition to be harmonious according to its sub-
ject ; and that a style should approach nearer to
that justness ofmunbers required in poetry, than to
that broadness and clownishness which disregards
all kind of melody. In like manner, as we love to
see a young gentleman discover by his air and mo^
tions, that he has learnt his exercises, rather than
that they should resemble those of a professed
master or a mere clown. But the causes that effect
the happy and musical turn of a period certainly
deserve some name ; and I know no other name than
that of numbers, oratorial numbers, if you will ; in
Jike manner as we call an enthymema, an oratorial
syllogism. For my own part, that 1 may shun those

reflections,

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. JQ uSV5

reflections, which were tlirowu i)i,it even; against Ci-
cero, 1 hope it will be understood, that ■wiv^ii 1 speak.
of numbers, 1 alvvavs mean, and always have meant,
oratorial numbers. •

The business of arran,Lcem(!nt is to connect toge-
ther words that are established, selected, and which
have a determined meaning. For words which are
void of that arc to be rejected for others, however
harsh their combinations may be. Meanwhile, a
speaker may select a word out of many, that signify
the same thing, and have the same force. lie
may even add a word, if it is not cjuite impertinent.
He may suppress one, if it is not essential. He may,
by means of figures, alter his cases and numbers ;
and this variety, even without harmony, is often
agreeable, because it gives gracefulness to the com-
position. In composition, reason may be for one
word, and custom for another ; and either then
may be chosen, as best suits the author s purpose.
He is likewise to use his discretion with regard to
melting one sellable into another, and in whatever
does not hurt the sentiment, or the expression. IJut
in tliis matter his great business is, to know the par-
ticular use and place of every word ; and this is
the great art of composition ; the ellect, which the
arran<?ement of words has, being but a very inferior
consideration.*

The management of numbers, however, is much
more difficult in {)rose than in verse. For in the first
place, a verse is shut up in a few words, but in
pro.se a period may have a large sweep. Secondly,
one verse is always like another of the same kind,
and certain rules are stated for all verses. But unless
prose atfbrds variety, its sameness grows tiresome,
btiflf, and atfected. Besides, the numbers of prose

• This must be our author's meaning, for the original is very
praved.

are

216 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

arc diffused throuL^li its whole body and substance ;
because even tliiii^^ we speak must necessarily consist
of long and siiort syllables, out of which metrical
feet are composed.

Harmony, however, is chiefly required, and most
perceptible, in the close of periods ; for there the
sentiment ends ; and an interval naturally divides it
from the beginning of the subsequent sentence. Be-
sides, after the ear has followed a period that is kept
up to its close, and is entertained, as it were, by a
fluency of style, it is in the best condition to judge
of its harmony. The glow of diction then ceases,
and thereby we gain time for reflection on what we
have heard. For this reason, a period, by being
closed, becomes neither harsh, nor abrupt, because
the mind thereby recovers afresh its recoUective fa-
culties. Here eloquence shines forth with all its
powers ; the hearer has his full gratification, and
nothing but applause succeeds.

Next to the close of a period, its commencement
requires our utmost care ; for there the hearer is all
attention. But there is not the same difficulty in the
commencement as in the close ; for words in the
commencement of a period, being detached from
the preceding ones, are not governed by them in their
cadences. But let preceding words be ever so well
arranged, they lose their gracefulness, if the close of
the period is abrupt and precipitate. Nay, it may
happen that two periods may close with the same
numbers, yet the one, by coming too abruptly to its
close, may have far less grace than the other. In
this respect, Cicero, in one or two instances, is
thought to have fallen short of Demosthenes.* Even

* The original here is extremely depraved, nor are the exam-
ples brought from Demosthenes and Cicero by our author, ap-
plicable to tlie English language, though his general observation
certainly is.

in

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 217

in verse, the closing a line with a word that has a
great many syllables, renders it weak and spiritless.
And we may say the same thing of prose.*

The middle of a period likewise demands our at-
tention, so that it may be well connected, without
being drawling or tedious ; and without ialhng into
another and a worse fault, that of its consisting of
short, quick, pert words, which gives it a S(jund
like that of a child's rattle. For though our greatest
cares ought to be employed about the beginning and
close of a sentence or period, yet the middle too
makes its impression, and requires proper, though
slight, pauses ; in like manner, as a man's foot,
while he is running, leaves a print.

We are therefore not only to take care how we be-
gin and close our sentences and periods, but likewise
how to arrange the middle part ; though it is con-
nected, and without any full-stop or breathing ; for
that too admits of certain, though concealed, pauses.
The following passage contains only a single senti-
ment, and requires but one breath to pronounce it :
1 have observed, my lords, the whole pleading of the
prosecutor, to be divided into two parts. Yet even
here are proper pauses to relieve the breathing of the
speaker, without discontinuing it.

An entire verse is quite unpardonable in prose,
and even part of a verse stands in it w^itli a very bad
grace, especially if the period begins ^^'ith words
that would stand properly at the beginning of a
verse, or ends witli such as might properly close it.
But the reverse practice has often an excellent effect ;
for we may very well begin a period with words
which might form the end of a verse, and close it

* This observation is certainly true with regard to English
yerse, but I think it is not applicable to English prose.

with

218 QUIN'CTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

with those which inij^ht begin it.* Above all, a
period is very improperly closed by the end of an
hexameter line. An example of this we have in
one of the epistles of Brutus : For they chose not to
have guardians or advocates, though they were sen-
sible that Cato loved their cause. But in epistolary-
writing, such as this is, the blemish is less sensible,
because the style there admits of almost as much
freedom as conversation does. This proves that such
tags of verses will drop unwittingly from us. But
Brutus was apt to fall into this errror from the over-
care he had to render his style smooth and flowing,
as Ennius often, nay Cicero sometimes, docs the
same. Witness the first words of his pleading
against Piso : Immortal gods \-\ to what are we
reserved ^

Prose compositions admit of all the feet made use
of in poetry. But those feet that are most full and
long give the greatest weight to a style ; the short
make it quick and fluent. All are serviceable in their
proper places ; for a style must be egregiously
faulty, if grave, solemn, quantities are employed in
those passages which require quickness ; and swift,
rebounding quantities, in those that require gravity.

The observations, however, that 1 have made upon
the quantities that enter into a prose style, are not
introduced to prevail with an orator, whose style

* Great part of the original here is rendered unintelligible by
the transcribers and editors. Therefore I have omitted it. But
were it not, it is entirely accommodated to the genius of the Latin
and the Greek languages ; and so far as can be judged of it, it is
not a little fanciful, even applied to them, I have translated all
that can be of use to an English reader.

+ Here follows a long and no very instructive dissertation in
the original concerning Greek and Latin quantities, which I have
omitted ; because a man of a good ear, copious elocution, and
tolerable judgment, can easily compassj all that is intended by it,
and they can be of service to no man without these qualifications.

ought

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 219

ought to be free and fluent, to spend his time in
measurinsj feet and weigliins: syllables. Miserable
and trifling must such a business be ! 'i'he man who
should wholly apply himself to that, will have no
time to bestow on matters of greater moment : for,
abandoning all regard for sense or elegance, he
will employ himself, to speak in the terms of Luci-
lius, in suiting stones for Mosaic pavements, and
shells for flowers, and grotto-work. Such littleness
damps the heat, and weakens the force of genius ;
as we check a horse in his career, and rein him in
when we want him to amble. No, numbers never
will be wanting, if the composition is just. in
prose, as in verse, we set about it, without, at first,
hitting upon the proper cadences. The ear directs
MS, and by the fortuitous repetition of the same ca-
dences, we observe when they become harmonious ;
and then, by examination, we find them just and
measured. Practice therefore, in writing, is sulh-
cient to instruct us in this part of composition, and
will give us a habit of arranging our words with
grace and harmony.

After all 1 have said, I am to observe, that we
are not so much to regard the scanning of a prose
period, as its whole sweep ; for poets do not so
much regard the five or six feet that form a v^rse, as
they do the genius of poetry, that is to inspirit the
whole. For poetry was pra("tised long b(.*fore it was
observed, and Ennius very rightly says.

That fauns and oracles indited verse.

Composition, therefore, in prose, is the same with
versification in poetry. Now the ear is best judge
of composition. If a period is full, the ear is
satisfied ; if defective, the ear requires somewhat
more. If harsh," it is hurt; it[ gentle, it is soothed;
if spirited, it grows eager ; it rests upon whafever

is

920 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

is firm ; it haters all lameness ; and loaths all redun-
dancy. 1, rained men, therefore, judge of composi-
tion, by tli«' art it requires, as well as the pleasure it
gives: the unlearned by the latter only.

Hut certain points are not to be communicated
by rules. The continuation of the same case may
give disgust; then we are to change it. But have
we any rule into what other case we are to change
it? No. Figures often, By their variety, relieve a
style that must flag without them. But what figures
are we to employ ? Without doubt, both verbal and
sentimental. But for this we can lay down no
particular rule ; all we can do is to consult the
present time, occasion, and circumstances. The
different pauses, which are so material in composi-
tion, can be found only by the judgment of the
ear. Why may one period, consisting but of a few
words, be full, nay, redundant^ while another, which
consists of many, seems short and unfinished ? Why,
in other periods, the sense may be complete yet
still somewhat defective appear. Says Cicero, All
of you, my lords, I believe, are sensible, that for
some days past, this has been talked of amongst the
vulgar; it has been the opinion of the Roman peo-
ple. Here, why does the orator say, some days past,
rather than, some days; especially as it would not
have created any harshness ? I really can give no
reason for this. All 1 can say is, that I am best
pleased with the words as they stand. Where
is there any occasion to add any thing after the
word vulgar? 1 can say nothing to that. All I
know is, that my ear would not have been fully
satisfied without the additional words, repetitory as
they are. The ear therefore is the only judge. A
man may not know the meaning of the words se-
verity, and smoothness, in composition, yet nature
may instruct him in what learning does not; for he

will

I

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 291

will be sensible of it in himself. But nature herself
is to be worked upon by art.

It is the great business of an orator to know, how
to suit his composition to his subject. Here two
things are to be considered, hrst the feet, next the
composition arising from the feet. I shall first
speak of the latter. 1 have already observed, that
they may be reduced under three heads: the
words bounded by comma.?, those by colons or
semi-colons, and those by full stops. The former
makes part of the colon, or semi-colon, according;
to the general opinion. But, I think, it may im-
ply likewise, a sentence without a period. Had you
no house? But you had. Had you money? But
you was in want. I have finished my pleading ;
I will now produce my witnesses. Here, I have
finished my pleading, though bounded by a comma,
is in fact a sentence.

The words bounded by a colon, or semi-colon,
which I call a member of discourse, may indeed be
a sentence with a period; but being severed from
the body of the discourse, it has, in itself, no mean-
ing. Cunning rogues ! is a complete member, but
it is as useless in discourse, when it stands uncon-
nected, as a hand, a foot, or a head would be, when
severed from the body. In like manner, O cunning
measure! O formidable abilities! Here it may be
asked, When does this member come to be of use
to the body ? The answer is, not till the period is
complete. Was there a man amongst us, who did
not foresee the measures you have taken ? This,
Cicero gives us as an example of a complete, but
very short period. Thus we see that commas and
colons are generally mingled together, and require to
be closed with a period.

Cicero calls a period by several names, such as

that of a round, a circuit, a sweep, an extension, and

a a just

24^2 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES. Book LX.

a just conclusion. IVriods are of two sorts, one that
is simple, containing a single sentiment rounded by
several words. Another which consists of commas
and colons, and containing many sentiments or
objects ; as in Cicero's description of Verres, He had
with him the goalerof the prison, the butcher of the
pruetor; and so forth.* Every period may count

at

* I have already observed, that I have in this chapter omitted
great part of what is to be found in the original. But besides the
reason 1 have mentioned, I mean that of its being useless to an
Fnglish reader, I have another, which is, that I am very doubt-
ful, whether all that is said there, concerning the application of
metrical feet to prose compositions, really came from oiir au-
thor. It is plain from what I have translated, that he himself
thought such minutenesses to be of little or no use in prose com-
positions. And he has comprehended, in a very few words, all
that, in this respect, can be useful even to a Latin style. But we
are further to reflect, as I hinted on a former occasion, that our
author was succeeded by swarms of ignorant assuming professors,
who read his works in their schools, and added to, altered, or cur-
tailed, them, as they thought proper. To keep such interpolations
from the knowledge of the public, it was necessary for them to
destroy the most genuine copies of his book. This, more than
probably, is the reason, why all the manuscript copies of it are
so modern, mutilated, and incorrect. The passages, I am now
translating, seem to have suffered greatly from the same causes.

For this reason I shall, 'after Monsieur RoUin, endeavour to
give a concise stale of what is generally understood on those
heads. A period contains a sweep of words and sentiments,
till the sense becomes full. For example, " The liberal studies
employ us in youth, and amuse us in old age ; in prosperity they
grace and embellish, in adversity they shelter and support j de-
lightful at home, and easy abroad, they soften slumber, they
shorten fatigue: and enliven retirement."

By the consideration of the above passages, the reader will easily
comprehend the meaning of a period and Its divisions.

It is either simple or compound ; an example of the former is,
'♦ C«sar by beinjj; unambitious would have been happy," A com-
pound period admits of two, three, but seldom of above four mem-
bers. For then it runs into discourse. The above simple period
may be turned so as to be an example of one with two members.
" C'ccsar, if he had been void of ambition, would have been
happy." An example of three members is, " instead of tarnish-
ing

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 223

at least for two members, but it sometimes admits
of more than tour, which 1 take to be the middle
number, in order to render it complete. Cicero as-
signs it as much length as four hexameter verses
contain, or as many words as we can command,
without taking breath. The properties of a period
are to terminate the sense, in a clear and intellible
manner, and to bound it so, that the memory may
easily contain it. When the members, or the infe-
rior stops are too long, they grow tiresome; when
too short, they are slight and slipper}'.

In all pleadings that require keenness, eagerness,
and exertion, we throw in the inferior stops, with
quickness and smartness. For it is a great property
in speaking to bring your composition to answer
your subject, to give to a harsh matter, a harsh ca-
dence, so that your hearer shudders as you proceed,
and is affected as you are affected. In narratives
we generally make use of members, or if we em-
ploy a period, we disengage, and, as it were, un-
brace it, to make it appear free and unconstrained.
But this is to be understood only of the instruc-
tive part of a narrative ; for when it requires
ornament, the arrangement must be artful, smooth,
and melodious. Witness, when Cicero, in his
narrative against Verres, introduces the rape of
Proserpine.

The period stands very properly in the introduc-
tion to causes of great consequence, the subjects of
which call for expressions of anxiety, favour, or
compassion. It is likewise of service in all general
topics, and in all cases that require to be ampli-

ing his virtues by ambition, had Cxsar been moderate, he would
have been happy." A period of four members runs as follows,
*' instead of tarnishing his virtues by ambition, had Caesar been
moderate, his life would have been happy, and his death la-
mented."

fied:

9i24. QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

fiod; with this (hflcrence, that, when you arc the
accuser, the turn of the period is to be pointed
and severe; hut if the defendant, insinuating, loose,
and gentle. It is likewise of great service in wind-
ing up a pleading ; but the whole force and majesty
of it oiigiit to shine, when the judge, besides being
master of the cause, begihs to be charmed with
your eloquence, commits himself to its guidance,
and yields to the delight it gives him.

History does not so much require to be wrote in
regular numbers, as in disengaged, yet connected,
periods. For each member of it is interweaved with
another, because it is always gliding and flowing, as
when men, by holding each other by the hand,
keep their steps firm in slippery places, and each
gives strength and support to the other. All the
numbers in the demonstrative kind requires a ca-
dence that is more easy, free, and disengaged. As
to the deliberative and judiciary kind, it compre-
hends many various subjects, and, therefore, requires
great variety of cadences.

Here, I am to treat of the second consideration
which I mentioned. For there can be no doubt
that some matters are to be delivered with gentle-
ness, some with spirit, some in a sublime, some in
an earnest, and some in a weighty, manner. The
sublime and the weighty require longer syllables
than the ornamented. The gentle require to be de-
livered leisurely, while the sublime and ornamented
require strength and clearness likewise. I would re-
commend quickness to arguments, divisions, jokes,
and whatever borders upon conversation.

As to the introduction of a pleading, its compo-
sition ought to be varied according to the nature
of the subject ; for I cannot agree with Celsus in
thinking that all introductions ought to have the
same cast, and recommends the following from

Asinius,

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 295

Asiniiis, as a pattern for them all, " Caesar, were
we at liberty to chuse from all men that now live,
or ever did live, a judge to decide this matter, we
could fix ii])on none more agreeable than yourself."
I am far from saying that this period is not well
('omj)osed, but 1 deny that it ouglit to be the model
for the beginning of all introductions. For, in prc-
j)aring the mind of a judge, we must assume vari-
ous characters : sometimes that of distress, some-
times bashfulness, sometimes keenness, sometimes
severity, sometimes insinuation, sometimes we are
to implore clemency, and sometimes to exact ri-
gour. As all these are different properties, so they
re(|uire different manners of composition. Cicero,
iioMcver, uses the same cadences in the several in-
troductions to his pleadings for Milo, Cluentius, and
1 Jaarius.

A narrative requires a gentle, and what we may
call a modest, cadence, and suits better with nouns
than verbs.* For tliough verbs may render it con-
cise, yet they make it swell at the same time ; and
too much of either property must be very incon-
V(^nient, when the sole i)urjjose of the speaker is to
inform and print matters in the miml : in general,
1 am for having the members of a narrative to be
long, but its jjcriods short.

When the argumentative part of a pleading is
keen and spirited, the numbers and cadences em-
ployed in it ouglit to be suited accord i n i^ly ; but
W'ithout making too great use of the trochaeus,
jwhich is quick indeed, but without force. In ge-
leral, when we use a mixtun; of long and short feet,
ll am against the former exceeding the latter. As
ko the elevated parts of a discourse, they require

* The original here is very obscure, if not unintdligible : the
|;encral sense of the paragraph, however, is obvious.

VOL. II. <i expression*

t>i?6 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book IX.

expressions that are sonorous and full, and naturally
tali in with the majesty ol' the dactylus, and the
pa3on, which last figure is sufticiently slow, though
the greatest part ot" it is composed of short syllables.
Sharpness and severity, on the other hand, chiefly
run upon iambics, not only because those feet, con-
sisting only of two syllables, beat as it were more
(juiekly, than is consistent with slowness, but be-
cause they always keep up the spirit of a style ; for
they set out with a short foot, then they fall and
support themselves upon a long. And in this re-
spect they are preferable to the choreus, which sets
out upon a long, and then sinks upon a short foot.
As to the submissive part of pleading, w^hich is ge-
nerally employed in its winding up, its cadences
ought to be slow, soft, and insinuating^.

Celsus pretends that there is a composition of a
superior nature to any 1 have laid down. If there is,
I either know it not, or it must be somewhat that is
very tame and very spiritless ; qualities which un-
less they are directed by the nature of the pleading,
are in themselves tiresome and despicable.

To say all 1 have to say on this head, our com-
position ought to resemble our pronunciation, un-
less in an impeachment, when we are to fire the
judge with resentment and indignation. Do we
not generally set out with slowness and submission
of voice ? Does it not become full and clear in our
narrative ? Does it not rise and improve into a
quicker motion in the argumentative part, which
animates us likewise -with a more spirited action ?
]n sentimental and descriptive parts, is not our elo-
cution easy and flo^ving, and generally broken and
faultering, when we come to wdnd up the plead-
ing? Is not even the action of our body regulated
by a certain measure of time ? And the modulation
of our voice, in speaking, as much directed by

^ notes,

Book IX. OF ELOQUENCE. 227

notes, as the motions of our feet are in dancing ?
Has not our voice and action always a resemblance
to the subject we are handling ? And can we be
surprised at the same effect in the movements of
eloquence, that the sublime should walk majesti-
cally along, the tender leisurely, that the eager
should run, and the delicate flow ? Nay, sometimes
we swell, when we have occasion, into the bombast
of the following line, which is composed of spon-
dees and iambics.

Hyperoargus sceptra mihi liquit pelops.

Upon the whole, however, were I obliged to
chuse, I should prefer a composition that is harsh
and rough to one that is efteminate, and enervate,
such as that which is in use amongst the modern
orators, who are every day debelitating eloquence
by suiting it to notes more proper for dancers than
speakers. It is true, that no composition can be
so excellent as never to admit of variation, and
always proceed on the same feet. For poetry alone
is tied down to certain laws of versification, be
the subject what it will ; but in prose we ought
carefully to avoid every appearance of sameness,
because, besides its proceeding from palpable affec-
tation, it is tiresome and loathsome both to the
hearer and reader. For we are to consider that the
more sweet a thing is, the sooner it surfeits. And
the orator, who aims only at being melodiou'^ in
one strain, forfeits all regard to sincerity without
being able to create one emotion, or to touch one
passion. Can a judge believe what such an one
says ? Can he be touched with his grief, or fired
with his resentment, when he sees liim intent upon
nothing, but this tinsel bauble ? Nay, it may be
proper sometimes to introduce, into our composi-
tion, an artful disorder, to give it an air of inad-
vertent

228 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES. Book IX.

vertent sinrrrity, and to tnke from it all suspic^ion of
art. And this perhaps is the most artful part of an
orator's busiiu'ss.

iMranwhile, we are not to observe in composition
too threat distances heturen corresponding; words,
because we may thereby discover an arti'ctation of
gracefulness, and above all thin<Ts, we are never,
for the sake of a cadence, to throw aside any word
that is proper and significant. No word can be
so unwieldy, as that it may not be suited with a pro-
per place where it may stand ; unless all we hunt
for is the smoothness, and not the gracefulness, of
composition.

Neither can it be surprisinij that the Latins have
been more curious than the Athenians were, as to
composition. For we are to consider that the Latin
language is neither so copious, nor so graceful as the
Greek ; a consideration that justifies Cicero for de-
viating a little, in this respect, from the manner of
Demosthenes. But in the last book of this work,
I shall explain the difference between the Latin and
the Greek language.

I shall conclude this book with ol^scrving, that
composition ought to be nobly agreeable, and di-
versified ; and that its parts are three, order, con-
nexion, and harmony. it recjuires judgment in
adding, retrenching, and changing. We ought to
suit it to the nature of our subject, and our grpat
care ought to be bestowed upon sentiment and ex-
pression. And whatever harmony we give it, ought
to be disguised so, as to appear natural, and not
artificial.

QUINCTnJAN\S

I

aUI]N^€TTLlAN^S INSTITUTES

OV

E L O Q U E N C E.

BOOK X.

CHAP. I.

CON'CERXIXG THE BENEFIT OF READING.

1 HE rules I liave already delivered, necessary as
they are lor the instruction of a young' orator, arc
far from being sutticient to render him eloquent,
unless lie acfjuires a settled habit, a certain happy
faculty in practising them. Now, the question is.
Whether this is most efi'ectually to be attained bv
writing, by reading, or by speaking. This might hii
a pr<)i)er subject for minute discussion, were it pos-
sible to attain it l)y any of these (pialificatious
singly. But, so connected,, so blended, are they
with one another, that, when any tuie of tljem is
wanting, the ri*st become inaccessible-; for elo-
<|Uince never cap accjuire solidity and strength,-
without receiving powers from the pra<tice of
writing ; and that practice is useless, unless it has
for its director that critical knowledge, which can be
ac(piired only by reading. But, let a man be ever
so nuich master of the critical and speculative parts
of elo(|uence. luilcss he possesses the abilities of
carrying them readily and properly into practice

upon

230 aUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

upon every occasion, he can be considered only as
nuister ot" a treasure whicli he cannot use.

Alcanwhile, though an acquirement may be in- /
dispeiisably necessary to eloquence, yet it may not
be of the greatest cflicacy towards forming an ora-
tor. Speaking is the chief business of an orator,
and therefore his first care ought to be to learn elo-
cution ; and it is plain that this forms the ground-
work of eloquence. Imitation comes next, and
perfection in writing completes the whole. But, as
it is impossible to come to the summit but by fun-
damentals, so, the nearer we approach to it, the
more inconsiderable these appear.

But I am not here to handle the rudiments of

eloquence (which I have sufficiently, or at least to

the best of my abilities, already discussed), but as

the master of an academy, after giving his pupil rules

for his exercises, instructs him how to practise them

in earnest, so I am to instruct the young orator,

^ after he knows how to invent and dispose his ma-

) ] terials, and how to chuse and arrange his words, in the

^ best and the easiest way of carrying into execution

^ what he has learned. Now there can be no manner

of doubt, that an orator ought to lay up a magazine

of stores, which he is to employ as occasion shall

offer, and this magazine must consist in materials,

or things and words.

With regard to materials each cause is peculiarly
circumstanced ; few are alike : but all causes require
words. Could a single thing be expressed only by
a single word, we should, in this respect, be under
: no great difficulty ; because the word riiust then
present at the same time with the thing. But as
some words are more proper, more ornamented,
more significant, and better sounding, than others,
we ought not only to have them in our head, but,
if I may so speak, in our eye, and in our hands,

so

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 231

so as to be able readily to employ the best, out of
all that })resent themselves from the store-house of
kiujivledger-^ii^i^ . . ,(a'-'-

[T-ttnpSetT^ttte, indeed, that_some orators have:§<^
by rote, collections of words signifying the same
thing, that they may the more readily employ one
out of many, and having used one, should occasion
call for it again, they may make use of another of the
same signification ; that they may thereby avoid a re-
petition of the same word. lUit this j)iece of know-
ledge, besides being puerile and painful, is of very
little use ; for, all such an orator does, is, to amass
a rude heap, from which he takes the first word
that comes to his hand, without distinction. /For my ^
part, I regard the powers of eloquence, and not
a random volubility of speech, and, therefore, the
stores that 1 recommend must be collected with
iudcjment. and used with skill. This can onlv be
done, by reading and hearing whatever is best in its
kind. This will make us not only acquainted with'
words, but will enable us to give each thing the \
term that suits it best, and to place it to most ad-^
vantage. ^For there scarcely is a term in 'language
(excepting a few, that are indecent), that may not
enter into a pleading. Nay, even indecencies are .
often applauded in the works of iambic poets, and
in our old comedy. Hut it is the business of an
orator, to risqiie nothing from indecency, or low-
ness of expression. 'I'here is not a word, but those
1 have already excepted, that may not be employed
to the greatest advantage. _ An orator is obliged
sometimes to employ expressions that am vulgar and
mean ; and terms that would appear groveling in
a polished part of his pleading, have propriety when
introduced with jud£;ment.

It is impossible for us to acquire the knowlednje
of all this, and not onlv the sii^nification, but the

declensions

n

2J2 QUINCTILTANS INSTITUTES Book X.

derlensions and conjnuations ot' words, so as to
apply tluni lltly, but by great practice l)<>tli in
reading;- and in fiearing ; for all languaoc enters
at lirst by the ears. As a proof of this we are told
of a king*, \n ho placed dumb nurses to attend certain
youni;- children brought up in a desert pla(;e, and
thai these children ])ronounced words before they
hail the yift of speech.*

Some words are of such a nature, that though
they signify the same thing, it is quite a matter
of indifference which we make use of. lor ex-
ample, a dagger or a poignard. Other words are
proper to certain things, and yet, by a trope, they
are applied to the same thing, and con\ey the
same idea; as for example, this sword, and this steel.
And whoever murders another privately, in v\ hatever
manner or with whatever weapon he doc s it, we
say, he cut his throat. To express some things,
we make use of circumlocutions, as Virgil, to ex-
press a great cheese, calls it, a large quantity of
pressed milk. AVe have likewise several ways of ex-
pressing a simple thing by varying the terms. 1
know, 1 am not ignorant, it has not escaped me, 1
am very sensible, 1 am not insensilde, who does not
know ? No man can doul)t. Sometimes we borrow
from neighboining qualities and senses. 1 under-
stand, 1 perceive, I see, often signify no more than,
I know. Now reading will furnish us with j)lenty
and variety of such expressions, and not only tencU
us how to use tliem readily, but properly. For
such terms are not always convertible. To express
his understanding a thiiig, a man may say, he sees
it. But it would be improper for him to express
his seeing a thing, by saying that he understands it.

• "We have this story from Herodotus, 1. 2. c. 2. who refers
it to Ptsammeticus, a king of iEgypt; and he says, that when the
children were hungry, they called out becos, which in the Phry-
Sian language signifies bread and food.

A sword

r

•

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 2J3

A sword t^ivcs us the idea of stec^, l)Ut steel does
not alwius ij;ive us the idea ot a sword.

But as by the methods 1 have recommended, I f^-
mean those of hearing and reading, may give us a
cojjiousness of words, yet we are not to employ
them for the sake of words only. For tlie examjjles
Avljieh suuuest to ourselves, are of more efficaev to-
M'ards perfection, than the rules themselves that are
laid down. Because, when a student is capable to
form an example to himself and to apj)ly it, he
must have come to that point of perfection, as to
be sensible of ])ropriety and beauty without a master,
and is able to proceed without any {tssistance, be-
cause he can now practise from the orator, what he
liad before only learned from the master.

Reading and hearing have their several and sepa-
rate advantages. In hearing, the speaker arouses us
by his spirited action; he fires us, not with ideas and
imaginations, but with realities. All is alive, all is
animated ; the impressions we receive are new, pleas-
ing, and interesting; for we are interested n<jtonly in
the event of the trial, but in the success of the
/ pleader. Add to this the graces of voice and ac-
tion judiciously disposed, and properly exerted. In
short, the -vvhoh^ of what the speaker says and does
gives us equal instruction, especially as what we
had before in idea, we now see in reality, antl
thereby it bec(jmes more powerful.

Jn reading, ho\yever, our judgment is more
certain ; f<n' w hile we are hearers, we are a])t to be
imposed upon, cither by our own prepossessions in
favour (j[" the speaker^ or by tlie a})i)lause his
speaking meets with from the other hearers. A
man is ashatned to be singular in censuring, and he
has within him a certain secret check, that bids him
not trust too nuich to his own opinion. Thus it
haj)pens, that what is faulty often pleases the m i-

jorityi

234 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

jority, or vcMial mttrrers get the better of private
dislike. SomctiiiK's the reverse happens ; and an
ill-)ud,u;ing audience does not relish even the greatest
beauties of eloquence. In reading we are more
disengaged ; we are not hurried away by the force of
action, we are at freedom to review the words again
and again ; and either to satisfy our doubts, or to
imprint their beauties more deeply upon our me-
mory. I therefore recommend a review and ex-
amination of what we read, in the same manner, as
macerating the food we swallow, assists digestion.
For when what we read is not crude and raw, but
dressed and prepared by frequently reviewing it, it
becomes more proper either to be remembered or
jmitalcMl.

But the authore upon whom we take all this pains,
ought to be the most excellent in their several kinds, ^^^
and the least liable to impose upon our judgment ; we.^Hp
ought however to read them with attention, and ^^^^
even go so far as to reduce what pleases us to writ-
ing. Neither are we to examine them partially; but
after we have read over the whole of a composition,
we are to begin it anew, especially if it is an oration;
because there the beauties are often industriously
concealed. For an orator makes use of prepossession,
dissimulation, and art, and frequently in the first
part of his ])leading, he lays down that from w^hich
he is to draw the greatest advantages towards its
close. A thing therefore may not effect us at first,
because we may then be ignorant of the speaker's
motives for introducing it. And therefore we ought
to review and examine the whole, that we may be
thereby enabled to form a thorough and complete
judgment of what we read.

It is likewise of the utmost importance that we
make ourselves masters of the subject of the orations
we read, and, as often as possible, to read their an-
swers

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 535

swers likewise : such as that of Demosthenes against.
yEschines; those of Servius Suipitius and Messala,
wherein the one prosecutes, and the other defends,
Aufidia: of Polho and Cassius in the trial of As-
pernas ; and many others of the same kind. AV^here
the match is unequal in point of eloquence, we must
hav^recourse to an answer for the sake of informa-
tion : such as that of Tubero against Ligarius, de-
fended, and of Hortensius for Verres, prosecuted by
Cicero. It is likewise of great service to know, in
what manner different orators have handled the same
cause: we have a pleading of Callidius, in {\ivourof
Cicero's estate ; and Brutus composed an oration
for Milo, merely to try his talents ; though Celsus
is under the mistake of saying, that he actually
pronounced it in public. Pollio and Messala de-
fended the same parties ; and when 1 was a boy,
very fine pleadings for Yolusenus Catulus by Domi-
tius Afer, Crispus Pas'sienus, and Decimus Laelius
were handed about.

The rising- orator, in the course of his pleading-, r\^^
is not to imagine, that every thing composed by a
great author is equally finished: no; great authors •
sometimes slip ; sometimes they sink under their
burden ; sometimes they give too much way to the
pleasure of imagination, and the bent of genius ;
sometimes their spirit droops, and the faculties
sometimes are wearied out. Cicero, for instance,
thinks that Demosthenes nods; and Horace, liiat
Homer himself slumbers. The^se in their several
ways, were great men ; but then they were no
more than men. And it often happens, that they,
who lay down whatever such men wrote, as infal-
lible rules, imitate their blemishes,, and think they
resemble a ^reat master, if they follow him in his
faults.

In

^

;* 1>.06 QUlNCTIl.fAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

111 jiidiiiinj liowcx or of thoso uroat men, M'e ought
to iu' ilitruU lit otOursclvosaiid circumspect, iorit of-
ten liai)pcns that \vi> condemn wliatwedo not under-
stand. The most eh!:;ibh> extreme however, when
we arc reduced to judsjc positively, is to a])i)rove of
every part, rather tlian to find fault with much of
their compositions. «

Theophrastus is of opinion, that the reading of po-
etry may be of great service to an orator ; and in
this he has been followed by many, and that with
great reason ; for from poets we learn to give ani-
mation to circumstanceis, sublimity to words, every
emotion to passions, and eveiy grace to characters ;
all which properties are of great use to an orator,
whose spirit may be exhausted through daily appli-
cation to his Inisiness at the bar, and therefore re-
quires to be recruited by the charms of poetry. Vor
this reason it is that Cicero recommends, at leisure
hours, the reading C)f the poet's.
I ]\]eaiiwhile, we are to observe, that the orator is

not to imitate the poet in every respect ; for he is to
avoid the licentiousness of his expression, and the
boldness of his figures ; remembering that poetry
is calculated to strike and amaze ; that all its aim is.
to delight; that it succeeds not only through fiction,
but improbability, and that the ])ublic indulges it,
because jjocts, being tied down to certain measures,
are not always enabled to make use of })roj)er terms ;
and being compelled out of the direct road of ex-
pression, they are obliged to take refuge in certain
purlieus, as it were, of style, and are forced not on-
ly to alter the sense of some words, but to lengthen,
to shorten, to convert and divide them, differently,
from their original meaning.

JJut we orators must reniember that we stand un-.
der arms, in the array of battle ; that we are to
fight for a most important prize, and that all our

aim

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 937

aim ouiilit to be victory. Not that I would have an
orator's arms to be tlirtv and riistv : no ; they
oimlit to he briiiht, but llieir l»ri<rhtiu'ss oii"ht to bo
that of steel ; a brightness that strikes at once the
soul and tlie eye ; and i\ot the feeble irlitter that is
shed from gold or silver, and which, instead of being
useful, is dangerous to the wearer. ^\

There is in history a soft and a<rreeablc moisture,
which may be serviceable in nourishing elofjuenc'C.
But while we read it, we arc to remember that Avhat
are beauties in the historian are generally blemishes
in the orator, llistory is next to poetry as to its
composition, it being a kind of a })oem without
quantity. It is writ merely to narrate, and not to
prove ; and the whole of it is calculated, not for the
innnediate purpose, or a present dispute, but to hand
facts down to posterity, so as to do honour to the
historian's orcnius. And on that account it avoids
all tediousness of narrative by the freedom of its
language, and the boldmss of its figur<'S»

I'br this reason, the conciseness of Sallust, which
to the critical, the disencumbered, reader, sounds ?o
just^, is improper for an orator to employ before a
judge, who is seld<jm a man of much learning, byt
always a man of great business, and intent uj)on a^
thousand other considerations. On the other hand
the diction of l^ivy, thou«j:h flowing with milk and
lioney, is insufficient for the information of a. judge,
searching not after the beauty of Language, biit tiie
truth of facts. Let me observe fartlyier, that Cicero
thinks the diction of neither Thuckl^^ nor Xenophon
is proper for an orator, though h«< dwns the style of
the one to be as animated as the sound of the trum-
pet, and that tlu^ muses spoke from the mouth of
44t^fod<-<tu^)r An orator, however, may in his di-x^**--
gressions sonie'times adopt a ilourish from history,
provided that when he couKiS to the main (piestion,

iie

V

238 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

he remembers tluit he is to do execution as a soldier,
and not to pertbrm feats of activity as a wrestler, and
that the glossy robe said to be worn by Demetrius
Phalereus, suits ill with the dust and the bustle of
the forum.

History, however, in another sense, may be of
> . very great use to an orator, though foreign to my
present purpose, by furnishing him with a know-
ledge of things and precedents ; a most important
knowledaje to an orator 1 who must otherwise be
obliged for it to his client. But let him be careful
as-to what he adopts, and that it be from the most
' tindoubted antiquity ; and those kinds of precedents
or examples will have the greater weight, because
they can lie under no suspicion of being calculated
to gratify favour or resentment.

Orators have yielded up to philosophers the chief
part of their profession, and, therefore, have them-
selves to blame that they are obliged to be so much
indebted Ui the reading of philosophers. For phi-
>\a^if^ losophy is chiefly employed upon the subjects of
justice, honesty, and utility, and their opposites.
It likewise treats of divine matters, and its argu-
ments are close and keen. Nav, this Socratic manner
is very pro|)er to form the future orator to all the
business of altercatino-, and examinins: witnesses or
parties. But, even here, we must use a caution, like
what I have already recommended, by remembering,
that though we deal in the same subjects, yet there
is a vast difference between pleaders and disputants;
between a court of justice, and a school of learning ;
between teaching rules, and trying causes.

CHAP. II.

BookX. of eloquence. 239

CHAP. II.

CONCERNING THE AUTHORS THAT AN ORATOR OUGHT TO
READ THEIR CHARACTERS AND EXCELLENCIES.

Having said thus much to recommend the prac- 3 j
tice of reading, I suppose it will be generally expect-
ed that I should add somewhat concerning the au-
thors proper to be read, and concerning the excellen-
cies that distinguish each. This would be an endless
labour, were i to be particular upon every one. If
Cicero, in sj)€aking of the Roman orators, employed
so many pages of his lirutus, (though he was silent
as to all his cotemporaries, excepting Caesar and
jMarcellus) what volumes must I write, were I to
characterize particularly, not only all who lived with,
and after, Cicero, but all the Creeks, and all poets
and philosophers. It is therefore a short, and a safe,
rule, which Livy recommends in a letter to his son,
when he says, " that Demosthenes and Cicero ought
to-be irad-tiltlhc reader attaiiis^fo as near a resem-
blance as possible to Demosthenes and Cicero." 1
cannot, however, help giving my own opinion :
which is, that there are few or none of the antients,
whose works have survived the injuries of time, that
mav not be serviceable to an orator, who sliall read
them with judgment; especially as Cicero acknow-
ledges himself greatly indebted to the reading of the
most antient authors, who were men of great, but
artless genius.

My judgment of the moderns is pretty much the
same ; for, is there an a\ithor so despicably infatu-
ated, as to publish works, no part of which gives
him the smallest glimpse of hoj)e that tlicy will de-
scend to posterity ? Jf there is, he is discovered by
reading a few lines, and we throw him aside with-
out

24-0 QUIN'CTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X5

out ;iiiv waste of tim(' in niakiiig' a i'arthcr experi-
ment. Hut we are not to iniaj^inc that a sniatter-
ino- ot" kiiowJ('(l;j:e, that some merit in style, will im-
mediateh eonununieate to an orator the diction I am
recommendino;-.

h^' Hut i)etore 1 come to eharacterize particular au-
■ tliors, I nuist premisi; some general observations con-

, eerning the variety of opinions on this head. Some
think the ancieuts are the only authors that can bear
readinix, and tiiat we can no where else find natural
eloquence and manly strength. Others are charmed
with the wanton, pretty, })leasing, style of the mo-
derns, suited to soothe the multitude,^ •'Others mind
nothing but speaking to the purpose. Others think,
that a concise, dapper, manner, rising very little
above common conversation, is the true and
genuine attic style. Some are charmed with the
elastic spring of genius, with its fire, force, and
spirit. Many are in love with the manner that is all
gentleness, beauty, and neatness « 1 shall examine
all those different sentiments, when 1 come to treat
of the style that is most proj^er foi- an orator.

Meanwhile, I shall just touch upon the advan*
tages in general which they who read in order to
improve their eloquence, may read from tlie authors
they read ; and for that purpose 1 shall only mention
the most eminent; because it will be easy for a man
of learn i no-, from them, to form a iudsjment of the
others. This I premise, lest any one should blame
me for omitting an author that is perhaps his fa-
vourite ; which may, indeed, be the case, because I
shall omit many that are worthy to be read. }3ut
all that 1 am now recommending is that kind of read-
ing, which can best quality a student to be an orator.

>^4, As Aratus thinks proper to begin his w^ork*

•Viz. Ms Poem upon Astronomy ; he was cotcmporary with
Theocritus,

■with

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 241

with Jupiter, so I cannot begin this review better
than with Homer. To him we muy apply what he
himself says of the ocean, that it furnishes all rivers
with their force, and fountains with their streams.
Tor he gave the example, and was the source of
every j)art, of eloquence. In great subjects none
ever exceeded him in sublimity, or, in small ones,
in propriety, lie is free tljough regular, and agree-
able though grave ; his copiousness and conciseness
are ahke wonderlul, and his oratorial, are as emi-
nent as his poetical, powers* To say nothing of his
panegyrics, his exhortations, and his condolements,
does not his ninth book, which contains the depu-
tation to Achilles ; his hrst book, which recounts
the dispute of the Grecian princes, and his second,
which represents their several opinions, inifold every
art of pleading, and every property of tleiiberation ?
Is there a man so insensible as to deny that Homer LiCj^
is perfect master of the passions, w4iether they are to
be composed, or raised? 'Vo be more particular; v
has he not, I will not say observed, but invented, in a
few lines at the beginning of his two poems, the
rules we pught to observe in introducing our plead-
ings ? He bespeaks the favour of Tifs hearer, by
invoking the goddesses, w ho ])atronise poetry. He
awakens his attention, by the importance of the de-
sign he lays down, and engages it by the conciseness /i
of his proposition. What narrative can be shorter /j-[
than that of the death of Patroclus ? AVHiat more ex-
pressive than the battle he d»^scribes between theCu-
letes and the yEtolians? As to similies, amplifica-
tions, examples, dign ssions, presumptions, argu-
ments, with every art of refuting or establishing a
proof, they are so numerous in him, that his autho-
rity has always been appealed to by such as have
professedly written upon those subjects. With re- WO
gard to the properties to be observed in the close of
VOL. ji. ' B a pleading.

2i2 QUIXCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book X,

a plcadinp:. hn<l xvc evrrany thini;^ that equals Priam's
siipplicaricn to Achilles? And is he not more than
human in his expressions, liis sentiments, his figures, \
and in the general plan of his work ? Upon the
whole, it requires a great effort of genius, 1 will
not say to rival, for that I think is impossible, but
to comprehend, his excellencies. But this poet has,
doubtless, left all others far behind him in every
kind of composition, especially in heroic poetry ;
because his merits are there most conspicuous, w hen
. compared with others, who have attempted the
same thing.
^'<j Hesiod seldom rises, and great part of his work is

employed upon proper names ; yet his precepts are
mingled with useful sentiments. His expressions
are harmonious, his style is far from being despi-
cable, and he carries away the palm in the middling
manner.

Of a different character is Antimachus,* for he
has strength and weight ; and his style is elevated
far above a vulgar character. But, though gramma-
rians agree to rank him next to Homer, he is lifeless,
disagreeable, confused, and void of all art ; so re-»
markable is the difference between following next
to, and keeping near a great master I

Panyasis "j* is thoiight to be a compound of the
two last poets 1 have mentioned; but that hi.; style
falls short of both, though his matter is more excel-
lent than that of Hesiod, and his plan than that of
Antimachus yApollonius is not mentioned in the

* This poet is very little known, he was born in Colophon,
and is said to have been a slave to another poet. The emperor
Adrian, however, who was himself a wit, was so extravagantly
fond of his works, that he once thought of banishing Homer out
of the schools, and of introducing Antimachus in his room.

f He too is very little known. It seems he was a Greek epic
poet, and that he rather revived, than improved, poetry among
his countrymen.

catalogue

\

Bool X. OF ELOQUENCE. 243

cataloiifue of sjiamniarians, because Aristarchus and
Aristophanes, two critics in poetry, mention none ot"
their cotemporaries (as Apollonius was) who were
poets, lie published, however, u work* far from
being contemptible, and which is wrote in a smooth,
middling- style.

Both the subject and the manner of Aratus is
lifeless; he introduces no variety, no sentiment, no
character, and no speech. His abilities, however,
are equal to the work he attempted. •]■

Theocritus is admirable in his way, but his muse
is so truly rural and jjastoral, that .she cannot bear
the sight of a town, far less of a court.

Behold, how the names of poets are crowded up-
on me by their admirers 1 W hat, says one, is the
poem of Pisander,+ upon the actions of Hercules,
void of merit? Ji)id Aiacer and Virgil, says another,
see no beauties in Nicander, when they imitated
him ? N<s)ne in Euph(»ri(.)n,§ says a third, whf>)m
\'irgil did the honour (and who can distrust X'irgiFs
judgment), to mention with approbation for his
poetry in (fhalcidian strains ? Gan you omit Tir-

* This probably was upon the Argonaut expeditron. And our
author's judgment is contirmed by that of Lmginus, who com-
mends it, in being as perfect a model of the middling manner, as
the IHid is of tlie subUine.

+ The learned, especially the moderns, are a good deal divided
as to this character of Aratus, given by our author Cicero trans-
lated great p:irt of his phaenomt-na, if not the whole of it: and it
must be owned that it is not void of many descriptive properties.
The censure therefore passed upon it by our author, must be un-
derstood to regard th'sc properties, that are not applicable to elo-
quence. There is, however, a great party of the learned, who have
been pretty severe upon him for what he says in this paras^raph.

X He was a Colophonian, and it is thought that from him
Virgil took the hint of his Georgics,

§ He was library-keeper to Antiochus tlie Great; the passage
here alluded to, is in Virgil's lOth pastoral, and put into the
mouth of his friend Gallus, who it seems had translated this poet
into Latin.

taeus.

&.

2+4 QUIXCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

tacus,* without reflecting upon liorace, who praisrsi
him next to Homer himself? To ail this 1 answer, ,
that 1 beheve, there is no man so ignorant, as not
to be able, by the help of a catalogue of some
librar>% to transcribe their names into his works.^
I am far from being inscnsil)le of the merits of those
I pass over, and I am so far from slighting them,
that 1 have already observed, there is none of them
that may not be of service to an orator. But it is
soon enough for him to read the inferior poets,
when his taste is formed and he is compleated in
elocjuence; in the same manner, as, at grand enter-
tainments, after we have filled ourselves with dain-
ties, coarse meat pleases us, because it is a change
of fare.

We then shall be at leisure to look into the elegiac
poets, the chief of whom is Callimachus,j* and
Philetus is generally allowed to be the second. But
while we are training ourselves to that settled habi-
tude of eloquence, which 1 have recommended, we
ought to apply only to the best authors. We must
fix our judgments, w^e must acquire a taste, not
by reading many authors, but by reading a great
deal.

Therefore of the three iambic writers, approved
of by Aristarchus, Archilochus is most for an orator's
purpose; his style is powerful and penetrating, his
sentiments strong, pointed, and brilliant. There is
life and force diffused through all his works, and it
has been said, that if he is inferior to any other poet,
be he who he will, it is owing to his subject, and
not his genius.

* He was a Lacedaemonian, and is famous for having inspired
his countrymen with courage by his poetry. See Horace's Art of
Poetrj-. L. 405.

+ He was a Cyicnian, and was cotemporary with Ptolemy
Philadelphus.

Of

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 245

Of the nine lyric poets, Pindar is, by far, tlie most
eminent, through the subUmity of iiis genius, the
force of his sentiments, the beauty of his figures,
and by that happy profusion of images, and words,
which impel his style widi a torrent of eloquence,
and made Horace pronounce him to be inimitable.

Even the choice which Stesichorus* has made of
his subject, indicates a sublimity of genius, for he
sings the most important wars, and the most illustri-
ous generals, and makes his lyric numbers support
all the majesty of epic poetry, by suiting the
actions and words of his heroes to the dignity of
their several characters. Had he known to observe
a mean, he bade fair to succeed, if not rival, Homer
in fame ; but he is too redundant, too intemperate,
too luxuriant ; vices indeed, but owing to the rich-
ness of the genius. ;,
l^ Alcaeus,t '" some parts of his works, when he
lashes tyrants, is justly complimented by Horace
with a golden plectrum. He is likewise very moral
in his sentiments ; his style is concise, but sublime
and polite, and greatly resembles that of Homer ;
but he is puerile in his loves and dalliances ; and faf
unequal to his true character, which is sublimity.

Simonides;}: is too enervate. But he has great
merit from a certain propriety and smoothness of
style. His characteristic^ excellence, however, lies
in moving the passions, in which he succeeds so
well, that some have .ventured to prefer him to all
authors, who have \vToiern that way.

It is from the ancient comedy alone that we can
taste the native graces of the attic style. There,
we see ease united with elo({uence, and though her

• He is sometimes called Terpsichorus.
+ He was of Mytilene.

X He was a native of the Island of Cous, and coieraporaiy
with Anacrcon.

profest

/

24-6 // QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

profost jmrposo is to ridicule, or to lash, vice, yet she
has many other powiMlul properties: for she is ele-
vated, eiej^aiit, gracelii!, and except Homer (whom
I must always except, as he excepts Achilles), there
is no model more proper either to form, or to direct
an orator. Various were the authors of the ancient
comedy, hut the chief were Aristophanes, Eupolis,
and Cratinus.

yl^.schylus was the father of tragedy. He is sub-
lime, weighty, and majestic, even to extravagance,
in his expressions, but then he is generally rough
and irreouJar. For this reason the Athenians per-
mitted his dramatic pieces to be corrected by other
poets, and brought upon the stage in their theatri-
cal disputes, and by them, many poets gained the
palm of preference.
r. Hut tragedy received much greater improvements
^ * and embellishment from Sophocles and Euripides.
Their characteristics are indeed different, but their
excellencies so equal, that it is disputed which ought
to have the preference in poetry. Into this dispute,
however, I shall not enter, because it is foreign to
my present purpose. One thing seems to be un-
questionable, that the study of Euripides is by far
the most proper to assist an orator in his pleading.
For his style approaches more near to the oratorial
manner, and this is objected to him, by those who
prefer the Majesty, the tread, and the pomp of So- ^^^ ^
pliocles. Add to this, Euripides is more-eetrtfmefttol, V T' ^ 4'
in laying down philosophical rules, he equals phi-
losophers themselves ; and in propositions and an-
swers he falls short of none that ever practised at the
bar. }Ie has a wonderful talent at moving all the
passions, but is unrivaled, in touching the tender
ones.

though Menander cultivated a different branch of .
the drama, yet^ he owns that he both admired and
^■^ i imitated

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 24?

imitated Euripides; and Menander is an author, tliat
if attentively studied, is of himself, in my opinion,
sufficient to answer all the purposes I am recom-
mending. So just is every picture he draws of lite,
so copious is his invention, so easy his elocution,
and so well suited is his style to incidents, charac-
ters and passions ! Some, 1 will not say with what
justice, pretend, that Menander w^as author of those
orations which pass under the name of Charisius.
I cannot, however, help thinking if these are his,
that he is less of an orator there, than he is in his
own province of the drama, unless we deny his
Epitrepontas, his Epicleros, and his Lochos to be
good representations of what passes often in courts
of justice, and unless his Psophodas, his Nomothctes,
and his Hypobolimaeus, are defective in any point of
•oratorial perfection.

Meanwhile, I think, the study of INIenander's ^ J
works may be of singular service to declaimers;
because, in their declamations, they are obliged to
assume the characters of fathers, sons, husbands,
soldiers, clowns, rich men, beggars, rage, sub-
mission, gentleness and acrimony; the jiropriety
of all which characters is wonderfully preserved by
Menander. To conclude, his merit in the drama
is so great, that his fome has swallowed up that of
all other authors in the same way, and they are
obscured with the beams of his lustre. The works
of some other comic poets, if they are read with
judgment, may be of some use to an orator, especi-
ally those of Philemon,* whom the bad taste of his
age preferred to Menander; but he is universally,
and justly, allowed to be next to him.

The Greeks have many good historians ; l)nt two
that far excel the rest, and, who, by different man-

He lived in the time of Alexander the Great.

ners,

nn

2i8 QUINXTILTAN'S INSTITUTES JJookX.

ners, have attained to rqual merit. Tlmrydidcs is
pithy, concise, and s()irited; Ih'rodolus harmonious,
iree, and pure. The iormer is fitted to ins|)ire vio-
lent passions; the other to })reathe gentle senti-
ments; the former haranQ;nes, the latter converses;
the former eOnnnands by iisinjj compulsion, the
latter, by giving delight.

'liieopompus* is inferior indeed to the above two
as an historian, but his work is better calculated
for the use of an orator ; for he long tbllowed the
practice of the bar, before he commenced historian.
Philistus,"^ the imitator of Thucydides, deserves like-
wise to be distinguished from the crowd, even, of
good historians, lor though he has not so much
strength, yet he has sometimes more perspicuity
than his great master. Ephorus,+ in the opinion of
Isocrates, required a spur. Clitarchus^ is a fine
writer, but an unfaithful historian. Timagenes jj
lived a long time after all these, and had the merit
of restoring the manner and style of history, which
had been long lost, to its ancient beauty. 1 have
omitted, but not forgot, Xenophon; for 1 rank him
with the philosophers.
\ U Next succeeds a mighty band of orators ; for
Athens produced ten at the same time. Of them
Demosthenes was by far the most excellent, and we
may almost pronounce him to be the dictator of
eloquence. So vast is his energy, so quick his
force, so pithy his style, so significant, and so just
is all he says, that, in him, we find nothing that is

* He was of Chios, and wrote the History of Greece.

+ He was a Syracusian, and intimate with Dionysius the ty-
rant.

:*: He was a disciple of Isocrates.

§ He served under Alexander the Great, and wrote his his-
tory.

[1 He was a Milesian, and wrote the history of Hcraclea.

wantii;g,

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 249

wtintinsr, nothins: that is redundant. yEschvnes* is
more full, more diffused, and, by being less regular,
he ap|)ears more grand. But he has corpulence
without strength. Hyperidcs is distinguished for
smoothness and quickness. Hut he was most ser-
viceable in petty causes, to which only, he, perhaps
was equal.

Prior to them in point of time was Lysias, whose
style is penetrating and elegant; and were an ora-
tor's business confined to the narrative, he could
find no speaker more perfect than Lysias. 'Inhere is
in him nothing that is idle, nothing forced ; but I
compare his eloquence to a crystal stream, rather than
to a mighty river. The manner of Isocrates was dif-
ferent. He is neat and trim, but, having more ad-
dress than vigour, he becomes the lists better than
the field, and he assiduously courts every beauty of
diction ; for he addresses himself to an audiende,
and not to a court. His invention is ready, he is
always graceful, and his composition is exact, per-
^ ^ haps to a fault. Meanwhile, the properties of
- ^ those great orators, which I have pointed out, are not
the only properties they possess, but they are their
characteristic|j4\0nes ; nor do I deny that some ora-
tors, whom 1 have not mentioned, had merits like-
wise. For instance, I am sensible that J)emetrius
Phalereus, though he is said to have been the first
who weakened eloquence, had great command of
genius and diction ; and there is one circumstance
for which he deserves to be remembered, that he
was almost the last of all the Athenians, who could
be called an orator. Cicero, however, gives him the
preference to ail others in the middling manner,
(^.X ' As to philosophers, some of whom Cicero savs,
have made acquisitions in eloquence, there can be

*• He was at first a player, and became afterwards the rival and
enemy of Demosthenes.

no

2.50 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

no manner ofdoiibt, that Plato is the chief, whether
we regard the force of his reasoning, or Ins divine,
and wliat we may call his homerical, powers of elo-
quence. For his style rises far above that of prose,
and of what the Greeks call, " creeping poetry;"
nay, to me, he seems not to be endued with a human
capacity, but inspired by the Delphian Oracle.

How can I d( > justice to Xenophon? To his beau-
ties, that are so unstudied, and so unattainable by
art, that the graces themselves seem to have formed
his diction ? And the character which the old comedy
gave to Pericles, is justly applicable to him, " I'hat
the goddess of persuasion dwelt upon his lips."
How can I characterize the elegance of the other
followers of Socrates? What shall 1 say of Aristotle ?
To which of his numerous perfections am 1 to give
the preference ? To the depth of his knowledge ? To
tlie copiousness of his writings ? To the charms of his
eloquence ? To the quickness of his invention, or
the variety of his erudition ? The name of Theo-
phrastus* characterizes his eloquence, so divinely
bright it is.
X W The ancient Stoics gave no great encouragement
to eloquence. But in their reasonings about virtue,
they shewed very great abilities, both in laying
down their propositions, and in establishing their
proofs. Their manner, however, was to employ the
force of reasoning, rather than the pomp of language,
which indeed they did not study.
\ ii I am now to view the Latin authors in the same
manner as I did the Greek.

As Homer of the Greek, so Virgil happily stands at
the head of Latin poetry. For of all epic poets, Greek
or Latin, he undoubtedly approaches nearest to Ho-
mer. And here 1 will repeat a sayiil^, which, when

* ©foj, God, and *«'■". leak.

^ a voun^

Boor X. OF ELOQUENCE. 251

a vounG: man, 1 had from Afer Domitiiis : for when
1 asked him, " who was the oreatest poet, next to
Homer ?" his answer was, Virgil, but he approaches
nearer to Homer, than any other poet does to Virgil.
J3ut I will venture to say, that though we yield to ^*^
the immortal, the divine, essence of Homer, yet
Virgil is more regular, and mor6 perfect, which is
owing to his being more upon his guard ; and though
the Roman is excelled in the striking qualities of
genius, yet, upon the whole, he is perhaps equal,
on account of his judgment and correctnes of com-
position.*

Now follows a long interval ; for though by all
means we ought to read Macerf and Lucretius, yet
they do nothing towards meliorating our diction ; I
mean that storehouse of eloquence which I require
to be furnished. JBoth of them treated their subjects
elegantly, but Maper is too creeping, and Lucretius
too crabbed, ^^^ttacinus Van'o § was no more
than a translaxor of the works that got him the ^
greatest credit ; and, in this respect, his merit is far

* A, great many, moderns may ihiiik_.Qiiin;:;tilianJoo_partial to a^" 'V^
Homer in thfe'comparison, anT^caligcr has endeavoured to prove j

that Yjrgif ^^^^ superifliLjo Homer in all parts of poetry. But
this is^trefching a great deal too much for his admired pnet.
Upon tlie whole therefore, our autlior's judgment is very candid
and well founded, which is, that Homer was the greater genius,
but Virgil the better ]jnet. .p.-y-^^-^

+ He was a poet of Verona, 'and \v*it-conccrning herbs, and the
Trojan war. -wvrfe' .,, i -,- »i - wr^-V

\ Orig. Difficilis. This is certainly our author's meaning.
Though some critics tliink that the word difficilis includes subli-
mity likewise, but Quinctilian never would lia\e brought that as
a charge against him. We are to observe, however, tliat our au-
thor's criticisms regard the general complexions or character> of
ttie several poets he mentions, otherwise, he would have taken no-
tice that there are some lines in Lucretius, which equal the beauty
and harmoi-y of any thine; in Virgil.

§ He was colemnorary with Ovid, and translated the Argo-
nauts of Apollonius Rhodius.

from

559 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

from being rlospicahle ; but his style is too poor to
%% better that of an orator. /Junius strikes us with a
veneration, hke what we feel in beholding the awful
gloom of an antient grove, where the mighty and
aged oaks inspire us, not so much with delight as
devotion. The other poets, who are most ])roper
for assisting us in the style I have been recommend-
ing, are more modern. Ovid, in h's heroic verse, is
too luxuriant, and is too fond of his OAvn conceits,
but, in some passages, he is beautiful jf As to Corne-
lius Severns, he is, indeed, rather a pretty versifier,
than a good poet ; yet, had he execiited the whole
of the Sicilian war upon the model of his first book,
he would have challenged the second place.* Va-
rennusf was taken away .by death before he came
to perfection ; but his compositions, when but a boy,
discovered great genius, and a wonderfully fine taste,
^ especially in so young a person. jfWe lately lost a
'Ai great treasure in Valerius Flaccus.;}; The genius
of Saleius Bassus§ was strong and poetical, though
it was not matured by years. If an orator has any
leisure time upon his hands, he may read Rabirius||

* He was cotemporary with Seneca, and, I believe, with our
author likewise. I own it is a little obscure, whether the second
place here mentioned, is to be referred to Virgil or to Ovid.

+ Orip. Varenum, though the common editions read, sed eum,
meaning Cornelius Seveuue ; but I am of opinion with Burman, in
his note upon this passage, that this character belongs to another ;
and as we meet "with the name Varenus in many copies, we may
suppose he was some young gentleman, who died before he could
be much known in the world. I am more inclined to believe ihis,
because the character seems somewhat incompatible with what is
before said of Cornelius Severus.

X He too wrote the Argonauts in imitation of Apollonius
Rhodius.

§ This perhsps was a relation of the poet, to whom Pcisiu;
addresses one of his satyrs.

[I They were cotemporary with Ovid.

.3 and

\V

H

Book X. OF ELOQURNXE. 253

and Pedo. Liican* is glowing, spirited, and highly
sentimental. Were 1 to express my own opinion, i
would rank him among the orators, rather than the
poets.

1 have hitherto forborn to name our august em-
peror amongst our poets. His application to the
government of the world has diverted his appli-
cation to the study of verses, as if the gods had
thought that it was paying him but a small comph-
ment to place him at the head of poetry. But in the
works he was composing in his youth, when he was
called to empire, he never has been exceeded in sub-
limity, art, and harmony of every kind. Who is
better fitted to sing wars with spirit, than the hero,
who carries them on with success ? Or w ho is better
entitled to the favour of the muses ? To whom will
Minerva more willingly unlock her stores, than to
this her favourite ? But posterity will do greater
justice to his abilities in poetry, wh ch is at present
lost in the dazzling radiance of his other virtues.
Suffer us, however, great sir, who cultivate the sa-
cred mysteries of learning, not to pass over in si-
lence this ffift which heaven has bestowed on vou,
and, with Virgil, to witness That

Amidst thy conquering bays, the ivy creeps. f
h In

* I shall here just observe, that this character of Luran does
great honour not only to our author's judijment but his virtue,
since he dared to commen^ Luean under Domitian, and this Sccms
to confirm a suspicion I formerly hinted at.

-\ It must be acknnwledp;etl that the compliments here paid to
Domitian are fulsome enough. But 1 cannot think they reflect
any dishonour upon our author, when we consider hi-; cirrum-
gtanres. I will t-niiage to point out from the work* of *ome of the
greatest and most learned men, as well as of the best poets, of
England, compliments to the abilities not only of p?inre>, bijt of
noblemen, statesmen, nay, private gentlemen, who in this re«pfct

deserved

2ji C4U1NCTT1,1AN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

In elegiac poetry, too, we rival the Greeks; and in
this libulUis appears to me to write with the; most
propriety and elegance. Some prefer Propertius.
Ovid is more incorrect, and Gallus more harsh than
either.

'J lie ])rovince of satyr is wholly our's; and here
Lueiliiis stands in the foremost rank, distinsfuished
over all ; so that his admirers venture to prefer him,
not only to all poets of the same kind, but to all
poets whatever. lUit 1 differ from them as well as
from Horace, who thought the style of Lucilius was
muddy, and his sense redundant;* for he had
great erudition, with a wonderful deal of freedom,
humour, and wit, of the severest kind. Horace, it
is true, is by far more chaste and correct, and excels
in marking the characters of mankind, •]• if 1 am not

too

dp<!rrved them as little as Domitian did ; who is represented by
Suetonius (no fireat favourer of him) to have been a man of some
wit and humour. Meanwhile, if cur author's compliment is mis-
applied, it must be allowed to be finely turned.

* Orig. Fa esse aiiquid quod tollere possis. The French com-
mentators and translators (Dacier particularly) upon Horace (in
which they are followed by the Abbe Gedoyn), think this is a com-
pliment to Lucilius. But if it is, it is not only against the genius
of the language, but an express contradiction to the sentiments
of Horace himself in other places. Meanwhile we have very little
remainine: of Lucilius to justify the high idea, which we are apt
to form of him from our author's testimony, in opposition to Ho-
race. Both were great judges ; but I am apt to think Quioctilian
was the most impartial. It is however very remarkable, that in
his day?, the public was so much divided with regard to the merit
of Lucilius, that they often came to blows ; and Quinctilian him-
self is <aid to have sometimes carried a cudgel under his robe, to
vindicate the honou.r of his favourite poet.

+ This character of Horace as a satyrist, is by far too scanty,
and our author's prejudices seem to have lain on the other side of
what he profes:es. Here I cannot help mentioning a parallel case
in England. In the reigns of Charles II. arnl King William, the
■wits treated the compositions of the great Mr. Dryden in the
same manner as Horace treated Lucilius. The witty earl of Ro-
chester particularly applied to Dryden, but with more happiness

than

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 2.5.5

too niuch prejudiced in liis favour. Persius 1ms
acquired a gre#t and just character, thouq;h liis
satyrs •lye in a small compass. We have living sa-
tyrists likewise, whom posterity will mention with
applause. *

'Inhere is another and an older kind of satyr,
which Terenti us Varro, the most learned of the Jlo-
mans, distinsruished bv a varietyt of verse. IJe w as
the author of many learned books ; he was a tho-
rough critic in the Latin language, and understood
antiquity both Greek and Roman, to great perfec-
tion. He is, however, better calculated to render us
learned than eloquent.

We have amongst us no professed iambic poets ;
that manner being only casually adopted by Catullus
Bibaculus and Horace, to render their works more
biting. The last named poet makes use of the
epode, or short verse, likewise.

Of the lyric poets, Horace is the only one that is
worthy to be read ; he is sometimes :J: sublime, but

than justice, the very words of Horace concerning Lucilius, and
imitated wilh that view the whole of his epistle beginning,
Nempe incomposito dixi pede currere versus
Lucili. —
The whole of the imitation discovers both want of judgment and
taste, both with regard to Mr. Dryden,"and the characters of al-
most all the peer's poetical cotemporarles ; yet I am not sure
whether the wit and happiness of the imitation does not affect, at
this day, some judges with fahe prepossessions. But we have
seen the same thing happen to Dryden as happened to Lucilius,
and pretty much within the same number of years ; for his charac-
ter, as a poet, is now patronized by the greatest judges of ^vriting.
Our author, however, notwithstanding his great opinion of Lu-
cilius, ought to have done more justice to Horace.

* Meaning, some say, Juvenal, but I am, with Dodwell, of
opinion, that he did not,

f Meaning the Menippean satyr.

X I cannot agree with those critics who think the word some-
times, here, derogatory to the merits of Horace : since it is very
certain tliat it is only sometimes that he affects sublimity in his
©des.

alwavg

2o6 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES BookX.

always ap:rpoablt; andi^racoful, and a happy boldness
renders him ininiitahle both in his^figu;es ana ex-
pressions. Were 1 to mention any Lyric poet after
Horaee, it would be our late friend Caesiiis Bassus,
but he is far excelled bv some who are now alive.

Accius and Pacuviu.s were two writers of trage-
dies deservedly famous for the weight of their sen-
timents, the significancy of their expressions, and
the di;2:nitv of their characters. That their works
wanted brilliancy, that they are not polished in the
highest taste, is not so much their fault, as that of
the age they lived in. Accius, however, is allowed
to have the most strength. But they who set up
for critics, think that Pacuvius has more art. The
Thyestes of Varius * rivals all the tragedies of the
Greeks; and the Medea of Ovid "j* is a proof to me
what an excellent poet he might have been, if in-
^^stead of indulging, he had cultivated, his genius.
' Of my cotemporaries, Pomponius Secundus+ is by
far the best tragic poet ; though some of our old
critics think his plays not sufficiently tragical, yet
they own them to be correct and beautiful, w'^'
(^'^ In comedy we must own ourselves at a loss ;

though Yarro agrees with tEHus Stilo, in saying,
" that were the muses to speak in Latin, they would
** speak in the style of Plautus;" § though the an-
cients greatly extol Caecilius and the comedies of

• He was cotemporary with Virgil.

+ This tragedy is said to have been extant, since the invention
of printing.

\ He was the friend of Pliny, who wrote his life ; he had
so much spirit and eloquence, that he was called the Pindar of
tragedy.

§ Muretus and Burman say that if the muses were to speak
like Plautus, they would speak like so many whores and common
wenches, but this jest is as unjust as it is coarse; for there are
abundance of passages in Plautus, that justify what is here said of
him, which can only be understood of his Latin style, and that
fnust be owned to be excellent considering the age he lived in.

Terence

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 25?

Terence have been ascribed to Scipio African us ;
both those poets, though elegant in their way, would
have been more so, had their verse run into Trime-
\i:^'0 ters *. But we have not even the shadow of the
Greek excellency in comedy. And so unsusceptible
docs the Latin language appear to me of those
charms, that are peculiar to the attic style, that the
Greeks themselves lose them when they speak in
any other idiom than that of Athens. Airanis is
the best writer of that comedy which is purely Latin.
1 wish he had not given such a loose to his natural
immorality, by polluting his drama with monstrous
obscenities.

In history writing, however, we are not inferior
to the Greeks, and I am not afraid to match Sallust
with Thucydides ; nor would Herodotus, were he
alive, disdain to be compared with Livy ; so wonder-
fully agreeable, so beautifully perpicuous, are his
narratives, and so inexpressively elotjuent are his
harangues. Whatever he says, is exactly suited both
to things and characters, and 1 speak too modestl}'^ of
him when I say, that no historian has more artfully
managed the passions, especially the gentle ones.
Such are the qualities, though of different kinds, by
which he ha,s equalled the glory of Sallust's divine
concisenes^ For, 1 think, .Servilius Novianus ob-
served very properly, that they rather were equal to,
than like one another. He too was an historian,
and I knew him to be a man of fine genius, quick in
his sentiments, but his style too loose for the dignity
of historv. Ijassiis Aufidius, who hved a little be-
fore him, had talents every way equal to history

* I cannot account for this niggardly praise bestowed by our
author upon the chastest and most decent of all poets, Terence,
but by supposing that he thought his chief merits were compre-
hended in Menander. Yet this c^uld not have escaped Cicero,
who thinks him a pattern of style for an orator.

VOL. II. a writing.

258 QUIxNClILlAN'S INSTinJlES Book Xi

wiitinc:. as Hppoais hy his IJistory of the CJermjiii
War; but though he seems to have Intel u very ihiti
taste, he sonietnnes falls below himself. /

One historian ifi now alive, who is illustrating
the glory of the present n^e ; a man who will be
mentioned with reverence to allposterity; but whom 1
am not now at liberty to nfune. JJe has his admirers,
he has his inutalors, but he nmst be cautious how he
cxj>resses himself* with that freedom, that alone
can do justice to his subject, lie expresses, how-
ever, enough to shew, that his genius is elevated,
and his sentiments manly. We have otiier excel-
lent histt>rians. But we are now not reviewing li-
braries, but touching upon cli»««ei^W8V. y-c^^^j^^-a
\bS K-^ But it is in elor|uence chiefly that the Romans
have equalled tue Greeks, and 1 can confidently
match Cicero with t^lem all.?> 1 am sensible that I
shall draw upon my hands a; controversy, which is
far from being my present intention, by comparing
him with Demosthenes. Nor will it avail me if 1
say, that Demosthenes is not only worthy to be'
read, but even to be t::ot bv heart.

Many excellencies are in common to both au-
thors, such as sagacity, order, their method of di-
viding, preparing, proving, and, in short, every

• I have, in translating this paragi-aph, deviated from the opi-
nion of ^11 commentators and tratibLitors ; some thinking the his-
torian mentioned here is Tacitus, and some Pliny. But when
I attentively consider the scope of the passage, and that the true
reading is confessedly irrecoverable, I must be of opinion, that
Quinctilian here means some historian, who was writing tho
history of Domitian (for ko I understand the words exornat
aelatisnostroe gloriani'^, whom he represents as too modest to suf-
fer himself to be praised, however justly. 'I'his, I think, is the
6nly sense in which our author can be understood j for we never
can suppose him, with his commentarors, to have said that under
Domitian's reign, a man durst not speak the truth without suf-
fering for it.

fiooK Xi OF ELOQUENCE. 959

tliinu: bclungino,' to invention. * In their elocution
there is some ditierence. '■* Demosthenes is more
compacted, Cicero more copious ; the one hems
you close in ; the oflier fights at weapon's length ;
tlie one studies still as it were, to pierce by keen-
ness ; the other, often, to keenness, adds weight.
In the one there is nothing that can be curtailed, in
the other, nothinii^ that can be added ; the one owes
more to application, the other to genius.
fT</ ' '• But in the witty and pathetic, which so strongly
swav tlie allections, the Roman excels. The laws
of his country might perhaps, prevent Demosthenes
from touching upon the pathetic in his pleadings.
But the genius of our language does not admit of
the beauties, which the Athenians chiefly admired.
For both of them have left behind them specimens
in tlie epistolary way, yet tliose of Demosthenes can
stand in no competition with those of Cicero. >

" Hut Cicero must in one thing yield to Demos-
\" thenes, who lived before him, and formed great
part of the iloman's excellency : for to me it ap-
pears, that Cicero, applying himself entirely to th^
imitation of the Greeks, united in liis manner, the
force of Demosthenes, the copiousness of Plato, and
the sweetness of Isocrates : not only did he extract 1 1
what was excellent in each of these, but, by the
divine pregnancy of his own immortal genius, he
found the means to produce out of himself, most, or
rather all their characteristical beauties : for, to use
an expression of l^indar, he does not fertilize his ge-
nius, by makins: a collection of the water that falls
in rain from the clouds : but, formed bv the kind in- —
dulgence of providence, he pours along in a resist-
less flood, that eloquence may make an experiment -—
of all her powers in his person.

. • See Pra'ace to Cicero's Orations, voJ. 1.

" For,

l)t

2G0 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

" For, who can teach more instructively, who
ran move more stroniilv? Did ever man i)ossess
such sweetness, as to make you, believe that you
resign with willingness what h^YJests by force? And
though the judge is borne down by his power, yet
he feels not that he is forced along, but that he fol-
lows with pleasure. Nay, such is the command-
ing character of all he says, that you are ashamed
to differ from his sentiments : he is not distinguished
by the zeal of a council, but brings the conviction
of whatever a witness or a iudsre can sav. Yet, in
the mean time, all these excellencies, which in
others are the laborious acquisitions of intense ap-
plication, appear in him the easy flow of nature ;
and his elo(]uence, though ex(]uisitely and beau-
tifully finished, appears but to be the happy turn
I ^ ^^ g"enius.

'' It was, therefore, not without reason, thajt by
his cotemporaries he was said to be the sovereign
of the bar ; but, with posterity, his reputation
arose so high, that the name of Cicero appears not
now to be the name of a man, but of eloquence
herself: let us therefore keep him in our eye; let
him be our model ; and let the man, who has a
/Strong passion for Cicero, know, that he has made a
^progress in study.

//i

In Asinius* Pollio, I find great invention, and
very high finishing, nay, some think, in the last re-
spect he is apt to over-do. He has likewise abun-
dance of regularity and spirit, but falls so far short
of Cicero in brilliancy and smoothness, that he seems
to have wrote in the preceding age^/^iessala,j*
however, is polished, bright and easy; his manner of
speaking discovers his noble blood, but it has not all
the force we desire in an orator. i,^

* He lived under Augustus Csesar.

-J- He was coteraporary with the former.

As

/

Book X. OF ELOQUE^XE. 56 1

As to Cains Julius Caesar,* had he attended
wholly to the business of the bar, he was the only
Roman who could have come into competition with
Cicero. Such is his force, his (juickness, and exer-
tion, that he seems to speak with as much spirit as
he fought; and all his prcitcrties are embellished,
by an elegance of diction, of which he was pecu-
liarly careful.

y\^V C'deliusf discovers vast genius, and oljserves a pe-
culiar politeness when he urges an impeachment:
Pity it was that his heart was so corruptcid, and his
days so few! Some prefer CalvusiJ: to all our Ora-
tors; and I know some who ao^ree with Cicero in
thinking it was so hard for h'nu to please himself,
that he therebv lost a 2:reat deal of his force. We
must allow, however, that his style is weighty;
chaste, correct, and often spirited likewise. But we
are to observe that he was a professed imitator of the
attic manner, and his untimely death did injustice
to his reputation, as an orator; because it prevented
him from adding to (for he had nothing to retrench
from) the spirit of his eloquence. 1 must not for-
get that Servius Sulpicius deservedly got vast repu-
tation, by three orations he spoke and published.

"t, Cassius Severus.^ if judiciously read, contains
many things worthy of imitation, and he mis:ht
challenge a foremost rank in eloquence, had he
added to his other properties, beauty and modesty
of style. For his abilities are very great, his polite-
ness and asperity are equally wonderful, and his

* The fine character given by our author of this great man, is
confirmed by all writers, as well as by Ccesar's own works.

\ He was the same whom Cicero defended against Clodia's
prosecution.

X He is often mentioned by Cicero, as is Servius Sulpitius, who
comes next,

§ Hi.' is mentioned by Seneca, and probably is the same, who
*i8 lashed by Horace for his cowardice and barking.

Strength

262 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

fltrens^th is irresistible ; but his resentments pet the
better of his judi^ineiit; add to this, his scj^erity is
overchrtrged, often to a degree ot ridieule. ^>

. , It would l)e tedious, should 1 attempt to dt^seribe

many other learned orators we have had. Of those
I have seen, Doinitius Afer* and Julius AtVieanus
were by far the most eminent. 'I'he style of the
former was so correct, and his manner so beautiful,
that he deserves. to be ranked amonc:st the ancients.
The latter had great spirit, but he was trx) loose and
incorrect in his expressions, his composition some-
times was too loni^, and his metaphors too straiiied.

» \ (j- These were succeeded by some fine speakers/^Tra-

• ' * chalus-j* is generally elevated, yet intelligible ; and he
bacjg,fair to arrive at perfection ; but he appeared to
the greatest advantage, when he was heard : for
never did I know a man possess such happy sweet-
ness of voice; though it was loud enough to fill a
theatre, while, at the same time, his action was
graceful ; in short, he was void of no external ac-
complishment.
^ \^ Vibius Crispus:|: was regular, agreeable, and na-
" '^ turally winning; but his talents were better suited to
private, than to public, causes. Had ,hilius§ Secun-
dus enjoyed longer life, he must have left behind
him a great character, as a speaker. For he would
have persevered till he had succeeded in supplying
all his defects ; I mean he would have accjuired
more keenness in altercating, and have been less
intent upon words, and more upon thing's. But
though he was hastily snatched away, yet his

^'^\ merits are very eminent. lie had vast command of

* These two orators lived under Nero.

t His voice was so strong as to be heard through four different
courts.

X He is mentioned in cap. 13.1.5. and by Seneca.
§ It IS thought that he lived till the time of Adrian.

expression.

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 963

expression, a wouderfiil gracefulness in his narra-
tives and arguments; his manner of speaking was
natural, easy, and beautiful ; the <:xpressioiis he
studied were proper, those hjs hazarded were happy,
and all of them signiHcaii^'''^-^L.^

Thev who shall treat ot' this subject after me, will
have great room for best<.)\ving encomiums upon the
speakei-s that are now at the bar ; for many men of
great abilities in eloquence now grace the forum.
Some advocates at the top of their profession rival
the ancients, and are imitated by many young gentle-
men, who follow them in the patlis of perfection.

I am next to touch upon our philosophical writers;
but, of these, very few in Home have been distin-
guished by eloquence. But here our Cicero, as he
does through all his works, presents himself as the
rival of Plato. The philosophical compositions of
Brutus * far excel his oratorial; he is equal to the
subject he handles, and he makes you sensible, that
he is sincere in what he says. ^Cornelius Cclcus has
wrote a good deal upon the Vh'ef)tic plan ; nor are"^
his writings void either of elegance, or brightness,

/IrThe works of Plancus will instruct us in the stoical
system ; with regard to the Epicureans, Catius is a
slight, but not displeasing, writer. /

A^ * I have purposely, hitherto, avoided the mention
of Seneca, who is highly distmguished in every pro-
vinee of eloquence ; because, I know, there is a
vulgar prejudice prevails, that i am not only an ene-
my to his works, but to his person. This mistake
tfx)k rise, while I was endeavouring to revive the
true taste of elocpience, by recalling her to a critical
:^tandard, after she had been debauched and ener-
vated by every species of corruption. At that time

* Cicero gives him the fame character ; wc kuow little of the
otbei' philosophers here mentioned.

3 Seneca

L

2^4 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

Seneca was almost the only author read bv yonni^
goiitleimn ; hut it is false that 1 absolutely eondenined
the readius; of him. No, 1 was ouly against \\\^ being
preferred to authors of greater merit, whom he had
vilihed ; because, being conscious, that his manner
was dirterent from theirs, he knew he never could
succeed with those, who were pleased with the
writers he had abused. * They loved him, however,
more than th<T imitated him : and they were as in-
ferior to him, as he was inferior to the ancients.
Many times 1 have wished they had been equal,
they had approached near, to Seneca, But they were
pleased only with his blemishes ; in these, he was
aped to the best of their power, and when any one
. could swagger in Seneca's manner, Jiejn^tantly_sgjt

^ ' up lorji__Seneca. This was insulting the name of a
' '^anTwho ImTmany and great abilities; his ima-
gination was easy andco^^ious; his application great,
and his knowledge extensive ; though sometimes he
was imposed upon by some whom lie employed in
certain researches. His study comprehended aU
most the whole circle of arts and sciences ; for
pleadings, poems, letters, and dialogues of his are
now extant.
vC(i As a philosophical wrrter he is incorrect ; but a
bitter professed enemy to vice. His sentiments are
generally noble and striking, and many of his wri-

* He is said to have condemned both Cicero and Virgil, which
sufficiently justifies our author in what he here says of him. For
my own part I know not which to admire most, the taste, the style,
or the candour of Quinctilian, in the characters he describes
throughout this chapter. Biit above all in this of Seneca, which
I look upon to be a sfandard in this manner of writing. It is true
Seneca has still, in this age and country, his admirers. For those
prettinesses which are found in him, will always find admirers :
but all men of true critical taste must appear on our author's side,
who discovered as much spirit as he did judgment in attacking
this formidable, because favourite, author. i

tings

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. '2G'j

tings calculated to mend the morals of mankind.
But his eloquence, in general, is corruj)ted. and is
the more dangerous, because it is full of euchantujjj:
blemishes. Happy had it been for elocjuence, had
he trusted to himself for his matter, and consulted
others for his manner. Had he shewn for some
things, contempt ; in otliers moderation ; had he
been less fond of whatever was his own ; had he not
minced down the most solid arguments and subjects,
into short points and smart sentences, his fame must
have been established by the veneration of the learn-
ed, rather than in the affections of boys. J, however,
recommend him to the perusal of those whose taste
is formed, and who are fully masters of critical learu-
inoc, were it for no other reason, than that hewiUiiive
sufficient employment to both.

For, as 1 have already observed, he has in him
many things that command our approbation, nay,
our admiration. All the reader has to do, is to ap-
ply that judgment, which I wish, he himself had not
wanted. Nature certainly meant him for great things.
Nothing was without the compass of his genius, "Hi*
farktre-^teyefeye-m-tho exocution ra-the more to ber

CHAT. III.

CONCERNING IMITATION.

Such are ttfe authors I recommejid to be read not
only to improve my young orator in copiousness of
style, variety M' figures, and manner of composing,
but in every powej of elotpience. For there can
be no doubt that great j)art of this art cotisists in
imitation. It is true, invention is the first and prin-
ciple part, but at the same time he will fnul great

service

'2GG QUINXIILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

service in densely iinitatinq;, wliat has been happily
invented. The jj^reat scheme of virtuous hie turns
upon our ])raetisin^• ourselves, those virtues we ob-
serve in othere. Thus boys, in learninpj to write,
follow the traces of letters, tiiat are marked out to
them. The musician follows the notes of his teacher.
The painter, the strokes of his original ; and the
farmer that method of culture, which experience has
found to be most successful. In short, we may ob-
serve that apprentices, in every art, {ovm themselves

'i upon certain models ))laced before their eyes. And
in my opinion, there is no avoiding our resembling,
or not resembling what is good ; yet that resemblance
is seldom furnished by nature, but often by imi-
tation

But we shall be hurt by the very circumstance of
our being furnished with more ready means to con-
ceive what we study, than those were, who had no
object of imitation ; unless we follow it with caution

^ and judgment. For I must premise, that mere
n ; imitation has an ignoble end, for it does no more
than discover an indolence of genius, which can rest
satisfied with what has been invented by others.
AVhat should have become of those ages, which had
no examples to imitate, if the men who lived in them
h'dd thought, they were neither to practise nor to
study aught, but what they already knew ? The
I consequence must have been, that nothing would*

/^ have been invented. Shall we then be debarred ,
from inventing that which was not known before ?
Let us reflect upon our uninformed ancestors, who
merely by their natural parts, were authors, of so
many useful inventions. And^plR not we who
know that they succeeded in thWf^ursuits, be fired
with the same spirit of enquiry ? Could they hand
down to posterity, without being taught by any mas-
ter, many noble arts ; and are not we to make use

of

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 267

of those arts for discovering; others, without remain-
ins: satisfied to sul)9ist on what has been acquired by
our forefathers ; like certain painters, who know no
more of their art, than to copy a figure by the help of
a hue and conipai^ses.

It is even scandalous to rest satisfied with equalling; y
what we have imitated. Fc)r let me as^aiii ask, what
would be the consequence, should no man outdo the
ori2;inal he follows? Were that the case, we should
have nothing- in poetry more excellent than Livius
Andronicus, nor in historv better executed than the
annals of our priests ; we should still be sailing about
in the hulks of trees, and all our painting would
consist in marking out with chalk the outlines of
the body, as they appear in the shadow^ by the light
of the sun. Nay, if we review the history of all arts,
we shall not find one now existing, as it was invei^t-
ed, or in its first state of infancy: unless perhaps we
should brand our own times with this particular re-
proach, that in them nothing tends to |jerfection.
For no art can improve merely by imitation.

To apply this observation to eloquence ; how can
we expect to see a finished orator, if he is debarred
from improving u|X)n those who went before him ?
For even amongst the greatest of them, there is not
one, who is absolutely free from defects or blemishes.
Even the orator, who does not aspire to perfection,
ought to rival, when he copies after, his original.
For while he strives to be foremost in the race, he
may come in equal with the foremost, if he cannot
pass him ; but he never can efjual him if he is con-
tented to tread in his footsteps ; for in such a case,
he must always follow after, l^t me add, that very ^
often it is much easier to^ attain to excellency, than
to a p<^rfect resembhince. For it is so difficult to hit
a similitude, that it surpasses even the powers of na- %
ture to produce tViO ihin^^s so very like to each other,

as

\^

2G8 QUIXCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

as not to ho (listinc^uished by a narrow observiT,
Besides, a copy must always tall short of an orij^inai,
for the same re ason tiiat the shadow is less expressive
than the ])erson ; the portrait than the face ; and
the manner of an actor, than the feeling of the mind.
The same observation holds with regard to elo-
quence ; for the originals we copy after have the
truth and force of ruiture to support them ; while
on the other hand, all imitation is no other than fic-
tion, and is directed bv what another has desii>;ned.

JL^ The true reason why declamations have less life and
strength than pleadings, is, because the former deal
in fictions, the latter in realities. Besides, the
greatest perfections of an orator are not to be ac-
quired by imitation ; I mean, genius, invention,
strength, ease, and whatever cannot be communi-
cated by rules. Therefore many readers, by strip-

-^ ping certain pleadings of particular expressions, and
by being able to chime in with the cadences of the
orator thev have read, imao^ine themselves imme-
diately equal to their original ; without considering
that words drop, and recover, with times, and that
even the most established forms of speaking depend
upon custom ; and that words in their own nature,
are mere sounds, without being either good or bad,
but" as they are properly or improperly applied ; and
that all composition must be suited to its subject, and
recommended by a graceful variety.

Therefore, this part of an orator's study requires
to be examined with a searching and a critical eye.
He is to be well founded in his judgment of the au-
thors he is to imitate; for I have known many who
have copied after the vilest and most erroneous ori-.
ginals. In the next place, we are to consider atten-
tively what are the particulars most for our purpose
in the authors we have fixed upon. For the greatest
authors have their blemishes, which have afforded
2 matter

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. S>69

matter of criticism among the learned. And 1 wish
to heaven that young gentlemen were as much im-
proved in eloquence by imitating the good, as they
are debauched bv tbllovvine: the bad.

But let not those, who have judgment enough to
avoid blemishes, take up with suj)erficial beauties ;
such as may be termed tlie scurf ol eloquence, or ra-
ther those corpuscles of Epicurus, which are said to
flow from the surfaces of bodies. Now, this often
happens to those who, without thoroughly examin-
ing the properties of an original, are caught by the
first appearances that strike them, and sit down to
imitation. In such cases, the most happy imitation
that is attained to, consists in a resemblance of phrases
and cadences ; and such imitators, far from rising to
energy or invention, generally go retrogade, till they
fall into those defects that border upon excellencies.
They mistake swelling, for sublimity ; narrowness
for conciseness ; temerity for manhood ; licentious-
ness for freedom ; stiffness lor correctness ; and
negligence for simplicity. Upon the same principle,
after dressing some cold unmeaning sentiment, in
harsh and uncouth expressions, they immediately set
up as rivals to the ancients, cspe^cially the Athe-
nians, who they say were void of all ornament, and
turns of wit. When they cut short a sentence with-
out finishing it, and thereby leave it unintelligible,
they excel Sallust and Thucydides. When dry and
.jejune, they rival Pollio ; and if they can compass a
period of tolerable length, though in a careless slo-
venly manner, they swear tli^t Cicero spoke in that
very way. 1 have known his*lssc videatur, placed
at the end of a sentence, give some gentlemen a han-
dle to plume themselves ujxin hitting off the very
character of Cicero's divine eloquence.

Our student, therefore, in the first ])lace ought to
be made acquainted with the author he is to imitate,

and

\

\'

270 QUINCTIUAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

and in the next, to be made sensible of hisl)eauties.
0^ With ivi^ard to the execution, he is to consult his
\ onn strength. Some things are inimitable through
the weakness, and others through the [dissimilarity,
of capacity. A delicate genius disagrees with what-
ever is only rough and violent. When a genius is
strong, but uncultivated, by affecting to be rehned,
it both loses its strength, and comes short of that
elegance which is its favourite pursuit ; for nothing
can be more ungraceful than a blustering attempt to
be tender.

In my second book, however, I have recom-
mended it to the master not to confine his lessons
for each boy entirely to the particular cast of his g^
genius. My reason is, that a master ought to do
all in his power to promote the natural tendency of
a boy's genius to what is right ; to assist it, where
it is defective ; and to alter it where it is wrong. He
is to consider himself as the director, and ])olisher,
of his pupil's capacity. But, perhaps, it may not be
/v \ so easy for him to subdue the bent of his own ge-
nius. Yet, though a master may be extremely
zealous fully to instruct his scholars in whatever can
contribute to their perfection in this art, he is not to
toil against nature.

It is a general mistake (and we ought to shun it)
to imitate poets and historians in oratorial cornpo-
/ sitions, and orators of declaimers in poetic or histo*
u^^ rical. Each manner has laws, properties, and beau-
' ties, peculiar to itself. Comedy does not stalk

along Jn buskins, nor tragedy shufile about in
slippers. And yet certain properties are in com-
mon to all eloquence; and these w'e are to imitate.
Another inconvenience usually attends those who are
entirely capti\'ated by one manner. For if they are
charmed with the asperity and vigour of a writer,
thev cannot rid themselves of that manner, even

while

BookX. of eloquence. 271

while they arc speaking in causes that require gen-
tleness and moderation, if they are charmed with
dehcacy and simphcity, they carry those (jiiahties
into pleadings tliut require lire and acrimony, and
where they can do little or no service, ior causes
are not only ditferent from one another, but one part
of the same pleading varies, in its manner, from
another. One part may require to be delivered in
gentle, another in rough, another in spirited, and
another in easy, terms ; one part is suited to inform,
another to move, and all areettected by separate, and
dissimilar, properties.

For this reason, 1 am asfainst a student devotin<j:
himself implicitly to the imitation of any one au-
thor, through all parts of oratory. Demosthenes
is, by far, the most excellent of Greek Authors ;
yet, in some particulars, he may have been out-done
by others. Though he has the greatest beauties,
and though he ought to be the chief, yet ought he
not to be the sole, object of imitation. W^ell, it may
be said, supposing one could speak like Cicero iti all
respects, would not that be suthcient ? To me it
would, could I acquire every character of his elo-
quence. But, will it hurt an orator, if, in some
parts of his pleading, he adopts the strength of
Caesar, the keenness of Caelius, the neatness of Pol-
ho, and the judgment of Calvus ? For, a man of
sense will endeavour to appropriate to himself what-
ever is most excellent in every one. But if, in a
study so dilhcult as this is, he shall propose only to
himself a single mf)del, he will fmd it dilhcult to
succeed in anv one excellency. As it is therefore
almost impossible for any man to resemble, in ev^ry
respect, the pattern he c buses, let him consult many
goixi onts, that he may make some acquirement
from each, and thf n let him diispose of what he so
ucquires to the best advantage.

I must

in

S72 QUINCTILTAN=S INSTITUTES Book X.

I must again and again repeat it, our imitation
ought not to be confined to words. We must figure
in our minds, how gracefully those great men
treated things and characters, with what address,
with what art ! how they knew to serve their cause,
by that maimer which seemed calculated only to de-
light ! to suit the introduction to their purpose ! to
conduct and diversify their narrative ! to enforce
both their proofs and refutations ! With what skill
did they touch upon every passion of the soul ! and
how well they knew how to profit even by popular
applause, which is always most beautiful, when it is
least courted 1 When we shall make ourselves masters
of all this, we shall then be masters of imitation <
But the man who, to these properties, shall add a
large stock of his own, who knows how to supply
every deficiency, and to retrench every redundancy ;
such a man is the complete orator, I am now endea-
vouring to form. Modern times afford many oppor-
tunites of perfection in this art, by the numerous «
models of complete eloquence, which we now have, ^
and which were unknown, even to the best orators
who lived before us ; and whose glory it is, that,
after outdoing all before them, they have left their
works as models for posterity.

CHAP. IV.

ft

CONCERNING WRITING. ITS UTILILY AND PRACTICE.

Thus far I have treated concerning; the foreign
assistances of this study. But we.liave within our-
selves resources, which we ought to employ ; and,
of these, writing, thougli a laborious, is the most .
profitable, exercise ; for Cicero, very properly, calls
the pen, " the best, the most excellent former

of

)K'^,£S^

BookW.,j^ of eloquence. 273

of the tongue." This sentiment comes from the
mouth of Lucius Crassus, in the conferences con-
cerning an orator. Hut Cicero has strengthened
it with his own opinion. We are, therefore, to give -f
to writ ng all the apj)lication, and all the time, we
can Sparc. For, as the earth, the deeper you dig
it, is the better fitted to receive and cherish the
seeds committed to its bosom ; in like manner, a
mind, that is not superficially cultivated, is the most j,
liberal of the fruits of study, and the most faithful
in retaining them. For, without a thorough prac-
tice, and a conscientious discharge of our duty,
even the ease of speaking extempore becomes no
more than empty loquacity, and random words. In
writins:, the roots and foundations of learn ii^- are
laid. There, as in a sacred treasury, her riches are
dejwsited, to be ap{)lied upon any sudden emer-
gency, as occasion shall otier. Above all things,
let us rnuster up such strength as is sufficient to en-
counter difficulties, and such as is not to be exhausted
by use. Nature herself never meant that any thing
great should be quickly produced ; and she has an-
nexed difficulties to every beautiful composition.
Even amongst the brutes, she has established a ge-
nerative law ; for we see that the largest animals lie
lon,L,Mst in the bellits of their dams.

Hut here a double question arises, in what man-
ner, and what you are to write. 1 shall si)eak of
I M Jill in order, in the first place, let us write slow,
but exact ; let us l(X)k out for the best subjects, )
without taking up with what first offer. Let judg-
ment aid invention, and disposition correctness. Let
us review both things and words, and examine the
import of each. Let us next apply ourselves to ar-
raiii^ins: them. Let us place and displace them
again, till we find out the arrangement that is most

VOL. II. T harmonious,

■^;>,.

fc

1-

^

■^

'i7't QUIN'CTILIA!<I'S INSTITUTES Book X.

liarmonious, \vitlioiit siiniriiig them to stand, just
as tliey first come into our heads.

lo succeed the better in this, we are often to
consult what we have last written. '1 his will lead
us not only to connect what we write with the s^reatcr
propriety, but give a new spring to our imagiu'dtion,
which is aj)t to cool while we are are writing, but
recovers new force by n^treating back. Thus, in
contests at leaping, the man who performs the best,
retreats the forthest back, and throws himself
out with the greatest swiftness into his leap. The
stronger we toss the javelin, the wider is the sway
we give it with our arm. And the farther we
send the arrow, the more tightly the bow-string
is dra*vn.

Should a favourable gale, however, spring up, let
us spread our sails before it, provided this induU
s^ence does not lead us into error. For we are
pleased always with our last thought, other>|'ise we
would not commit it to v.riting. But we ought to
review it critically, and retouch wherever we suspect
that ease has deceived us into looseness. This, we
are told, is the manner in which Sallust wrote, and
indeed the pai«s he took, appear in his composi-
tions. Virgil * too, as we are informed by Varus,
composed but very few lines in a day.

But this is not the case with an orator. There-
fore I recommend this carefulness, this slownes^,'
when he sets out upon his studies. Tor his first
aim, his first purpose ought to be, to w^ite as well as

*■ He used to say that he produced his lines as n bear does her
cubs, shapeless and unformed, till she Hrks tbeni into Ibnii. This
is the tnic reason of that vast inequality that appears in his writ-
mgs, if the Cyris and Culex are his (as they are generally allowed
tc be) and why he was so jealous of certain lines in his iEncid,
which he had not touched up, that, upon his death-bed, he ear-
nestly requested his friends to burn tlie whole poem.

• possible '

KooK X. OF ELOQUExXXE. 27-5

possible ; as to quickness, it will come by habit.
Matter will every day oiler itself more readily than
it did the last. Words will flow in upon him, and
composition become easy. In short, as amongst
w^ell-rri;nlat(rd servants, each will do its own busi-
ness. Lpon the whole, by writiiii*; quick, you can- \^
not come to write well; but by writing well, you
will come to write quick. Ihit whin we have at-
tained to a habit of being quick, we are chiefly
then to be upon our guard, and to take care to
curb our imagination, as wc would do a skitti>h
horse ; and this caution, so far from damping it, will
enliven it.

I have known some hiijfhlv to blame in never be-
mcj contented, but always fretting and tiazing them-
selves in changing and altering what they wu"ite, even
after practising for some time. Now, how can a man •■
go through the business of life, if he grow's grey —
headed in altering and turning every single period of
a ])leadiiig? Some people never know when they
have done enough, but are always for changing and
varying their first composition. '1 his is being incre-
dulous and distrustful of their own abilities, even
to a degree of infatuation, for they tliink that cor-
rectness consists in raising dilhculties to themselves.
To speak truth, it is hard to say who are most to
blame, they who are pleased with every thing, or
they who are pleased with nothing, they write. With
regard to the last extreme, it often induces young
men of genius to waste their whole time in amencl*
ments, and their too grc^at anxiety to speak well,
sometimes shuts up their Ups for ever.

This put^j me in mind of what I was told bv Julius
Secundus, who was my cfttemporary, and, as all
the world knows, my particular friend, a man of
wonderful talents in speaking, but scrupulously ex*'
act. IJis uncle was Julius Florus. wlio was at die

head

276 QUINCTTLIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X«

• ^ . head of eloquence in (iaul, where he practised at
the har ; though indeed he must have made a hgure
any where ; and was every way worthy of such a
knisman : tliis uncle, I say, while Secundns was
attendino; the schools of elocjuence, one day met
him in a very pensive mood, and asked him, why

\^ he looked so serious? Secundns, (as he told me him-
self) frankly owned, tliat he had not for two days
been able to compose an introduction to a declama-
tion, the subject of which had been set him three
days ago; and that his inability not only gave him
pain for the present, but made him despair of ever

I i^ succeeding as a speaker, ^\'hat, replies his uncle
with a smile, do you intend, child, to speak better
than you can ? This is the whole of the matter. We
ought to aim at speaking to perfection ; and, for all
that, we must speak as we can. In order to profit
in our studies, we must not fret, but apply.

But, that we may attain to quickness and ease in
writing, we must not only practise it often, (though
in that there is doubtless a great deal,) but we ought
logo about it methodically; I mean, we ought not
to be indolent, to be always gazing at the roof of
the room, and muttering to ourselves, as if that
>vould assist our invention, or waiting supinely till
something shall present itself. No; we are to be in-
tent upon the natyre of our subject, u|)on what is
most suitable to' characters, to the occasion, and the
disposition of the judge; and then we are to set
■ about wrilinii- as well as we can, without troublinsr
^ ourselves farther. If we observe this rule, nature
and ffood sense will Q-uide us both in the be^innino;
and progress of our composition. Most thii)C>s we
ought to say are fixed and determined ; ?nd we must
see them, imU^ss wo. wilfully shut our eyes. Even
the most illiterate, the most uninstructed, of man-
kind, are seldom at a loss how to enter upon a sub-
ject,

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 277

ject, and shall learning; render it dilHcult ? That
would be siiametul indeed. Let us not therefore
suj)p<)se that every thing that is most hid is most
excellent ; antl that we ought to be silent, if we can
invent nothing that is proper to be delivered.

liut there is an opposite extreme. For the me- .-j
thotl of some is to bejin and continue their matter ' '
with a rapid pen, that scrawls it quickly over, to
write warmly and precipitately, and without inter-
ruption, and all this they call making out a rough*
draught. They then set about reviewing and cor-
recting what they have thus sketched, but they re-
touch only words and periods ; their materials,
which are hastily huddled together, remain without ^
strength or signiiicancy. The right way therefore ( "
is to apply care at first, and conduct your work in
such a manner, as to be always polishing and chasing
it, without being obliged to carry it back to the
foundery. Sometimes, however, we are to give way
to the impulse of imagination ; for there, heat ge-
nerally does more than study. "j"
|M My c iidemning this over-hastiness in writing,
sulticiently discovers my sentiments with regard to
dictating, w ithout writing at all. For when we write,
however hasty we may be, yet still we must have
some time to study, because our thought is quicker
than our pen. But the person who takes down what

* Orig. Sylva.

+ Though what our author has laid duwn in this paragraph i«
very plausible, yet perhai)s it is the most questionable part of his
work, and admits of great opposition. Writing is what every
student ought to practise, and, I believe, does ; but, in argu-
mentative subjects, perhaps his best way is to perform a tough
draught of the whole of what he intends to say. For why may
he not review ami meliorate things as well as words? I own, I
cannot help thinking, that there is a littleness in the method re-
commended by Quinctilian, that must be very disagreeable to a
young gentleman of great genius,

wc

278 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

Ave dictate, is always rUisc at our heels, and sonic-
times we are asliamed to seem to doMl>t, to j)ausi', or
to alter any thing, for tear he should have a slender
opinion oi' our ahiiitics. Thus, while all our am-
bition is to proceed without stoppiut;, a great deal,
not only of rude, but random, nay, impertinent mat-
ter, escapes us, and is as far from the lire of an un-
studied pleading, as from the correctness of written
com|)osition. Hut should he who takes down what
is thus dictated, be too slow * in writing, or if,
when he reads what he writes, it sliould be found
tliat he has been negligent, nay, has hurt it in taking
it down, then the career of the person who dictates
is immediately stopped ; and this stop (sometimes
anger at what lias hajipened) immediately cancels all
the fine ideas he had formed. Add to this, that
those demonstrations which mark what passes in the
mind, and indeed assist the imagination, such as the
toss of the hand, the sternncssof the look, the twist
of the body, nay, scolding sometimes, w^ith all the
characters which Persius observes are wantin^i- in a
thin, slight style, when the author never strikes his
desk, nor bites his nails; f all these emotions, I say,
are ridiculous, unless we are by ourselves. J?ut the
most powerful argument of all against this practice
is, that there can be no manner of doubt that a re-
mote place, where nobody is by, (which cannot be
the case when you dictate) and the most profound
silence, is most proper for those who compose.

We are not, however, to imagine with some, that
woods and forests are the most proper for this pur-
pose, because their free air and fine prospects elevate

* The reader will perceive from what our author fays here,
ttat he speaks of those piofessors of rhetoric, uho dictated in
public, without p emeditation, what their scholars took down, and
suffered it to be published.

-|- Nee pluteum caedit, nee demoe?os sapit ungues.

the

'i'^

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 279

the mind, and fertilize the imagiHation. For my
own part, 1 think siicli retreats are more agreeable
than ihey are inj proving. For the very })lt*asure
tliey give us, necessarily takes our mind offtVomthe
purpose we are pursuing. For it is impossible tor the
mind to perform si veral functions C(pially well at the
same time. 2\nd every time the thought is di-
verted, it is called oil" from the object of its study.
Therefore the blooming woods, the purling streams,
the breeze that whispers through the grove, and the
bird that charms with its note, nay, the delightful
extended prospect ; all, 1 say, divert us from what
^ve are about, and, in my opinion, rather unbend
than brace our mental faculties. IJemosthenes judged
^better; for he retired to a place where no voice
could be heard, no object could be seen, that could
divert his mind from its business. Therefore the
silent night, the bolted closet, and the solitary taper,
are the most proper for fixing meditation, as it vvere,
upon its ol)ject. • .

But health, and temperance which is the parent ^b"
of health, is of the utmost service in every, espe-
cially this, method of study, when we employ the
time that nature has allotted to us for our rest and
refreshment to the most fatiguing toils. We are
•therefore to bestow upon study no more time than
.we can safely spare from sleeping. For all fatigue is
an enemy to the elegance of composition, and we i. ^

shall liave day light enough, if we can employ it >-*- -
^vell ; iiox shall we jieetl to study till midniuht, but
4jpon extraorili:ij^i;y occasions. .Meanwhile, the best^
retreat we can {ind is in study, as often as we can ap- ^'p'>*^
ply to it in full vigour of mind and body. — ^

Silence, retirement, and a perfect tnuuiuillity of
mind, are indeed the greatest friends to study, but
they do not always fall to a man's share. If there-
fore we should sonn^times be interrupted, we are not
immediately to tlu'ow away our })apers, and givi; our

time

!2S0 QriNXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES BookX.

time up fur lost : no, wr oiijilu to get the better of
clifh<ulties, and to acquire such a habit as to sur-
mount all iinpediuitiits by resolution and application.
For if you nsolve and 'ai)ply in earnest, and with the
whole force of your mind, to what you are about,
that which may olfcnd vour eves or cars, never can
^ disoriler your understanding. J)oes it notoftcn luij)-

pcn, that an accidental thouj^ht throws us into so
profound a train of study, that we do not see the
people we meet, and sometimes wander out of our
way? May not this always be our case, especially
when our study is not the eflbct of accident, but of
determination r

We yre not to indulge ourselves in excuses fi:oni
study ; for if we think we never are to apply to it
but when we are vigorous, in high spirits, and free
from all manner of other care, we shall always find
'>y^ . pretexts to excuse us to ourselves. Let us always
therefore find food for meditation, whether we are
in a crowd, upon a journey, at table, or even amidst
a tumult. How must an orator behave, if in the
middle of a crowded court, surrounded with full
benches, deafened witli scolding, noise and shout-
ings, he is to prepare himself to deliver a lf)ng plead-
ing, he can mark down in no other place than a
sohtary retreat, the heads of what he is to deliver ?
For this reason, Demosthenes, great as his love of
retirement was, chose to meditate on a shore that
was lashed by roaring waves, that he might accus-
tom himself to be undisturbed amidst the tumults of
p. pul)lic assemblies. ^-^ •

^/n \ As in point of study nothing is too minute to be
overlooked, 1 must recommend to my student to

• write upon waxen tablets, because he can then most
easily blot out ; unless his eyes are weak, so that he
Js obliged to make use of parchments, which, though
they are easier for the eye, yet retard Qur writmg, by
tjie frequent returns of dipping the pen in the ink,

anc|

BookX. of ELOQURN'CE. 281

and consequently break the force of thinking. In '^

either case we ou^ht always to reserve a large margin

for making what additions we shall think proper. For •

when we write too close, we are sometimes loth to

make amendments, and there is always some con-

fusion arises by interlineations. Neither would I • ^

have my young orator to make use of too large pages ; -KXjJ'^^'

for 1 remember one, who was otherwise a very in-

genius gentleman, but was always sure to makejjiSj

pleadings too long, because he measured the^Ff by

the length of his page; nor could he be drov(*-from

this ridiculous custom, though he was often'toldof

it, until he lessened the size of his parchment. A

space likewise ought to be left, where we may enter

any matter that accidentally occurs in the course of

our composition, though it is foreign to our subject.

Fe,r it often happens, that an excellent sentiment

forces its way into our mind ; and though it would
*' . . . . .

be impertinent to insert it in our composition, yet wc
might lose it, if we do not immediately write it
down, for sometimes it may slip out of our mind ;
or if we retain it, it may divert us from our imme-
diate study ; and therefore our safest way is to com-
mit it to paper.

CHARTT

C0NXERN1\G iM ENDING AND CORRECTING.

I AM next twrerJjitf amondments and corrections,
those far most nerr^Wy parts ot' study : for it is, for
very good reasons, believed, thai blotting out is one
of the best employments of the pen. Now this
business consists in adding, retrenching, and chang-

/

58:? QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

iiisr. The two Ibrmcr are i)ractised easily and
readily ; hut there is a douhle task required in abat-
ing the swelling, in raising the meanness, in subduing
the luxurianey, in regulating the disorder, in adjust-
ing the looseness, and cheeking the extravagariee of
composition. For we must condemn what i)leased
us, and invent what has escaped us.

JNleanwhile, it is d(Hil)tless that our best way of
correcting is by su tiering our compositions to lie by
us a long time, and then have recourse to them as
if they were quite new, and belonging to another,
that thereby we may avoid that fondness wliich
every one is apt to entertain for the new-born issue
of liis own brain. But every man, especially an
orator, who must often write as the present emer-
gency directs him, has not an opportunity of doin^
this. Besides, there is a mean in correction itself.
Vov I have known some, who never examine a piece
without presuming it to be incorrect. They think it
impossible that the first composition should be a
finished performance, and imagine that every altera-
tion of it must be for ttig better. And thus they
serve a page as blundering quacks do a patient ; for
when once they get a limb under their care, they are
sure to lay it open, be it ever so sound ; till by pre-
tending to cure it, it becomes hacked, withered,
and useless.
\\ ■ Let us, therefore, know when we ought to be

pleased ; at least, where we ought not to blame. Let
our works be polished, but not wasted, by the file.
Neither ought we to be extravag^^^s to the time
between composing and revieigh^nRn. It is true,
that the poet Cinna is said t^iave bestowed nine
years in composing his wSmyrna : and that Isocrates
spent at least ten, in writing and revising his Pane-
gyric.

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE 283

gyric- But all this is notliinp; to the omtor, who
will never be able to i)roduce any thiuj;-, it" he shall
bestow too much time upon what he writes.
y

CHAP. VI.

OF THE MOST PROPER EXERCISES IN WRITING.

1 am now to treat of the exercises upon which we
can best employ our pen. This would present us
with a lar^e field, if we were to explain what we
are to do lirst, what next, and what last of all. But
this I have done in the first and second books of
this work, when 1 laid down rules for the exercises
of boys, and of those who are more advanced in
study. My present purpose is to shew how we can
best attain to the copiousness and ease of style. Our "K
old orators think this is the most successfully done
by translating Greek into Latin, which Cicero, in his
book concerning the characters and (pialifuations of
an orator, says, was the practice of Lucius Crassus,
and he often recommends the same in his own person ;
nay, he published some books of Plato and Xtnophon
translated into Latin with this view. Messala was
of the same opinion, and composed many orations in
this manner, particularly that for J^hryne from lly-
])erides, in which he vies with his original, even in
<lelicacy, a quality so hard to be attained to by the
Latin tonuue. ^

The utility ^|^'^ practice is evident ; for the
Greek authors^not only abound with variety of
matter, b.it have adorned it with eveiv art of elo-
(juence ; and in translating their works we may em-
ploy the very best expressions, and yet confine our-
selves to our own tongue. As to the figures that
embellish our style, we shall be under a kind of ne-
cessity

284 QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

cessitv of invciitin'j: a Q-roat variotv of them, becRuse
the genius oi' tlio two languages diilcrs greatly in that
respeet.
J-L A student will find vast advantages likewise, by
*• alti>ring Latin eoin positions into other Latin terms.
This, with regard to the poets, is, I believe, iudis-
putal)le ; and it is said to have been tlie only exer-
cise of Sulpetius. For the sublimity of i)oetry ele-
vates a style, and the too great boldness of its ex-
pression may, by the orator, be softened into all the
— ^. propriety of prose. Meanwhile this exercise admits
of giving to sentiments all the strength of eloquence ;
/ of supplying whatever is omitted, and correcting
Uy<ii 0 ^vhatever is loose. Neither am 1 for confirming this
JR^C , exercise to a mere transposition of terms. 1 W(Hdd

Ji have it rise to rival and contend with the original, by

expressins^ the same thing in a more beautiful manner.
For this reason, 1 dift'or with those aulhors,* who
are against this manner of altering Latin orations ;
because, say they, the best expressions are already
Jaid hold of, therefore whatever we alter must be for
the worst. For my own part, I think, we are never
to despair of saying the same thing in better language;
for eloquence has been formed by nature neither so
thin, nor so poor, as that one thing can be well ex-
pressed only in one set of ^vords. We see how play-
ers can introduce the same speech with great variety
of action, and are the powers of eloquence unable to
find a variety of manners to express what another
has said before ? ^^

But granting that our compo^^k is neither su-
perior, nor equal, to our original, ^t surely it may
come near it in beautv. Does not ieverv man's ex-
perience tell him, that he frequently says the same

* Quinctilian seems here to mean Cicero. See his de oratore,
i. I.e. 34.

thinqt'

\

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 285

tliiui; twice, and perhaps oftener, to the length some-
times of several sentences ? Is not this a kind of con-
tention with oursehes, and shall we then fear to —
contend with others ? For if a thing can be said well
only in one way, we must reasonably think that they
w ho had gone before us have already seized it ;
whereas if the manners of expressing the same thing-
are various, several paths may terminat.? in tlie same
point. Conciseness antl copiousness have each their
several beauties. ^Metaphorical and proper expres-
sions have their peculiar properties. Simplicity re-
commends one diction, and a figure gives a beauti-
<?^ ful turn to anotlier. In short, the very dilhculties
we encounter, in endeavouring to excel, must at last
make us excellent. Nay, by this method we gain
a more thorough insight into the beauties of great)
authors ; for we then do not hurry them over, but
examine and review every excellency of their styles;
and our very consciousness of our not being able to
imitate them, is a proof that we know their value.
^ It is o^ great service to vary, in this manner, not J
onlv the works of another, but even our own com-
positions. Let us pick out certain sentnnents from
our own writings, and turn them as harmoniously
as we can into different forms, as we would the same
bit of wax into a variety of figures.

In my opinion, however, the more simple the mat-
ter is, it is the better calculated to improve us fn this
exercise. For amidst a vast variety of characters,
incidents, times, places, sayings and actions, our
inability may ^^' conceal itself, by chusing, out
of so many, mie thing that we can handle to pur-
pose. F)Ut the proof of oratorial abilities lies in our
being able to enlarge what is naturally contracted ;
to macrnify what is inconsiderable ; to diversify what
is similar, to beautify what is common, and to find a
great many good things to say upon one subject.

Those

)^

^3^ QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

Tln^so imlofiniloquostions, wliith wo call Theses,
\K arc vrrv proiurlor tliis exercise; ami Cicero used to
**^\vrite in tliis luanner, even when he was at the head
of" the ll«tnian government. 'Ihe reversing; and con-
firnnnG: decrees is almost the same kind of exercise :
l)e«:ause we can reason upon the decree in the same
manner as u|)on the cause which th*e decree has
settled and finislied. We may likewise treat genera!
topics in the same manner: and we know that seve-
ral such have betn composed by orators. I'or who-
ever shall copiously handle those direct plain subjects
without turning or winding, he will have much greater
facility when he comes to treat of matters that ad-
mit of enlarijement and embellishment, and he will
never be at a loss to speak in any cause. For all
causes may be leduced to general topics; for instance,
Cornelius, the tribune of the people, is impeached,
for having read a bill in public. Now there is no
difference between this state of the cause and the
following topic, viz. " Whether it is an act of
treason in a magistrate to read in person before
the people a public bill^ which he himself has brought
in ?^' Alilo is to be tried for killing Clodius. When
his cause is resolved into a general topic, it is as fol-
low^s; " Whether it is lawful to kill one who way-
lays you, or to kill a pernicious citizen, though he
does not way-lay you ?" " Was it right in Cato to
make over his wife Martia, to his friend Horten-
sius? " " Whether such an action is consistent
with a man of virtue ?" In all these causes, the fate
of the person is determined by tl|^d^cussion of the
facts.

As to declamations that used to be pronounced in
schools of rhetoric ; if they resemble real actions
and pleadings, they are not only very useful to as-
sit our progress in eloquence, by exercising at once
our invention and arrangement, but they are of

service

f;

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 287

service wen to the most finished and eminent ora-
tor ; for they give a pkinipness and smoothness to
el(>qnence, by making- her teed, as it were, on fresh
provision, vvhicti recruits her spirits, and gives tliem
a gentler How, after beini^ exhausted in the rough,
unamiable, business of tlie forum. For the same
reason, 1 sometimes would have my young orator's'
pen exercised in the historical style, because it re-
quires to be fuil and polishrd. lie may even indulge
himself in inntating the freedom and facetiousuess
of conversation. ISav, 1 think him not to blame, if.
he amuses himself even with poetry, like wrestlers,
who sometimes, disregarding the diet and exercises
to which they are restricted, indulge themselves with
ease and luxury, liy having recourse to such amuse-
ments, Cicero, in my opinion, was enabled to throw
such a blaze of glory upon eloquence. For if an
orator is confined always to battle it at the bar,
the brightness of his genius must grow rusty, its
flexii)ility stitf, anc^ its very point must be blunted
by being continually in action.

But though they who practise, and, as as it were,
do duty at tliL' bar, are revived and recruited by
such amusements, yet young gentlemen are not for
that reason to employ too much time upon roman-
tic representations and idle fictions, odierwise they
Avill be in danger of doating upon these phantoms
so long, that ihey cannot be brought to face a real
encounter, but shut their eyes upon it, as they do
upon the brightness of the sun. This is said to have
been the case even with Fortius Latro, the first pro-
fessor of any eminence we ever had in Rome. For,
.after he had distinsruisherl himself hisfhiv bv de-
claiming in his school, when he rame to plead a
cause at the bar, he l)egged with great earnestness,
that the Ik U' 'lies should be moved to the next place
that had a roof upon it. So great a stranger was he to

^3 ^ the

.//^

5S8 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Cook X.

the open air; and so miicli was liis eloquei#c coii-
linrd within rool's* and walls.

The youni; ocntlcnian tht'ieforCj who is pcrf(^ctly
well instructrd in the niothod <»f invtMitint; and ex-
pressing; (wliieh is no hard matter tor a skiltnl mas-
ter to do) and alter that has made some advances in
the practical part, onght, as was the custom with
our ancestors, to pitch upon some orator, whom he
ouLilit to consider as his model, and the original he
is to follow. Let hiin attend as many trials as he
can ; that he may he a frequent spectator of the en-
counters to which he is destined. Let him then
I commit to writing- the causes he has heard, or even
others, provided they are real ones, and liandle hoth
sides of the question, and, like gladiators, let him
fight, 2io if in good earnest ; as we are told was the
case with Brutus, when he composed his oration for
Milo, which he never pronounced. This is a better
method than that of answering: the orations of the
ancients, as Sestius did that o' Cicero for Milo,
though it was impossible, from Cicero's pleading,
that he should be furnished with all the arguments
made use of on the other side.

A young gentleman, however, will sooner arrive
at excellency if his master shall obliare him to de-
claim upon subjects that very nearly resemble real
causes, and to go through every part of pleading.
But the modern practice is, to cull out such sulijects
as are UKjst easy and most amusing. The circum-
. stances 1 mentioned in my second book are unfavour-
able, however, to this excellent method ; I mean a
great crowd of scholars, and the custom of hear-
ing certain classes upon certain days : and some-
times their fathers, who pay for their sons de-
claiming, though they can form no judgment of what

t * The whole of this story, I think, proves pretty plainly, that
the Ronoan courts of justice in the forum had no roofs. ' ^ .,a

7 / / / t^^^y ■

\

i''.->i-t<5(by?.- r^^T

KooK X. . OF ELOQUENCE. 289

they say.* Hut (as I have observed in my first hook.
if 1 mistake jiot) a master who knows his business
■will not crowd his school with more scholars than
he can manage; he will curtail whatever is not to
the purjMJse, and make his pupils conhne themselves
to the matter in haiid, without ramblins:, as is the
custom of some, into all kinds of subjects. Ra-
ther than they shouki do that, he will allow them a
farther time for digesting their thoughts ; or he will
suffer them to divide the task prescribed them. For
if one part of it is correctly executed, it is of more
service to the student, than if he should begin many,
and leave them unfinished. When that is the case,
nothing stands in its proper place; nothing comes
first, that ought to come first ; for the young gentle-
men crowd into what they speak, all the flowers and
figures, which ought to be dispersed through the
whole. And thus, for fear of losing an opportunity
of introducing what ought naturally to follow, they
huddle it in by the lump.

CHAP. VII.

CONCERNING PREMEDITATION.

Next to writing, ])remeditation is of the greatest
use, and perhaps most generally practised. This
fornis a kind of a mean between the difficulty of
composing upon paper and extemporary speaking.
For every place and every time is not fit for writing ;
but we may exercise premeditation almost in all

• Orlg. Numerantium potiCis declamatioues, qu^m restiman-
(lum. i'liis passage has been misunderstood by the Abbe Ge-
doj-n We have many proofs that the professors of rhetoric at
ll';1V>e were paid by the parent? of young gentlemen for every
lime they suffered them lo declaim. See Juv. Sat. 7. Line lti5.
VOL. ir. r times

y

\

S90 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTP^S Book X.

times aad places, and we tliercby may become, in a
very short time, niaslere of very great causes. Even
when we are awake on our beds, it is assisted by
the darkness of the night. Every interval of busi-
'' ncss gives room for it, and it never is idle. It does

'^ not coDsist only in laying down the general plan of
a pleading, though that alone is sufficient to recom-
mend it ; but it even can join words into sentences,
and ofive such a connexion throutjhout the whole
pleading, that it requires only to be connnitted to
paper to render it a finished composition. Nay,
our memory generally retains what we thus preme-
ditate, too faithfully to be unsettled by that careless-
ness and indifference which we are apt to fall into
after securing it by writing.

But this power of imprinting things upon our me-
mory is neither suddenly nor easily attained. For

9 the first thing we ought to do, should be to give,
by the practice of writing, our style such a form,
as that it shall naturally present itself wherever we
have occasion to use it. In the next place, we ought
to practise this by little and little, by imprinting at
first only a few points on our mind, so as to deliver
them correctly. We are next to proceed by mode-
rate degrees, and so carefully, that the mind must
not perceive it is burdiened, but gather strength by
exercise, and fortify itself by contiimal habit. In
all which the memory, it is true, bears the greatest
share ; and therefore I shall reserve some things on
. that head for another part of this work.

Y^T What I have recommended will bring an orator,
V who does not find an invincible obstacle in his ge-
nius, and shall give constant application, to deliver
what he has premeditated with the same fidelity as
what he has got by heart. Cicero tells us, that
. amongst the Greeks, Metrodorus Sceptius, and Eri-
phasus Rhodius, and, amongst the Romans, Hor-

tensius,

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 291

tensius, could deliver a premeditated pleading with-
out mistaking a single word.

But if, during the delivery, any instantaneous
thought should present itself, we are not to be so
foolishly scrupulous as to stick literally to what we
have premeditated. For no premeditated discourse
can be so exact, as not to admit of some accidental
improvements. And very often, while we are de-
livering a written composition, if a good thought
suddenly comes into our head, we give it Vent like-
wise. Upon the whole, therefore, this matter ought
to be so managed as that we may be readily able to
leave or to return to it at pleasure. For though our
first business is to come sufficiently and correctly
prepared to the bar, yet it would be the height of
folly to reject any accidental amendment that may
suggest itself in the meanwhile. Premeditation
therefore is intended to put it out of the power of
Fortune to surprise u», but to leave her an opportu-
nity of assisting us.

The strength f>f memory, however, enables Us to
deliver with fluency anci correctness what we have
thus premeditated, without stammering, going bat^k-
wards and forwards, and being in a perpetual
Clutter, and not knowing what we are to say next,
unless we have it by rote. For, extemporary speak-
ing at all adventures is preferable to ill-digested
premeditation. Because nothing is worse than to
be groping for what we are to say ; for when
we are in search of one thought we lose another,
and our memory iinds us more employment than
our matter. But were we to examine both man-
ners, we shall find that more things may be in-
vented than are invented.

^^k^..

?92 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

CHAP. Vlll.

CONCERNING EXTEMPORARY SPEAKINC.

The richest fruit, and, a^ it were, the fairest
reward of an orator's long and laborious course of
study, is the jiower of speak insj extempore. He
who is not al^le to do this, ouglit, in my opinion, to
throw up the business of the bar ; and if the pen
is all he possesses, let him employ it to other
purposes. For I think it inconsistent with the
character of a man of virtue, publicly to profess
that he s ready to assist another, though he knows
he must abandon him upon the most pressing emer-
gencies. This is like pointing out a harbour to a
ship in a tempest, which it cannot enter but in calm
weather. :>

The truth is, a great many sudden emergencies
happen at trials of every kind, even though we have
time enough before-hand to be prepared. If, in
such a case, the life, 1 will not say of an innocent
man, but of a near relation, or a dear friend, should
be endangered, must a pleader stand mute r Or if
the party must be condemned, unless he is imme-
diate! v defended, is the advocate to beo for a little
time, till he shall retire to shades and solitude, in
order to prepare a fine speech, which he is to get by
heart, while, in the mean time, he goes into a regi-
men, for the benefit of his voice and lungs ? iiow
then can any advocate be justified in acting as such,
if he is incapable to speak, even on the shortest
warning ? When he is to reply upon the spot to his

4J-. adversary, how will he behave ? For very often thai
y' which we have premeditated, nay, that which weha^ e

^ written down, does not suit our immediate purpose ;

because.

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 99J

because frequently the whole complexion of a cause
changes on a sudden. An orator, therefore, is to
alter his manner as the cause alters ; as the pilot
works his shij), according to the shiftings of the
winds and tides. In short, we may write a great Uf'
deal, we may read a great deal, we may spend our
life in study, all will be to no purpose, if we know
no more of the ])raetical part of our business than
when we first began. All our past labour must go
for nothing, if we have the same thing always to do
over again.

Meanwhile, I am not recommending extempo-
rary speaking preferably to any other. All I say is,
we ought to know how to practise it ; and for this
purpose, we are to consider, first, in what manner
we are to speak. For we are not to set out upon a
race without knowing from whence, and \\ hither
we are to run. It is not enough to know the several
parts of judicial pleadings, 'Or how to range the
points they turn upon in proper order; for though all
that knowledsre is very necessary, yet we must likewise
know what is to conje first, what next, and so-forth,
and that in so natural an order, that they cannot be
altered or displaced, without confusion. But who- -
ever knows how to begin properly, is guided by the
natural order of things ; and therefore we see men
of very moderate experience at the bar, who are ne-
ver confused or at a loss in stating a case. The next
assistant I recommend for extemporary speaking is,
for a pleader to know how to search for a thing in its
proper place, without being obli<j:('d to stare round
him, and havinc;- his senses disturbed by other ideas;
or confoundin'j: what he savs by introdncins; foreiirn
matter; and starting from one thing to another, and
never fixing to any one point. Lastly, I recommend—y
a method and bounds which cannot be laid down, '
tinle«s the pleader knows how to divide his dis-
course.

994 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Booi.X-

course. When he has nicicle good to his power all
the heads of til e propositions he has laid down, he
ou;^ht to be sensible that it is time to linish hia
pleaunig. All this we may acquire by the rules
of art.

But it is study alone that can give us that com-
mand of language which I now require. 13y com-
posing constantly and correctly, even our sudden
cHusions will pass as well as our most laboured pro-
ductions ; and by writing much, we shall speak co-
piously. Ease in speaking is owing to habit and
exercise, and if these are ever so little intermitted,
our progress is not only retarded, but our facul-
ties themselves acquire a stift'ness that renders them
unactive.

A natural quickness of mind is of great service to
extemporary speaking. For it enables us, while we
are delivering one thing, to plan out what we are to
say next. And our voice is always ready to second
what we form and premeditate, liut neither nature
iior art is, singly, equal to the vast compass of
thought that is required to invent, t(j arrange, to
pronounce, to observe the order of words and things
.in what we are saying, in what we are next to say,
.and in what we cease to say after, all the while
.preserving the propriety of voice, pronunciation, and
.gesture ; and all at the same time. For we must
carry our view far before us ; that, while we are
speaking, we may purchase what we are to say next;
and this foresight must guide us in our progress to
the end of our pleading ; otherwise we must be
perpetually stopping, stammering, and, as it were,
hickupingup broken words and half meanings.

There is, therefore, a certain practice that is void
of every scientific principle, and is the same that
guides our hand in writing quickly, and enables
our eyes, while we are reading, to take in whole

lines

Book X- OF ELOaUENCE. 295

lines at a time, vvitli all their stops and transpositions,
and coniprcliend what is to come, before we jjro-
nounoe what goes before. It is this practice that
enables jugglers to surprise you with their cups and
balls, aud to shew such tricks of conveyance from
one hand and object to another. But this practice
is only useful in speaking when th'i speaker is pre-
viously well lounded in the rules of ekKjuence. So
that though, in itself, it is void of the principles, yet
it may answer the purposes, of art. For my own
part, 1 can endure no speaking that is not regular,
ornamented, and copious. ^

Far less have 1 any relish for that tumultuary, for- ^
tuitous effusion of words, in which women, while
they are scold ini;-, so much abound. Alean while, I
am sensible that there is a certain warmth and enthu-
siasm that strikes at a heart with more force than
all the rules of art can commimicate. When this J I4.
was the case, our ancient orators, a<;cording to Ci-
cero, pronounced the speaker to be divinely inspired.
But this effect may be well accounted for. For, an
imagination warm with recent ideas, gives to a style
an uninterrupted rapidity, which must be deadened
were we to commit to writing what we have to say,
and must evaporate by being delayed.

If, therefore, we are unfortunate enough to be
over-dainty in our expressions, if we stumble at
every step we make, we cannot launch the bolt of
elo<juence; and, howev^er proper each word may
be, the composition, thounh perfect, must be stiff
and interrupted. We ought, therefore, to be im-
pressed with a lively idea of every thing we speak ;
we ought to place in the eye of our imagination
every character, question, hope, and far we treat of,
and make them all our own. For it is strength,
spirit, and energy, that rtMider a man eloquent. As
a proof of this, we see that the most ignorant person

2 alive.

596 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES BookX.

alive, when his passioiKs aiv sufiiricntly warmed, has
J (^ words at will. Ihcn it is the mind exerts itt4elf.
It does not Hx itsi If upon anysingle ohjec;!, but con-
nects niwny. Thus, when we send our eye to the
cxtreniity of a right line, it comprehends not only
thai extremity, but all the intermedial.- and adjoin-
ing ohjecls. Eloquence is likewise ))r<)ni|)t» (I hy fear
of shame, and expectation of applause ; and it is sur-
pnzinc:, that though when we are composing, we fly
to solitude, and hate all company ; yet in extempo-
jary spt^aking we are fired and pleased the more
numerous the audience is ; in the same manner as
the display of arms and the sound of trumpets gives
I ^^ spirit to the soldier. I'or the- necessity we are then
under to speak, expels and banishes the slowness of
conception ; and a violent desire to please crowns
our attempts with success. All mankind hope to be
rewarded for what they do. And the eloquent,
though el(X]uence itself is oneof the highest pleasures,
are strongly stimulated by the expectancy of imme-
diate approbation and applause,
j \ But no man ought to place such confidence in
his own abilities, as to hope to rise to the highest
4)itch of reputation by his first efforts. For, as I
observed when I was upon the subject of premedita-
tion, our extemporary powers of speaking must rise
by degrees, from inconsiderable beginnings to per-
fection. And this can neither be acquired nor main-
tained without practice. Let me add, that we are
employ premeditation so as to endeavour to speak
what is more safe, but not what is more excellent,
than that which we deliver extempoie. Nay, this
excellency has been attained to in the extemporary
way, not only in prose, but in verse; witness Anti-
pater Sidonius, and Licinius Archias. * For in this

* Both these poets are celebrated by Cicero for their extempo-
rnrj- faculties in writing verses.

we

^0

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 297

we are to believe Cicero. Even in our own time,
some poets have succeeded, and now succeed, in the
same way. Not that I think in poetry it is greatly
to be approved of, but 1 imagine that their example
will be a prevailing motive with our student to at-
tempt the same in eloquence.

Neither do 1 think, that any speaker ouo^ht to have
such reliance upon his extemporary abilities as not
to take some time, however short, (and some time
we generally have) in running over vvithin his own
mind what he is to say. Nay, in courts ot" justice
and in the forum, he has always leisure for this.
Besides, no man alive can plead a cause in which
he is wholly uninstructed. (Certain declaimers, how-
ever, are so miserably vain, that they immediately
attempt to sp^ak upon a subject that has been but
just explained to them ; and, what is still more pue-
rile and farcical, they ask you with what word they
shall begin. But if, in such a practice, they affront
eloquence, she has her revenge in laughing at them.
For, if fools think them learned, wise men know
them to be ignorant.
Jn'^j But if, by some very great accident, we should be
^ under a necessity of speaking in public without the ^
least previous preparation, we are then to exert all
our quickness and flexibility of genius. And, if
we have no time to mind both, we are to attach our-
selves to things, rather than words ; about which, in
such an emergency, we are to be very curious. But
then we shall gain some time by speaking slowly,
and in such a manner as discovers suspense and
doubt ; ye^ so as to seem not to hesitate, but to
deliberate I'his manner we are to observe, while , ^^
we are sailing out of the harbour, and while we are , y
fitting our tackling ; till by degrees we hoist our
sails, we ply the ropes, and wish for a brisk gale to
carry us on our voyoge. This is much better than

to

293 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book X.

to drive I)«Mbrc a torroiit of useless words, which
carry us wo know not wliitUer.
^ >\ JJut it ri><]iiiiv» as much address to maintain, as

to acquire, this art; tor it requirc^s practice to fix any
art * iu the mind. Tlie ])|;actice of writinj^ is but
little hurt by a small intermission, but what 1 am
now rceonmiending must alvwiys be at hand, and in
readiness, and consists in pnietiee alone. The best
way of exercising" it is, to handle every day some
suljject, before several auditors; especially such
whose judgment and approbation we are proud to
court ; for it seldom happens that a speaker has a
sufficient check upon himself. And yet, it is better
to practise without an audience, than not to practise
at all.

There is likewise another manner, which is, to
handle a subject througii all its parts mentally, as if
we were debating within ourselves. And this we
may do in all places, and at all tinges, when our
miufl is disengaged, and not intent upon any other
particular subject. In some respects, it has the ad-
vantage over the other manner 1 have recommended.
^ For we are then at more leisure to arrange things
# with care and exactness, than when we are under
a concern for fear we should be forced to interrupt
the thread of our discourse.

^n tk© ether hand, the first manner contril)Utes

more to the strength of the voice, the volubility of

tong^ue, and the attitudes of the body, which, as \

have already observed, give spirit to an orator ; for

\ the movement of the hand, and the stamping of the

y y.H^ foot, rouze him u}) in the same m^inner as lions are

said, with their tails, to lash themselves into rage.

f We must, -however, study at all times and in all

\ places/*^ l'«r it very seldom happens that our time

* 1 have here followed the sense which Burman gives of the
words of the original, which are very perplexed,

is

N'

.J

!

Book X. OF ELOQUENCE. 29 9

is so taken up, as that we shall not be able to ga n a
few minutes, either for writing, reading, or speaking;
which, Cicero tells us, Brutus never failed to do ;
nay^ Caius Carbo carried this practice so far, that he
did not omit it even in his tent. Neither must J
forget what Cicero himself recommends, that we
never ought to be careless of our style, even in our
conmion conversation, but to speak every thing as
correctly as the subject will admit of.

But we never have more occasion for writing, than
when we are obliged to speak a great deal extem-
pore ; for writing gives weight to our words : and
the wavering, fluttering manner of extemporary
speaking, settles acquired solidity ; in the same
manner as the husbandmen prune the first roots of
the vines, which only fasten upon the surface of the
earth, that they may make way for- the otheB to
shajt the deeper into the ground. I am not sure
whether rea'ling and writing, when practised at the
same time witli care and assiduity, do not nuitually
assist each other ; so that by writing we speak more
correctly, and by speaking we write more easily.
Let us write, therefore, whenever we have an op-
portunity; when we have none, let us meditate.
When we can do neither, we may, at least, do our
best, that the pleader be neither surprized, nor his
client abandoned.

But it olten happens, that men of great business
write down the beginning and the chief heads of
their pleading, and trust to tlfeir memory, and to
their extemjKirary powers of speaking, ibr the rest.
The notes * of Cicero, which still remain, shew
that this was his practice. But we have other notes
by other or.itors that are more finished, and perhaps
composed in the form they designed to speali them.

* Orig. Comentarii These were a kind of nK-morandiun
books, made use of by the ancients.

These

/'.

.100 QUINCTIUAN'S INSTITUTES. BookX.

TIm'SO h\\\c hccn rogwlarly digested and published ;
witness those of the causes pleaded hy Servius Sul-
pieius, of whom three pleaduigs are extant. But
then these notes are drawn up so carefully, that, in
my o))inion, they were intended for the benefit of
posterity. The notes Cicero left behind him were
only for his own private use, and were abridged by
his freedman Tyro; an action which 1 do not ap-
prove of; but 1 mention it, that we may admire
them the more.

Of the same kind are those little written hints
upon slips of paper which an orator holds in his
hand, and which he may look into to refresh his
memory. 1 do not, however, approve of what Lenas
recommends, of making a summary of what v.e
write, and reducing it under certain heads. J "or this
mnnner gives us a security, which spoils the memory,
and mandes and disfigures the stvle. As to mv own
part, when we are to speak extempore, 1 am against
writing an}' thing at all ; because our mind will al-
ways be called off to what we have thus prepared,
and we have no opportunity of trying our real ex-
temporary faculties. Thus the mind, by wavering
between the writing and the memory, loses all the
benelit < f the one, without attempting to say any
thing new from the other. But 1 shall speak of
memory hereafter, though not immediately, because
of certain intervening matters.

QUINCTILIAN^S

aUINCTILIAN^S INSTITUTES

OF

ELOQUENCE.

BOOK xr.

INTRODUCTION.

CONCERNING PROPRIETY OF SPEECH AND STYLE.

The Necessity of speaking properly — Of Purpose — Gracefulness
— Circumstances — Caution against Vanity — Cicero defended
— Becoming Confidence is not iVrroganre — Cautions against
other Improprieties of Style and Action — Considerations upon
Characters, Times, Circumstances and Causes, and the Man-
ner of treating eiich.

Having acquired, as is mentioned in tlie last
book, the faculties of writing, premeditating, and,
(should emergency oblige us,) of speaking extempore
likewise, we are next to study how to speak with
propriety ; which Cicero calls the fourth character
of eloquence; and, in my opinion is indispensably
necessary to an orator. The ornaments of style are
many and various ; some are suited to one sul)ject,
and some to another ; and unless each is fitted to
things and characters, ornaments will be so far from
beautifying, that they will stifle thtrm, and have an
eflfcct contrary to what is intended. For what would
it avail us to make use of words that have purity.
significancy and neatness, bespangled with figures,
;uid harmonious in soimd, miless they are adapted

to

302 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

those srntinionts which we want to raise and fix in
the jutlges ? To what purpose can eloquence serve,
if, in tntlinj; causes, our style is pompous and lofty;
in great, |)iain and neat ; in horrid, gentle; in sor-
rowful, gay ; in (•()mj)assionate» blustering ; in spi-
rited, suhuiissive; and in agreeable, fierce and im-
petuous? This is like disguising men in bracelets,
pearls, and trailing gowns, which are the ornaments
of women ; and cloathing women in the grandeur
and majesty of a triumphant robe.

This subject is slightly touched upon by Cicero, in
his third book, c(>ncerning the character and quali-
fications of an orator ; where he says, that one kind
of style cannot agree with every cause, every hearer,
every character, ever juncture. This is saying every
thing in a few words. And several passages in his
Speaker are to the same purpose. But we are to re-
member, that the words I quoted are put into the
mouth of Lucius Crassus, who speaks them to com-
plete orators, and men accomplished in all kind of
learning ; and therefore it was suflScient for him to
give just a hint of his meaning. In the Speaker,
Cicero addresses himself to Brutus, who, he says,
was sufficiently acquainted with all this matter, and
for that reason it was needless to enlarge upon it.
Though it is a copious topic, and has been fully
handled by philosophers, my present purpose is to
inform the uninstructed ; it is not for the use of the
learned alone that 1 write, but of the unlearned ;
and, therefore, I hope to be indulged in considering
it more minutely.

An orator, therefore, is, above all things, to learn
the proper means of concihating, informing, and
moving the judge, and the purpose he ought to
aim at in every part of his pleading. He is, there-
fore, never to employ words that are obsolete, me-
taphorical, or fanciful, either when he introduces,

states,

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 303

States, or argues his case. In dividing- and digesting
it he )s not to atfect a pompous sweep ot periods,
nor a brilliancy of expression, lie is not to wind
up his pleading in a style that is low, vulgar, and
careless. We are not to mourn when we joke, nor
to dry up tears, when we should he drawing them.
Fornothino: in itself is ornamental. It only becomes
SO, when it suits with the matter to which it is ap-
plied ; and we ought as carefully to consider pro-
priety as beauty. Ikit the whole art of s}jeaking
with proj)riety is equally connected with in\ention
as elocntion. For if there is such a force of words,
how much 2:reater force must there be in things >
And of those we have already pointed out the na-
tural order.

At present I am to inculcate upon my reader with
all possible care and earnestness, that no man can
speak with propriety, unless he equally regards wdiat
is graceful, as what is expedient. 1 am sensible
that these two characters are generally united, for
that which is graceful is commonly useful. And the
judges never are more won than when decency is
observed, and never more disgusted, than when it is
not. Sometimes, however, propriety and graceful-
ness disagree. But whenever that is the case, dig-
nity ought to get the better of utilit^^

For it is well known that it would have been
highly serviceable to Socrates, if, when he was tried,
he had been prevailed upon to have made use of a
judicial defence ; if, by a submissive manner, he
had won over the alfections of the judges, and
had em[)loyed Ftren;ath and spirit in destroying the
charge against him. But such a defence would
have been unsuitaljle to the diprnity of that great
and good man ; and therefore all the defence he
made was, that, so far from being worthy of punish-
ment, he deserved the highest honours. lV>r this*

wisest

sot QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XL

wisest of mankind chose rather to forfeit the short
remnant of his life that was to come, than the whole
of it that was past. Findinc^ he could meet with no
justice in his own times, he appealed to the judg-
ment of posterity. And hy abridtJfing his old age of a
few years, he was rewarded ^vith iLnmortality, and
Avili live to all future ages. With this view he re-
jected the pleading which Lysias, who was reckoned
the most elo(juent orator of his time, brought him
ready penned, with a compliment to the author,
*' That it was finely composed, but not suited to his
w-ay of thinking." From this instance, were there
no other, it appears that the business of an orator
may be not to speak with success, but with dignity;
and that on certain occasions, success may be shame-
ful. This conduct of Socrates was ineffectual for
his defence, but, which was more important, glorious
for his character.

Therefore 1 lay it down as a principle, that a
thing may be decent which is not profitable ; but
this is in compliance with the common prejudices,
rather than the strictness of truth. For the first
Africanus rather chose to leave his country, than to
submit to defend his innocence against a low worth-
less tribune, yet he therein consulted his interest as
well as his honour. Neither can we imagine that
Publius Rutilius was insensible of his true interest,
when he defended himself like a second Socrates, ot
when he chose to remain in banishment, though he
was recalled to his country by Publius Sylla. These
great men thought the little considerations, which
the vulg-ar think so advantageous, were despicable,
when compared with virtue ; and therefore their
memory will be held in perpetual veneration. I^et
us therefore not be so erovellino; as to imaijine that
what we think thus glorious is unprofitable. But
this difference seldom happens in the course of an

orator's

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE- " S05

orator's practice. For, generally speaking, in causes,
the same thing- that is becomine', is likewise profit-
able. Some things there arc, which are becommg
to all men in all times, and in all places, and which
never can be unbecominijor disiiraceful. As to lesser
considerations, which partake, as it were, equally of
virtue and vice, they are generally of such a nature,
that in some they are becoming, and in others not,
and they are more or less excusable or blameable,
according to characters, times, places or causes.
But when we plead either our own cause or that of
another, we ought as much as possible to lay aside
such middling considerations, and to throw every
thing we say under the * heads either of virtue or
vice.

AH boasting and self-applause has a very bad effect;
nay, when an orator boasts of his eloquence, he
commonly renders himself odious, as well as tire-
some, to his hearers. The mind of man is endued
by nature with a noble, elevated principle, which
cannot well brook the superiority of others. This
principle, too, leads us to take pleasure in raising the
fallen or humble, because that gives us an air of
grandeur: and whenever emulation ceases, humanity
succeeds. But he who is extravagant in his own
praise, seems to treat us with arrogance and con-
tempt, not so much with a design to raise himself,
as to humble us. This pulls upon him the hatred
of those whom he thinks below him.

This tailing of self-conceit is chiefly incident to

• The whole of this passage is so peqilexed, that the Abbe
Gedoyn frankly owns he does not understand it, though he lias
translated it. I think, if my author has any meaning, it must be
as I have expressed ii ; because the business of a pleader being
either to impeach, or to defend, he is to exaggerate or to extenuate
as much a* he can. This passage being very difficult, commen-
tators have said nothing at all upon it.

\0L. II. X tho^e

306 QUINCTILIAN'3 INSTITUTES Book XI.

those who are too proud to yield, and too weak to
fight; and therefore thry ridicuU' their superiors,
anil censure ih • blauieloss. We couunoulv, liowevcr,
•ee tliat tliey who are most vam of their merit, have
the least share of it. A man of r«\»l a')ihiies tinds
enough within himself to give hmi pleasure. Cietro
has been warn»ly attacked upon this head, though if
we look into his orations, we shall lind that he
did not so much boast of his elofiuence, as of the
great services he hud done his country. Hut he
generally had reasons for what he did. i'ov he either
did it in defence of those who had assisted him in
extinguishing the conspiracy of Catiline, or to clear
himself from those imputations under which he at
last suffered, bv beimr driven to l)anishnient for hav-
ing saved his country ; so that, u|)on the whole, the
frequent mention which he makes of his glorious
conduct, during his consulate, is not to be ascribed
so much to his vanity, as to the necessity he was
under to defend himself from others.

As a proof of this, we perceive that in his plead-
ings, though he bestows the highest encomiums
upon the orators who speak against him, yet he never
runs out into any extravagance of self-applause.
" If my lord, says he, in the beginning of his plead-
ing for Archias, 1 have any capacity, which 1 am
conscious is but slender." And in his pleading for
Quintius, " This cause, says he, is so circumstanced,
that I, w ho have but small experience, and less ca-
pacity, am to encounter a most eloquent pleader."
Nay, even in his pleading against Caecilius in the
previous trial (who was to impeach N'erres) though
eloquence was an important consideration on such
an occasion, when a prosecutor was to be chosen,
yet he rather extenuates the eloquence of his an-
tagonist, than exaggerates his own. For he does
not sav that he had attained to eloquence, but that

he

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. SO?

ho had done his best for that purpose. It is true,
he sometimes does justice, and no more than
justice, to his character, as an orator, in his fa-
mihar epistles, and sometimes (but always un-
der another cliaracter) in the conferences he com-
posed.

But after all, I know not which is most intolerable ;
the man who is simple enough to be undisguised in
applauding himself, or he who makes use of a sneer-
ing kind of self-applause and ostentation. For in-
stance, when a man who is immensely rich tells us
that he is miserably poor ; one who is of noble blood,
that he is of mean extraction ; one who has vast
interest, that ho is without support ; and he who
has eloquence, that he is a mere novice and a
changeling at the bar. Now all this sneering kind
of humility, is no other than gross self-applause and
ostentation. We are therefore to let others praise
us. Nay, Demosthenes says, " that even while
others are praising us, we ought to blush."

Meanwhile, 1 am far from meaning that an
orator is never to speak of his own actions. De-
mosthenes did it in ])leading for Ctesiphon, but such
was his management, that he shewed he was under
a necessity of doing it, and he threw all the blame
of his doing it upon T^schines, who had reduced
him to that disagreeable necessity. Cicero likewise
makes frequent mention of his defeating Catihne's
conspiracy, but he ascribes it sometimes to the vir-
tue of the senate, and sometimes to divine provi-
dence. When he vindicates himself more openly,
he does it generally when he answers his enemies
and slanderers. Vor he was obliged to defend his
reputation when it was attacked. I wish, however,
he had been more modest in his versos, w hich have
aflbrdod such subject fur criticism to his enemies ;

meaning

308 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

meaning- the two t'anious doggerel verses,* and like-
wise those passages in whieh he mentions Jupiter
introducing inm into the assembly of the gods, and
Minerva who had instructed him in all the arts. But
he was led into all these extravagancies by the ex-
amples of some Greeks, whieh he thought himself
at liberty to imitate.

Meanwhile, thoufrh 1 discommended an immode-
rate swaggering, yet 1 am not against a decent as-
surance in an orator. For what can be more grace-
ful than what Cicero says in his second Philippic,
" What can 1 think ? That I am despised ? I see
nothing in my life, in my character, in my actions,
nor in my capacity, slender as it now appears, which
Antony- can despise." In a line or two after he
expresses himself more openly ; " Did he intend,
.says he, todis})ute with me the prize of eloquence ?
This, indeed, is doing me a favour. For can I have
a fairer, or fuller advantage, than both to plead for
myself, and against Anton v r"

Another species of arrogance or boasting is, when
an orator tells a judge that he himself had examined
into the merits of the cause; that it is impossible
the verdict should go agaiiist him, and that, had he
not known that, he would not have appeared in it.
For judges do not love to hear an orator encroaching
upon their duty ; there is a great difference between
a court of justice, and the school of Pythagoras,
where all the scholars acquiesced in the master's
ij)se dixit ; if he said a thing, they swallowed it.

An excess of this kind, however, is the less into-
lerable, when the person who commits it is distin-
guished by experience, dignity and authority, and
the offence is always proportioned to the charac-
ter of the speaker. Yet, be a man's character, in

* Cedant arma togae, concedat laurea linguae.
O fortunatam natam me cousule Romam !

those

Book XI. OF FXOQUENCE. 309

those respects, ever so great, it cannot excuse him
for being' modest, while he is peremptory. And not
only what he says in that manner, but all that he
mentions from his own person or knowledge, that
serves his cause, ou^ht to be tempered with softening
expressions. There might, for example, have been
a kind of vanity, if C'iccro, while pleading for C'delius,
had flatly said, that there was no disgrace in being
the son of a Roman knight while he was his advo-
cate. But he turned this circumstance to the ad-
vantage of his client, by grafting his own dignity
upon that of the judges ; " That he is the son of
a Roman knight, says he, ought never to have been
urged in accusation, where these were to prosecute,
where vou were to iudoe, and 1 to defend."

An impudent, noisy, passionate manner of speak-
ing is disgusting to all mankind, and the more so, if
it happens to be practised by a pleader of years, dig-
nity and experience. It is common to see wranglers
forget all regard due to the judges, and neglect c^very
rule of decency and behaviour in their pleading.
Such men discover, by their conduct, how little they
have honour at heart in any cause they under-
take or plead. For a man is generally to be known
by his words, and we judge of what he thinks, by
what he says. The Greeks had a good proverb to
this purpose. As you speak, you live. Those who
are over-run w ith die itch either of adulation or af-
fectation, are apt to sink into the still more disagree-
able extremes of mean llattery, studied bull'oonery,
an al)andoned prostitution of character with respect
to modesty and decency, and a disregard of all au-
thority in every part of business.

Some men are fitted for one, and some for another,
kind of eloquence. The copious, confident, bold,
ornamented manner is not so becoming in old men,
as that which is concise, gentle and smooth ; thi"«

is

J 10 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Boor XI.

is the character which Cicero means, when lie says,
*' that his style begun to be grey-headed.'^ lor the
same reason that purple, glossy robes suit ill with
racnot' advanced age. \oung men may use more
freedom, eveii to a degree of daring, in such, we
g( iieralJy hate a dry, fmical, studied manner of speak-
ing, as an hypocritical alfectatioii of correctness,
because we think it uimatural to see a young man
put on a gravity and severity that is only becoming
in old age.

A frank, open manner of speaking, suits best with
a military man. As to those who profess (as some'
do) to hold forth upon philosophy, all ornaments of
speech are unsuitable to their profession, especially
such as are designed to move the passions, tor they
think it highly blameable to attempt that. 1 hey
ought not to make beautiful, harmonious periods ;
for such a style is inconsistent with philosophy.
Their length of beard, and sourness of look, does not
admit ot Cicero's gay manner, when he says, " Rocks
and desarts are respondent to the voice." Nor in-
deed in that other more manly manner of his, which
he introduces into his pleading for Milo ; " You,
ye Alban mounts and groves, 1 implore and attest;
and you, ye dismantled altars of the Albans, compa-
nions and partners with Romans in their rites."

My orator, however, w hom I suppose to be a man
of business, and of good sense at the same time,
will not abandon himself to frothy altercations, but
study the arts of government : a study that has
been entirely abandoned by those whom we call phi-
losophers. And therefore when his own mind is
once perfectly well satisfied, with regard to the ho-
nour and justice of what he undertakes, he will ap-
ply himself earnestly to improve his style in every
particular that can contribute to his succeeding in
his purpose.

A great

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 311

A orreat man, however, may take liberties that will
not be pardoned in one of an inferior degree. 'I he
man who conquers and triumphs at the head of ar-
mies, may have a peculiar eh^quence that is grace-
ful in him ; thus, K>inpey always spoke well and
nobly, while he was giving an account of his own
conduct. And Cato of L tica, who killed himself in
the civil war, always expressed himself with great
eloqut nee when he spoke as a senator. The same
thing, when spoken by one man, may be looked
upon as freedom ; if by another, as folly; and if by
a third, as pride. The reproaches bestowed by
Thersites upon Agamen)nun are ridiculous ; but put
them into the mouth of Diomedes, or any of his
equals, they will appear noble and spirited. Says
Lucius Crassus to Philip, " Shall I look upon you
as a consul, when you do not look upon me as a se-
nator ?" There spoke all glorious liberty 1 And yet
it is not every person that we could suffer to speak
so. Catullus savs, " That he does not trouble his
head, whether Caesar's complexion is black or fair.'*
This is mere folly. Hut supposing Coesar to say the
same thini: of him, it is then disdain,*

Dramatk! writers, above all, are obliged to keep
up to the propriety of characters, of which they in-
troduce a great variety. The same propriety was
preserved, and for the same reason, by those who
composed orations for oihei*s, and by declaimers.
For WQ, do n(U always speak as advocates, we often
speak as parties. Kven when we plead causes, we
must carefully preserve the manners of each charac-
ter ; for we often make use of fictitious characters,

* Orig. Arro2:antia.') Our cnrrmer.tntors have talten no notice
of this word, ami the AblicGtcloyn translates it arrogance, but I
cannot see with what propriety. And, incU rd, I strongly susj>ect
that the word has crept into the text. It will^ however, bear the
sense I have given it.

and

312 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XL

and speak, as it were, by the mouth of others, and
tlicn we imist speak as we suppose they would have
spoken. We give one manner to i'ublius Clodius,
aiiotlier to Appius Circus ; the old man in Caicilius
has one <:liaracter, the old man in Terence has ano-
ther. Can anv thini" be more horrid tlian the words
of the iictor, belonging to Verves ? " Before you
ran ai)proach him, you are to give so nmch. Be-
fore 1 suffer you to receive any sustenance, you must
j^ive me so much. What will you give me if I
strike your son's head off" at one blow? If 1 do not
put him to a lingering death ?" and so forth. How
noble and how brave, on the other hand, was the
constancy of the Roman, who while he was igno-
miniously scourged, continued saying only, 1 am a
citizen of Rome ! When Cicero in his preroration
introduces Milo speaking, how gracefully suited are
his words to the character of a man, who in defence
of his country had so often quelled the fury of a
seditious citizen, and had conquered craft by cou-
rage ! In short, there is not only as great a variety
in the prosopopoeia as in the cause, but a greater :
because we often introduce boys, women, people,
nay, inanimate objects, speaking and mnpieiing, and
we must preserve the propriety of character in each.
This same propriety must be observed w ith regard
to the parties for whom we speak. Very often one
character re(juires one manner, and another, another;
according as the party is noble or mean, odious or
popular; marking, at the same time, their several pur-
suits and conduct. The greatest recommendation,
however, to an orator proceeds from his humanity,
his affability, modesty, and benevolence. Yet it
is consistent with a man of virtue to lash the wicked ;
to be zealous for the public good ; to call for ven-
geance upon guilt and injustice, and always to speak
and act like himself, as 1 have already mentioned,

We

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. .'513

We are likewise to attend not only to our own and
our client's character, but to that of the judge be-
fore whom we plead. Fortune and power introduce
great difference with regard to a judge. The so-
vereign, the magistrate, the senator, the private
gentleman, require each a dilierent address and man-
ner. And we are not to speak with the same spirit
in a private arbitration, as at a solemn trial. When
we are speaking in capital cases, earnestness and pre-
caution become us ; for then we play oft" every en-
gine that can give force to what we say. But in
matters of small moment, all such efforts are idle and
lidiculous ; and a man would be laughed at, if in a
private hearing, on a trifling affair, he should say with
Cicero, " That he feels not only great weight upon
his spirits, but a trembling in every joint of his
body."

There can be no manner of doubt {hat a grave
senate and a giddy people are to be spoken to in
different manners. Nay, where there is but a single
judge, if he is a man of virtue, we address him
differently from what wc would do, if we knew him
to be a worthless fellow. The scholar, the soldier,
the clown, rer]uire to be spoken to in different man-
ners. And sometimes we must lower and abridge
our style, for fear the judge should be unable to ap-
prehend or understand it.

We ought likewise to pay great attention to time
and place. There are times of gaiety and suUenness;
isometimes we are free, and sometimes we are limited
to a certain time ; and the orator is to conform his
speech accordingly. There is likewise a great differ-
ence as to the place in which we speak ; whether it
is public or private; frequented or retired ; in our
own, or in a foreign state ; in the camp, or in the
forum. Each place requires a different address, and

a different

314 QUINCTILrANS INSTITUTES BookXI,

a diflferent mamicr of si)eaking ; as in common life
we are cliflfenMitly employed in the forum, at the
court, in tin field, in the theatre, and at home ; and
a great many things, which are so far from being
blnmeable in their ovv n nature, that they are some-
times necessary, become scandalous, when they are
done otherwise than as usage directs.

1 have already observed how much more brilliancy
and ornament the demonstrative manner, which is
composed so as to please the hearers, admits of, than
the argumentative and judiciary manner, which turns
upon irtw-terms and disputable matters. But 1 am
farther to observe, that such may be the circum-
stances of a cause, as to render it improper to in-
troduce into a pleading some of the brightest beau-
ties of eloquence. Supposing a man to plead for his
life before his prince or his conqueror, could we
bear wi*h him, if he was perpetually attempting me-
taphors, introducing new-coined and obsolete expres-
sions ; a curious, Hnical, uncommon arrangement of
his words; sweeping periods, pointed sentiments,
and merry jokes ? Would not such a manner destroy
all that appearance of awful concern, which is so
necessary for the man who speaks for his life, and
that pity which even the innocent are obliged to im-
plore - Can we be touched with the fortune of a
man, whom in such deplorable circumstances we see
puffed up, vain and swaggering with self-conceit, and
making an ostentatious display of eloquence ? No,
we should rather be apt to hate him for his eager
hunting after words, for his earnest courtship of ap-
plause, and for his having liesure to be eloquent.
'J his was very finely guarded against and understood
by Caelius, when he defended himself against a pro-
secution for an assault ; " that none of you, my
lords, says he, or of my prosecutors, who are here

in

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 'J\3

in court, may think lliat either my sentiments or
looks are irreverenci, or that my hmguage is inde-
cent, or my behaviour in any respect assuming/'

Nay, some del'ences consist entirely in ollering sa-
tisfection, in deprecating and acknowledging ; in
such cases, is tlie party to weep in point(-(i sentences,
or to implore in tlouriir^hid periods ? Does not every
embelhshment of distress weaken its forcer And
does not security damp compassicui ? if a man were
to prosecute one who had murdered, or worse than
murdered, his son, would he set forth his narrative
in curious, sparkling expressions ? Would he aim
at beautifying it ? And, without being contented
with a concise, but expressive, state of the case,
would he arrange his arguments upon his fingers,
and then enter into a studied regularity of proposi-
tions and divisions, or, as often ha|)pens in such cases,
speak with coldness and unconcern ? If he should,
what must we think are become of all the agonies
he ought to feel ? Where are his tears ? How has
he then leisure for that attention to the minute rules
of art? No; when a man wants to make his hearers
feel the anguish which he suffers, his whole plead-
ing must be agony itself, and his distress painud in
his countenance all the time he speaks; upon the
least abatement of passion, he will find it dithcuit to
revive his own sentiments in his judges.

This is a caution extremely material for those who
deal in declamation, (for I love to look back upon
my former employment, and to omit nothing that
can contribute to improve the orator I have under-
taken to form) for declamations give great room to
the play of passions, and therefore we speak them
not as advocates, but parties. Let us, therefore,
for example sake, suppose the case of a man who is
reduced, either by caianuty or remorse, to im])lore

the

316 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

tlie senate for leave* to put himself to death. In
such a case, the deolainier, who is supposed to re-
present this unhappy man, is not to fail into the
common, foolish manner of whining out his request,
neither is he to bedizen it with ornaments. Even in
the arguments he brings, passion should mingle,
nay, jiredominate. For we cannot see a man under
such circumstances, able to suspend his grief, with-
out suspecting that he is able to shake it off likewise.

1 know not, however, whether this observation of
propriety, which 1 am now recommending, ought
not gready to regard the persons and characters of
those against whom we speak. For, doubtless, in
all prosecutions, wc ought to behave so as to make
it appear that we do not wantonly undertake thcnn.
1 therefore am shocked at what was said by Cassius
Severus, " Good gods ! I live to see in the world the
thing that can give me the greatest pleasure ; 1 see
Aspernas impeached." Here the prosecutor seems
to impeach him on account rather of some personal
resentments, than from his love to justice.

We ought, therefore, to have a general regard for
mankind, and yet a cause may be so circumstanced
as to require a pecuhar management. When a son,
for example, sues for the possession of his father's
estate, he ought to express his sorrow for his father's
inability to manage his own atlairs; and whatever
heavy charges the father may bring against the son,
the latter is to express the vast concern he is under,
for being reduced to the disagreeable necessity of
doing what he does ; and this, too, not by some tran-

* The reader is not to imagine that the thing here mentioned,
ever happened in Rome ; though we arc told that the people of
Marseilles, and the island of Coo>, had a right to apply to their
magistrates for the leave mentioned hercj which was granted
them, if tliey could give sufficient reasons for thuir request.

sicnt

Book Xt. OF ELOQUENCE :317

sient expressions, but through the whole progress of
the cause, so that he may appear to feel what he
says. In hke manner, a guardian never will be so
angry with a ward who brings him to a severe ac-
count, so as not to discover some vestiges of affec-
tion for his person, and some regard to the memory
of his father. If I mistake not, 1 have in the se-
venth book described the conduct which the several
parties ought to observe in courts of justice, against
a father who has disinherited his son, or a vvifie who
complains of her husband. And in the fourth book,
where I have laid down rules for introducing a
pleading, I have shewn where it is most proper for a
party to speak himself, and where to employ an ad-
vocate.

There can be no manner of doubt that there is a
certain decency or indecency in single words. But
in order to iinish this topic I must add a matter of
very great difficulty ; 1 mean, how we are to manage
when we are oblisred to mention thincrs that are not
quite becoming in their own nature, and which if
we could, we would leave unmeiitioned, so as that
the speaker might avoid all indecency. iS'ow what
can be more shocking to the understanding and ears
of mankind, than for a son or his advocates, t<» pro-
secute a mother; yet this sometimes may necessarily
happen, as in the case of Cluentius Avitus. But
an advocate is not always to observe the same man-
ner that Cicero did in speaking against Sassia ; not
that his manacrement was not veiy srood, but because
it is a matter of great consideration in what respect
and what manner a mother is to be attacked. But
a monster like her, who avowedlv souG^ht onlv to
destroy her son, was to be treated with the height of
severity.

Two points still remain to be spoken to, and
Cicero ha.i divinely observed both. In the first place,

that

31 S OUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

that a son iirvcr 0114 lit to fors^ct the reverence he
owes to Ills piirents. In the next place, that by a
detail ot circumstances from the oriu^inal of the cause^
the speaker oiiyht minutely to shew that what he
was to speak against the parent was dictatc^d not
only by justice, but necessity. Cicero begins with
layin<j down that principle, though in fact it was fo-
reign to his sul)ject ; but he was fully convinced,
that in a cause so difticult and so delicate at the same
time, the lirst consideration out^ht to be decency.
By that means he kept the son clear of all hatred to
the name of his mother, and pointed against herself
all the indignation which it raised. It may, however,
posbibly happen for a mother to have a law-suit with
her son, about matters attended with little conse-
quence or rancour. In such a case, the son's de-
ferice ought to be respectful and submissive. For by
offering all the satisfaction that is in our power, we
either divert the indignation of the hearers from our-
selves, or we transfer it to another party ; and if the
son shall make an earnest profession of his sorrow,
he will be thought innocent, and the court will be-
lieve the prosecution to be groundless. There is a
decent manner likewise in such causes, of throwing
the charge upon a third party, so as to make it be-
lieved that it arises from their dark desii^ns. In such
a case we are to protest that we will suffer the great-
est hardships rather than say any thing inconsistent
with filial duty. And to manaofe so, that though in
fact we have nothing to retort, yet that our forbear-
ance shall seem to be the effect of our moderation.
Nay, even when there is ground for a charge, the
business of an advocate is to lay it so as that it may
seem to be brought against the inclination of the
son, and merely in comphance with his ov\rn dut)^
as an advocate. Thereby both of them acquire ap-
plause. The same rules of conduct I have laid down

3 from

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 3I9

from a son to a mother, holds good with regard to
the father likewise. For I have known sons go to
law with their t'atiiers, almost the moment they came
of age.

When we have differences even with more distant
relations, we ought to behave so as that whatever
"Wc speak against them should si'em to be extorted
from us by necessity ; and it ought to be touched
upon as sparingly as possible, ihe measure of it,
however, ought to be directed according to the regard
that is due to the person of the party. 1 recoumiend
the same respect to a freeman who has a law-suit
with his patron. And, to sum up the whole of what
1 have to say on this head, in such cases we nc:ver
ought to behave to an 0})posite party in such a man-
ner as would shock ourselves, were he to behave
so to us.

There is so much regard due to men in power,
that sometimes we ought to think ourselves obliged
to account for the freedom with which we treat
them, lest it should be thought that in attacking
them, we are guilty either of petulance or vanity.
Therefore Cicero, before he pronounced his bitter
invective ao"ainst Cotta, which he could not avoid
without injuring the cause of his client, Fublius
Op])ius, prefaced his invective with a long apoloj^ry,
s« tting forth the necessity he was under of pleading
in that manner. We are likewise sometimes to treat
inferiors, especially if they are very young, with a
eende lenient h-.md. Cicero observes such a conduct
towards Atratnius, in his pleading forCaslius. For,
far from reproaching him with the bitterness of an
antagonist, he treats him almost with the indulijence
of a parent. For he was a young nobleman of high
rank, and he had several provocations to bring the
impeachment.

But tlie great difficulty of a pleader is not toe:ive

such

320 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

such proofs of his moderation and tenderness as are
satistiictory to the Judges or the bystanders; for he
will fnid it a much harder matter to plead against
those antagonists \vhoin he is afraid of offending.
Cicero, when he defended Muraena, encountered two
antagonists of that kind in the persons of Marcus
Cato, and ServiusSuipicius. While he allows every
virtue to the latter, how handsomely does he expose
his pretensions and address in standing for the con-
sulship ! And yet could a man of quality, and one
who was a kind of oracle in the law, meet with a
more severe mortification than a repulse of that kind ?
>jut how beautifully does he accountfor his pleading
for Murasna, when he says that he had opposed his
election in favour of Sulpicius ; but that he did not
think himself at liberty to refuse to defend him
against a capital impeachment. But with what a
delicate hand does he touch upon Cato, to whose
natural virtue he pays the highest compliments ; and
imputes his being somewhat too untractable upon
some heads, not to himself, but to the principles of
stoicism he had imbibed. In short, his pleading is
such, that one takes it rather for a difference in opi-
nion upon some speculative point, than for a dispute
at the bar. The best and the surest rule, therefore,
that I can lay down, is by recommending the man-
ner of that great orator. When you want handsome-
ly to deny one good quality, grant your antagonist
every other ; making an apology, that this is the
only thing in which he is mistaken ; and adding, if
possible, the cause why he is so ; by his being a
little too obstinate, or credulous, or passionate, or
imposed upon by others. All this is generally saved,
if through the whole of the pleading there appears
an even strain, not only of complaisance, but of kind-
ness. Besides, we are to shew that we have good
r€jasons for what we say ; and to urge it with modesty,

2 and

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. o'2l

and as it were, because uecessity ohliges us. There
is a difJereiit, but an easier manner, when we ar^
obliged tojustity tlie actions of men, who are either
notoriously scandalous, or hated by ourselves, A
man ()U'j;ht to do every man justice, be who hn will,
if he dot's what is right. Cicero, in the furincr pait
of his life, had a bitter enmity with Uabinius vuul
Publius Vatiiuus, nay, he wrot(^ orati<jns against
them, yet he pleaded for them afterwards. In this
he justilied himself and his chents, by saying their
cause was such, that it did not require his abilities?
as an orator, but his services as an honest man. lie
liad a more dirticult task to manaaie in the trial of
Clueutius, when he was under a uecessity of pro\-
ing- Scamander to be guilty, though he had beloro
pleaded his cause. But he did this with the ihiest
grace imaginable, by pleading for his excuse the
importunity of his friends, who had prevailed with
him, and his own youth. Add to this, that he
should still have been more to blame, had he, espe-
cially in a doubtful cause, acknowlediied that ho
had been over-hasty in undertaking the defence of
the impeached [jarty.

We may happen to plead before a judge who has
an interest, either on his own, or his I'riend's account
to be against us. In this case, though it may be
vcrv difficult to hnuu: him over, yet there is a very
ready way of dealing with him. We are to pretend
that we have so hi^h an opinion of his justice, in-
dependent of every other consideration, that v.e
have nothing to apprehend. We are then to flatter
his vanity, and to convince him that his reputation
and honor must be forever established, tlie less he
consults his own resentment, or interest, in the sen-
tence he is about to pronounce. We are to proceed
in the same manner, if we shotdd happen to be sent
back to the judge from whom we have apppealeJ;
VOL. 1 J. Y and

32Ji QUINCTILIANS INSTITUTES Book XI.

and we are to pretend some necessity we were un-
der, if the cause will admit of it, or some mistake
or some matter of suspicion. Upon the whole, we
are to acknowledge our sorrow for what ha» happen-
ed ; to otfer all the satisfaction in our power ; and
to render the judge, as it were, ashamed to sacratice
us to his resentments.

It may happen sometimes, that a judu^e takes a
second cognizance of the cause upon which he has
already given a decree. We have a general apology
in such cases ; that we never would dispute his de-
cree before any other judge, and that no man but
himself can amend it. Besides, (as is often the case)
some circumstances were then unknown, or the
witnesses were absent ; and if we are reduced to our
last shift for an excuse, we are to say, but with a
great show of unwillingness, that the advocates had
not done their duty.

When other judges are assigned us, as often hap-
pens in the second hearing upon capital matter, or
when we appeal from one court of the Septemviri to
another, our best way is, if we can, to pay great com-
pliments to the characters of the judges. But I have
s}X)kcn more fully upon this matter under the head
of Proofs.

It sometimes happens that we accuse others of
crimes of v\'hich we have been guilty ourselves ; as
Tubero, for instance, accused Ligarius for having been
in Africa. Some who have been condemned for
corrupt practices in elections, have, in order to re-
cover their own reputation, accused others for being
guilty of the same. And we have known in schools,
a spendthrift son impeach a spendthrift father. 1
own, I do not find how this can be done with de-
cencv, unless bv discovering^ some difference in the
character, the age, the occasion, the cause, the place,
or the intention. Tubero alled^ed that what he

did

BooKXi. OF ELOQUENCE. 323

did was when he was a young iiuin ; that he follow-
ed his father, who had been sent by the senate, not
to make war, but to buy up corn ; that the fn-st
opportunity he could find, he had left the party;,
•whereas J^igarius had persevcreil to the last ; and
that iji the contention for power between Ponipey
and Caesar, a contention that did not threaten the
destruction of the commonwealth, he was not sa-
tisfied with attaching: himself to the former, but
joined Juba and his Africans, those sworn enemies
to the people of Rome. Besides, when we condemn
a thing in ourselves, we can with a better gracq
attack it in another ; but the success of lliis dependsj
not upon the pleader, but the judge. If we have no
circumstance to plead in our favoiir, contrition i?
the only thing that can do us service ; and it will
appear some proof of our amendment, if we turn our
hatred against those who have erred in like manner
with ourselves. I ., .^jti^q^g ^

Cases may happen in which that may be done
without any impropriety. Tor instance, a father
may have a son by a whore, and he may want to
disinherit that son for loving another whore so well
as to be about to marry her. This is a matter han-
dled in schools ; but it may happen in. common life.
Here the father may very speciously urge, that all
parents earnestly wish their children to be more vir- ,
tuous than themselves have been ; that even a com-
mon woman wishes to preserve the chastity of her
daughter. Nay, he may go so far as to say, that his sta-
tion in life, compared with that of his son, was mean ;
that he had not a father to give him instruction ; that
the son is the more blameable m what he is -about
to do, because it will revive the shame of bis fa-
mily with the reproach of his father's marriage, and
hismothcr'stbrmercourse of life, circumstances which
his father cannot now bear to think of; that the

a practice

:>-H tiUlNCTILIAN'S INSTJTUTKS Boor XL

pnictico hciiig rcjiratotl, may become a prece-
dent, whicli their descendants may think them-
selves ol)lifred to follow. And he may lurthcr ob-
serve, tliat lie cannot bear with the woman, because
of some y)articular circumstances of infamy attend-'
inn- lur. I omit otiier things; he may urge. i^'or I
.nm not here layin;j^ down ndes for a declamation, but
shewing that it is possible for an orator to turn to
his own advantage, circumstances tliat at first sight
make as^ainst him.

Cases of defilement, ravishment, or defamation,
require to be handled with more heat by the advo-'
cate, who nmst seem to be impressed Avith all the
woes of his client ; whom 1 do not suppose to speak,'
f)ecanse all the language he could use must be
groans, tears, and imprecations. So that the judge
must rather understand, than hear, the expressions
of hisirrief; ' ■'^- ■ ' ^ •

M'hen a speaker is obliged to appear on thei side
of rigour and sev^erity, he ought always to have a
colourable excuse for it ; as Cicero had when he
's[)i»ke about the children of those who had been pro-
scribed. I'or he represented it as the height of bar-
barity, that their descendants, men of the highest
rank and quality by birth, should be precluded from
all places of trust and power. Ikit while this great,
this mighty master of our passions, acknowledges
this, he affirms, that Sylla's laws were then become
so essential to the constitution, that it must be dis-
solved, if they were repealed. i3y this manner he
made an apology even for those whom he was
opposing.

While T \vas upon the subject of jokes, I shewed
how mean all insults upon the unfortunate are, and
how dangerous it is to attack, with petulance, whole
orders, people, and nations. But sometimes we can-
not discharge our duty, without some general re-
flections

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 39i

flections upon particular sots of men ; tVocd-incn. for
ijistance, soldiers, ta.\-L;atiiercrs, and the like. And
throngli all such reflections wo are still to observe
an unwillingness to say what <;ivcsoflence. Besides,
we ought to confine tluMn to the matter in hand ;
and it" we are severe in one point, to make amends
by recommending another. It w(i o!)serve in f^e-
neral, that .soldiers are rapacious, we are to add, it
is no wonder, because they think that the danger
they undergo, and the blood they lose, entitle them
to be well rewarded ; and we are to excuse their
roughness and petulance, by observing that they are
more accustomed to war than peace. When we
we want to invalidate the evidence of a freed-man,
we axe at liberty to make encomiums upon his in-
dustry, through which he obtained his fr<3edom.

AV'ith regard to foreign nations, Cicero has treat-
ed them in different manners. While he attacks the
credit of Greek witnesses, he acknowledges them to
be ingenious and learned, and professes a love for
their country. 1 le treats the Sardians with contempt,
and inveighs against tlic Allobrogae as the enemies
of Home. And in all this, as matters stood in his
age, there was nothincr improper or indecent. An
odious HidttiT may likewise be softened by the mo-
derate manner of expressing it. If a man is crud,
you are to cajl him too severe; if unjust, that he was
so through his thinking himself in the right ; if ob-
stinate, that he was too tenacious of his opinion.
And thus vou seem willinGi: to reclaim those vou
speak of, which has an excellent effect.

Nothing is becoming that is carried into excess ;
nay, a thing that in its own nature is commendable,
loses all its merit, unless it is confined w ithin proper
bounds. 1 am here speaking of a thing that depends
not so much upon precepts, as upon a certain way
Djf thinking which tells us when enough is said, and

J wliii.n

((

396 QUIN'CTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

when the speaker hegins to be tirt'some. But this
E^OL{;H can neither i>e weighed uor measured ; be-
cause in htanng, as in eating, some are sooner sa-
tiated ilian othtTS. It may be proper here to add a
sliort observation, that ditVerent properties of elo-
quence are preferred by different speakers, and often
by tlie same. For Cicero, in one passage says, " that
the perfection of speaking consists in speaking in a
maimer that seems easy to be imitated, but is not."
In another passage he says, that the end of his
study was not that he might speak so as that another
person might think him easy to be imitated, but
tiiat he might speak so as never man spoke." These
t^ro passages appear contradictory to one' another ;
but both are strictly just : all the difference lies in
the manner which the cause requires. Because a
simpl«% easy, unaffected style is W'Onderfully taking
in slight causes; while those of more consequence
demand a more majestic eloquence. Cicero excel-
led in both. They who know no better, think the
first easily attained to, but they who do, know that
neither is easy.

CHAP. II.

COXCERNING MEMORY, ARTIFICIAL AS WELL AS NATURAL.

Some imagine the memory to be an endowment
merely natural : and, no doubt, it is so in a great
measure. But, like all other natural gifts, it is im-
proved by cultivation, and all the rules I have hither-
to been laying down, must go for nothing, unless
the other accomplishments of an orator are enlivened
and regulated by memory. For all art depends upon
memory ; and it is in vain that we are taught, if
every thing we hear leaks through our understanding.

It

Book XI. OK ELOQUENCE. 327

It is the force ut memory alone that furnishes us
with a ready ajjplication of those examples, laws,
answers, sayings, and actions, with wliicii an ora-
tor ought to abounil as with a treasure which he
has alwa\s at connnand. For this reason the me-
mory is properly called the treasury of eloquence.

IJut it is not enough for a pleader, who is often to
speak in public, to have a tenacious memory, imless
it is quick in its aj)prehension likewisss not only at
mastering, at once or twice reading over, what you
have once writ, but in being able to follow the con-
nexion of those thiuos and words which you have
premeditated ; as well as whatever has been said by
the opposite party. And that, not wholly with a
view of confuting them in order, but of disposing
them to the best advantage for your own purpose.
13ut after all, what is extemporary speaking but a
vigorous exertion of this mental power ? For w hen
we are speaking of one thing, we are premeditating
another that we are about to speak. This premedi-
tation is carried forward to other objects, and what-
ever discoveries it makes, it deposits them in the
memory, and thus the invention having placed it
there, the memory becomes a kind of intermediate
instrument that hands it to the expression.

I think it is needless for me to take up my reader's
time, by shewing in what the memory consists ;
though it is generally thought that certain ideas arc
fixed in the mind, which answer to thingTs in tlu;
same manner as the impression does to the seal.
Neither will 1 tell my reader that 1 think memor\- is
either weak or strong, according to the constitution
of the body. But as to its relation with the mind, 1
admire its properties, in immediately recalling, and
presenting us with objects and circumstances that
have been long past, and buried for years ; and
this often spontaneously, and without our being at

any

;)1?S QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

nny pains, \\n\ only while we arc awake, hut wliile
we are in a drc)) sleep. Nay beasts, which are
thou;^ht to he void of understanding, renieniher and
kjiow one another, and alter travelling long journeys,
tht\v always remember to come bark to their for-
mer habitations. Can nny thing be more surprising
that the freshest incidents often escape our memory,
while it retains the oldest. We forgot what hap-
pened yestertlay, but remember m hat liappened when
boys. Is it not wonderful that our memory will
stumble by chance upon things that have eluded
our most careful search, and that it is not always
the same, but sometimes recovers itself by certain
inheieut powers.

Mankind, however, must have been ignorant of
the extensive divine (jualities of memory, if elo-
quence had not lighted up in all her powers. She
arranges the order, not only of things, but of words.
And this not for a sentence or two, but throuG:h the
longest series of periods, continued in a connected
discoiirsv% or pleading, so that the patience of the
hearer fails sooner than the memory of the speaker.
As a proof that memory may be improved by art,
and nature assisted by method, we need only to ob-
serve, that a man, by the help of learning and prac-
tice, can, when assisted by memory, do that which
a man who is void of both cannot do. Yet IMato
tells us that learning is an enemy to memory, mean-
ing, that after we have committed a thing to writ-
ing, we are no longer anxious to remember it, and
neglect it, because we have secured it. It is like-
wise certain that the earnest application of the
mind, and the keeping in the eye of the under-
standing one single object, contributes greatly to the
memory. This is the reason why the mind retains
that which we have been writing over and over for
fi^iveral days, in order to get it by heart.

Simon ides

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 3-29

Siiuonides is said to have lirst discoveird the art
of memory. And tlie story told ot" him upon this
occasion is vvorthv of notice, lie had baroained
with a wrestler, who in the public games had car-
ried away the prize for that exercise, to be paid a
certain sum to compose such a potnn as is common
upon those occasions. JJut the wrestler refused to
pay lum for a part of his poem, in which, as is
usual with poets, he had digressed, by running out
into the praises of Castor and I'ollux, telling him,
that he must apply for payment of that part to
those whom he had celebrated ; and as the siorv
jDfoes, they paid him effectually, i^or, Simonides
being invited to a grand entertainment, made in ho-
nour of the conqueror, a messenger came and told
him, that two young men on horseback were at the
door, and desired to speak with liim. Upon his
going down, he found nobody there, but the event
convinced him that the gods had been grateful. For
he had scarcely gcjne over the threshold, when the
roof of the dining-room fell in, killed all the guests,
and mangled them so. that when their relations
came to bury them, the deceased were not to be
distinguished, either tli«-'ir faces or their limbs, lint
Simonides recollecting the order in which each guest
reposed at table, gave their several bodies to their
several relations.

There is a srreat disa2[reement amongst authors,
whether this poem was composed \\]Km (jlaucus Ca-
rystius, U))on Leocratis, or Agatharcus, or Scopa ;
or whether the house in which this happened was at
Pharsalia, as Simonides intimates in one passage,
and as is athrmed by A|)polloacrus, Eral«>sthenes,
Euphorio, and Kurypylus of Larissa ; or whether it
<lid not happen at Cranon, as Apollas Callimachus
says, in which he is followed by Cicero, who has
rendered this story very celebrated. It is certain

Scopa,

530 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XL

S<-opa, a noble Thessaloniaii, perishod by this acci-
dent, and some say lii^ nephew by his sister hke-
wm% and they think that most of that name de-
scended from liim. For my own part, 1 look upon
this vvliole story of Castor and l\)llux to be fabu-
lous, the poet himself does no where expressly
mention the fact, and we cannot suppose he would
have forgot an incident so glorious for himself.

Every man, however, is at hl)erty to believe or
disbelieve it as he pleases. But it is certain, that
Simonides is thought to have assisted his memory by
recollecting the place where each guest lay. -And,
indeed, when we return to a place, after being ab-
sent from it some time, we not only know it again,
but remember what we had done there, recollecting
at the same time, the persons who were present, and
sometimes the private thoughts that tlion passed
within ourselves. This art, therefore, like most
other, is built upon experiments : and they proceed
upon it as follows. They chuse a very spacious
spot, marked with vast variety of objects ; for in-
stance, a large house, which is divided into a great
many apartments. Here they imprint deeply upon
their mind whatever is most observable, so that
their imagination can run over all the parts of it '
without halt or delay ; for their first business is to
avoid all stops ; because those ideas ought to be
most deeply imprinted upon the memory, which are
to assist in preserving other ideas. They next mark
the particulars, which they have written or digested
in their thoughts, by another signal, which is to put
them in mind of them. This signal may arise from
the matter which they treat of, supposing it to be
war, navigation, or the like. Or it may arise from
some word, by recollecting which they can com-
mand circumstances, even though they have slipped
out of the mind. For instance, if their subject is

navigation.

Book XI, OF ELOaUENCE. 331

navigation, they may fix upon an anchor, if war,
upon some part of armour.

Having settled this point, they are next to fix the
signals, or objects, that are to correspond with their
ideas : for example, they may, for the first part of
their discourse, fix upon the outer gate ; for the se-
cond, upon the court-yard ; they may then proceed
to the back-yard, the bed-chambers, the halls, nay,
the beds and furniture, annexing a certain idea to
each in order. This being done, when they are to
trust to their memory for delivering a discourse,
whatever is the subject, they then begin to recollect
the several places in their order, and as they pre-
sent themselves, they furnish the idea which was
annexed to them. Thus, let the particulars to be
remembered be ever so numerous, they are con-
nected in order by a certain chain so readily, that
they follow regularly, if the person has only made
himself completely master of his signals. What I
have said of a house is applicable to public build-
ings, to a journey, or a walk round the city, to pic-
tures and the like. We may even raise to ourselves
ideal signals, which may answer our purpose.

Upon the whole, therefore, there is a necessity of
having places, either real or imaginary, and images
or signals which we may likewise form at pleasure.
These sij^nals mark the things which we want to re-
tain in our memory, so that, as Cicero says, " Places
may serve for paper, and ideas for letters." lUit
that I may go on in his own excellent words, ' We
must, in short, make use of local circumslances,
which require to be various, Hear, plain, and pretty
nearly connected. But the id<MS, which serve as
the intermediate agents, must be exquisite and well-
marked, and such as may present and strike the
mind with the greatest quickness. I am, therefore,
the more surprised how Metrodorus could find out

three

:332 QUINCTILIANS INSTITUTES BookXL

three luuHlrutl and sixty local places, or sip^nals, in
the twelve si^iis of the heavens, through which the
sun passes. This, surely, was all vanity and hoast-
\\v^, and the boastinj^ of a man, who ascribed the
strength of his memory to his art rather than to
his genius. i

1 am far irom denying that some of those things
may not assist the memory in some cases. For ex-
ample, when we are to repeat the names of a great
many things in the same order we heard them, we
may connect things to the places which we have
imprinted in our memory. To the outer-gate, for
instance, we affix the word table, to the inner-coiirt,
the word bed, and so of all the rest. And then,
when we come to review our places, we find the
things we committed to them. Perhaps this me-
thod may likewise help those who, after an auction
is mer, can tell in order the names of all the goods
that have been sold in it, and of the several buyers
correspondent to the clerk's account. Th>s, we arc
told, was done by Hortensius : but such artificial
helps avail little in getting by heart a continued
discourse. For there the ideas dit!'er from the things,
and it is impossible to make them correspond ; nay,
in endeavouring: to do it. the memory being doublv
burdened, runs into confusion.

But how is it possible for this art to enable us to
observe the connection and disposition of words in a
pleading ? Besides, there are certain conjunctive
particles, to which no objects or signals can (corre-
spond. I admit that we have, like writers in short-
hand, certain marks that correspond with every
thinof. And such an infinite variety of fixed objects,
that we can express the very words of Cicero'-s five
pleadings in the second impeachment of Verres ; by
recalling the idea which we had affixed to each ob-
ject. But must not this double business of the rno-

morj'

Book XI. OF ELOaUEPlCE. 3?3

moi^y perplex and confoinxl our delivery ? For liow
is it possible to go sinootlily on, without Jilterrup-
tion> in a cmitinued discourse, if we are to have
iTcourse to aeertain object to furnish' us with every
word we spuak? I shall therefore leave Charniadas
and Metrodorus of Scepsis, whom I mentioned be-
fore, in posscs'^ion of this art, though Cieero says
they applied it with success; the rules I am to lay
rfown shall be more ])lain and simple. ■

If we are' to get a long discourse by heart, our
best way'is not to overburden our memory, but to
get it by yjortions of a tolerable lenq-th. For if they
are too short, o{ir joining them together will breed
confusion iu the niemory. As to the extent of each
portion 1 cannot fix it ; otherwise than by recom-
mending, that it should finish a sense ; unless it is
subdivided into so many parts, that thc}^ must be
taken separately. For we ought to have, as it were,
resting places, for frequently recollecting the connec-
tion of w^ords, which is the most difficult part of this
business. And then this review will be sufficient
to direct us iii joining together the several portions.

It niay, however, be of service to write uj)on the
margin ct^rtain private marks, which may, as it were,
refresh and i^uide the memory. For he must have a
treacherous merriory indeed, who is not able to re-
collect that he has made a mark, and that he had a
meaning in so doing. In short, let him be ever so
stupid, such marks will stiJl serve as some assistance
to his memorv. For the same reason it will be of
service, as I said before, to recall the ideas that
escape us by certain sitrnals to which they are affixed ;
for instance, an anchor, if we are to speak of a ship;
and a spear, if of a battle. Such signals are of
great service ; it is, as it were, producing one me-
morv out of another, in the same manner as when
we tie fast a ring, or shift it from the finger were

we

^34 QUINCTILJAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

we commonly wear it, we immediately recollect the
reason why we did it. ,, , ,,

But things may be better fixed upbii our memory,,
if we connect them with some similar object.
Thus, if we want to remember a name, Fabius, for
instance, we surely never can forg^ct the Delayer, so
famous in history, or that we have a friend of the
same name. This is still more easy in proper names
derived from certain objects; such as a bear, a
wolf, a nose, or the like. For then we have no
more to do but to recollect the objects. It is like-
wise of great service for us to recollect the original
of an appellation, Cicero, Verres, or Aurelius, for
instance.

But nothing is so good a help to the memory, as
to learn by heart a discourse from the paper in which
you write it. For a person's memoiy will always be
assisted by certain circumstances upon the very face
of the paper itself. And we keep in mind not only
pages, but lines, in the order we wrote them, so
that while we repeat, we think we are reading.
But if there should happen any erascment, interli-
neation, or alteration, they are certain signals so
fresh in our memory, that they guide us to the very
words.

There is a certain method pretty much of the
same nature with artificial memory. But (if my
experience does not deceive me) much more expe*
ditious and effectual. And that is, to get a thing
by heart to ourselves, as we do when we make use
of artificial memory. But here an inconveniency
will arise from certain ideas that may create a con-
fusion and distraction in the mind, if it is quite un-^
occupied. Therefore, I think, the best way to pre-
vent this, is to employ the voice while we are get-
ting by heart, for then the exercise both of speak-
ing and hearing will fix the mind, and conse-
quently

Book XI. ' OF ELOQUENQi;.. ;, 336

quently the memory, by clearing it of all inipeiti-
nerjt ideas. W i' ought not, however, to raise our
voice too high, nay, scarcely- above our l)reatli.
Some get by heart, while another reads. I'his man-
ner lias its disadvantages too, because the sense of
seeing is much quicker than that of hearing'. It hits
its advantages likewise, because the learner in hear-
ing a thing- once or twice over, has an opportunity
of exercising his memory, so as to become almost
as perfect as the reader. For it is of great import-
ance for us to be making frequent essays with our
memory- VV hereas, when we do nothing biit read,
we pass over what we know the most wnd the least
of with the same facility, jiut by making frequent
trials our efforts are greater, and we lose no time,
as we do when we repeat what we already know.
But here we repeat only what we had forgot, and
by doing it again and again, fix it upon our me-
mory. Meanwhile, 1 know we remember a thing
the better, for having once forgot it. He who learns
to repeat as well as he who composes, ought to jws*-
sess good health, free from all indigestion and wan-
derings of mind.

But next to practice, which is the most powerful
assistant, a riglit division and arrangement are the
most etfectual means to make us remember what we
write, and retain what we have studied. For hrj who
divides pioperly can never mistake the order of
thinu'^. Because there is a certain method, not on[y
of dividing, but of treating subjects ; in knowing
what we are to say first, what second, and the whole
hangs so reoulariy together, that n<jthing can be
omitted, and nothing added without a ))erceptible
violence done to the sense. Thus when Sanola had
lost a game at back-gammon,* by making- a false

* Ong. Scriptorum. It was very near (he same with our game
of back-gammon. Salraasius has a most cujious dissertation upon
this subject in his note* i;pon Vopiscu^.

move

J JO QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Xt.

move, w MIc \\v was goin;;" into tlie country, by cal-
ling to mind the whole order ot' the game, he disco-
vi'ied tlie move that had lost it ; and coming hack
to the person with whom he had played, the latter
acknowled;^rd all he said to be true. Nor will or-
fier he of less as-iistance to us in an oration than it
was to him in a game, especially since in an oratix)ri
the order is of our own making. Whereas the order
that directed Sa'vola depended upon chance, and
he could only y)lay in his turn. A composition,
when rightly digested, leads the memory in its pro-
gress. Vor as it is more easy to get verse than prose
by heart, so it is uiore easy to get by heart prose
that is regularly digested, than when it is loose ajid
unconnected. Through regularity we artj enabled
punctually to repeat, without losing a word, a dis-
course that seems to have been pronounced extem-
pore. Nay, my memory, inditierent as it was, was
always able to repeat over again the same words of
a declamation, if at any time it was interrupted by
the coming in of an}' person of distinction, to whom
1 was oblige(i to pay my compliments. That I
speak nothing but the truth, can be witnessed by
many living evidences.

Were I, however, to be asked what is the great
and sovereign assistant of the menKjrv, 1 would an-
swer, practice and application, great study, and if
possible, daily meditation, can do more than any
thing else. Nothing is more improveable by care ;
nothing is so apt to be spoiled through carefuhiess.
For this reason, as I have already observed, boys
should be taught, as soon as possible, to get a vari-
ety of things by heart. And whoever, at any time
of life, shall studiously endeavour to improve his
memory, he must get the better of that exercise
which at first is so tiresome and laborious, I mean
that of conning it over and over, and as it were,

chewinff

v7

^ooK Xt. OF fiLOGtJEll^CE. $S7

chewing the same meat again. But even this toil
becomes more tolerable, it" we begin by getting by
heart only a few things, and those not tiresome in
their nature. Then let us every day add a line or
two to the number of those we had got by heart the
day before. And thus the toil encreasing gradually,
but imperceptibly, we shall, at last, be able to mas-
ter the longest discourses. Let us, however, first
begin with the poets, then proceed to the orators,
and last of all go to loose compositions, or such as
arc most distant from the common practice of
speaking, such as the language of the common law.
For the more laborious our exercises are, the ncaref
we are in succeeding to what we propose by them.
Thus, wrestlers and boxers accustom themselves to
carry leaden weightiJ in their hands, though, when
they fight, they make use only of their bare fists.

Here 1 must observe, daily experience teaches us,
that when a man is slow of apprehension, his mind
is the less tenacious of the last ideas imprinted
upon it. It is strange, and scarcely to be accounted
for, how much the inten^ention of a night confirms
those ideas ; whether it is that the mind therebv S;et3
a little rest and is relieved from the ftitigue of im-
mediate attention, which weakens the memory, and
becomes therebv more mature and confirmed, of
w hether recollection is not her capital property. It
is, however, certain that such a man will next day
have a lively idea of that which he forgets almost
as soon as it is told him : and that time, which is
usually the cause of forgetfulness, frequently invi-
gorates the memory.

On the contrary, a man of very quick apprehen-
sion may be apt soon to forget ; and his mind having
performed its immediate business, reserves little for
what is to come, and, as it were, unbends her pow-
ei-s. For this reason, in a mind whose powers are

VOL. II. z not

f 0

342 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

Antony and Crassiis, and above all of Quintus Ifor-
tonsiiis, through the t'orre of their action. 1 am in-
clined to believe ih s of the latter, the rather, be-
cause his ecniipositions do not at all answer the repu-
tation of a man who was long- at the head of elo-
quence at Kome; for some time was the rival of
Cicero, and was never accounted to be inferior to
any but him. From this circumstance, 1 say, we
must think a great deal of his merit lay in his action,
because we cannot find it in his works. Now, it
being undoubted that there is much force in well-
chosen expressions, that the voice gives great
energy, and that air and action have vast powers,
what finished excellency must all these united
produce ?

Some, however, think that the artless manner and
the natural impetuosity of a speaker is stronger, and
the only action that is w^orthy of a man. But they
who are of that opinion, are generally such as con-
demn all correctness, art, brilliancy, or care in what
we say, as being affected and unnatural ; or else they
are such as aflfect a broadness and rusticity of expres-
sion, as Cicero tells us Lucius Cotta did, in imita-
tion of antiquity. But 1 leave all those opinions to
those who think that nature is sufficient to form an
orator. They must, however, give me leave to think
that nothing can be perfect, but where nature is
assisted by art ; I shall therefore proceed in my own
way, after candidly acknowledging that nature is
far more effectual than art in forming an orator.

For the man whose memory does not serve him to
retain what he writes, or who has no extemporary
powers of speaking when he is called upon, never
can speak properly. 1 say the same of those who
have incurable defects of voice, or a personal un-
gracefulness and awkwardness, which no art can
amend. Even the voice requires to be sweet as well

as

X '* -f'\.\ .»-^

"■S

\

iBooK X!. OF ELOQUENCE. 343

as strong in a finished orator. When it is both, we
command it as we please, but we are under great dis-
advantages when it is harsh and weak, for we cannot
tlicn give it emphasis and exertion ; we are forced to
speak in a humble or a squeaking tone, and to reheve
our hoarse throat and fatigued hmgs, by sinking in-
to downright whining, jkit J suppose the orator I
am now forming, to have no natural defect, which
can render my rules useless to him.

Now all action, as 1 have alreadv observed, con-
sists of two things, voice and gesture ; the first of
which affects the ears, and the latter the eyes ; the
two senses through which the mind receives all her
emotions. 1 shall first speak of the voice, and the
rather, because all action ought to be accommodated
to the gesture. First then, you are to consider what
kind of voice you have ; and next, how you are to
manage it. Now the nature of a voice is known Ijy
quantity and quality : as to the first, it is enough to
say, it is either strong or weak. But between those
two extremes, there are many intermediate degrees
from the highest to the lowest, and from the lowest
to the highest. Quality is more various. For a
voice may be clear or hoarse, full or slender, smooth
or sharp, stammering or flo^vjllg, hard or flexible,
shrill or austere. The breatli too may be longer or
shorter.

It is foreign to my present purpose for me to shew
the reasons of all this ; whether it lies in the differ-
ence of the orsrans which receive the air that forms
the voice, or in the tubes through which it passes; or
whether it lies in the peculiarity of its own nature,
or in the motion it receives ; or whether the differ-
ence is not greatly occasioned by the strength or
weakness of the lungs and head ; for all these have a
share in forming the voice ; nay, the construction of
the nostrils, through which part of the voice passes,

90

V

/

310 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI

which e;ich raiiso was brought before him ; and we
are credibly informed tliat Cyrus knew the name of
every soldier in his army. Theodectes, we are told,
was able to repeat a vast number of verses, after
once hearing them. I have heard of some in our
days who could do the same ; but it was never my
chance to hear them. We ought, however, to be-
lieve it, were it for no other reason, than that
thereby we may be encouraged to aim at the same
excellency.

CHAP. III.

CONCERNING THE BKiT MANNER OF DELIVERING A PLEAD-

ING, OR DISCOURSE.

This is sometimes called pronunciation, and
sometimes action. The former term seems appli-
cable to the voice, the latter to the person. For
Cicero sometimes says that action is a discourse,
and sometimes that it is a certain eloquence of the
body. He assigns to it two parts (the same as to
pronunciation), voice and motion. We may there-
fore use both terms indifferently. Its properties
give wonderful force and efficacy to all pleadings.
To premeditate a set of sentiments and words, is of
less consequence than the manner of their being
delivered, because they make an impression upon
the hearer, in proportion as he understands them.
For this reason, when an orator lays down, even a
proof, be it ever so strong, it may lose of its Aveight,
unless it is supported by a firm, positive pronuncia-
tion. Ail the passi<ins about us must languish, un-
less they are kept alive by the glow^ of voice, look,
and action. For, almost every part of an orator
ought. to speak. Even in that case, happv are. we,

if

^

Book XI OF ELOQUENCE. 341

if the judge is warmed by our heat ; how then can
we suppose he ever can be touched with a lifeless,
spiritless manner ; or that he will not nod, when we
begin to yawn ?

To prove of what great service action is, 1 need
but appeal to the success of good players, who give
such graces to the best dramatic performances, that
we see them with a pleasure double to that with
which we read them. Nay, the most wretched
performances, under their management, command
attention ; and we see, upon the theatre, plays
which we would not admit into our library. If then
suhj(;cts, which we know to be purely fictitious,
acquire such power by action, that they make us
resent, fear, and weep, how much power must ac-
tidn have when employed on subjects which we
know to be real ? For my own part, 1 will venture
to say, that even an indifferent pleading, when en-
forced by the powers of action, will have more suc-
cess than the very best composition, if destitute of
that recommendation. It is well known that De-
mosthenes, being asked what is the first, second,
and third property of a pleader, answered to all,
action. By which they who asked him plainly saw,
that he did not consider it as ihe chief, but the only
property of pleading, l-'or this reason, he himself
studied action long and intensely under Andronicus,
the player; so that when the Rhodians were ad-
miring his pleading for Ctesiphon, What would you
have said (answered yEschines, who had read it to
them) if you had heard him deliver it ?

Cicero too says, that action is decisive in elo-
quence. IJe tells us, that Lentulus was more famous
f(jr that than for his cl()(]uence ; and that by the force
of action, Caius (iracehus, when he mentioned his
brother's death, drew tears from all the people of
jRome, Jle celebrates likewise the vast success of

Antony

/-

338 QUINCTILTAN'S INSTITUTES Book Xt

not so quickly susceptible of ideas, the impressions
remain the longest.

From this diversity of capacities amongst man-
kind, a doubt has arisen, whetiier a man who is to
pronounce a discourse, oup^ht to get by heart every
^vord of it, and whether it is notsulHcient for him to
make himself master of the principal heads, in the
order in which they ought to stand. But to decide
this, no universal rule can be laid down, for if my
memory will serve me, and if 1 am not straitened
in point of time, I should be unwilling to lose a
single syllable of what 1 have wrote, otherwise it
ivould be needless lor me to write at all. It there-
fore ouo-ht to be our chief business, from our child-
hood, to bring our memory by practice to such a ha-
bit, as not to pardon ourselves for the least omission.
It is, therefore, a wrong custom to make use of promp-
ters, or to be always consulting our papers, ^br such
conveniences give us a habit of negligence, and
every one will think himself sufficiently perfect if he
is not afraid of losing any thing. They likewise
break the force of action, and create starts and ine-
qualities in the delivery ; for a ma.n who always
speaks as if he was getting by heart what he says
loses every grace of correct composition, because he
pronounces it in such a manner as shews that it has
been composed before hand.

Another advantage of a ready memory is, that it
does honour to the quickness of a genius, because
the public thinks, that what we say has not been
premeditated, but is spoken offhand ; and this is of
vast service both to the orator and his cause. For
the one is more admired, and the other less sus-
pected, because a judge does not think that any
thing has been previously concerted to mislead him.
Nay, it is one of the greatest excellencies in plead-
ing, when an orator, after bestowing the greatest

pains

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 339

pains in connecting and arranging what he says, de-
livers it in an unstudied manner; and wiicn he
seenis, though ever so well prepared to study, as it
were, to be ditlident of what he is saying. Upon
the whole, therefore, there can be no doubt, that
our best way is to get exactly by heart, w hat we are
to deliver.

But if a speaker's memory is naturally treacherous,
or if he has too little time for study, it will do him
disservice to attempt to get every word by heart ;
because forgettmg a single word will occasion in him
a very disagreeable stammering, or oblige him to be
quite silent. It is therefore much safer for such a
one to make himself master of the subject, by di-
gesting it in his mind, and to deliver it in the best
mariner he can. For a man who has once got a fa-
vourite expression which he has written tlown l)y
heart, is very unwilling to lose it, and while he is
searching after it, it is difficult for him to sul)Stitute
in its place another equally good. But even preme-
ditation does no great service to a weak memory,
unless the orator has accustomed himself to speak ex-
tempore. But if his memory is weak, and if he has not
been accustomed to speak extempore, and, if at the
same time he is a man of some letters, my advice to
him is, to throw up tlie business of the bar, and en-
tirely apply himself to writing. Ikit we seldom
meet with a man so sio-nallv unfortunate.

To conclude : Themistocles is an instance what
prodigious things memory can do, when secondt^d
by natural and acquired talents ; for he, in one year,
learned to speak with propriety the Persian language.
Mithridates knew the several lanixna^ces of all the
two and twenty nations he governed. Crassus the
rich, when he commanded in Asia, was so much
master of the five dialects of the Greek tongue,
that he gave sentence in the very language in

which

t^t^jZ/J-

/./ f-

344- QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XT.

as well ns the mouth, renders it sweeter or harsher.
Upon tlie wliole, however, a voice ought to be tune-
able, and not peevish.

The voice is managed in a great many different
ways ; for besides the threefold division of slmrp,
grave, and mixt, we make use of strong and slow,
swift and gentle notes, and long or quick nieasures.
But of these there are a great nuuib-'r of intermediate
degrees and differences. As faces, though consist-
ing but of a few parts, have infinite differences be-
tween one another; so the voice, though it has but
few specific properties, is different in every man;
and this difference is as sensible to the ear, as the
difference of faces is to the eye. The good qualities
of a voice, like all other natural properties, are greats
Jy improved by care, and injured by neglect, Byt
an orator's care of his voice ought to be different
from that of a music-master, though many circum-
stances in bt)th are alike, such as strength of body
to keep our voice from dwindling into the squeaking
of an eunuch, a woman, or a sick person ; walking,
bathing, ternperance and abstinence both in eating
and drinking, are of great service to every voice.
Besides, our windpipe ought to be whole, sound and
clear, because any blemish in that renders the voice
broken, harsh, sharp, and shrill, For as a flute,
with the same degree of wind, when the stops are
shut or open, foul or shaken, has different sounds,
so the windpipe, if inflamed, strangles; if foul, stifles;
if rough, cuts, if crooked, breaks the voice ; as a
flaw in a pipe does the sound of an organ. The
voice is cracked likewise w^hen it meets with any
obstruction, as we see a small stream of water, when
it meets a stone, interrupted in its course and makes
a small division, till it re-unites after it passes the
obstruction. Too much moisture in the mouth, or
t90 much dryness, are equally prejudicial to the

voic^,

V

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 345

voice. The first renders it stuttering, and the latter
puling. All over-fatigue hurts the voice, becausL- it
disorders the body, even after it is over.

But though the voice of an orator, as well as of a
music-master, like every thing else, is improved by
practice, yet they are not tied down to the same
regimen. For an orator, with a deal of business
upon his hands, cannot atlbrd set times for walking
and breathing himself, nor for tuning his voice from
the lowest to the highest pitch ; he has no such
leisure hours, nor is he at liberty to set aside the
causes he must plead at the bar. Neither ought
their diet to be the same. The food that renders a
voice soft and effeminate, will not make it strong
and durable. Music-masters tune their instruments
by tlieir voices, even to the highest note. Hut ora-
tors are obliged to speak often with violence and
spirit; we must watch whole nights, we must im-
bibe the steams of the lamp by which we study, and
often have not leisure to shift our cloaths, though
they are drenched in our own sweat. Let us not
therefore pamper ourselves so as to contract an
effeminancy of voice, or a habit which we shall be
obliged to shake off. Let us exercise it in the pro-
per manner ; let it not wear low through disuse, ^^ut
improve by practice ; and then we shall be able to
master every ditficulty.

The best method l can recommend for this pur-
pose is, to get by heart (Certain passages which con-
tain great variety, and require vast exertion in dis-
puting, talking and softening ; for when a man speaks
extempore, he should never be at a loss for the
j)roper tone of voice with w Inch he is to begin and
proceed ; but be ready to speak in any note. This
is the more necessary, because when the voice is
always kept neat and delicate, it cannot exert itself,
but in the manner it is used to ; as we sec wrestlers,

whose

-o

550 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

variety, and, in effect, pronunciation consists in that.
The reader, liowever, is not to imagine that smooth-
ness and variety in speaking are incompatible, for
the one is opposed to roughness, and the other to a
tiresome monotony.

The art of varying our pronunciation, not only
gives a gracefuhiess and n tVeshes the ear, but re-
lieves the si)eaker himself, by the change of his man-
ner: as we love to stand, walk, sit, or lie by turns,
and our continuing too long in one posture would be
intolerably tiresome. The great art, however (I
shall speak more fully of it hereafter), is to conduct
our voice so as that it may answer the subject we
speak of, and be suitable to the sentiments we want
to raise in the hearers, and always adapted to our
meaning. We ought, therefore, by all means, to
avoid a monotony, which consists in a sameness of
measure and tone. We are not to be perpetually
bawling like madmen ; nor to observe the lifeless,
spiritless tone of conversation, nor to whisper, nor
mutter, for that weakens all the powers of s])eak-
ing; but to pronounce so as that the same subjects
and the same sentiments may be marked by a mo-
derate alteration of the vo?ce, according to the dig-
nity of our expressions, the nature of our senti-
ments, the beginnings or endings of our periods,
or our transitions from one thing to another. Thus
painters lay on diftie rent degrees of the same colour^
some more lively, others more mild ; without which
it is impossible for them to give the proper expres-
sion to their pieces.

Let me illustrate this by the example of that noble
beginning of Cicero's pleading for Milo, where, al-
most at every stop of the same period and sense, we
see him, as it were, altering his tone and changing
his look : " Though, my lords, 1 am apprehensive,
that, wlien I enter upon the defence of a brave man,

fJ it

DookXT. of eloquence. 551

it may be thought mean to betray any symptoms of
cowardice, or to be unable to support my pleadinjr
with a dignity of courage, equal to that of '1 itus
Annius Milo, who is less concerned about his owii
fate, than that of his country ; yet am 1 dismayed
with this unusual pomp of justice, this unprece-
dented array of terror: my eyes, in vain, on all
sides, search for the venerable forms and antient
appearances of the forum ; your bench is environed
with attendants, and the bar with guards, hitherto
unknown at a Roman trial."

Here the outset, as all outsets (especially in such
a case as this) oucjht to be, is full of modesty and
diffidence. 13ut he soon recovers himself, when he
come^ to speak of Milo, by saying, '• he is less con-
cerned al)out his own fate, than that of his coun-
try." He then, thougli in the same period, alters
his tone into reproacli, by mentioning, " the un-
usual pomp of justice, and the unprecedented array
of terror." Immediately after, as if he had quite
recovered his spirits, " JNly eyes, says he, in vain,
on all sides search for the venerable forms and an-
tient apj)earances of the forum." Then what fol-
lows is free and diffused, " Your bench is environed
with attendants, and the bar with guards, hitherto
unknown at a Roman trial." This 1 have brought
as an instance, that not only sentences, but sylla-
bles, ought to be differently articulated ; otherwise
every sentence will have the same effect.

The voice, however, ought not to be overstrained.
For then it is apt, as it were, to suffocate itself,
and to lose its clearness by too violent an exertion.
Sometimes it degenerates into a squeaking or a
cackling. Neither ought we to confound what we
sav, bv t(X> u:reat a volubility of tono^ue, which de-
stroys all slops, stifles all sentiment, and sometimes
curtails words of whole syllables. The fault opi)o.

site

34R QUINTTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Xr.

tulus was famous tor accenting his letters sweetly
and hanuoniously.

In the next place, what we speak ought to be
well marked ; by which 1 mean that the s[)eaker
should begin and end precisely where he ought, and
observe exactly all the stops and points, by which
the sense is either to be suspended or finished. For
example, arms, and the man 1 sing, here the voice is
to suspend the sense, because the man is to be con-
nected with what comes after ; who forced by fate,
here another suspense follows ; nor are we to finish
the sense till the hero, as in the third line of the
original, is landed upon the Latin shore, and then a
new matter succeeds. But even at full stops we are
to breathe a longer or a shorter time, accordinsa: to
the sense. For there is a great difJerence between
finishing a sentiment or a sentence, and fniishing a
topic. Thus in the passage before me, I do not
stop so long when 1 land Aneas on the Latin shore,
as 1 do when I make him the founder of the Latin
race, and the lofty towers of Rome. Here 1 recover
my voice, I pause a little, and proceed, as it were,
to another subject.

Sometimes it is proper to stop without drawing
breath, as for example, " But in. a full assembly of
the Roman people, vested with a public character,
the general of the horse," and so forth, to the end
of the period, which consists of many members.
Now each member contains a sense which requires
a small pause, but we are not to take a full breath,
till we finish the sweep of the whole period. On
the contrary, we are sometimes to draw our breath,
but without being perceived, and, as it were by
stealth, for if we do not use great management in
concealing it, we may create as much confusion
as if we observed a wroni; stoj). The observation of
stops, however inconsiderable it may appear, is in-.

dispeysiblo

Book XT. OF ELOQUENCE. 349

dispcnsible in an orator; for without it all other
beauties must be lost.

A pronunciation is ornamented when it is support-
ed by an easy, full, happy, harmonious, deep, clear,
and well-toned vuice, which, after cutting the air,
leaves an impression uj)on the ear. For some voices
are fitted for the ear, not by their strength, but by
their harmony, and, as it were, th«^ir smoothness.
Thev are, if 1 mav sav so, self-instinct with sound ;
they speak in every tone, and, like a well-tuned in-
strument, they can rise and fall to any note. To
such a voice no property is wanting, if attended with
strong- lungs, freedom, and length of wind, with per-
severance, under the most vigorous exertion. A very
heavy or a very shrill tone of voice may do for sing-
ing, but neither can for speaking, lor the former
being v^ry full, but not very distinct, never can
make any impression upon the mind, while the
latter being too sharp, and excessively clear, is both
unnatural and untractable ; because it does not ply
to the pronunciation, nor can it be exerted for any
considerable time ; for a voice is like a stringed in-
strument, the more lax the strings are, the more
grave and full is the sound of the instrument, and
the more they are wound up, the sound is the more
sharp and shrill. Thus the former wants force, thg
latter is in danger of being cracked. We ought
therefore to make use of middling notes, which
may be heightened, when we want to exert ourselves,
and lowered, when we intend to s|)eak uently.

Above all things we ought to consult the smooth-
ness of pn^iiunriation, because it must halt and
hobble, if its measures and tones are unequal by
mixing the long with the short, the grave with the
sharp, and the hii;h with the low. Hy this jumble,
t say, of ill-paired feet, our delivery becomes lame
and crippled. In the next place, we are to observe

varietv.

/O

3iG QtINCTlLIAN'5 INSTITUTES Book Xf.

whose bodies are sleek witli gymnastir oil, ami to
the eye are personable and robust in their own busi-
ness, yet were they to undergo the military fatigues
of making long marches, carrying gabions, and re-
lieving posts, they would soon droop, and wish again
for their anointinufs and rubbings.

Would it not be absurd and ridiculous to recom-
mend to an orator, that he ought to avoid all heat
and cold, and never to stir abroad in moist or dry
weather ? Was he to observe such precautions, he
must abandon his clients every day that is hot or
cold, cloudy or blowing. As to the other precau-
tions which some reconnnend, that a man ought not
to plead inmied lately after a hearty meal, or taking
a free glass, or making a large evacuation by vomit ;
no man, 1 think, in his senses, needs to be put in
mind of all this. There is indeed a very just and a
very reasonable precaution to be observed, that the
voice is to be very carefully managed to the age of
fifteen or sixteen, or perhaps longer, because that is
a very critical time, and the whole system of the
animal oeconomy then undergoes an alteration.*
But to return to my subject.

When the voice is formed and confirmed, the exer-
cise 1 recommend to it ouG:ht to be such as most
nearly resembles its real business ; 1 mean of s}>eak-
ing, as we plead every day. 13y this means not only
our voice and our lungs will be strengthened, but
we shall be formed to all the graceful attitudes and
gestures that become an orator. The truth is, we
should speak in the very manner we plead ; and as
the latter requires correctness, perspicuity, orna-
ment, and propriety, so our voice should have all
those properties. It will be correct, if we pronounce

* There is somewhat here in the original which I have not
thought proper to translate.

with

IJookXI. of eloquence. 347

with ease, with freedom, with sweetness, and polite-
ness ; by pohteness 1 mean, tliat our pronunciation
should iiave notliing in it uncouth or foreign. For a
Itarharous or Greek pronunciation deserves to be
blamed, and a man by his accent is known, as
money is by its chnk. The manner 1 here recom-
mend is what Knnius praised in Cethegus, when he
called him the well-toned, harmonious speaker; a
character which is the reverse of what Cicero found
fault with in some orators of his time, who, he said,
did not plead, but bark at the bar. 1 have already
meiitiont'tl several other faults in pronunciation in
my first book, when J treated about forming the lan-
guage of boys ; for 1 was of opinion that it was
mosts natural to treat of it while 1 was upon age,
wherein it is most easily amended.

The first property of a voice is soundness ; by
which 1 mean, that it should be free from the faults
I have taken notice of. The second is, that it be
neither low nor rough, nor frightful nor harsh, nor
scjucaking nor soft, nor elJeminate. The third, that
the breathing be free and easy, and the wind at least
tolerably long.

A pronunciation will bo perspicuous and clear by
speaking words full out, without mumbling or sup-
pressing part ; it being a common practice to sink
the last syllable or two of a word, and to rest en-
tirely upon the first. But the necessity of speaking
distinctly docs not at all imply that we are to drawl
out, and, as it were, syllable cveiy word, for that is
both troublesome a\jd tiresome. Besides it often
happens that a vowel should be sunk, and some-
times the sound of a consonant is altered * by the
sound of a following vi»wel. The collision of harsh
vowels' is likewisi; to be avoided ; all ihis 1 have
given examples of, and bandit- 1 in oth<'r places. Ca-

* For example, Multum Ule, &c. — Terris — Polcxit — Colleg-t.

tulus

55'i QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book 5Cf,

site to this, is that of spoakino: too slow ; for that
discovers a want of invention, and makes the hearer
yawn ; and tlie time allotted us is often ehipsed be-
fore we have gone haU" through, when we arc obliged
to speak by the honr-ghiss.

Our deUvery ought to be quick without precipi-
tation, and gentle without dulness. As to recover-
ing our breath, it should not be so frequent as to
break or interrupt a sentiment, nor ought we to de-
lay it so long as to endanger its failing us. The last
gives us a very disagreeable manner, by making us
putV and pant, like a man who is just emerged, after
being under water; it is long before we recover our-
selves ; we have no command of wind, and we make
stops, not when we please, but when we are forced. •
A man, therefore, when he has a long period to de-
liver, ought to manage his wind, but without any
tedious, noisy, preparation, so as to be discovered.
In other parts of his pleading, he will have frequent
proper opportunities of recovering his breath at the
joining of his sentences.

We ought, however, to get as great a command
of wind as possible. For this purpose, we are told
that Demosthenes, walking up a hill, repeated as
many verses as he could at one breath. He likewise
used to put little stones into his mouth, where he
worked them about while he was speaking, that he
might thereby pronounce his words with the greater
ease and freedom.

The respiration is sometimes sufficiently long, full
and clear, but weak and tremulous, when it comes
to be exerted, like bodies that to all appearance are
sound and in good health, but can scarce support
themselves on their legs, through the weakness of
their nerves. Others have a very disagreeable way
of hissing and whistling through the loss of teeth.
"VVhile others pant and puff, and blow inwardly, but

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 353

SO iis to be plainly heard, like cattle labouring hard
in a team. And sonne even affect this manner, as
if thev had such a redundancy of matter within
themselves, that they are unable to give it vent, and
that it was too unweildy for the organs of their speech.

Others have a sort of convulsions in their mouth,
and struggle with their words, which seem to choak
them. Sometimes they fall a coughing and sputter-
ing, brinixing up large quantities of defluxion, be-
dewing ail about them with the moisture of their
mouth, and making the greatest use of their respira-
tion through their nose, which makes them rather
snuffle their words than speak them. All these are
not, indeed, faults of the pronunciation, but as they
are occasioned by speaking chiefly, 1 thought proper
to mention them here.

Yet those blemishes, Vwd as they are, are, I think,
less intolerable than the fashion that now prevails iu
schools and courts of justice, 1 mean that of singing
a pleading, a practice equally absurd and indecent.
For what is more inconsistent with the character of
an orator, than to speak as if he was tuning his
voice for the stage ; and sometimes as if he was sing-
ing a catch at a merry meeting ? What can be
more the reverse of moving the passions, than that,
when we feel pain, resentment, indignation, or
compassion, we should not only abandon all those
affections, while we onsrht to raise them in the
judge, but evea pollute the sanctity of the forum,
by that low ribbald manner, which Cicero says,
came from the most despicable nations, and began
to infect the bar, even in his time.

But, in our days, we do not confine ourselves to
the more decent part of singing, but run into ex-
«'tss. When an orator is pleading, I will not say
upon a case of murder, sacrilege or parricide, but

VOL. II, A a even

3o4 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Hook XT.

even Mpoii a matter of pf tty interest or comrUoii itc-
couQt», is lu^ tr> l»e borne with, if, in such a case,
he should plead to a tune ? If this prartitc is al-
lowable, I »€'e no reason, why the inodulatinn of
our voice may not be" set to flutes and tifkilfs, nay,
by heavens, to cymbah, the instrument that best
suits svich abominatJdu. Yet we are charmod with
this piaciicc, for every man loves to ht^r himself
sing, and it requires k'ss pains to chant a pie-ading,
than to speak it with }:)«?opnety. Add to this, that
some hc«,rer$ in this, as in every thing clKe, have so
depraved a taste, that they love to have their ears
soothed and tickled by a tunc. What, say they,
does nut Cicero tell us, '■' that in all pleading, there
is darkened music?" He does so, but it happens
through a natural defect. 1 shall by and by shew,
where, and how fai', we may admit of this tone,
this darkenssd mwsic, as he calls it ; though they do
not chnse to understdnd that epithet. Hut I now
proceed to cojisider tlie propriety of action.

Ihis und(^ubtedly consists in adopting every thing
we sa>' to our subject. And this is chiefly etfected
by following the emotions of the mind, which com-
municates her own affections to the voice. But
some affections are real, others are false and fictiti-
ous. I'iie real ones, however, naturally burst out
through the force of grief, anger, or indignation ;
but they are all of thrm artless, and therefore not
subject to any rules ; but fictitious .or imitative af-
fections are. And the first rule here is, to be
strongly impressed yourself with sentiments and
ideas, and to realize them as much as vou can.
Thus, vour voice will be an or^-an to convev them
to the indues, till Uievare influenced with the same
passions which you seem to feel within yourself,
i^'or the voice, is, as it were, the hand that points

out

BaoK XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 3o5

out the passions of the juinU, and is affected by all
her disorders and changes.

As a proof of this, vs hen we are all joy, the voig^
is full, plain, and chearful ; while we dispute, it i?
fierce and loud, and hraced, as it were, with all it^
powers. Anger renders it dreadful, shrill, and thick,
and quickens all the respiration. For it is impossi-
ble for a man's wind to continue long when he is at
such expence of it every instant. M hen we want
to stir up hatred or envy, the voice is somewhat
more gentle, because they are generally employed
by inferiors, or those who have the worst of a cause;
but when we soothe, acknowledge, apologize, and
intreat, the voice is then soft and submissive. In
matters of persuading, advising, promising, and
comfbi-ting, it is grave. Where there is a check of
fear and modesty it is faultering. In encouraging
it is vigorous ; in disputing firm ; in commiserating
humble and mournful ; and then it even purposely
disguises some of its powers. In excursions it is
flowing and negligently clear. In explaining and
discoursing it is plain, and equally partakes of the
grave and the acute. Upon the whole, therefore,
it rises and sinks with our passions, and always in
pro|X)rtion to the nature of the thing which affects
them. 1 shall hereafter explain how we are to suit
our manner to tlie phice where we speak ; but I
must iirst t(juch upon gesture, which, as well as the
voice, is influenced and directed by the mind.

Tli(^ great consequence of a proper gesture in a
speaker appears from this, that it generally has more
meaning than the voice itself. I'ar, not only our
hand, but our very nod is expressive of our senti-
ments: nav, mutes themselves converse bv their
gestures. A common salute, even before the party
k-peaks a single word, gives an intimation of his dis-
l-osition, and we know by the face and the walk, the

workings

356 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUl-ES Book XI

workings of thi' mind. Nay, even brnte beasts
who are void ofsp(HX'h, express anger, joy, and love,
in their eyes, and by certain movements of their
bodies. It is easy to be accounted for, why snrli
silent intimations, especially as they are attended by
a detjree of emotion, should make such an imprcs-.
sion upon tlie mind, when we consider, that paint-
ing, tliou;jh motionless as well as silent, sometin.es
attects us so deeply, that it is even more powerful
than words.

On the other hand, where our gesture and words
differ, when we talk in a merry mood of mehmcholy
things, when we consent with a forbi<^lding air, what
we say is not only disregarded but disbelieved. True
grace in speaking is the result of gesture a\id move-
ment. For this reason the great JJemostlienes, the
better to form his action, used to plead before a
large mirror. For though mirrors ]^erliaps do not
always reflect the truest images, yet he was resolved
to judge, as well as he could, from what he saw
himself.

The head, which is the principal part of the body,
is the principal object in action ; and its position
when easy and natural, contributes in the greatest
measure to that gracefulness I am recommending.
For, when it droops, it gives a speaker an air of
meanness; when bolt upright of arrogance ; when
lolling of negligence ; and when stiff and motion-
less of rusticity, nay, barbarity. It ought likewise
to conform its motions to the pronunciation, to agree
with the gesture, and fall in with every action of
the hand and body. The look too, ought always to
have the same direction as the gesture, excepting
when we want to express abhorrence, dislike, and
aversion, which we do, by making the eyes and the
hands to have a counter action ; lor example, in
speaking the following line ;

Yc

fooi XI. OF LLOQUEXCE. ^o7

Ye godd, that dreddt'ul pestilence avert —

or with less emotion, as iii the tbllowiug line ;

Indeed, that honour is too much for me. Virgil.

A nod, or simple movement of the head, is suffi-
cient intimation in many cases ; for it may be made
expressive of approbation, dislike, and cojihrma-
tion ; nay, of modesty, doubt, admiration, and
indignation ; and such silent expressions are in com-
mon to all mankind. They, however, who under-
stand tlualrif^al action, think it is wrong to employ
no other gestures than that of the head. And in-
deed it must be owned, that too frequent a use of
nods ought to be avoided. But to toss the head vio-
lently about, and to make its hairs go round like a
\Nheel, discovers mere madness and fanaticism.

The greatest expression however lies in the fea-
tures. By them we supplicate; by them we sooth;
by them wo mourn ; by them we rejoice ; by them
we triumph, and l>y them we despair. The eyes
of every liearer hang ujion the features, consult and
examine them even before we speak a word. From
them we conceive an aversion for one man, and
love for another; and from tliem we understand so
much, that the meaning is often understood without
speaking. Therefore, upon the stage, players wear
masks, which are formed to express the characters
they act. In tragedy, that of Niobe, for instance,
expresses grief ; that of Medea terror ; that cfAjax
astonishment; that of Hercuies rage. In comedieS;
be-sides other distinctions, slaves, pimps, parasite^;,
clowns, soldiers, old women, young whores, serv-
ing maids, old m^^n, whether crabbed or gentle :
young men, whether virtuous or rakish ; matrons
and girls, wear tlu-ir several charactei's upon their
masks: even the capital part of the father, who is

sometimes

358 QUINCTILIAX'S INSTITUTES CookXI.

sometimes peevish, nml smnrtimrs gCMxl-luimourcd,
is fitted with a mask, in wliich one eye is staring,
and the other mild. And 'this inanngement is ex-
tremely well kept up On oiii* stage, vvlK^n^. then* is
always a conformity between the mask * and the
chanu-ter.

IJut the eye is chiefly concerned in giving to the
features their several characters. Through them the
soul is discerned, and they are expressive, even
without motion, both of Joy and grief, by a brisk or
cloudy look ; nay, tears themselves are but ambigu-
ous indications of the mind, for they flow through
joy, as well as burst out from grief. We need how-
ever, but to move the eyes, and we shall express
spirit, carelessness, pride, sternness, mildness or
anger, according to the characters we are to assume.
Sometimes too we may have occasion to render them
fixed and distended, languid and listless ; or expres-
sive of wonder, wantonness, and inconstancy ; some-
times swimming, as it were, in pleasure, lascivious
and aniorous ; sometimes full of wishes, sometimes
of promises. Hut an orator must be very stupid
Ahd dull indeed, if he must be cautioned never to
keep them either always shut, or always staring,
while he is speaking.

But in all those expressions, the eyelids, and the
muscles of the cheeks must be properly subservient
to the eyes ; and the right management of the eye-
brows too is of o^reat sionificancv, because in some
measure they form the look, and influence the whole
forehead, by contracting, raising, or lowering it, so
that upon the whole they have ver}^ great force in
action. As to the blood, which is put in motion
by the sentiments of the mind, and mantles over

* The whole of this passage about masks, must, as I have al-
ready ob-erveti in these nrtes, appear very ridiculous to an English
reader, and gives us r,o high idea of the Rom^n stage.

the

Book XI. OF ELOQDENCB. 359

tlio Ijjashful, niodwt features, at settle* into a bliisii
Tiuckr diead and tear ; it disappears, vanishes, and
cools into pak'iiL'Ss ; and Nvhen it is properly tem-
pered, it jjix>diices a beauufid serenit}'. Ihe eyc-
brov* s art? vvrous^ disposed, if they Ivave cither too
much motion, or none at all, or, if as I observed
just DOW of the mask, ttiey siart into an im^quality,
oi' if they seem to contradict what we are saying.
When contracted they are ex|)r€\sriiTe of anger ;
^\ hcu fast down of sorrow ; when open of joy.
'1 here is likewise a way of making^ them rise and
fall so as to express assent or dissent. The action
of the nose and the lips can seldom be gi-acefully
employed; all it serves for is to mark derisiou, con-
tempt, or disdain, l-or to shnvel up the nose
(which is an expression .of Horace), to disteud it, to
work it alxjut, to be always picking- it, or snorting,
or snuitling, oj sti'oaking it up and down vith your
hand, iiaxe a very bad eftect, nay, we oug'ht to
avoid as much as possible the blowing it too often.
Jt is ungracefiii to thrush out the hps or to SRick
them ; to grin, to g<vpe, to pout, to siiow the teeth,
to screw the mouth up to oue ear, to feiiut it with
disdain and d( spite, and to speak Oinly out of one
frart of it. It is likewise indecent to be always lick-
insi: 3nd biting the lips; nay, we ought to ^ive
tlK^ni as little niutiou as we can, even w^hile we «w
speaking.

'Ihe neck ought not to be awry, but straight;,
though not stifl'. It is equally uniiraceful, either
wlien it is extended or sunk too much. The for-
mer is generally attended v\ith a pwiiiful, flquea^KiTig,
weak pronunciation, and when the chin sinks upon
the breast the voice is less distinct, and is too broad
by being squeezed, as it were, throii<rh thr TiaiTOw-
ness of the throat. We ought seldom to shrug -or
contract the shoulders ; t«>r that shortens the neck,

;> and

*

360 QUIXCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

and gives the speaker a mean, ^e,vile, and designincr
air; and indeed it is never done, luit in casts of
adulation, admiration, or fear.

A proper extension of the arm,while the shoulders
are in an easy posture, with the hand open as it
is stretched forth, is extremely graceful, when what
we speak requires to be flowing or r;ipid. But when
we are to express somewhat that is more gay, and
more delightful, as rocks and deserts are respondent
to the voice; then the whole person is to he thrown
out, and the freedom of the gesture is to rise with
that of the style.

As to the hands, all action without them must be
weak and crippled. Their expressions are almost
as various as those of language, and therefore it is
impossible to recount how many motions they ought
to have. Tor other parts of the body assist the
speaker, but these, if 1 may so say, speak them-
selves. Do they not demand, promise, call, dis-
miss, threaten, implore, detest, fear, question, and
deny ? Do we not, by the hands, express joy, sor-
row, doubt, acknowledgment, repentance, mode-
ration, abundance, number, and time ? Do they
not rouse up, remonstrate, prohibit, prove, admire,
imd abash? In describing things and persons, do
they not, as it were, supply the place of adverbs
and pronouns? Nay, all people, all nations, and
all mankind, however different their tongues may
be, speak and understand the language of the
hand ?

NoM', as I observed of other gestures, those of the
hand ought chiefly to be directed by the words ; but
some natural gestures serve for imitation only : for
instance, by feeling our pulse, we express a sick
man ; by shaking our fingers, as if we were playing
on an instrument, we express a musician. All this
manner is to be carefully avoided in pleading. There

ought

Book XI. OF ELOQUEN'CE. SCl

0U2:ht to be a wide difference between an orator and
a mimic ; tor an orator s gesture should be adapted
more to his sentiments than his words ; and even ac-
tors of reputation follow that manner. 1 am not
against an orator pointing with ins hand to himself,
©r to another, while he is speaking of himself, or
another; with several other freedoms of that kind.
Yet we are not to tell whole stories with our hands,
or make our finders accompany all we say.

This rule ought to take place in all our gestures
and expressions, as well as in those of the hands;
for were an orator to speak the following period,
" Upon the shore stood the Roman prdetor, dressed
in rich buskins, a purple cloak thrown across his
shoulders above, a flowing robe that swept the
ground, leaning on, and toying with an ordinaiy
little wench."— he is not, 1 say, to throw himself
into a lolling, indolent attitude, as if he was leaning
upon the little whore. Or were he to speak ol" the
Roman citizen, whom Verres ordered to be whipped
at Messana, he is not to wriggle, to shrink, and to
shriek, as if he actually felt the smart of the lash,
i'or this reason, I cannot endure those players, who
though they are acting a youthful character, yet hav-
ing occasion to mention what was said by an old
man, as in the prologue to the Water l^itcher, * or
of a woman, as happens in the Husbandman, affect,
in the former, a tremulous, and, in the latter, an
effeminate pronunciation. Thus even they whose
whole business it is to imitate, may be led into a
false taste of imitation.

The most common gesture of the hand that I
know, is when the thunib and middle finger are
joined, and the other three fingers extended. This

♦ These were two corredies of Menander, translated into Ln-
tin. Our author here seems lo be rather more severe than Cicero
on this occasion. Sec de Oratore, 1. 'i. c 59-

gesture

302 QUINCTILUNS INSTITUTES Bcok XI.

gx.*stiire is very pro^(*r m heii \v€ enter u\x»n a plead-
ing, aiitJ at tend it witli a getiteel sway oi' the bixly
to I Kith sidi's, wlijie our head and attiludr of the
slufuklcis sociii tij MMTODcl die expression ot the hnnd.
Ill iKurativcs, this g^T-stuiY may be manag<^d so as to
iKMome positive and ailirujaliv<^ ; and iu rt-proachiii^
and reasoning, spirited and eager. I^'or, in sucia
cases, it is exerted \\ itii more boldness and f'rwdoia.
Ihit this gesture bceom<.*s improper when it is ap-
plied towards the left shoulder, or points to one
side; and it is still worse in those who advance their
arm across their month, and seem to speak from
tlieir elbow.

AV hen ue hold nndcr the thumb, the two fiugens
tiiat are next to it, tlie gesture becomes move ear-
nest, and i.s improper tor an introduction or a narra-
tive; but when we double three fingers under our
thumb, then the fore finger, * of wliich Cicero sa\'«,
Cnissus made an admirable use, is «eiv)plo\'>ed in de-
monstration. For it has its uarae frmn its being
made use of to point out, uod it is very expressive
bodi in that, or in any reprixichtul j)assac:e; and
when it is raised tov.ai'ds the shmdder and dwps a
little, it then affirms. When it is pointed straight,
and with some violence to the ground, at exjjresses
earnestness, or sometimes an emphatical mamber.
And, by . holding the uppermost joint of th-e lore
linger of one hand, between die thumb and the
fore finger of the other I, with three fingers inchn-
ing gradually towards the palm, it signifies argu-
mentation.

When 1 figure to myself the attitudr,' of Demos-

%

* Index.

t See the print of Raphael's School of Athens, where Socia»e5
is in the v^ry attitude here described. But as th<; original is both
trifling and uncertain in what follows, 1 have, with M. RoUin,
omitted part of it.

thenes,

Book Xf. OF ELOQUENCE. 3^3

thencs, in his modest, bashful outset of his pleading
lor Ctcsiphoii, 1 iniagiuo his thuuib and his three
first fingers to be gently contracted, and his hand
slowly swaying from his breast to his middle ; and as
he proceeds, Ins action becomes more quick, and
his hands more expantled. In the same attitude 1
conceive Cicero to have spoken, when he introduced
his pieading lor Archias in the following graceful
manner; " if, my loixls, 1 have any capacity, which
I am conscious is but slender*"

The moving; the thumb and the fore finger, when
joined, to and from the mouth, is, 1 think, not at
all ungraceful (though some dislike it), ibr it mav
be managed so as to express sometimes gentle ad-
mii;ation, sometimes sudden indignation, sometimes
dread, and sometimes entreaty. IJy clenching the
hand and snuting the breast, we imply repentanctj
or passion ; and it is not amiss, if we be heard softly
to say, What will become of me ? What shall i
do ? 1 think it is more common, than it is grace-
ful, to make use of the thunib, while the rest of
the fingers are clenched in demoiistr«ting. Mean-
while, all circular motions, or those that have an
extravagant sweejj, are disagreeable.

The hand is very gracefully brought from the left
to the ri2:ht, where it may st^em gently to rest ;
though sometimes in (iiiishing a period, we drop it
with more quickness, though we soon recover it.
And sometimes it r.ses, as it were, with a rebound,
when we are earnoyt either in denying or admiring.
Here the antient jjrolessors oithis art very jMoperly
enjoin, that the hand sliouUl begin and end with the
Bcntiment or the period, otherwise the efteet must
be very disagreeable, by making the gesture prei^edt*
the \Aords, or continue after they are finished, jini
thev refine too much wIk a thev prescribe the time
required for speaking three word>^, to he the interval

of

364 QUINCTIUAN'S INSTtTUTRS Book Xr,

of each motion. Jmif tliis is neither true nor prac-
ticable. It is very proper indeeH to observe a me-
diunn between two much slowness and too much
quickness, lest the hand should be too long unem-
ployed, or, which happens frequently, lest a conti-
nut;<l motion should break in upon and disorder the
pleadiiii:^.

'Ihere is another error in action which is still more
frequent and more enticing: 1 mean, using certain
gestures, as it were mechanically.* It is much better
to regulate the gesture by the natural pauses in a
period, for example, " New and unheard of is the
charge;" here is a natural pause, then the motion is
to be renewed, and so on through the whole plead-
ing. But in passages which require to be pronounc-
ed with heat, the gesture must quicken with the
expression. Some passages require a quick, others
a pointed, pronunciation. We make use of the
former, when v. e touch slightly upon a subject, when
we accumulate, overflow, or hasten ; and of the
latter, when we urge, inculcate, and impress. The
milder manner, however, is the most affecting,
lloscius spoke quick, yEsopus slow, for the former
acted chiefly in comedy, the other in tragedy ; and
their pronunciation regulated their gestures. For the
same rt?ason, in all plays, the movements of young
gentlemen, old men, soldiers, and matrons, are com-
posed and majestic: those of slaves, serving maids,
parrasites and seamen, are more light and quickened.

The same masters enjoin a speaker not to raise his
hand above his eyes, or to lower it below the stomach ;
and consequently condemn the raising it to tlie head,
or dropping it to the length of the arm ; but they
suffer it to be applied to the shoulder, though not

* Some part of the original here is extremely trifling, and
therefore omUted.

higher

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. SGo

higher, tor then it would be ungraceful. But when
to express aversion, \vc histily move our hautl to
the left side, we are then lo make a movement witli
that shoulder in order lo keep in the same expression
with the head, which ou^lit to inchne towards the
right.

The left hand never is by itself sufficient to mak«
a graceful expression. But it often assists the right,
either by digesting our arguments on tlie ends of the
fingers, or by expressing aversion ))y expanding both
hands to the left, or by holding both up, or by ihrovx-
ing one on each side, or by joining thtin, either when
we supplicate, or olier satisfaction. Tliese gestures,
however, are divereihed, either by dro\)ping the
hands low or rais.ng them in admiration, or by throw-
ing them abroad in order to demonstrate or invoke.
For instance, '* Ye Alban mounts and groves ;" or
in the speech 'of (Jracchus mentioned by Cicero,
*' Wretch that I am, whither shall I retreat: Whither
shall 1 turn me? To the capitol ? The capitol swims
in my brother s blood. To my family ? There must
i see a wretched, a mournful, and atilicted mother.''
On such occasions as I have mentioned, the hands,
when joined, have the strongest expression ; they
ought to have but little [notion when the subject is
inconsiderable, melancholy, or mild ; but thrown
abroad, when it is great, joyful, or dreadful.

1 am now to take notice of the mistaken manaj^e-
nient of the hands which ofttni is the case even with
experienced pleaders. As to vulgar actions, those,
for instance, of one who grasjjs at a howl, or threatens
a blow, or expressing the number of five hundred,
by clenching the fist, though they have been taken
notice of by certain writers, yet 1 liavr not seen tin ni
practised by even the most awkward pleaders. Hut
i have often seen pleaders who advance their hand
eio high, as to tare their wlinl^- sid^-, while another

seems

566 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

seems deprived ot" power, to move it out of his
bosom ; another thursts it out to its full length ;
another stretches it above his head, another hiys so
about liiin, that it is unsafe to stand williin his reach;
another describes a large sweep with his left hand :
iiiiother, l>y throwing his hands about at random,
strikes the person who is nearest him ; or pushes
about so with his elbows, as if he wanted to clear
the bar. Some manage their hands with indolence
and tremor, while others seem to saw the air. Some
use their hands as if they had claws, by pawing
with them ; or moving them up and down. Others
affect the attitude of the statues of the Pacifier, by
inclining the head to the right shoulder, thrusting
out the arm almost in a line with their ear, ex-
panding the haiid, and inverting the thumb ; and
this they call, speaking in a commanding posture.

Let me add to those, all who twirl their fingers
whenever they think they have said somewhat that
is smart and sentimental ; or make signals with their
hand of what they speak ; or erect themselves upon
their tiptoes as often as they speak any thing they
are pleased with; though this last manner is some-
times allowable. But it becomes a blemish w hen it
is attended by thrusting up their fingers into the air,
or holding up one, or both, hands, as if they were
supporting a weight.

To these let me add, that ungracefulness that
does not arise from nature, but from disorder and
confusion. For example, when one frets at not
readily pronouncing a word, at a slip of the me-
mory, or when their presence of mind fails them.
Another hems and coughs as if somewhat stuck in
his windpipe ; another wipes his nose in a slovenly
manner ; another walks about so fast, that he seems
to leave his words behind him ; while another stops
short all at once, and, as it were, couits applause

from

RooeXI. of eloquence. 367

from the hearers, with a thousand other absurdities ;
for rvery sptuker lus his failures of action. Hut
above all things, a speaker never ought to thrust
his breast and Ultv tocj far rorward, becaiis' it
makes his hinder paits jet out, wliich is an indecent
posture.

The rootion of the sides oiigiit to conn^pond nith
the gesture, for there is a corresjxjudenee to Uc. ob-
served through all parts of the body ; nay, Cicero
$ays, that there is more in that than even in the
manaiJ'cmeiit of the hands. "• Let an orator (savs he
in his speaker) avoid all sjiglit of fingers, or keeping
time to his -words with his hands; let him address
himself bv a trraeeful swav of his whole body, and
a manly tlexibility of posture.

An orator who wants to express indi,2:nation, or to
rouse his audience, may with a very becoming- grace
strike his thiuh ; a practice w hicli is said to iiave
been first introduced into Athens by Cleon. In this,
Cicero thinks that Calidius was defective. '• He
was (says he in bis Brutus) a spiritless orator ; he
never struck either his forehead or his thigh, nay,
(which is tile least emotion an orator can show), he
never so much as stamped witli his foot." 1, how-
ever, ask leave to diller with my great master as to
the striking of the forehead ; for to cla|) the hands,
or to smite even the breast, is too theatrical in an
orator. It sehlom too is becoming to point with the
fingeisto the breast, while the hand is held hollow,
if we address ourselves in strains of encouragement,
reproaeh, or pity ; but if this ever should be proper,
the speakershoiild never bare his breast, or put aside
his Yrrh{\ As to the fet^t, we are to observe how we
fix and how we move them. To stand w ith the hand
and foot of the same side, arlvanred, is an ungraceful
attitude: we nuiv howt^ver sometimes sink a little
on the right foot, but then our chest ought to be

erect ;

368 QUINCIILIAN'S INSTITUTES Boot XI.

erect; and after all, there is somewhat in this pos-
ture that is more fitted to a player than an orator. It
is hkevvise ungraceful, when the left foot is advanced,
to raise or stand upon the tiptoes of the right. All
^tra(ldlinp|; is likewise indecent, and when attended
will) certain circumstances, is extremely so. If an
orator starts from his place, his sally ought to be
well timeil, shf>rt, and neither excessive nor frequent.
Some orators find a conveniency in walking, because
it employs the time, in which they cannot be heard
for the applauses that are given them. But Cicero
disapproves of walking too tVequently or too long.

Nothing can be more impertinent, than for an ora-
tor to he always tripping about, and as Domitius x'\fer
said of Sura jNlanlius, to run after a cause, instead
of pleading it. In like manner, Flavins Virginius,
the rhetoric-professor, asked a rival professor, who
had this custom, how many miles he had declaimed
that day ? It is a standing rule, while we are walk-
ing, never to turn our backs to the judges, but al-
ways to observe such an attitude, as to keep them
in our front. This, however, is not always prac-
ticable in private trials ; but there, the space for
moving about is more contracted, so that if the
orator "should turn from the judges, it can be but for
a moment.

We may however retire a little, without turning
from them ; but some are ridiculous enough to save
this indecorum, by jumping backwards. Cicero
approves of a well managed stamp of the foot, which
he says, ought to take place in the beginning, or end
of a dispute. To make a frequent practice of this,
is mighty foolish, and the judge pays no regard to it.
The shifting the feet, and swaying, as it were, from
right to left, is likewise very disagreeable.

But an effeminate action is, of all others, to be
avoided ; like to that, which Cicero tells us, Tityus

had,

Book Xt. OF ELOQUENCE. 369

had, to such a degree, that a dance was called after
his name. Some, too, have a very disagreeable way
of reeling hither and thither; a fault that was ridi-
culed in the elder Curio by Junius, who asked, what
he was who spoke from the cock -boat. There was a
good thing said j^y Sicinius upon a like occasion ;
for when Curio one day was tottering as usual, from
side to side, Sicinius came up to his colleague Octa-
vius, who. was swaddled up and bedaubed with
ointments for the g-out ; how much obliued are you,
says he, Octavius, to your colleague ; had he not serv-
ed you for a tly-tlap, the Hies would certainly have
eat you up by this time.

Some have a disagreeable way of shrugging up
their shoulders. Demosthenes is said to have cor-
rected this custom in himself, by standing while he
pronounced in a narrow kind of pulpit, with the
sharp point of a spear han^^ing down, and almost
touching his shoulder; so that if a shruij: happened
to escape him, he was put in mind of it by the jwint
of the spear.

An orator, in a public pleading, has a colourable
pretext lor walking ; because, when several judges
are upon the bench, he may address himself to each
separately, in order to make them more masters of
what he is saying. It is however intolerable to see
an orator, as many do, throw the lappet of his gown
over his shoulder, draw it down with his right hand,
and tuck it in at his waist, and all the while » mploy
his left hand in demonstrating, and talking to those
about him. This is the more indecent, as we ought
never to bare the left side, by bringing the gown too
far round tn the right. This leads me to speak of
a most impertinent custom, which some have, while
the noise of apjjlauding them continues, of wisp'*r-
ing some one in the ear, of joking with their com-
panions, and sometimes lookmg back to their cleiks,

VOL. II. B b with

370 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Xt

with an air of seir-satistUction, as it" bidding them
be sure to mark those who were loudest in their
applauses.

It is very allowable to incline a little towards tlic
juHi^e, when you want to inform him of a matter
tl^at is not quite so elear. l^ut it is very shameful
to lean upon the advocate for the other party. It
shows too much afl'ectation for a pleader to loll back,
and lie, as it were, supported by the hands of his
own clients, unless in case of necessity. A pleader,
likewise^ should never have occasion to be prompt-
ed too loudly, or to look too much into his papers.
All such practices take off from the force of speaking,
cool the attention, and make the judge thiidt him-
self slighted. It is likewise disagreeable to see a
pleader skip from bench to bench. Cassius Severus,
with a good deal of humour, used to require such
pleadei-s to be tied up in their stall. But I some-
times remark, that if such gentlemen set very briskly
out, they return very heavily back.

I am sensil)le that a great deal of what I have said
is useless to those who plead before a high tribunal,
which requires a different manner. For there, as
the seat is more elevated, the look must be more
erect, in order to reach the judge ; and many other
particulars are to be observed, that must occur, with-
out my pointing them out. 1 may make the same
remark of those pleaders who speak sitting (as w€
generally do in trifling causes), for then there is no
room for a spirited action, and it is necessarily sub-
ject to many imperfections, especially by olir being
obliged to sit on the left hand of the judge, by which
it is impossible for us to observe the propriety of
action in a direct line to the bench. To cure this,
1 have seen many pleaders rise up, as if to applaud
themselves, when they had finished a period, and
some of them even walk about ; but such I think

can

Bx?6K t\. t)F ELOQUENCE. 37 1

can scarcely be said to plead sittiusj, or even to plead
with decency.

I^t the orator I am now forming abhor to eat or
drink while he is pleading; though that I know
■was formerly the custom with many, and still is
with some. For if he cannot otherwise support tne
fatigue of pleading, it is no great matter if he never
is to plead. And indeed he never ought, if he can-
not do it, without debasing both himself and his
|>rofession. An orator has no peculiar habit; and
yet he ought to be properiy distinguished by his ap^
pearauce. His dress, therefore, should be noble
and manly, and such as becomes a person of rank.
But he is to be blamed, if he is either too finical, or
too careless about his robe, his shoes, or his hair.
Time introduces some alteration in this respect. The
antients had no plaits * on the bosom of their robes,
and those who used them first wore them very nar-
row : they therefore had their arm confined, like the
Greeks, within their robe ; therefore it is reasonable
to think they made use of an action very different
from our's, But I am speaking of the present dress.
An orator w1k> has not aright to wear the laticlave,
ought to take care the fore lappets of his robe reach
below his knee, and the hinder to his leg ; for to
drop them lower belongs to women, and to tuck
them higher to soldiers. It is easy to adjust the
purple borders of the augusticlave ; for to be too
slovenly sometimes gives offence. Thev who wear
the laticlave, wear it deeper than the robes that are
gathered round us. 1 would, by all means, have an

* The original here will be be«t understood by the inspection
of. antient statues, where we see the large plaits of the gown fall
upon the arm, and >^erve by wny of sleeve. Though great part
of what is here said is not applicable to English orators, yet I havo
translated it on account of the sa»t insight it gires us into the
Roman niauners.

orator

372 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

orator wear robes that are well cut out, and that sit
genteelly on his person, otherwise he must make a
very awkwaril figure*. A large fold towards the
middle of the robe, which does not reach so low,
at least, not lower than the border before, is very
graeefid. As to that part of the robe which is drawn
from under the right shoulder across the left, and
serves as a buckling, ■\ it ought neither to be drawn
too tight, nor to hang too loose. The lappet of the
robe which we afterwards gather in our hand, should
hang lower than the great fold, because thereby
it is more becoming, and less cumbersome. Some
part of the tunic likewise ought to be open before
to give a freer play to the arm ; then we may throw
the great fold across the shoulder ; and this is not
unbecoming when it is done to its full length. The
shoulders and the whole qf the breast ought not to
be quite covered, for that gives a scanty air to the
dress, and loses that manly gracefulness there is in
• a broad chest. The left arm ought to form a kind
of square with the body, and the robe should fall
from it in equal folds. The fingers should not be
loaded with rings, especially such rings as do not
go over the middle joint. The best way of manag-
ing the hand is to hold it in an easy, careless pos-
ture ; nor ought an orator to affect employing it too
much in looking into his notes, for that implies a
kind of diffidence in his memory, and embarrasses
great part in his action.

Our forefathers wore their gowns as the Greeks do
their cloaks, down to their heels. And this custom

* Somewhat here is both redundant and depraved in the origi-
nal : Ferrarius, who has written Detter tlian any author upon the
Roman habits, says he does not understand itj I therefore have
not translated it.

♦ f I have preserved this word, because the Romans actually
called this part of their dress the umbo, or the buckler.

was

Book XI. OF ELOQUENXE. 373

was recommended by Plotius and Nigidiiis, two an-
tient writers concerning the action of an orator. I
ain therefore surprised, that the second I'Jiny, a man
of great learning-, in a treat se of his, wherein he
di.s|)lays a scrupulous exactness upon this subject,
should think that Cicero wore his robe so iow in
order to conceal his bandv leg's, because we see the
statwes of them who hved since the time of Cicero,
habited in that very fashion. Nothiny; but want of

111 ^ '

health can excuse an orator from wearing a short
cloak over his robe, or a thick handkerchief round
his neck, or a quilted night-cap to cover his ears, or
bandages to wrap round his legs.

15ui all I have said upon dress, so far as it regards
action, ought only to be understood to relate to the
beginning of a pleading ; for when we proceed a lit-
tle way in spe-.iking, the folds will of themselves
drop from the shoukler ; and when we come to ar-
gue and reason, then we may toss the gown from
right to left, and adjust it as we think proper. It is
then we are at liberty to pluck it from our breast and
shoulders, for then we are too earnest to mind what
we do, and as the V(jic(,' gathers vehemence and va-
riety, so the robe too bears its share in fighting the
battle. Therefore, as the twisting the gown round
the left arm, or bindiu"- it like a girdle round the
body, denotes a degree of fury, and to be always
tossing it across our right shoulder betokens effenii-
nacv and delicacy, and as there are other (gestures
still worse, 1 see no reason why we ought not to
keep the loose fold under the left arm, {or I think
that attitude gives the sj)eaker an air of keenness and
quickness, and, at the same time, it marks a noble
emotion and a spirited action.

But when the pleadinu: draws near its close, and
when we have acquitted ourselves with success,
then almost every gesture becomes us ; even our

sweat,

374 QUINXTILIAN'S IN'STlTtJTES Book Xf.

sweat, our fatigur, our disordered dress, and our
gown, however loose, and almost dioppini; fmni our
back. 1 am therefore surprised, that the same Pliny
should take it into his head to enjoin an orator to
wipe the sweat from his brows with his handker-
chief, but so carefully as not to discompose his hair.
And in a following passage, he very properly, but
verv earnestly and severely, forbids him to take any
pains in dressing his hair. For my own part, 1
think the hair when discomposed and di.s<;rdered
gives the speaker an air of emotion, which has an
excellent effect, as if he was too much busied and
concerned to mind such matters. But if the folds
of an orator's gown should fall down just when he has
begun to plead, it would discover either careless-
ness or laziness, or stupidity, should he neglect to
re-adjust it.

Having now gone through and explained both the
beauties and blemishes of action, the orator who has
considered them all has great room for reflection.
He is to consider in the first place, what he is to
say, who are to be his judges, and who are to be
his hearers. Now as one style of language is more
proper for one cause or audience than another, we
may say the same thing of action. For the action
of our voice, hands, feet, and body, must differ
according as we speak before a sovereign, a senate,
a people, a judge, in a public or private trial, or in
a friendly remonstrance. This difference may be
easily understood by any man who seriously consi-
ders the subject upon which he is to speak, and the
end he ought to aim at.

The subject requires four considerations. The
first relates to the general complexion of a cause,
whether it requires a melancholy, a gay, a careful,
a careless, a grand, or a little manner ; nor ought
we ever to bestow so much pains upon any one part

of

Book XT. OF ELOQUENCE. 376

of it, as to make us lose sight of its general ten-
dency. The second consideration regards the dif-
ferent parts of the pleading, 1 mean a just expres-
sion fitted throughout to the introduction, the nar-
rative, the reasoning, and the winding up. The
third regards sentiments, which in tiie delivery ought
to be varied as circumstances and passions require.
The fourth lies in single expressions ; and here, as
it is a blemish to attend each of them by an imita-
tion of what we say, so many things will lose their
force, unless they are explained by a proper
action.

When we pronounce panegyrics (I do not mean
funeral orations), a return of thanks, an exhortatory
discourse, or the like, the action ought to be free,
yet grand and sublime. It requires to be melan-
choly and submissive in funeral orations, in conso-
lations, and generally, in pleading for an impeached
party ; before the senate we ought to preserve re-
spect, before the people dignity, and in private
causes moderation.

The several divisions of a pleading, the different
and numerous sentiments and expressions to be em-
^ ployed in each, require a more thorough considera-
tion. Action has three purposes ; to conciliate, to
persuade, and to move, and the natural result of all
the three is deliijht. An orator conciliates a iudsje
by the gentleness and purity of his manners, which
are, as it were, seen, 1 know not how, in his speech
and behaviour, or he succeeds by the mere charms
of his ('lo(juence. Persuasion is effected by a cer-
tain positive manner, which is sometimes stronger
than proof itself. Said Cicero to Callidius, " were
your charge true, would you enforce it so coldly?"
And in another ))assage, " he was (says he) so far
froin inflaming oiu* passions, that we scarce could
keep ourselves from sleeping." An orator, there-
fore,

376 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Booi XI.

ioro, ought tosprak coiifulcntly iuul resolutely, espe-
oaliy if lio has grounds for what he says. A judgo
or a hearer is moved by a just expression of the
passions, and hy the speaker either feeling or seem-
ing to feel wliat he says.

When the judge in a private cause, or the crier
of the court in a public, calls us up to speak, we
ought to rise leisurely from our seat, and take some
time in surveying, and if needfid, atljusting our
dress ; both that it may appear more decent, and
that we may gain some time to think upon what we
are to say. But when we are to speak before the
sovereign, before a great officer of state, or an a\\«
fui tiibunal, this is not allowable; but, upon all oc-
casions, the attention and regard paid by an orator
to a court gives wonderful delight to the audience,
and disposes the judge himself in his favour. Ho-
mer, in the exam})le of Ulysses, recommends this
manner ; for he says, " that he fixed his eyes upon
the ground without moving his set ptre," before he
poured out that torrent of eloquence which followed.
in this hesitation there are certain dilatory trifles,
Avhirh, to speak in the language of the stage, are
far fiom being ungraceful preparatives to action ;
such as stroaking down the face, looking at the
fingers, making one hand pass over another, seem-
ing to make an essay to speak, and sometimes be-
traying a visible concern about what we are to say,
or whatever best suits the speaker, and which may
continue till we see the attention of the judgo
fixed.

The y)G8ture of the speaker's body ought to be
erect, his feet at a little distance, but upon the same
line, or the left a very little advanced, and his knees
in a straight, but not in a stiff'posture. His shoulders
ought to have an easy fall ; his look should be
•serious, but neither melancholy, stupid, nor Ian-*

guid.

Book XL OF ELOQUENCE. 377

giiid. His arms should be diseng'afiod, and his left
iiai)d ill tl)c posture 1 have aheady described. As
to his right hand, when he is about to speak, he
should move it a little from his body, vvith a gentle
sway, as if expecting when he is to brgin. Some
are absurd enough to toss tiieir hearts aloft» to rub
their beard, ami to put on a brazen face, by assum-
ing an air of impudence ; while othtis stroke their
hair back, to give their look the greater sternness,
and unnaturally make it rise on end, till they
seem quite frightful. Otheis, as is conunon with
the Greeks, seem to c(»n over, on the ends of their
fingers, what th<-y are to say, and nccompany it
vvith motions cA their lips, or fall a coughing, thrust-
ing one of their feet out, gathering up part of their
robe with th( ir left hand, and either standing stiff
or motionless, or crouching v\iih their shoulders
above their ears, hke a boxer watching his oppor-
tunity.

The introduction of a pleading most commonly
requires a gentle delivery. For nothing is more
proper than modesty is to conciliate the aflections.^
i3ut this is not always the case, for as 1 have al-
ready observed, ail introductions are not to be deli-
vered in the same manner. In general, however,
they suit best with a calm voice, and a modest ges-
ture, the robe flung over the shoulder, the body
gently swaying to both sides, and both eyes directed
to the same object.

The narrative requires the hand to 1)0 more ad-
vanced, the robe to be fall* n from the shoulder, the
gesture to be marked, the voice to have a Cijnver-
sible tone, only a little more elevated, but still upon
one key. But 1 mean this only to be understood of
puch narratives as run in the follow ing strain :
*' Quintus Ligarius then, before there was any ap-
pearaiice of a war, went as lieutenant-general uiukr
2 Cat us

57S QUINCTTLTAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

Caius Confidius into Africa." " Or Aiilus Cliien-
tius Habitus, the father oi my cheiit."

Some narratives require a more passionate and
spirited cxi)rcssion ; for example, " the «tep-dame
marries her son-in-law." Some require a mournful
pronunciation ; as the following ; " There was ex-
hibitetl in the market place of Laodic^ea, a most
cruel spectacle, a spectacle that all Asia had reason
to curse."

As to proofs, they require great variety of action.
All that part of them which consists in stating, di-
viding, and questioning, suits with the conversible
manner, as dt)es the resuming our adversary's objec-
tions. And yet there is some diversity even in this
manner, b<XLUise we pronounce some things in con-
tempt, and others in imitation.

When we reason, our action generally should be
more active, jx)inted, and earnest ; and our gesture
suited to our purpose, 1 mean 'strong and quick ;
nay, sometimes it sh^nlld rise to rapidity.

Digressions are most commonly gentle, smooth,
and flowing: witness, when Cicero mentions the
rape of Proserpine, describes Sicily, or j)raises Pom-
pey. And, indeed, there is some reason in this, for
we are not to express great earnestness in matters
that are detached from the main question. Imita-
tion requires a manner, that upon another occasion
might be blameable, because it affects carelessness ;
for example, " 1 think 1 still see some crowding in,
others crowdinof out, some staoo:enn£: under what
they had drank to day, others yawning from what
they drank the day before." Here a gesture is
allowable, agreeable to the expression, a slight
pointing to both sides, but all to be performed by the
hstmh without any participation of the body.

Various are the means by which we fire the
judges. The highest and the sharpest strain which

any

Book XI. OF ELOQUENCE. 579

any orator can use for this purpose is, when Cicero
in his pleading for Ligarius says, " After the war,

0 Cajsar, was bcLj^un, after its opemtions were ad-
vanced.^'* J'V.)r he said inuuediatelv before, " While

1 plead at \our tribunal ; and I could wish my voice
would serve me to be heard on this subject by all
the peoj)le of Home," The following is spoken in a
less severe and more mellow tone ; " For what, O
Tubero, was the meaning of thy naked sword in the
ranks of Pharsalia?" When he savs, " But in a full
assembly of the Roman people, vested with a pub-
lic character," the voice is more full, slow, and
softened ; every vowel must be then strongly express-
ed and dwelt upon, so that nothing may be lost in
the pronunciation. " You, ye Alban mounts and
groves, 1 implore and attest," requires a more majes-
tic manner ; while nothing but harmony flows in ;
" Rocks and deserts are respondent to the voice.'^
The above are so many instances of that play of
voice, that management of tones, for which De-
mosthenes and it^schines reproached each other, liut
that circumstance is no argument against their Ix^ing
used ; because, that they were used by both is plain
from their mutual reproaches ; for when Demos-
thenes swore by theshadesof those heroes who perish-
ed at Marathon, Platea, and Salamis, and when .^s-
chines deplored the fate of Thebes, we are not to sup-
pose they spoke in their ordinary toneof conversation.

Besides those tones there is one which is a little,
as it were, supernatural, by being without the com-
pass of the voice, and is, by the Greeks, called the
bitter tone. When Cicero in his pleading for Ra-
birius says to the clamorous populace, '* Peace,
peace, — your bellowing oi»ly shews what fools, and
how few, ye are." 'I'he two first words are supposed,
to be spoken in a tone of voice, which comes under
none of the denominations J have mentioned.

As

S50 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

As to the windiii!^ up of a ploadini^-, clearness and
conciseness are all that is required, it" it contains
only a re»\'»pituration of facts and pnjpositions. If
it is intended to arcmse the judges, we must employ
some one ot the manners 1 have already described ;
if to soften them, the voice must be smooth and
gentle ; if to touch them with compassion, we must
apply a flexibility, a mournful sweetness of voice,
which nature gives to every one, and which she has
modulated for compassion. For we see even or-
phans and widows, when attending the funerals of
their parents or husbands, bemoan their loss with a
kind of mournful melody. That cloudiness of
voice, which Cicero says Antonius the orator pos-
sessed, is wonderfully well adapted to this, and
ought to be studied.

Compassion, hovvever, is of two sorts : one is in-
tended to excite hatred; such as the compassion
for the Roman citizen, whom I mentioned to have
been whipped by the command of Verres. The
other is attended with deprecation and supplication
only. Therefore, though the words " In an assem-
bly of the Roman people," are to be |>ronounced
wilh a kind of darkened harmony, and not in a
scolding tone; and though when Cicero said, " Ye
Alban mounts and groves;'' he spoke them neither
with an exclamatory nor an invocatory voice, yet he
employed a much greater compass o{ modulation,
and greater powers of voice, when he said, " Wretch,
unhappy wretch that I am !"— And, " How shall I
answer it to my children r" — " Could you, Milo,
by these, recal me to my country ? And by these,
shall I be unable to retain you in your's ?" And
when he sells the estate of Caius Rabirius for a sin-
gle sesterce, he adds, " Cruel, detestable proclama-
tion 1" An excellent effect likewise is produced by
ail orator's seeming to faint at the close of a pleads

mg,

Book XT. OF ELOQUENCE. 33 1

insT, through grief and fatigue. Thus Cicero, in
pleading lor Milo, says, ** Here mnst I stoj) ; my
tears deny utterancv to mv tonojue, and the com-
mands of Milo torbiil the intercession of my tears."
Here tlie pronunciation should agree with tlie sense.
As to the other incidents usually attending this part
of pleading, such as encouraging the accused, holding
up children, briniiing relations nito court, 1 have al-
ready mentioned them in the proper place. J shall
only observe farther, that there is somewhat peculiar
in every part of a pleadin«:, it is plain, as 1 have al-
ready said, we ouuht, through all tluit variety, always
to adapt the voice to the meaning and s( iitiment.

Nay, single words sometimes, not always, require
the same attention ; poverty, wretchedness, should
be pronounced with a sinking, faltering voice. When
we say that such a man is brave, that another is
terrible, and another is a villain, every character is
to be pronounced with a strong, spirited tone. The
manner of jjronouncing gives a force and propriety
to words, which they otherwise would not have.
Nay without it, they might carry a cpiite ditferent
meaning, iiy changins: the pronunciation, the same
words may express atiinriation, reproach, denial,
astonishment, indignation, interrogation .durision, and
contempt. When Virgil makes yEolus say, Thou
gavest me what I have. His shepherd says, in
singing thou his match? - In another place of the
y^^^neid, one says, thou that 7E,neas ! — And Turnus
says to Drances, thou call me coward ? inn every
thou, reqinres to be pronounced in n peculiar man-
ner, in order to give the meaning intended by the
poet. But not to take np Uiv reader's time, any
man may consult himself upon these, or any other
examples. \\h« rein t: e •-anie words re(]uiro vari4«n^
expressions, and he will find what i s.iy to be true.

i iiave

582 QLINCTILIANS INSTITUTES Book. X!.

1 have one. ohscrvation farther to make, which is,
tluitgiao't Illness is tlic rhiet pro|^erty of action ; bnt
tl^'s ^raceluhiess has scleral chanicters and expres-
sions; lor one does not snit every man. It is certain,
gracernlness is toiinded upon a principle which we
ran neither express nor account for ; and though it
is true, that our chief business is to aim at the
graceful, yet it is as true, that there is an art in
attaining to this graceful ; and yet we cannot by art,
attain to the whole of it. In some people virtue
appears ungraceful, while in others even vice is
agreeable.

The two best players 1 ever saw upon the stage, I
mean Demetrius and Stj-atocles, had <juite opposite
charactei"s of action. But this was the less surpris-
ing, because the one excelled in tlie character of a
gou, a young gentleman, an indulgent father, a slave,
a matron, or an old woman. The other was incom-
parable in that of a peevish, crabbed, old man, an
arch cunning knave, a parasite, a pander ; in short,
in all characters that recjuired exertion and activity.
Now nature had given each of them a difierent cast:
there was sweetness in the voice of Demetrius, and
power in that of Stratocles. But each had peculiar
and personal properties that chiefly engaged my at-
tention. Demetrius was wonderfullv graceful in the
management of his hand, in a sweet expression of
surprise, which he affected the more, because it
always charmed the audience, in that artful disorder
with which he came upon the * stage ; and in his
inimitable attitudes, when he threw himself into a
profile ; in all such parts of action none could come
near him ; for besides art, he had the advantage of a
just stature, and a most beautiful person.

* The arlgmal implies that his robes were swelled by the wind.

The

Book XL OF ELOQUENCE. 383

The other excelled in tripping along the stage ; in
a perpetual restlessness of body ; in a peculiarity of
iaugli, which he knew never failed to take with the
people, and in an arch way of sinking his head
between his shoulders.

But if the one attenipteil any of the parts in which
die other excelled, he did it most vilely. An ora-
tor's great art, therefore, is to know himself, and in
forming his action to consult not only the rules of
art but his own genius. And yet there is no im-
possil)ility for one man to excel in several, nay in
all characters of action.

J shall close this book as I have done others, by
cautioning my readers against excess in every thing,
and recommending a mean. 1 am not forming a
player but an orator. We are not to observe every
trifling prettiness of gesture ; we are not to torment
ourselves about marking every point, every pause,
and emphasis of speech, as if we were pronouncing
the following passage from the Eunuch of Terence,
*' What then shall 1 do ? Not go ? No — but she invites
me — That is nothing — I'll pluck up a spirit; I'll be
no Ioniser the slave of a whore — as she is." Here
the player is to observe every stop, every doubt,
every variation of voice, with every motion of the
hand and head. But this is not the business of an
orator. He must not descend to such littlenesses ;
he is to plead and not to mimic. Away then with
all mouthino: expressions, all fmical gestures, all
studied mechanism of voice, which swell, disgrace,
and break oratorial action. Well mi^ht our old ora-
tors borrow a Greek [)hra?e to express this maimer,
and which we have from Poj)ilius Lena, who calls
it the action of puppets. Let ns therefore, in this,
as in all other parts of an orator's ])ractice, follow
the excellent precepts laid down by Cicero, through
different parts of his works, where he treats of elo-
3 quence.

381

QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI.

qiiencc, and to which 1 am indebted for great part
of what I have said on this subject. I3ut a spirited,
theatrical action is in vogue at present ; nay, it is
called for, and in some cases, it is not unbecoming ;
but it ought to be carefully managed, lest while we
aim at the pleasing prettinesses of the player, we
lose the amiable character of the gentleman, the man
of sense, and the man of honour.

QUINCTILIANS

aUINCTILIAN^S INSTITUTES

Of

ELOQUENCE.

BOOK XII.

INTRODUCTION.

I NOW proceed to that part of my work which is
by far of the greatest importance. Could 1 when I
first entered upon it, have conceived any idea of
those difficulties under which 1 am now almost sink-
ing, I should long erenow have consulted my own
ability. But at first 1 only considered myself as
obliged in honour to make good what I promised.
As I proceeded, 1 found difficulties growing on both
hands ; but still that i might not lose what I had
already done, 1 was resolved to conquer them. \u)r
this reason, though I am now more oppressed than
ever with the burthen, yet I will rather sink under
it, than abandon it, since 1 am now within sight of
the end of my labour.

I deceived myself by taking my pupil up so early
as I did. A flattering gale made me proceed on my
vovatre. While 1 dwelt onlv on i)oints and matt(>rs
that were known and common to other writers, I

VOL. ii. c c considered

S^(^ QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Bock mi,

considered myself as beiut;' still near the shore, and
took mv ehance with those who conuiiitteil them-
selves to the same breezes. J3ut when 1 came to
launch out into the doctrines and prineipK s of elo-
cution, snhjerts but lately found out, and but seldom
attenuated, 1 i'ound u)V self out of sight of land, and
almost unaceomi)anietl in my voyage. And now
that 1 have brought my pupil to be an orator, now
that he is obliged no longer to attend the schools of
eloquence, now that he soars upon his own pinions,
and can reach those heights, where lie can be in-
structed in the school of wistlom herself, I begin
now to be srnsible in what a boundless ocean 1 have
sailed, and to say with the poet,

There's nought but air and billows to be seen.

In this boundless tract 1 can however discern the
vessel of C'icero, which was capacious, strong, and
well equipped, when he set out upon his voyage,
yet when he entered tjiis ocean, he contracted his
sails, he lay by with his oars, and thouoht it suiii-
cient that he had discovered that kind of eloquence,
which Avas proper for a complete orator. Hut I
boldly venture to examine his manners, and to pre-
scribe his duties. In this 1 have no guide to follow,
for I must proceed farther than my great master has
thought proper to go. But still an honest intention
is commendable, and we never venture so little, as
when we are sure to be pardoned if we fail.

CHAF.

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 287

CHAP. 1.

*
THAT NONE BUT A GOOD MAN CAN BE A FINISHED ORATOR.

Several arguments brought to support this proposition- — The moral*
of Cicero and Demosthenes vindicated — An address to )Oung
gentlemen — Objections answered that he himself has laid down
rules for imposing upon thehearer — That it may not be inconsist-
ent with the character of a virtuous man sometimes to defend
a bad cause.

Let the orator, therefore, whom 1 have thus
formed, be at once a man of virtue and eloquence,
and tlms he will answer the definition given of him
by Marcus Cato. Here, the first character in the
nature of things is, the most excellent and amiable.
Were a wicked man to be armed with eloquence,
society could have no such pest. Nor ought 1 to
shew my face to mankind, if after all the pains 1
liave taken for the service of eloquence, I should
furnish a robber and not a st)ldier with her arms and
artillery. But what do 1 speak of myself? When
nature, that indulgent mother, endowed man with
speech, to distinguish him from other creatures, she
would have acted the part not of a parent, but a
tyrant, had she intended that eloquence should herd
with wickedness, oppose innocence, anddestroy truth.
It had been more kind in licr to have ordered man
to be born mute, nay, void of all reason, rather
than that he should employ the gifts of providence to
the destruction of his neighbour.

l]ut my judgment carries me still further, for I
not only alhrm that a complete orator must be a
good man, but that no other than a good man can
be a compute orator; and 1 prove it thus: where the
paths of virtue and vice are equally discernable, eau

wc

383 QUIKCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES. Book XII.

we suppose a man to be endowed witli understand-
ing, it' lie shall eh use to follow the latter ? Can wo
suppose a man to possess common sense, who shall,
for want ot" consideration and foresight, expose him-
self to most severe punishments, often of law, always
of conscience. Now, if it is held as an undoui)ted
maxim not only by the wise, but by the; vulgar, that
a man cannot be wicked, unless he is foolish ; how
can a fool be an orator ^ Let me observe farther,
that unless the mind is free from all kinds of wicked-
ness, it is impossii)le for her to be in a disposition
proper to study this amiable art. l^ccause in the
first place, virtue can have no fellowship with wicked-
ness in the same breast. And it is as impossible for
the mind to apply to aspire after honesty and villainy
at the same time, as it is for a rnan to be at the same
time virtuous and a villain. In the second place,
when the mind applies to so important a study, it
ought to be void of all other, even the most innocent
concerns. For then, and only then, it can be disen-
gaged and unencumbered enough, freely to devote
itself to its favourite study.

If too great an attention to our persons, our estates,
or family concerns, to the pleasures of the chase, or
to public diversions, at which we spend whole days,
are vast avocations from every kind of study (and
we are to consider, that all the time we bestow upon
any other pursuit is lost to this study), what must be
the consequence if we dedicate ourselves to the pur-
suits of inordinate ambition, avarice, and revenge?
Vices that haunt us even in our dreams, and break
in upon our slumbers. For nothing is so distracted
with business, nothing is so persecuted, nothing so
tormented with conceptions and apprehensions, as a
wicked conscience. While it is hatching the ruin
of another, itself is under the torture of uncertainty,
anxiety, and dread. Nay, even when it is successful

JOOK

Xir. OF ELOQUENCE. 3S^

in iiii(iuity, it feels every anguish of disquiet, re-
morse, terror, and expectation of the most dreadful
punishments. While it is stretched upon such a
rack, can it have leisure to apply to letters, or a libe-
ral art ? No, that is as impossible as it is for the
uncultured field, over-run with weeds and brambles,
to yield a plentiful crop of corn. Let me pursue
this reasoning farther: without temperance, can we
coiKjuer the hardships of study ? Then how can we
do it if we devote ourselves to lust and luxury ? Is
not our love of glory the chief incentive to the study
of learniuGr ? And can that virtuous ambition sub-
sist in a wicked mind ? Does not daily experience
convince us, that the chief business of an orator
consists in handling matters of equity and justice?
And can we suppose, that a man full of iniquity and
injustice, can do that with a dignity suitable to the
subject? But to cut this topic short; granting the
worst and the best of men to possess the same degree
of capacity, application and learning, which of them
Avill be accounted the best orator ? undoubtedly the
best man. It follows theretbre, that a bad man can
never be an all-accomplished orator; for it is iinpos-
«ible for a man to be all-accomplished in an art, if
another is more accomplished in it than he.

But in order to avoid the imputation thrown upon
the followers of Socrates, that I start objectiorts and
answer them as 1 please ; let me suj)pose a man to
be so hardened against the truth, that he shall ven-
ture to affirm, that when a bad and a good man
possess the same de2:rees of capacity, application
and learning, they will be equally good orators ? I
shall now proceed to convince him of his absurdity.
It is certain that the chief business of every orator
is, to lay down such propositions, as to a jurlge
shall appear to be fair, equitable, and virtuous. But
which will succeed best in this, the virtuous or the

Avicked

390 QUfNCTlLIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XIT.

wicke^l man ? 'I'he virtuous iindcnibtcclly ; and he-
cause he is h(St ac(]uaintetl with honesty, the more
will his jjleading- partake of it. 1 shall l)y and by
shew it may possibly happen, that a virtuous orator
may be obligt'd by his duty to advance what is not
strietly true ; but granting even that to be the case,
it is certain he will be more readily believed, than he
would be, if he was known to be a worthless fellow.
Such a one has too great a contempt for reputation ;
he is too insensible of the value of virtue, to be
always able to preserve even appearances. Hence it
is that we find such men perpetually laying down
propositions without probability, and enforcing them
without decency ; and finding themselves unable to
n)ake thejn good, they have recourse to frontless im-
pudence, and bootless obstinacy. For as in their life,
so in the causes they undertake, they entertain ex-
travagant hopes.

But the worst of all is, that they are often not
believed, even when they happen to speak truth ;
and the character of the pleader prejudices the cause.

1 am now to answer certain objections, that are
pushed with all the force of vulgar breath, and are
not more clamorous than unjust. Say they, you do
not then allow Demosthenes to have been a good
orator, fur we are informed that he was a very worth-
less man ? You pluck the palm of eloquence from
Cicero, whose morals and conduct are generally con-
demned. Doughty o1)jections indeed ! My answer
may shock the gentleman; it is therefore proper, that
1 should prepare their ears to receive it.

In the first place then, I see no reason for laying
such a load upon the character of Demosthenes, or
for believing all the slander that has been raked to-
gether against him by his enemies ; when I have it
from undoubted authority, that he performed great
and glorious services to his country, and that he

died

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 391

iliecl like a man of courage and virtue. Neither can
1 lind the character ot Cicero deticieut in the duties
of an excellent patriot. V\'itness his unparalleled
glory as a consul ; his blameless government as a
magistrate ; his crushing the project of governing
the republic by twenty senators, though he himself
was to have been of the number; witness his cou-
rage w hich was proof both against hopes and fears,
in declaring for that party, v» hich was in the interest
of their country, during all those dreadful civil wars,
which br(jkc out in his life-time. Some have ac-
cusetl him of pusillaniniitv, but to tliis he himself
gives an excellent answer, that this was not pusil-
lanimity, but j)rudence, and that he was not li^ar-
ful in encountering danger, though he was cautious
in guarding against it. And he made this defence
gO(xl in his death, which he met and suffered with
an undaunted spirit.

if I am asked, how can they be orators, since it
is certain they were not completely virtuous ? My
answer shall be pretty much the same with that of
the stoics, who, when they are asked whether Zeno,
Cleanthes, and Crysippiisi, were wise men, make an-
swer. That they were indeed great and venerable
men, but that they did not attain to the perfection
of virtue. Nav, Pythawras himself would not,
like others liefore him, assume to himself the deno-
mination of a wise man, but a lover of wisdom. In
conformity therefore, to the received usages of
speaking, I have often said, and will always say,
that Cicero is a perfect orator, in the same sense as
we call our friends men of consummate virtue
and wisdum, thoui^h it is a character that is strictly
applicable only to.tiie trnly wise ; and no such man
exists.

But, that I mav conform mvself to the strictness
of language and truth, the orator 1 speak of i> such

SyS aUlNCTJLIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII

fin orator as Cicero liimsclf souplit after. For though
1 readily aekiunvKclge, that he stood upon tlie sum-
mit, and tliougli 1 scarce think it possible to have
added any thing to his eloquence, yet, perhaps, I
may be of opinion, that sonic thing might have been
retn nched from it. For it is the general 0{)inion of
learned men, that though the elo(|Ucnce of Cicero
had a great many beauties, yet it had some ble-
mishes ; nay, he hinisrlf tells us, that he greatly
restrained the luxuriancy of his youthful manner.
Ijut as he never arrogated to himself, though h«
knew his own value, the epithet of wise, had he
lived longer, or in more peaceable times, he cer-
tainly would have improved his eloquence. 1 do him
therefore no injustice in thinking that he did nol
reach that summit of perfection, which none ever
approached so near to as himself.

Jf I abridged somewhat of this character, I could
defend myself with still greater freedom. Marcus
Antonius said, that he had never seen a man of elo-
quence, and that surely comes not near to my cha-
racter of Cicero. Even Cicero himself declares,
that he had never met with such a man ; that he
had only formed him in idea and imagination. And
shall I venture to pronounce, that through all the
eternity of ages yet to come, an orator may not
arise, whose eloquence shall surpass that of Cicero.
1 shall take no advantage of the opinions of some,
who even derogate from the merits of both Cicero
and Demosthenes. Nay, Cicero himself did not
think that Demosthenes was, in every respect, per-
fect : for he says, that he sometimes nods ; and
Brutus and Calvus certainly found fault with Ci-
cero's composition, even to his face. The two
Asinii, father and son, are in many places very se-
vere, nay, bitter against the blemishes of his style.
But I shall grant, what is scarce probable in the

nature

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 593

nature of things, that a \vicked man may be elo-
quent, even in the highest degree ; yet 1 must deny
that such a man is an orator, for the same reason as
I deny that tlie man who is ahvays ready to
quarrel and to fight, is a man of courage ; be-
cause 1 think courage always implies virtue. In the
man whom we employ to defend our life and pro-
perty, do we not require honesty, that is not to be
corrupted with avarice, biassed by favour, or shaken
by fear ? Shall we give the sacred name of orator
to a traitor, a coward, and a trickster?

But if we require common honesty, as it is called,
even in indifierent advocates, why may we not sup-
pose an orator to arise (though none such has arisen
yet) whose morals, like his eloquence, shall be per-
fect ? For 1 do not attempt to form my orator to
be a meek bustler at the bar ; a noisy proistitute for
hire, nor (that 1 make use of softer terms) a good,
useful man in business ; or, in other words, an ex-
cellent barrister. ISIy orator njust possess every
beauty of genius, and every excellency ot nature.
He must be comjiletely master of every fine art :
he must be sent down from heaven to mankind,
with perfections greater tlian ever were known to
former times ; matchless in his virtues, accom-
plished in his practice, his sentiments glorious, and
his elocution divine.

How well is such a man fitted to protect iimo-
cence, to check the attempts of guilt, to dttect
practices and collusions in ])ecuniary matters ? But,
though his influence and abilities upon such occa-
sions are great and decisive, yet his character never
can shine forth with so much advantage, as whevi
he directs the counsels of the senate, and red.iims
the people from headstrong rage. Does not \'irgil
seem to have such a man in his eye, n lien he in-

:i troduces

.19 !• QUTKCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XI f.

tnxluccs tho calnuT of a people's madnoss, wliik*
tliey iiuliscriiniiiately toss about stoni'S and fire-
brands ;

Hut lot them see a worthy patriot near,

They stand in silence, and with rev'rence hear.

Here, we see the fust quality is virtue and wisdom ;
then the poet adds eloquence ;

So smooth he reasons, yet so strongly charms ;
They quit their fury, and resign their arms.

Even in the field and in time of danger, when
the soldiers stand in need of encouragement, such
an orator as 1 am endeavouring to form, will draw
his eloquence from the very sources of wisdom her-
self, l^or how is it possible, when they are march-
ing to an engagement, to make them forget so many
fears of dwiger, pain, and even of death itself, but
by substituting in their place the most striking sen-
timents of piety and fortitude, with the loveliest
and liveliest images of virtue? Can any man suc-
ceed so well in persuading others, as the man who
is sincerely persuaded himself. Let deceit be ever
so well guarded, yet some time or other, it will
betray itself; and no man had ever yet such com-
mand of elocution, as not to stammer and stop,
when his lips did not speak the language of his
heart. For a bad man in such cases must neces-
sarily speak very differently from his real sense.
But a virtuous man never can be at a loss for vir-
tuous expressions, or for a flow of the noblest sen-
timents ; because he is a wise man at the same
time. Granting that sometimes they are not be-
dizened with art, yet their own nature renders them
beautiful, and the sentiment that is brave and
honest vvill never want for dignity of language to
cloath it.

Let

Book XlT. OF ELOQUENCE. S95

Let every young man therefore, nay, every man
of us, for it never is too late to do well, apply to
those divine attainments with all the powei"s of our
mind. Let them be our only purpose ; who knows
but we may succeed ? For, if nature has made it
possible for one man to be virtuous, and another to
be eloquent, why may not one man unite both ?
And why should not every one believe it possible
that he is the man ? Jkit though we should not
arrive at that point of perfection, yet still the nearer
we approach to it, we are the more valuable. Mean-
while let us shake off that groundless opinion, that
eloquence, the fairest cift of heaven, can ever be
reconciled to immorality. No ; should a wicked
man be eloquent, then eloquence herself becomes
wickedness; because she furnishes that man with
the means of being more wicked ; and a bad man
will be sure to use them.

Some 1 know prefer eloquence to virtue ; and I
think 1 hear such gentlemen saying, is eloquence
then so artful ? Did not you yourself lay down
some prece})ts for colouring a bad, and for dt^fend-
ing a doubtful, causer Nay, did you not hinta t
destrovinof the force of undoubted evidence ? To
what purpose was all this, if you did not mean that
eloquence was sometimes to overpower truth ? Ac-
cordincT to vou, a man of virtue will ensraoe only in
virtuous causes; and in such causes, truth will al-
ways of herself be powerful enough, without the as-
sistance of art.

1 will first answer those gentlemen, in defence of
what 1 advanced in the first part of tliis work, and
then I wilj, satisfy the conscience of every virtuous
man who may happen to be employed to defend the
guilty. Now, it is of great service for any man at
the bar, to know how to handle the defence of false-
hood, nay, sometimes to speak on the side of in-

Ju'jtice.

*96 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Xlf.

justice, wcve it only because he is thereby enabled
more reaiiily to detect the one, and refute the other.
For a man will apply a remedy more successfully,
if he knows what remedies have been unsuccessful.
Nay, though the academics used to speak on both
Rides of the same question, yet for all that, we are
not to conclude that they were men of abandoned
principlt^s. Even the famous Carneades was not a
wicked man, though we are told that, in the hear-
ing of Cato the Censor, he spoke against virtue with
as nmch force of argument as he made use of
when he spoke for it the day before. For wicked-
ness, by being contrasted with virtue, illustrates the
beauties of virtue. Justice appears more strongly
when she is opposed to injury; and many other
qualities are proved by their contraries. Upon the
whole, therefore, an orator, as well as a general,
ought to be well acquainted with all the force and
stratas^ems of his enemy.

Even that proposition, which appears at first so
shocking, that a virtuous man in defending the
cause he has undertaken, will sometimes disguise
the truth fit)m the judge; even this proposition, I
say, may be defended. The wisest philosophers of
all ages, as well as 1, believe that most actions of
our life are justifiable or condemnable by the inten-
tion and not the fact. 1 hope, therefore, it will
not be surprising, if 1 maiiitain the same doctrine.
To kill a man is sometimes virtuous, nay sometimes
it is iiiglily glorious, even to sacrifice our own chil-
dren. And things that are still more shocking to be
spoken, may become allowable when public neces-
sity requires them to be done. We are ^ot there-
fore to take up with the single consideration of the
quality of the cause which a virtuous man is en-
gaged to defend, without enquiring into his inten-
tions and reasons for so doing. For, in the first

place..

l?ooK XTT. OF ELOQUENCE. 597

placo, ail mankiiui, nay, the most rigid stoics must
grant, that sometimes a very shght cause may justify
the best of men in tcUing a lie. For instance, sup-
posing' a boy to be sick, do we not, in order to con-
tribute to his recovery, tell him a thousand fictions,
and make him a thousand promises we never in-
tend to pertbrm ? Suppose one knows that a man
has a mind to nuirder another, may he not employ
a falsehofid to save his neighbour's life ? Are we
not justified in out-reaching an enemy, wlien our
country is in dan;2:er ? Nay, may not a case be so
circumstanced, that the thing that in a slave would
be blameable, in a wise man may become com-
mendable ?

'Ihose principles being laid down, I can conceive
a great many causes to happen, in which an orator,
as a man of virtue, may engage himself ; though he
would have nothing to do with them, were it not
for the honesty of the intention, and the utility of
the purpose. I do not apply what I say here, as if
lie was to dispense with the rules of severity only in
defending a feather, a brother, or a friend in dangtT ;
thouah even here there may be some hesitation be-
tween justice, on the one side, and aflection on thd
other. But 1 speak in general, of all causes in
which the intention is to bo considered. Suppo-
sing a man to be impeached for attempting the life
of a tyrant, would not my orator wish to save such
a man ? And, if he undertook his defence, will he
not be justified in employing as many means of im-
position as the party does who Is employed against
him ? Supposinu^ in this very ease, that my ora-
tor knows the judge will, without any other consi-
deration, condemn the man merely upon the face
of the fact if it should be proved, is he not to en-
deavour to disprove the fact, if that is the only mean
by which he can save the life of an innocent, nay,

a well

39S QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII;

a well deserving citizen ? We may say the same of
all like cases. Let iiiesiii)i)o.se farther, that a mea-
sure in its own nature is right, but at a certain pub-
lic conjuncture, we know that if executed it must
be prejudicial to our country, are we not, in such
a case, to employ all the powers of rhetoric to dis-
suade it ? Though, in so doing, however virtuous
our intention may be, yet in our eloquence we must
employ imjustifiable art.

1 shall here just mention, that if it is possible to
reclaim the wicked to a right way of thinking, as
doubtless it sometimes is, it is our duty to j»reserve
them for the service of our country, rather than to
punish or destroy them. If, therefore, an orator
upon good grounds is convinced that a man who is
impeached even upon just grounds, will afterwards
become a well-deserving member of the comnmnity,
is he not in that case justified in employing every
art of eloquence that can preserve him ?

Having said thus much, I shall suppose, that an
excellent general, the only man who can give suc-
cess to the arms of a country, is impeached for a
misdemeanor, which is too palpable to be denied,
is it not for the common eood that he should be
defended upon this charge ? We know, at least,
that on the eve of a war, Fabritius, by his own
vote, made Cornelius Rufinus consul, merely be-
cause he knew him to be a good general, though he
knew him, at the same time, to be both a plague
to his fellow citizens, and a personal enemy to him-
self. And while some were expressing their wonder
at this, the answer of Fabritius was, " that he chose
rather to be fleeced by his countrymen, than flead
by his enemy. Supposing labritius to have been
an orator, would he not have defended the same
Rufinus upon a charge of oppression, had it been
ever so undeniable ?

3 I might

Bookxit. of ELOQUENXE. S99

1 mi";ht j?ive rrifiiiv other instances to the same
purpose, but I think the last case is sufficient, For
1 am not laying it down as a principle, that my
orator is to be often embarked in such causes. JJut
it' it should so happen that he is, my detinitiun
may, uotwitlistandiii^, remain good, that " an ora-
tor is a worthy man, well skilled in eloquence.''
But it is likewise necessary, that some rules bf laid
down and learned, as to the proof of difficult points
in a cause, i'or it often happens, that the very best
causes have a near resemblance to those that are
bad, and many plausible charges may be brought
against an iimocent man, which may oblige an ora-
tor to defend him, even upon the supposition of his
being guiitv. besides, a vast number of circum-
stances may be in common to good and bad causes :
such as witnesses, papers, presumptions, and opini-
ons. Now what is only seemingly true, must be
established, or refuted in the same manner as if it
were actually true. Therefore, our pleading must
be suited to the occasion, provided always that we
preserve an honest intention.

CHAP. II.

THAT AN ORATOR OUGHT TO BE WELL SKILLED IN ALL PHI-

LOSOPHY.

And tliat, not only to make hira a pjood Man but a good Speaker.
— Logic, moral and natural Philosophy necessary to him. —
Examples.

1 HAVE laid it down as a fundamental, that an
orator ought to bo a worthy man, but he cannot be
so without virtue. And though virtue, in some
measure, operates from nature, yet she receives her
finishing excellencies from learning. The moral

charactei

400 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITLTTES Boor XII.

character ouglu to l)C a chief object of an orator's
study ; for tmkss he is well acquainted with the
whoI<^ system of virtue and equity, he can neither
be a worthy man nor a good speaker. Some, it is
true, tell us, that our morals are formed by nature,
and that learning- contributes nothing to them. How
absurd is this ! since they must own, at the same
time, tiiat the most inconsiderable manufacture we
attempt, the most contemptible piece of mechanism,
requires a master. Shall we then think that virtuti,
that divine quality, which alone can make mankind
approach to divinity, comes to us with our exist-
ence, without courting and without care ? Can a
man be temperate, and yet not know what tem-
perance is? Can he be brave, unless, by his rea-
son, he conquers all fear of pain, death, and super-
stition - Can a man be just without knowing the
nature of justice and equity, without knowing their
general laws, and without knowing their particular
constitutions, under different states and governments?
How inconsiderable must such knowledge be, if it
comes so easily ? 1 shall therefore leave this point,
as a matter upon which no man, who has the least
tincture of letters, can have the smallest doubt, and
return to prove, that a man cannot be sufficiently-
eloquent, without being thoro\ighly acquainted with
the powers of nature, and without forming his own
morals by learning and reflection.

Crassus is very justifiable in Cicero's third confer-
ence concerning the quahfications of an orator,
when he says, that the province of eloquence com-
prehends the whole s^'stem of what belongs, or what
does not belong, to equity, justice, truth, and vir-
tue^^ and that when philosophers enforce or defend
them by the powers of speaking, they borrow their
arms from the profession of rhetoric. At the same
time, he confesses that we must now apply to phi-
losophers.

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 4 01

losophers, in order to make ourselves masters of
those topics, because they have for a long time mo-
nopohzed them. Cicero, however, in a great many
of his treatises and letters, tells us, that the streams
of eloquence flow from the deepest sources of wis-
dom. And, therefore, for some time the profession
of philosophy and eloquence was the same. 1 do
not, therefore, mean that my orator should be a phi-
losopher, because nothing can be more distant than
the two professions are at present. For what philo-
sopher do we see attend the courts of justice, dis-
tinguish himself in assembhes of the people, inter-
meddle in any pubhc duties, or so much as attempt
the business of an orator ? Is^here one of them,
who understands the government of the state,
though most of them have laid down rules for that
purpose? But 1 would have the orator I am now
forming a wise Roman, who fits himself for puhh'c
business not for any fantastical speculations, but by
practice and experience.

But because the study of wisdom has been aban-
doned by those who have applied themselves to that
of eloquence, she does not now move in her own
sphere, or enlighten the forum ; for she found a re-
treat first in the portico and the gymnasium, and af-
terwards in schools and colleges. The orator, there-
fore, is obliged to apply for that philosophy which
he finds necessary to his practice, to those who
make it their particular ]»rotessioii, and not to the
teachers of eloquence, btcause they profess it no
more, flc must consult the authors who have
treated of virtue, in order to direct his life accord-
ing to his knowledge of things human and divine.
But how much more important and amiable would
these be, were they taught by those who could ex-
press them best ! Would to heavens I could see
the day, when some finished orator, such as he 1

VOL. II. o d wish

402 QUI^'CT1LIAN•S INSTITUTES Book XII

wish to form, would vindicate unto himself this pro-
vince (which has heen rendered so odious by the
pride of some, and the vices of others, who have
corrupted all its virtues), and, as it were, re-annex it
to the profession of eloquence.

Now as philosophy is divided into three parts,
natural, moral, and rational, which of these is not
immediately connected with tlie business of an ora-
tor ? To begin with the last, which we call logic,
and which deals entirely in words, there can be no
doubt, that it belongs to an orator, to know the sig-
niticancy of words, to explain thcir^mmbiguities, to
unfold their perplexities, to detect their falsities,
and, in general, to compare and examine them ;
though perhaps the business of the bar does not re-
quire all this to be so minutely discussed as in
schools : because an orator is not only to instruct, but
to move and to delight his hearers. In order to do
this, he must move along as from a superior height,
he must employ all the powers, and all the graceful-
ness of speaking ; rivers falling from lofty banks into
full streams below, roll more impetuous along, than
small streams of water murmuring through scattered
pebbles.

But to return to losric. As the masters of exer-
cises do not instruct their pupils in the little move-
ments, with a design that they should make use of
them all, when they are boxing or wrestling in good
earnest (for there weight, strength, and wind, are
most effectual), but that they may have plenty c^f
expedients to employ as occasion shall offer ; in like
manner logic, or the art of disputation, is very often
useful in definitions, comprehensions, distinctions,
differences, and in e,x})laining ambiguities, as well
as in separating, dividing, confounding, and
darkening. At the same time, should it employ
the whole busine^ of the bar, it would clog the

noblest

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 403

noblest part of it, and ruin the powers of eloquence,
by mincing, frittering, and blending them with its
own qualities.

For this reason, you will find some people very
cunning in disputation, but beat them out of the
/■ quirks of logic, they make no manner of figure in
a serious argument ; like certain tiny animals, that
hold out a long time, while they have holes and cor-
ners to creep into, but when driven into the open
fields are easily catched*

As to moral philosophy, which we generally call
ethics, it is entirely adapted to eloquence. For
amidst such a variety of causes as 1 have described
in the foregoing books, some of which turn upon
mere conjecture, others are resolved by definitions,
others decided by law, others set aside for informality,
others by relating to other questions, others by incon-
sistencies, others by ambiguities ; in such a variety,
I say it is impossible, but that ethics which turn upon
the distinctions of right and wrong, must bear a
great share almost in every part of it. Every body
knows that most of them hinge entirely upon the
quality of a fact in question. But even in deliber-
ative cases, where all the orator's aim is to persuade,
how can he do that without having particular atten-
tion to what is right and virtuous in itself? Nay,
that part which consists in praising or reproaching,
cannot be handled without thoroughly knowing the
nature of right and wrong. Has not the orator almost
in all cases occasion to recommend justice, fortitude,
abstinence, temperance, and piety ? But the worthy
man, who has not a lip-knowledge of those virtues
(as some have of most topics that fall into conver-
sation), but is so thoroughly impressed with them
that he feels their operations in his own soul, such
a man will always be able to do justice to his own

sentiments,

401 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book. XII.

sontiments, without being at a loss for words; be-
cause as he tliiiiks he will speak.

As every general question, however, is more com-
prehensive than a particular one, beciuse generals
include particulars, and not the reverse, there can
be no manner of doubt, that general questions arc
best discussed by that study 1 am now considering.
Now, as a great many causes turn upon short pecu-
liar definitions, from which thev have the name ofde-
fmitive causes, are not such cases best managed by
those who have applied most successfully to moral
philosophy ? For let us reflect that every question
of law either, turns upon the propriety of words, the
construction of equity, or the intention of a party :
all which are to be determined upon the principles
either of logic or morality. Therefore 1 conclude,
that eloquence, unless it partakes in all the properties
of those two parts of philosophy, is no more than
loquacity ; and either has falsehood for its guide, or
no guide at all.

As to natural philosophy, it opens a field of speak-
ing, as much extended beyond that of the other
parts of philosophy, as an orator upon celestial
things must exceed in freedom and strength one
upon terrestial. And at the same time it compre-
hends all the moral part of philosophy, without which,
as we have already seen, there can be no eloquence.
For if we admit that the world is governed by pro-
vidence, it is certain that every particular state ought
to be governed by men of virtue ; if the human mind
is of divine original, it ought still to be aspiring to
virtue, without being fettered by the groveling,
earthly pleasures of the body. Is not this a topic
which an orator has often occasion to handle ? As to
the answers of the augurs, and all parts of religious
worship, upon which the debates of the senate so

often

B<30K XIT. OF ELOQUENCE. 405

often turn, will not the orator whom in idea I have
formed to be a statesman, likewise be the proi-cr
poison to treat of all such matters ? In short, what
elo<iiience can be formed, nay, conceived to be in
a man who is ignorant of this most excellent of all
knowledtre ?

Though reason were insuflicient to prove what I
am now saying, yet 1 could do it by examples. Not
only historians, but theaiithorsof the old comedy (a
set of men not at all given to flattery), tell us that
Pericles was endowed with incredible powers of elo-
quence ; though we have no remains of it extant ;
and we know that he was the disciple of Anaxagoras,
the great natural philosopher; and that J)emosthenes,
the prince of Gretk orators, studied imder Plato.
Nay, Cicero himself tell us, that he was obliged to
the spacious gardens of the academy, more than to
the schools of rhetoricians for his eloquence. Nor
indeed could he ever have possest that divine flow
of words and matters, had he confined his studies
within the bars of the forum, without giving it leave
to range overall the bounds of nature.

A question however may occur here ; what sect
of philosophy is most proper to improve an orator ?
But this is a question that is confined to very few
sects. For Epicurus gives us an absolute exclusion,
and commands us to fly as fast as we possibly can
from all learned studies. Aristippus too, by making
all good consist of bodily pleasure, dissuades us from
the toil of learning. How can Pyrrho contribute in
forming us to eloquence, who by the principles he
))rofesses, is not sure whether he has judges to
speak to, a client to defend, or a senate to harrangue ?
Some have thouiiht the manner of the academy to
be most proj)er fo; an orator, because their way of
disputing \ipon both sides of a question comes the
nearest tu the [>rai'tice of the*, bar ; and in sujiport

1 of

40G QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XU,

of this opinion, tliry observe, that it has produced
many philosophers who have excelled in eloquence.
The peripatttics too pretend to great practice in
eloquence ; and indeed tlie method of taking a thesis
for a subject of debate, arose from those sects. 'I'he
stoics admit, that their lead(ns have been greatly
defective both in the practice and embellishments
of eloquence ; but to make amends for that, they
maintain, that no other sect manage their dispu-
tations with more force, or their conclusions with
more subtilitv.

liut 1 leave them to battle this question amongst
themselves, since they are all of them bound by an
oath, nay a sacrament, if 1 may so speak, never to
depart from the tenets they have once embraced.
But an orator is obliged to follow no sect. For the
orator who aspires at being at once the great example
of eloquence and life, has a nobler and a more ex-
alted purpose in view, tie is therefore to improve
himself by the most complete models of eloquence
in every sect ; and in forming his morals, he is to
adopt the most virtuous precepts, and to follow the
most direct path to virtue. He is indeed to handle
every subject, but he is to apply chiefly to those
that are by their own nature of the greatest import-
ance and beauty. For where can an orator have a
more fertile Held of eloquence, than when he speaks
concerning virtue, government, providence, the na-
ture of the soul, and friendship? Here his eloquence
rises with his ideas ; these, these are the true blessings
of life ; for they allay our groundless fears, check our
inordinate affiections, raise us above the level of man-
kind, and prove our souls to be immortal.

An orator, however, is not to be master of this kind
of learning only ; for he should be still more intent
upon the examples, transactions, and sayings of an-
tiquity ; all which he ought thoroughly to know and

have

Book XII. OF ELOaUENCE. 40?

have ever in his mind. And no state can furnish
him with so great or so noble a store of this know-
ledge as our own. Were ever the doctrines of for-
titude, justice, honour, temperance, frugahty, with a
contempt of pain and deatli, practised so well as they
were by our Fabricii, Curii, Reguli, Decii, Mutii,
and an infinite number of other Romans ? lor tiie
Romans are as fruitful in examples as the Greeks
were in precepts ; ti-e former being the more glorious,
by practising what the latter taught. The orator
will study those examj)les in another light than he
would the history of his ow^n days, since they in-
struct him not to regard the present time, and the
immediate occasion only, but to consider that the
career of a virtuous life, and the extent of glorious
actions reach the latest ages of posterity. Such,
such, are the fountains from which 1 would have him
to drink deep of glory and liberty ; that he may
appear equally eminent at the bar and in the senate.
To conclude this topic ; no man can be an accom-
plislied orator, but the man who can think justly,
and dares speak freely.

CHAP. iir.

THAT THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE L \W8 OF THE STATE WE
LIVE IN IS NECESSARY TO AN ORATOR.

The knowledjje of his country's laws is likewise
necessary for an oratf)r; and as he is to have a share
in the government, he ought to be well acquainted
with Its constitution and religion. For how can he
debate to any [iurpose, either in public or j)rivate,
upon counsels and measures, if he is ignorant of
the fundamental principles of the government under
which he lives r Or how, consistentlv with truth,

can

+0S QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

can ho profess the business of an advocate, if he
must aj)|)ly to anotlier for the capital knowledge re-
(juircd in that profession? This would make him
no l)ettir tlian tiie fellows who are hired by short-
winged poets to read their compositions. He is, in
short, no more than a puppet ; for whatever lie wants
to inculcate upon the judge, he must do it upon the
faith of another man, and, instead of assisting his
client, his client must assist him.

He may, perhaps, endeavour to avoid this incon-
veniency by studying at home all the law terms and
practice, with every thing else of that kind, and
then presenting himself ready prepared before the
judge. But how is he to behave, when (as is often
the case on such occasions) an unforeseen question
arises ? Will he not then make a most pitiful ap-
pearance ? Must he IV >t have recourse to his infe-
riors upon the lower benches for information ? Is it
then possible for him to repeat exactly what his
client told him, and give it an air as if it was his
own ? Yes, in a continued pleading he may ; but
how will he behave in the altercation, when he
must return and charge off-hand ; and where he has
not a moment to spare lor information. Supposing
too that his friend, the civil lawyer, is absent. wSup-
posina: some pretending bungler shall prompt him to
say what is wrong. For one of the greatest misfor-
tunes of an ignorant man is, that he believes impli-
citly in the man who prompts him.

1 am sensible of the prevailing practice, and I
have not forgot those gentlemen who he as it were,
upon the watch, to furnish pleaders with weapons ;
and this 1 know to have been the practice in Greece
likewise, and that there they had the name of prac-
titioners. But I speak of an orator who can support
his cause, not only by the mere organs of his voice,
but with every thing that can do it service. 1 there-
fore

Boor XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 409

fore would not have him at a loss, even if he is called
upon to speak within the hour; nor would 1 hav*-
him a novice in any part of practice. Supposing a
general is active and valiant in battle, and that he
could do his duty extremely vvell in the field, after
the order of battle is drawn up, but neither knows
how to levy men, nor to march, nor to exercise
troops, nor to provide convoys, nor to encamp his
army to advantage ; could wc call such a man a pro-
per general ? For surely he must prepare for war
before he can carry it on. Just such is the advocate
who must be obligetl to others for a great part of that
information that is necessary for his success ; and
such an advocate is the more to blame, because the
necessary qualifications he wants are more easily at-
tainable, than is generally imagined by those who
consider them only at a distance.

For all positive right is determined either by a
written law or usage. Whatever is doubtful must
be tried accordingly by the evidence of antiquity.
As to laws that are either written or turn upon use
and custom, there can be no matter ot ditficulty,
for thev do not require invention, but inspection
only. With rrorard to those points that are referred
to the opmions of lawyers, they either turn upon
the sense of words, or the difference between right
and wrong. As to the former, it is the business of
every man of sense, but of an orator more especi-
ally, to know the signification of words ; and equity
is understood by every man of virtue. Xow, my
aim is to imite those two characters totjether in an
orator. If then he shall undertake any thing
which he knows to bo well founded in natural jus-
tice, he will not be at all surprised, it the common
lawyer shall differ from him in opinion, espei-ially iis
he knows that it is no unusual thing for them to dii-
fer amongst themselves, and for each to ni;tiritain

hi>

410 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

his own opinion. Hut an orator needs only to read,
(and tliat sure is the easiest part of study) in order
to make liinisilf. master of all their different opini-
ons. But what am I saying ? Many who have
despaired to succeed as orators, have humbly con-
tented themselves with professing common law ; *
how easy is it for an orator to learn that, in which
they who cannot be orators may excel ?

Marcus Cato, however, was a most excellent speak-
er, and at the same time a very able common-
lawyer ; and the two great common-lawyers, Scaivola
and Servius Sulpitius, were excellent orators. Cicero,
during all his practice as an orator, was so far from
neglecting the study of the common law, that he
began to compose somewhat on that subject ; and
from thence one may see that an orator may, in the
course of his practice, find time not only to learii,
but to teach the common law/'lBut let no one think
that 1 am to be blamed for laying down rules for an
orator's manners, or for his studying the common
law, because many have been known to be so dis-
gusted with the fatigue of studying eloquence, that
they have fled to those amusements as 1 may call
them, rather than studied Some of them have ap-
plied merely to be bawlers of forms and word catch-
ers, and petty foggers, qualifications which they pre-
tend to be useful, though they follow them only be-
cause they are easily attainable. Others sink to a
loftier pitch of indolence, by putting on all at once
a sour look, and wearing a great beard, as if de-
spising the rules of eloquence ; then resort a little
while to the schools of philosophers, seem demure
in public, while they are dissolute in private ; and
thus, by an arrogant contempt of all others, they

* The civil law, as I have elsewhere observed, was the com-
mon law of Rome, and indeed ought to he so translated, when
Bientioued by any Roman author.

court

BookXTI. of eloquence. 411

court respect. But philosophy may be counter-
feited ; eloquence never can.

CHAP. IV.

THAT TflE KNOWLEDGE OF HISTORY 16 NECESSARY TO AN

ORATOR.

A CHIEF pnrt of an orator's business is to be fur-
nished Avith plenty of precedents, both ancient and
modern. He ou^ht to be master, not onlv of his-
torical mcidents, but of those traditionary circum-
stances that are daily handled at the bar ; nay, he
ought not to neglect an acquaintance with the most
eminent poetical fictions. Historical precedents
have great weight, as being so many evidences;
nay, decided cases, and traditionary or poetical
matters, are revered for their antiquity, or are
looked upon as invented by great men to supply the
place of precepts. Let an orator, therefore, be well
furnished with all. For, as Homer very often says,
old men gain authority by being thought to know,
and to have seen, more than others. But we are
not to wait for old age in order to acquire this autho-
rity ; for it is peculiar to the study of history^
that it gives us as much knowledge of past things
as if we had lived in the times when they were tran-
sacted.

CHAP. V.

CONCERNING THE MEANS OF BEING AN ORATOR.
Of Presence of Mind. — Assurance. — The natural Means.

Such are the means, not as some think of the
art, but of the artist, whicli 1 had promised to speak

of.

412 aUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

of. Such are the arms he ought to have at hand ;
such is the knowledge with which he ought to be
prepared, together with a readiness and copiousness
of expression both in words and figures ; the princi-
ples of invention, the art of dividing, strength of
memory, and gracefulness of action. An orator has
great advantages if he possesses a presence of mind
undaunted by fear, unterrified by clamour, and
never carrying his complaisance beyond that just re-
verence which is due to his heavers. For, as arro-
gance, rashness, impudence, and pride, are detest-
able in an orator, so he can reap no advantage from
his art, his study, nor indeed from his acquirements,
unless he has resolution, assurance, and fortitude.
It is like putting arms into the hand of an infant or
coward. By Heavens! what 1 am going to say, I
speak with regret, because it may admit of a wrong
construction ; but 1 have known modesty itself, that
amiable weakness, and the parentof so many virtues,
when carried too far, sometimes hurt an orator ;
and I have seen many instances, where great abili-
ties and valuable acquirements, by want of exercise
in public, have wasted away by a kind of canker and
rust they have contracted by disuse. But the
reader, who perhaps is not quite master of the force
and significancy of certain words, is to understand,
that I am not speaking so much of modesty as of
basbfulness, by which 1 mean, that fear which
hinders a man from exerting himself as he can and
ought, and which renders himself first confused,
then disconcerted, and at last silent. Ami then to
be blamed for ranking amongst the blemishes of elo-
quence, a quality, which makes a man ashamed of
doinor what is rifjht? But, on the other hand, 1 am
for bavins: every man, who is to speak m public,
rise from his seat with visiljle concern, even change
colour, and appear apprehensive of his danger.

Nay,

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 4 1 3

Nay, if he is not so in reality, he ought to pretend
that he is. I]ut I would have all this proceed not
from fear, but from knowledge. 1 would have him
affected, but not daunted.

But the best cure for bashfulness is self-assurance;
il (testimony of a good conscience gives assur-
ance to the most downcast forehead. As 1 have
already observed, there are hkewise certain natural
means or advantages, which an orator may improve
by care, such as the voice, the lungs, and graceful-
ness of person ; which are of such efficacy that we
liave often known them preferred even to abilities.
In my own time, 1 have known better orators than
Trachallus ; but when he spoke, he far outshone all
his equals. So majestic was his presence, he had
such meaning in his eyes, such dignity in his look,
and such expression in his gestures. As to his voice,
it did not, as Cicero requires, approach to that of an
excellent actor, for it excelled the voice of the best
actors I ever beheld. I remember, when he pleaded
before the first court iu the Julian Hall, while all
the other courts, as was usual, were sitting, and
full of pleaders speaking at their bars, he was seen
and heard over them all ; nay, applauded by all the
four courts, to the no small mortification of the other
pleaders. But this excellency is more than we can
reasonably hope for, and seldom happens. Yet
when it does not, a speaker is to do his best, so as
to be heard and understood where he speaks. An
orator, I say, ought to aim at this, and be able to
compass it.

CHAP.

4 i 4 QltlNCTILIAN'S iNSTITl^TES Book XIL

CHAP. VI.

AT WHAT AGE A PLEADER SHOULD BEGIN TO PRACTISE.

As to the time of life in which an orator is to be-
gin to practise at the bar, that can only be deter-
mined according to the party's capacity. 1 shall not
therefore fix it to any number of years, since we
know that Demosthenes, when he was very young,
pleaded against his own guardians; Calvus, Caelius,
Pollio, long before they were twenty-seven years of
age, and we have heard of those who have begun
before they were twenty. We are told that Caesar
Augustus, when he was but twelve years of age,
pronounced a funeral oration, before the rostrum,
in praise of his grandmother.

In my opinion, a certain mean is to be observed.
The fruits of genius ought not to be plucked while
they are yet green and sour. Tlie young man, who
steps too early into life, is apt toentertain a contempt
for study, and to lay an early foundation for impu-
dence; and (which of all errors is the most perni-
cious) to over-rate his own abihties. On the other
hand, we ought not to put off our apprenticeship
till old age. For diffidence and difficulties increase
through time. And while we are deliberating when
we are to begin, it becomes too late to begin at all.
Let us, therefore, taste the fruits of genius from the
tree, while they are yet in full verdure and flavour.
Great allowances are made, and great hopes are con-
ceived, of a young man. In him a little forwardness
is not unbecoming ; his defects may be supplied by
years, and every youthful exuberance is presumed
to proceed from the overflowings of genius. Wit-
ness the following beautiful rha[)sody in Cicero's
3 pleading

Book XII. OF ELOGUENCE. 4li

pleading" for Roscius, " For what can be so common
as air to the living, earth to the dead, the sea ta
the floating, or the shore to the outcast?" This
passage, which was pronounced when he was but six
and twenty years of age, was received by the hearers
w ith vast applause ; but he himself tells us, thai
time mellowed down all those cbulitions, and that
the more he advanced in years, the more sensible he
was of their impropriety.

Now to say the truth, however particular studies
may improve a man, it is certain that he has peculiar
advantages from frequenting the bar. Here he sees
things in a new light ; here he beholds what it is to
encounter real dangers, and were learning to be
separated from practice, the latter would do more by
itself than the former could. Therefore some who
have grown old in teaching, are mere novices in
pleading ; and when they come into a court of jus-
tice, they are quite at a loss whenever a cause pre-
sents that is diftibrent from what they have been used
to declaim upon. Meanwhile the juflge is silmt,
his adversary plies and presses him, and takes advan-
taije of the smallest blunder. If he lavs down a
proposition, he is put upon proving )t, and the time
prescribed him is out, before he can get half through
the oration that has cost him many painful days and
nights to compose. Nay, oftentimes he has no
occasion for displaying any pomp of eloquence, he
needs only to speak it in a plain inttTiigible way ; but
that is wliat those very eloqumt gentlemen are un-
able to do. For \A'hich reason you may find some of
them who think all pleading to be a disparagement
to their eloquence.

Meanwhile, the orator whom 1 am now training
from his earliest years, whom I have introduced,
though young and tender to the bar, ought t'» make
his fiist essays in easy plausil^le causes, as we see

even

416 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

even hrutes nourish their young with tender food.
Not that 1 won 111 have liini to subsist so long upon
such nf»urislnnent, that he becomes contirmed in a
puling- habit ; no, 1 would have him fortify and pre-
pare himseU' for real encounters, after he knows their
nature, and to what point he is to direct his abilities.
By this means he will escape all that bashfulness so
natural to young beginners ; because he will find it
easy for him to aspire higher : neither will he carry
his confidence in himself so far as to despise study.
Cicero himself observed this conduct ; for even after
he had distinguished himself amongst the greatest
pleaders of his age, he performed a voyage to Asia,
w^here he was, as it were, recast and remoulded at
Rhodes by Apollonius Molo, whom he had studied
under at Rome likewise, though he had doubtless
studied under other professors both of eloquence and
philosophy. Thus something very great is always
the result, when theory and practice are united.

CHAP. VII.

WHAT AN ORATOR IS TO OBSERVE WHEN HE UNDERTAKES

A CAUSE.

After an orator has fully qualified himself for'
any encounter at the bar, his first care ought to be
about the nature of the causes he undertakes. Here
a virtuous man will chuse rather to defend than
to prosecute. He is not hov/ever to hold the name
of prosecutor in such detestation, as that no duty
either public or private, can induce him to call a
wicked man to account for his actions. For laws
themselves are of no effect, unless they are properly
enforced at the bar ; and suffering wickedness to go
unpunished is next to permitting it. Not to mention

that

teooK XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 41?

tnat every iiidiilgeiice ot" guilt is an injury done to
innocence.

For this reason, our patriot orator will not sutlier
the coniplaints of our allies to pass unnoticed, nor
the death of a friend or a relation to be unrevensfed.
He will crush every conspiracy that is hatching against
his country ; and though he has no delight in punish-
ing ortenders, yet he will think it his duty to correct
the vices and reclaim the morals of mankind. When
reason has no intluence in keeping men to their duty,
the only check upon them is fear. Therefore a man
who takes up the trade of impeaching, and prose-
cutes merely as he is paid, is next to a robber on
the high-way. While on the other hand, he who
delivers his country from an inbred pest of society,
is to be ranked with the noblest patriots, who have
acted in defence of public liberty. For this reason,
the greatest men of the Roman republic have not
refused to act as prosecutors, and when our most
illustrious youtlis brought their wicked countrymen
to justice, such impeachments were considered as
so many pledges of their patriotism, because it was
presumed that nothing but the boldness which at-
tends a good conscience could have prevailed with
them to arraign theguilty, or to draw powerful enemies
upon themstlves. Impeachments, therefore, have
Ijeen carried on by i lortensiuSj the Luculli, Sulpitius,
Cicero, Caesar, and many others, as well as the two
Catones, the one of whom was called wise, and if
the other was not wise, I know no man on whom
we can bestow that title with justice.

Everv orator if he could would be on the defen-
sive, and open his eloquence as a harbour to give
refuge to tlie innocent, but not as a shelter to pirates.
And nf)thing should prevail upon him so much to
undertake a cause, as the nature of it can do. As
one orator, however, is not sufficient to speak for all

VOL. II. E e in

4 IS QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

ill all plausible causes (for they are very numerous),
lie is to give the prcterence to recommendatory cir-
cumstances, especially it" they come from the judges;
hut still with regard to the superior merit and charac-
ter of those who recommend. For the orator himself
being a man of merit and character, will undoubt-
edly have many such among his friends. But above
all things, an orator is to avoid every kind of par-
tiality; for he is neither to hire out himself to the
})owerful against the poor, nor is he to value him-
self upon tlie worthless ambition of making the poor
kick against the rich. For fortune can have no hand
in making a cause either good or bad.

If an orator shall undertake a cause upon a pre-
sumption that it is a good one, and if upon exami-
nation he shall find it to be bad, he ought never to
be ashamed of dropping it, after telling his client
his real opinion of it. For it is one great point of
an orator's duty if I am any judge of the matter,
not to deceive his client with vain hopes, and a
client is not worthy to be served by an advocate, if
if he does not follow his advice. And nothing can
be more certain than that it is unworthy of the ora-
tor whom 1 want to form, knowingly to maintain an
unjust cause. For if for the reasons 1 have already
mentioned, he shall deviate from the truth, yet still
he will be justified by his intention.

It might not be improper to enquire, whether an
orator ought never to take any reward for his plead-
ing. But indeed it would be mere impudence to
give a hasty judgment on that matter. Nobody can
be ignorant that it shows a great deal more dignity,
that it is more suitable to the honour of the liberal
arts, and to that exalted character which 1 have
formed of the profession, for an orator not to let his
abilities out to hire, or to prostitute the worth of a
blessing so precious as eloquence is. Especially as

the

BookX/L of eloquence. 419

tiie world is apt to despisu every thing that is venal.
liiis, if" 1 may so speak, is plain, even to the blind.
And if an orator has but a competency for himself,
it is shamcfid for him to practise his art for gain.
But if his private affairs require that he should be
supplied witli the necessaries of life, he may, ac-
cording to all the rules laid down and practised by
the wisest of men, accept of a gratuity. Socrates
himself accepted of mone}-, in order to support life.
Zeno, Cleiuithes, and Chrysippus, took fees from
their scholars. For my own part, 1 know no gain
more honourable, than tliat which arises from a
noble profession, and comes from those, whom we
have highly served, and, who, were they not
grateful enough to make a return, would be unwor-
thy to be defended. This, 1 think, is not only just,
but necessary, especially, as, by devoting to the
service of others all our labour and all our time, we
preclude ourselves from any other means of getting
money.

Hut here, likewise, a mean is to be observed. And
a great consideration arises from whom, how much,
and for ^vhat purpose, an orator takes money. As
to the piratical manner of bargaining beforehand,
and, as it were, ransoming a party, according to the
danger he is in, the practice is an abomination, and
a pleader of even an indifferent character disdains it:
especially, as there is no fear, that an orator will not
bo suitably requited when he dtfends worthy men,
and undertakes good causes. But supposing he is
not, let the blame lie upon them rather than upon
tlie orator. An orator of reputation, however, will
never extort a gratuity ; and, even though he is
j)Oor, he will not receive it as a hire, but as a mark
of his client's gratitude for much more important
sen ices ; and which he receives in that manner,
because it is unlit that so great a blessing should

either

4^20 ttUIXCTILlAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

(ither be prostitutotl or forgotten. In short, the
person who is most obliged ought to be most grate-
ful.

CHAP. Vlll.

HOW AN ORATOR IS TO BE INSTRUCTED IN A CAUSE-

Ad Orator is to be fully instructed in every Cause he under-
takes— must be patient and rircumstantial — and put himself in
the place of the Judge.

I AM now to speak concerning the instructions of
an orator, which serve for the foundation of his
pleading. We cannot suppose a speaker to be so
weak, as not to be able, after he is fully master of a
cause, to instruct a judge in it likewise. And yet,
that is a matter to which very few attend. Some
are so very careless that thev never mind the essen-
tial point of a cause, provided they have room to
expatiate upon persons and characters, and to show
their parts in running out upon curious debateable
topics. Some are vain enough always to pretend to
be in a hurry of business, that requires immediate
dispatch, and desire the party to bring them their
instructions the day before, or perhaps, the morning
of the day, in which they are to plead. Nay, some
have boasted that they received their instructions in
the court. Others are so vain of their genius, that
theypretend to com])rehcnd a thing in the twinkling
of an eye, and that they are thorough masters of it,
almost before they hear it; then s:o to the bar where
they mouthe and flourish away in terms that are
foreif:;n both to the judge and the parties; and after
being well sweated, they strut out of the forum, at-
tended with a numerous train of flatterers.

I am likewise disgusted with the delicacy of those,

who

Rook XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 4';?1

who throw upon tlicir friends all the trouble of be-
in? instructed. Ihis abust-, however, is moie tole-
rable tiiat the others provided those friends inform
and instruct them fully. Ikit who is so proper to
receive instructions at the first hand as the pleader
himsellr Can we suppose that this go-between,
this man-midwife of causes, this reporter of instruc-
tions, will apply himself heartily and earnestly to
serve a cause, in which he is not to plead.

But of all practices, the most pernicious is, for
■an orator to be contented with a brief, or written
instructions drawn up by the party himself, who
employs him as an advoc;ate, l^ecause he cannot
|)lead his own cause ; or else composed by one of
those advocates who profess that they are incapable
of actinii at the bar, and yet pretend to execute the
most ditticuit part of an orator s business. For is not
the man who can judge of what is to be said, of
what is to be concealed, evaded, altered, or invent-
ed, to be considered as an orator, when he goes
through the most difticult part of the profession ?
And vet, such briefs would not be so hurtful, if thev
contained nothin-j* but matters of fact, liut their
composers interlard them with motives and pretexts,
nay, palpable falsehoods, to all which, the orator
generally attaches himself scrupulously and rclioi-
ously, as a school-boy fk). s to the w orris of his
theme. Vrliat is the consequence of all this ' The
falsehoods they advance are detected, and the first
word of the truth they hear, is from the pleading of
their opponent; so dangerous it is to take instruc-
tions upon trust.

A man of business, therefore, in this profession,
ought, above all things, to enjoy the freedom both
of time and place; ; and to he very particular in
desiring his client to open to liim every circumstance
of tiie cause, however verbosely or aukwarclly he

goes

■V2\> QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XU,

goes about it. For the consequence of hearing
Avhat is superfluous is not so l)a(l, as that of not
hearing wliat is essential. And it oiten liappens, that
an orator finds out both the danger and the remedy in
circumstances that appear very immaterial and in-
different to the party. Neither is an orator to trust
so much to hia memory as not to write down w hat
he hears.

Once hearing is not sufficient to instruct a pleader;
he should oblige his client to tell his story over and
over again, not only because a man, especially, if
he is not quick of apprehension ;ind memory, is apt
to omit something at the first statmg of his case, but
because we can thereby the better judge, whether
he persists in the same account. For a great many
clients disguise the truth of their cause ; they speak,
not as if they were stating it, but pleading it ; and
talk with their advocate as if he was their judge.
We, therefore, can never be too careful as to our
instructions, and w^e are to make use of all arts in
sifting, cross questioning, and boulting the truth of
a party. For, as it is the business of a physician,
not only to cure disorders that appear, but to cure
them even before they appear, when they are per-
haps concealed even to the patient himself; in like
manner, an advocate ought to know more than is told
him.

Thus, after he has heard every thing patiently and
calm.ly, he is to assume a quite different character,
even that of the opposite part}^ ; he is to set forth
whatever he can think will make against his client,
and whatever can possibly happen in a debate of that
kind. He is to examine his client with sharpness
and earnestness ; for when we search into every,
even the most minute circumstance, we sometimes
come to the truth when we least expect it. In
short, an orator can hardly be too incredulous :
1 tor

Rook XIL OF ELOQUENCE. 423

for every tiling goes smoothly ou witli the eJient ;
the fact is notorious; all the world is on liisside;
he has the strongest proofs for what he advances;
nay, his adversary will not contradict great part of it.
I'or this reason, an orator ought to see, nay, to
examine all the written evidences of a cause.
For very often they are quite different from what
a party represents them, or they do not come up to
what he says, or they are clogged with certain
clauses that defeat them ; or, perhaps they say
too much, and lose all credit l>v their extrava-
gance. Nay, very (»ften we discover in a writing
some erasure, a counterfeit seal, or a wrong desig-
nation ; unless we examine all this before we come
to the bar, they will ruin our cause. J'^or it does us
more hurt to be obliged to give up an evidence,
which we once mentioned, than not to have men-
tioned it at all.

An able pleader, likewise, may make a great
deal out of circumstances, which a party may think
foreign to his cause, by going through all the topics
1 laid down when I treated of artjumentation. It
is true, for reasons 1 have already given, that it is
improper for him to enter into such a disquisition,
or minute examination, while he is at the bar: but
while he is receiving his instructions, he will find it
necessary t(j search to the bottom, all circumstances
of persons, times, places, motives, evidences, with
whatever can enter into a cause, because, out of
them, he cannot only for his artificial reasoning,
but he becomes a judge of what is most likely to
hurt him in the proof, and hnw it is best to be
guarded against. For it is of great importance for
an orator to know whether a party is envied, hated,
or despised. The first generally ha{)pens to the
powerful, the second amongst equals, and the last is
the lot of inferiors.

A pleader

424 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Xll.

A pleader having made himself niasler of his

Cause, and being fully apprised of every tliinp,- that

can serve or disserve it, ought then to assume a tiiird

character, I mean that of the judge, by supposing

the cause to be tried before himself. He is then to

consider how he himself would be aflected, and by

what arguments he might be induced to pronounce

sentence in his client's favour ; and then he is to

conclude, that the same inducement will be as

powerful with another; and to proceed accordingly.

By making use of such precautions, if he has an

equitable judge, he seldom will be deceived in the

event of a cause.

CHAP. IX.

WHAT AN ORATOR IS TO OBSERVE IN PLEADING.

Utility always to be preferred before any other Consideration c

Cautions against the Pride and Petulance of Oiators Care-
fulness recommended.

The whole purpose of, almost, all this work has
been to lay down rules for pleading. It is, however,
in this place requisite for me to say somewhat, not so
much upon the art, as the duties of a pleader.
Above all things, therefore, 1 recommend it to an
orator to avoid that common mistake of sacrificing
utility to applause. For as in war, the march of
soldiers is not always through champaign countries
and flowery fields; for they are often obliged to
climb steep mountains, to storm cities, perhaps
situated upon rocks high and craggy, and to perform
other painful duties; in like manner eloquence is
pleased with a free, a gay career, she loves to dis-
play her captivating; charms in flowery fields and
pleasin^5f paths ; but if she should be obhged to en^

counter

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 42o

counter the thorns ot law, or to trace the truth
through puzzhng miizes, we will cheart'ully obey ;
she will no longer brandish the sparklin^^ period, or
the striking sentiment, but proc<'ed by intrenehnig,
mining, ambuscades and surprises. All these arts
make indet-d no show when thev are employed, l)ul
are greatly commended jvhen they succeed. And
from thence, it happetis, that those who hunt the
least for calory, do generally the most service to their
clients. For when their flatterers have thundered
out all their applause, and \n hen tht.' periods cease to
flow, then truth and nitrit re-assume their powers,
and become too strong for empty adulation ; the
judges do justice to the merit of the able pleader;
his skill is rewarded, and indeed it is ill-judged praise
that is bestowed upon a speaker, before his pleading
is at an end. In former times, a skilful pleader used
even to conceal his powers of sptakinu, and Cicero
makes jNIarcus Av)t()nius recommend this manner,
because it gains most credit with the hearers, and
renders the arts of an advocate less liable to suspi-
cion. But, in those days, it was easy to conceal
eloquence, for as yet she had not actjuired such a
blaze of glory as to dart through all opposition. An
orator, at present, however, ought to conceal all his
art and cunning, and every thing that must hurt
him, if discovered. The eloquence 1 am now
speaking of has its mysteries. But a careful choice
of words, justness of sentiment, and elegnice of
figures, must appear, if they exist; and because
they necessarily app(>ar, they should not be osten-
tatiously displayed. But, if an orator is forced upon
an alternative, he should chuse that his cause should
be commended rather than himself. And, indeed,
it is the business of an excellent orator, by his elo-
quence, to recommend his cause to success. One
jhipg is certain, that no man pleads with worse suc-
cess

426 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Xlf.

cess than the man who charms us in a bad cause ;
for every beauty of his expression and action must
be foreign to liis cause.

An orator is not superciliously to reject all causes
of small importance, as if they were below him, or
as if his merit would be depreciated by being con-
cerned in little matters. For a man's duty always
justifies him in undertaking a right cause, be it ever
so trifling ; though he should wish his friends to be
concerned as little as possible in such causes ; every
pliader, however, does his duty, if his exertion is
suited to his cause.

But some who are engaged even in trifling causes
adorn them with foreign flowers and flourishes ; and
rather than not make a figure, fill up the vacuities of
their pleading with personal abuse. No matter
whether the party deserves it or not, all he aims at is
to display his wit, and to draw peals of applause from
the hearers. But this is a practice I think, so far
inconsistent with the character of a complete orator,
that he ought to shun all abuse, even though a party
may deserve it, unless his cause absolutely requires
it. For as Appius says, he is a canine orator, who is
always barking and snarling, and beaten for it like a
dog. They who do this seem to declare war against
all the world, and to be ready to swallow every in-
dignity in their turn. For they are generally repaid
in a plentiful return of abuse, and thus the poor
client may suffer through the petulance of his advo-
cate. But there is something still more disgraceful
in the vice itself; for the man who can say a scan-
dalous thing only wants an opportunity to do one.

The pleasure of abuse is as detestable as it is in-
human ; it can give no delight to the hearer, though
some parties who want rather to be revenged than
defended, often require it of their advocates. But
this is one of the manv thino^s in which a client's

humour

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 49?

huiiiour is not to be indulged. For what gontlonvan,
what man ot spirit will, to gratify anotiier person,
be obhged to do the driidgery of personal abuse ?
Nav, I U-dve known some tjo so tar as Id take a
pleasure in railing at the advocates of the other
party. Now^ unless they have deserved this the prac-
tice'is I think inhuman, if we only consider the
common duties of their profession, and indeed does
hurt to themselves, and disserves their cause, l)y
rendering then* opponents (who have a rigiit at the
same time to return the abuse), their personal ene-
mies ; while the outrage encreases in proportion to
the abilities of the two pleaders. But the worst is,
that tiiis mnnn(T destroys all that character of modes-
ty which gives such wt^ight and credit to an orator ;
for he degrades himself from being a gentleman into
a scold and a snarler, and he suits his language not
to win the attention of the court, but to gratify the
resentments of his client.

1 have known it often likewi'^e happen, that this
liberty has been so indecently and so rashly exer-
cised as to endanger not only the [)leader's cause, but
his person. And, indeed, it was not without reason,
I'ericles wished that no expression might ever pass
his lips that could disobli'^e the people. But what
he said of the people, 1 extend in general to those
hearers whom we may wantonly provoke. For those
expressions which appear Uoo and strong, when
they '•n'e pronounced, become idle and foolish when
they oflTend.

Now, as almost every orator attaches himself to
a particular manner of pleading, as the carefulness
of one is considered as the eftV^ct of dullness, and
tlie promptness of othere of tem^Jty, 1 think it may
be j)ropcr here to state the mean which an orator is
to observe. Let him therefore employ on the cause*
he undertakes all the attention he can. For an ora-
tor

423 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book Xii.

tor who does not do as well as he can, incurs the.
imputation not only of negligence, but of wicked-
ness ; for h(; is to be looked upon in no other ligiit
than a traitor to the cause he undertakes. And for
that very reason he ouG:ht not to undertake more causes
than he knows himself able to plead to advantage.
He will as far as circumstances will admit of, say
nothing that he has not written down, nay, as De-
mosthenes says, engraved to give it the stronger im-
pression. This is practicable in the first pleading, or
when a solemn hearing is re-assumed after an ad-
journment. But it cannot be done, when we are
obliged to answer off hand ; nay, 1 have known
sometimes a man who was a little slow of apprehen-
sion, hurt by what he had wrote, when any new
matter unexpectedly occurred. For it is with regret
that they are obliged to deviate from what they had
prepared ; and during the whole time of their plead-
ing, they are still as it wore looking behind them,
and searching for some place where they can insert
what they have omitted, and for a vacancy where it
can be partly introduced. If they do not succeed
in this, their whole pleading must resemble an ill-
joined piece of work, in which even a difference of
colours is easily discernible. Thus in such a speaker
all freedom is fettered, and all correctness inelegant ;
and the one quality destroys the effects of the other ;
because what he has written does not direct but
hamper him. In such pleadings, therefore, an ora-
tor, to use a homely phrase, ought to stand on both
his legs ; for as almost every cause consists in al-
ledging and confuting, the former part may be re-
duced to writing, nay, when we know (which is
sometimes the case), our opponent's objections, we
may have recourse to the same method.

In other respects, it is always in our power to en-
deavour to make ourselves complete masters of the

cause ;

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. -^'29

cause ; and to pay a portect attention to what is
advanced by the opposite party. Upon the whole,
we ought to considrr and premeditate (wery circnm-
stance, and to he prepared against all events and
objections. This is most safely done by writing.
For thercb}- we can most readily admit or transpose
a thought. But the orator, to whom study and
practice gives power and ease in speaking, never can
be suri)rised or confounded in any emergency, sup-
posing him to be called upon to spe^k extempore,
or upon whatever occasion may occur. Such an
orator will always be prepared, will always be armed
and ready, and will be no more at a loss tor language
in pleading, than he is to exprt-ss himself as to the
common ordinary concerns of hfe. He never,
therefore, will shrink from the burden upon that
account ; and provided he is fully master of the cause,
he can always command every thing else.

CHAP. X.

CONCERNING STYLE.

Variety of Style in Spcakinc: — Painting; — Statuary — Great Mas-
ters in the fine Arts — Roman Authors characterised — Cicero
preferred and defended — 0( different Styles — Disadvantage and
Poverty of the latin Lane;uage — To be compensated by Senti-
ments and Fie;ure8 — An Apology for the Ornaments of Style —
The different Manners of Speaking.

I AM now to speak of style, the third topic I pro-
posed to treat of in my first division, wherein 1 pro-
mised to speak of the art, the artist, and the work.
But as speech is the joint result of the art and the
artist ; and, as I shall show, its forms are various,
the art must concur with the artist in effecting it.
Vet there is great difierence of style. For it may

nui

+:iO QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII

not only be diftl*reiit in its species, as one statue, or
one picture (lifters from another, but it may difter
even in the kind, or, what we call, the manner.
Thus, in statuary, the Grecian manner is dift'erent
IVom the Tuscan ; and the Asiatic eloquence from
the Attic. Hut, all those works have their difterent
admirers as well as authors. This is the true reason
why we have hitherto seen no such thing as a perfect
orator. Nay, 1 am not sure if there is such a thing
as perfection in any art, both because one artist is
more complete in one expression, and another in
another ; but because no style has yet been found
out that is agreeable to all mankind. This is owing
])artly to the circumstances of time and place, and
partly to private prepossessions and opinions.

Polygnotus and Aglaophon are the first painters,
who had other merits besides that of antiquity to
recommend their works ; their colouring, though
extremely simple, I may say insipid, and no more
than the first essays towards an improveable art, has
its admirers, who prefer it to that of the most capital
painters who succeeded them. But this, in my opi-
nion, is merely owing to the aflfectation of a singu-
lar taste. They were succeeded a few j^ears after,
about the time of the Peloponnesian war, (for Xeno-
phon introda(;esone of them conferring with Socrates)
by Zeuxis and Parrhasius, who made vast improve-
ments in the art of painting. The former is said to
have been the first who invented the proper disposi-
tions of light and shade ; and the second, to have
been the most correct designer. For Zeuixis gave
great relief, and large proportions to every limb and
feature, and this, he thought, added to the gran-
deur and majesty of painting, in imitation, as is said,
of Homer himself, who describes even his women
of as large a size as is compatible with a delicacy of
person. But Parrhasius, was so correct and exact

in

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 431

in his designs, that he may be termed the legislator
of painting ; becanse his tigures of gods and heroes
are so many jnodels from which latter painters have
not dared to deviate.

Down to the days of Tliilip, and even so low as
llietime of the successors of his son Alexander the
Great, painting continued toflourisli, but in ditTer-
ent styles. l^rotogenes excelled in correctness,
Panipliilius and Mclanthius in judgment and dispo-
sition, Antiphilus in ease, Theon ot Samos in
beautiful ideas, anti Appellesin his favourite charac-
ter of giving gracefulness and meaning to his figures.
But Euphranor, of all others, was the most ad-
mirable artist ; for he distinguished himself by unit-
ing the manners of the most excellent performers,
and was equally wonderful in statuary as in paint-

The observations I have made upon painting hold
with regard to statues. The manner of Calon and
Egesias was almost as hard as that of the Tuscans.
Calamis is more free, and Myron approached nearer
to life than all of them. Polycletus excelled in
correctness and gracefulness, and, though he is gene-
rally allowed the preference over all other statuaries,
yet some thuik that he wanted propriety to render
his works finished performances; because, though
he gives to his human figures a gracefulness that is
not to be found in nature, yet he seems not fully to
have expressed the ninjesty of the gods. Add to
this, that he appears to have been afraid of attempt-
ing aged figures, and confined himself entirely to
the youthful time oi" life.

Biit where Polvclctus micrht have been deficient.
Phidias and Alcamenis succeed. Phidias was more
excellent in his statues of gods than of men ; but his
executions in ivoiy admitted of no rival; had he per-
formed no more than the statue of Minerva at Athens,

or

4:32 aUlNCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

or tluit o{ the Olympian Jove at Elis, which was so
l^eaiilit'iilly executed, that it is said to have increased
the devotion of its votaries; so that this great mas-
ter's work equalled our highest ideas of Divine Ma-
jesty.

Lycippus and Praxiteles are said to have ap-
proached nearest to nature. As to Demetrius, he is
thought to have been too scrupulously attached to
it, and was more fond of resemblance than of
beauty.

To apply what I have been saying to eloquence:
If in that we examine the differences of genius, we
shall fnid it as various as a human figure. Now the
time was, when eloquence, though uncouth and un-
seemly in appearance, exerted great force of genius
in her expression. Then succeeded the Laelii, the;
Africani, the Catones, and the Gracchi, who, iti
eloquence, were the same as the Polygnoti and the
Calonae, in painting. In the middling kind may be
ranked, Lucius Crassus and Quintus Hortensius,
l>ut soon after appeared, almost, a continued succes-
sion of great speakers. This period produced the
strength of CiEsar, the genius of Caelius, the delicacy
ofCallidius, the sense of Brutus, the acuteness of
Sul))itiiis, the vehemence of Cassius, the correctness
of Pollio, the dignity of Messala, and the purity of
Calvus. To them succeeded my own cotemporaries,
Seneca in copiousness, Africanus in power, Afer in
ripeness, Crispus in delight, Trachalus in dehvery,
and Secundus in elegance.

1 have forborne to mention Cicero, for he did not,
like Euphanor, in painting, unite the distinguishing
characters of all other speakers, but he excelled them
in their highest perfections; yet this great man. was
attacked, even by his own cotemporaries, as being
too bombast, too Asiatic, and too redundant a speaker.
They tell you, that his repetitions are surfeiting, that

his

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 453

his wit is sometimes insipiii, liis compositions enei>
vate, unequal, and (I should be sorry were there any
grounds tor tlie charge) too elVeniinate, and too spirit-
less for a man. But alter he perished under the tri-
umviral proscription, his memory was attacked by
all who hated, who envied, and who rivalled him, in
conjunction with the creatures of the powers then in
being.

But this great man, whose writings some now think
to be jejune and tasteless, was never attacked by his
enemies on any other pretence than the exuberance
of his genius, which, they said, w^as tr)o profuse and
florid. Both charges are false, but the latter has the
greatest colour of truth. The most dangerous ene-
mies, however, to his reputation, were they who af-
fected to imitate the attic style. This band, as if
they had entered into a solemn confederacy, at-
tacked Cicero, as being a foreigner, as devoted to
a sect of his own, and following particular rules,
in despite of atticism. Such were the men who digni-
fied their infirmity with the title of health, though
nothing can be more ditierent; and, being themselves
dry, sapless, and spiritless writers, skulk under the
shade of Cicero's orcat name; while thev are dazzled,
as with the sun, by the mighty blaze of his eloquence.
But, as he himself has given them a full answer, in
many parts of his works, I shall be the more justified
in saying but a very little upon tliis head.

The distinction between the Asiatics and the At-
tics is of an old standing : the latter affected to be
close and concise, and the other were blamed for an
emi)ty, bombast manner. In the one, nothing was
superfluous, and the other wanted taste and judg-
ment. Some, and Santra among the rest, think that
this is owing to the gradual prevalence of the Greek
tongue over the states of Asia, the inhabitants of
which were too little acquainted with it to be elo-

voL. II. F f quentj

A3\ QUINCTILIAN'S INSTtTUTKS Book XH.

riiieiit; and tluTeforc, when they could not express
thrnisolvcs with propriety, tliey made use of circum-
iocutions, and l>ave contiimccl to do so ever since.
In niv opinion, however, the (hti'erence is owing to
the constitutions of the speakers and the hearers
amoiiLTst hotli people. 'I'he Attics, or the Athenians,
were naturally polite and correct, without any thing
jihout them that was empty or redundant. Ikit the
Asiatics "were a swaggering, vapouring, kind of peo-
ple, and those characters likewise infected their lan-
guage.

A third manner, but partaking of both I have men-
tioned, was the Rhodian, which seems to have split
the dirterence ; for, Mithout the Attic conciseness,
or the Asian exuberance, it possesses a mixture of
the people's, and its author's properties. For .'^sehi-
nes, w ho chose this as the place of his exile, imported
thither the Athenian arts, which, like certain vege-
tables that degenerate when they are transplanted,
imbibed a foreign flavour, when removed from the
Attic sun and soil. They were, therefore, smooth
and easy, but not w ithout weight, and resembled
gentle, standing pools, rather than clear rills, or foam-
ing torrents.

J'hcre can, therefore, be no doubt, that the Attic
manner is by far the most excellent. The authors
who have wrote in it, have some properties in com-
mon to ail of thern, such as penetration ^nd neatness,
but they difler vastly in genius ; therefore, I think,
they are greatly mistaken, who confine the character
of Atticism to conciseness, perspicuity, and signifi-
cancy, but make it very sparing of ornamented elo-
quence, and strip it of every power of action. To
what Attic author is this character applicable ? To
Lysias ? For he is the standard set up by the profes-
sed admirers of this Atticism. 1 am glad, how^ever,
that we are not carried back to the times of Coccus

and

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 436

and Anclocides. Meanwhile, I should be glad to
know whether Isocrates wrote in the Attic manner?
Yet nothinsr can be more ditierent than his manner
from that of Lvsias. This surely cannot be denied.
For in his school the greatest of the Athenian orators
were bred.

Ikit let me look out for some one that comes
nearer to that standard. Ilyperides of Athens un-
doubtedly was he, and yet his style is florid and or-
namented. I shall omit to mention others, such as
Lycurgus, Aristogiton, and Isteus, and Antiphon^
who lived before them, each of which possessed a
diftercnt species of the same kind of eloquence.

But what shall I say of yEschines, whom I have,
just now mentioned? Is he not more free, bold, and
sublime than all of them ? Or of Demosthenes ? Does
he not excel all those neat, spruce, gentlemen, in
force, elevation, fire, ornament, and composition ?
Jlas he no loftiness of sentiment? No beauty of fi-
gures ? No brilliancy of metaphors? Does he not
give voice and animation to lifeless objects? And
does not his noble oath, when he swore " by tho
shades of those patriots, who died at Marathon and
Salamis," sufficiently declare, that Plato was his
master ? Shall we say, that great philosopher partook
of the Asiatic manner, though his writings seem to
have been divinely inspired ? What is the character
of Pericles ? Can we suppose his eloquence to have
been as thin and simple as that of Lysias, when even
the potts, who abuse him, compare it to lightning
and thunder?
or Why, then, do some writers appropriate the Attic
manner only to those, whose genius, like a slendeu
rill, trickles and murmurs through small, smooth
pebbles? Why should they say, that such alone sip
Athenian frafrranee from the thvme of Ilvniettus?
It is my c>pini(iii, should tliose gentlemen discover,

ill

436 QUINXTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

in the territory of Athens, a rich field, or a fertile
soil, they would deny it to be Athenian, because it
repays more grains than it receives, contrary to the
punctuality which Menander, in joking, ascribes to
that ground.*

luct nio suppose an orator to arise, who shall, to
all those powers of speaking which Demosthenes
possessed, add all that was defective in that great
man, either through his own nature, or through the
constitution of his country. Let me suppose such
ail orator to exert a greater command over the pas-
sions, and to do more execution, than Demosthenes
ever did ; I think I see one of those critics shake his
head and tell us, " Demosthenes would not have
spoken so." Supposing, if it is possible, that the
same orator's periods are more flowing and harmoni-
ous than those of Demosthenes were, 1 think, I hear
him gravely pronouncing, This is not the Attic
manner. For shame ! let us do more justice to that
noble epithet, by believing that, to speak in the At-
tic manner, is no other than speaking in the best
manner.

J can bear with a Greek, though he is under the
delusions 1 have mentioned. For, with regard to
Latin eloquence, it seems to be entirely founded
upon the plan of the Greek, as to invention, disposi-
tion, conduct, and such other properties; but it falls
so greatly short of it, in point of elocution, as not to
admit even of imitation. The Greek language has
something in it that is musical in the sound ; and we
are without two*]* of the sweetest letters, the one a
vowel, and the other a consonant, though we are
oblitred to borrow them whenever we make use of

«

Thfre is a great de::l of justice in what our author observes

here : and can it be too much considered by the admirers of that

tasteless, insipid correctness, so much recommended by the French

Academy, and which cloaks all poverty of genius and composition?

+ Meaning the («) and the {{).

2 their

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 4.'J7

their i)roj)cr names. When that happens, it gives
our style an inexpressihie cheaifuhi( ss ; witness the
words zephyrus and zophyrus, which, when written
in onr characters, have a (hill barbarous soniid, and
throw a gloom over the style ; which is not the
case of the Greek elocution. Tor the (f) which is
the sixth letter of our alj)habet, has, what I may call,
an inhuman sound, or rather no sound at all ; for it
is no more than a whistle throuuh the teeth ; if it
goes betbre a vowel it is no mure than a rjuiver of
the lips, and it makes a fracture* of all harmony
when it precedes, first a consonant, and then a
vowel, in the same syllable, or falls in with other
consonants. As to the yEohc letters, or the digam-
ma, we have indeed discarded them, but, in fact,
we still pronounce-j" them. Our letter (q) likewise
gives a harshness to a syllable, and it is of no man-
ner of use but to connect two following vowels, as
in the words equity and e(|uanimity, where we have
a sound which the Greeks had not, and, therefore, it
cannot be expressed in their characters. Add to
this, that many of onr words terminate in that bel-
lowing letter (m) which the Greek does not, for in-
stead of the (m) they make use of the (\) which we
very seldom employ in the end of a word ; though
there it has what we may call a fine silver sound.
Our language is under another disadvantage that
many syllables rest upon the (b) and the (d) which
is so disa^^reeable, that several of our old (I do not
mean our very old) anthors endeavoured to soften it

* 1 have here imitated Quinctilian, who gives us an example of
what he was say'ntj; in the word frangit, which falls in with the
sense at the same time. Meanwhile 1 cannot help observing, that
there is somewhat pretty whimsical in all his criticism here ; unless
we suppose, what I believe is truth, that we have actually lost the
true manner of pronouncing both languages, the Latin as well as
the Greek.

+ As in the word* wrrvum :md cervum.

bv

4JS QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

hy t\u'o\\'n]g out the (n) as in the word aversa for
ubvci*sa, and l)y saying abs instead ofab, which must
be owned to be no great improvement.

I)Ut even in accenting our language we have much
less ease and variety than the Checks ; because the
last syllable is never raised by an acute note, nor
Kohencd by a circumllex, and our cadence always
turns upon one or two grave accents. The Greek
prose is therefore much sweeter than the Latin, and
■when our poets want to harmonize their lines, they
adorn them with Clreek words. But the greatest dis-
;ulvantage of all we arc under, is, that a vast many
things cannot be expressed by a single word in our
lanj^uaiic ; so that we are obliged to express them
oither metaphorically or paraphrastically. And even
Avhen we have terms to express a thing, there is in
our language such a poverty, that we are obliged to
speak the same words over and over again, while
the Greeks have great variety, not only of words, but
of idioms.

If we are therefore required to speak with the
grace and purity of the Athenians^, let us first be
furnished with the same sweetness and variety of
language. But if that is impossible we must make
the best use we can of the words we have: let us
not dress a tender sentiment in too strong expres-
sions (to call them no worse), for both the style and
the subject'become ridiculous by being blended to-
gether. Let us supply the poverty of our language
by invention and matter ; let our way of thinking be
iioble, and our manner diversified; let us know how
lo touch every passion of the soul, and to give a
, lustre to our style by the beauty of figures. If we
fall short of the Greeks in delicac}-, let us out-do
them in strengtli. If they excel us in smoothness,
let us make amends by weight. If they have more
"le^giirces of language, let us have more of art. The

1 a ;i Ullage

Book XII. OF ELOQIJENCE. 43()

language of the Greeks is so fortiiied with rules, as
toallbrd, as it were, roads and harbours tiiat protect '
even their mostordinary exprvssioiis. J.et us crowd on
more sail; let us move with more expansion, and a
stronger ^alc of genius. Let us not, iiowever, always
keep in the open sea ; for we must sonietimes coast
alono- the shore. The Greeks can surmount everv
shelve and shallow. It is enough for me it my
little hark has depth of water sutiicieiit to hrin^ it
into the harbour,

1 he Greeks, it is true, can handle sljoht and <leli-
€ate subjects better than we, and in this jjarticular
they excel us. For which reason we own iheir su-
periority in the drama: yet am I not for abandonini;
4.ntirely that province ; i am for cultivating it as well
as we can. It is still in our power to rival the
Greeks in regularity and judgment; and whtn our
single words want gracefulness in themselves, let us
supply it by other ornaments of <lictioii. ik'hold
Cicero, even in treating ordniary subjects, docs he
fail in perspicuity, in penetration, in harmonv, or
propriety ? AVas not this too the character which
distinguished Marcus Callidius? Were not Scipio,
Laelius and Cato so many atti<' lUunans in elo-
quence ? Can we desire any thing beyond perfec-
tion ?

Some tliink that no eloquence is natural, but the
language we make use of in the ordinary occur-
rences of life, when we talk with our friends, our
wives, our children, or slaves ; and confnie ourselves
barely to express our meaning, without bestowing
any manner of care or ornament upon om- words.
They think that every thing farther is mere at)ecta-
tion and vanity, prejudicial to truth, and no moro
than mere sounds, invented to disguise words ; tlK*
sole property of which oui^ht to be to express our
jaieaniug, " Whatever, s.iv thev. does not serve to

da

440 QUINCTIUAN'S INSTITUTES Book XU.

do that, resembles tlie persons of those wrestlers,
who, though they are strengthened by exercise and
regimen, have not their natural form, and differ from
the human shape. To what purpose, continue they,
should we make use of paraphrastical or m(ta})hori-
cal exj)r( ssions, by multiplying and changing v\ords,
when every thing has a denomination of its own ?'^
The same gentlemen then go on to shew that man-
kind at first spoke merely according to nature, after-
wards (but with more caution), they imitated the
poets in deviating from her, and that both acted
from wrong and mistaken notions, which confounded
truth with falsehood.

Such are the arguments made use of upon this
occasion, and, it must be owned, they have their
weight, and that we ought not to deviate so much
as some do from the ordinary, natural forms of
speaking. But (as 1 observed before, when I was
upon the subject of composition) why is a man to
be blamed so severely for improving the natural bar-
renness of language, when it is but barely sufficient
to express what is necessary for us to say? For
my own part, 1 think that the character of com-
mon discourse is quite different from that of elo-
quence. If an orator had no other business than
merely to state a matter of fact or opinion, he
would have no great occasion to be very solicitous
about the choice of his expressions. But as his
profession leads him to give delight and emotion,
and to mould the mind of the hearer into various
affections, he is justified in taking advantage of
those assistancies, which even nature bids him em-
ploy. For it is natural for a man to brace his
nerves, to improve his strength, and mend his
constitution by exercise. For this reason, in all
nations, some are more elo((uent, and have a more
•jgreeable manner of speaking than others. Were

not

Book Xrr. OF ELOQUENCE. 4U

not that the rase, we should he all upon a level,
as to nracefulness and propriety of speech. Hut we
see that mankind in speaking have a n^gard to cha-
racter ; tVoni which 1 conclude, that the more pow-
erfully a man speaks, he speaks the more conform-
ably to nature.

1 am therefore not at all against the practice of a
speaker accommodating himself to the occasion and
his audience, when he is called upon to say some-
what that is move elegant and moving than com-
mon. I likewise do not imagine that Cato and the
Gracchi imitated the speakers who had been before
them ; nor do I think that a modern speaker ought
to copy after them. 1 perceive that Ci< cro, who al-
ways preferred utility, but without neglecting orna-
ment, used to say (and he certainly spoke the truth)
that the more delight he gave to his hearers, the
more service he did to his clients. Thus we see,
that the more he pleased the better he succeeded.
Kor indeed do 1 think that it is possible to add any
thing to the beauties of his style ; unless perhaps
modern pleaders are more profuse of sparkling sen-
timents. It is true, if the cause and our own cha-
racter will suffer it, we may make frequent and con-
tinual use of such ornaments ; provided still that
they are not so thick set as to choak one another.

But having yielded thus much, I am not to be
pushed Airther. I am not for having an orator's
robes made of the very coarsest of materials, neither
would I have him cloathed in flaunting silks. I
would have his hair properly dressed, but not curled
into ringlets, and stories rising one above another.
For, in my opinion, whatever is most decent is most
becoming. And our manners ap])roacli nearer to
true betuity, the farther they are reinoved from
luxury and wantonness. I perceive by Cicero, that
quick pointed sentiments were not practised by the

ancients,

44S QUINCTILIANS INSTITUTES Book XIL

ancients, especially l)y the Greeks; l)iit they un-
tlduhtedlv are allowable, provided they are connected
with the canse, provided they are not too thick set,
;u)d always tend to carry tin; main point: they
awaken the attention, they move the mind, they
make an impression often at the first touch, though
<iuick, they are permanent, and though uncommon,
jjcrsuasive.

Some arc of opinion, that these striking embel-
lishments of eloquence, though allowaJjIe in an ora-
tion, ought to be excluded from all other composi-
tions of prose writing. It is, therefore, proper for
me to CvXamine this point, because some, even men
of learning, have thought that speaking and writing
ought to be exercised in very different manners.
For this reason, say they, some of the most emi-
nent pleaders, such as Pericles and Demades, have
left no composition in writing to posterity ; while
others, as Isocrates, though unfit for pleading, ex-
celled in composition. Add to this, exertion does
a great deal in pleading ; and we must sometimes
venture upon very bold strokes of action and expres-
sion ; because, we very often have occasion to move
and inform the ignorant and uninstructed. Whereas,
ivhatev'er is consigned to paper, and published as a
model of writing, ought to be correct, polished, and
composed in the most finished, regular manner ;
because it is to fall into the hands of men of know-
iedge, who are themselves critics and judges, and
performers.

For my own part, I think, that we ought to speak
and write upon the same principles, and by the same
rules. And a pleading when it is written, is no
more than a copy of the same pleading as it was
pronounced. Therefore, in my opinion, both of
them admit of the same beauties, and are liable to
the same blemishes : for I am sensible that a speaker
4 itt

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 41:J

is sometimes obliged to commit faults that he may
please the vulgar taste.

In what then does the pronounced discourse difler
from the written ? My answer is ; that give me a
bench of able knowing judges, J would curtail a great
deal from the orations not only of Cicero, but c»f
Demosthenes; whose manner of pleading is far more
compact than that of Cicero. Jiefore such a bench
there is no occasion to move the passions, or to
court the ear: nay, Aristotle thinks, that even the
introduction may be dispensed with in that case.
Such arts are all lost upon discerning judges. It
is sufficient to them if the case is truly, and signifi-
cantly stated, and the proofs fully established.

But when the people, or part of the people, are
to be our judges ; when often men of no education,
nay, and often mere clowns, are to pronounce a sen-
tence, then we are to apply every art wljich we
think can be of service to our purpose ; and when
we come to reduce it to writing, we thereby instruct
others how they ought to speak under the like cir-
cumstances. Should I wish that Demosthenes or
Cicero had not spoken as they wrote? Or that we
had not known those excellent orators by their wri-
tings ? Let me then sup|)ose that they spoke either
better or worse than thev wrote. If worse, then
they should have spoken as they w rote ; if better,
then they should have wrote as they spoke.

Well then; it may be said, is an orator always
to speak as he writes ? Yes; if he is at liberty to
do so. If he finds himself pinched by the judge hav-
ing prescribed him too short a tunc, he w ill retrench
a irood deal of what he wouM otherwise have
said; but if he publishes his speech, it will contain
all he intended to say. Supi)osing he is obliged
to accommodate his pleading to the stupidity of the
judges; yet he will not, ibr all that, hand it down

to

444 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XII.

to posterity in that shape ; for they will impute its
blemishes not to his wanting time, but ahilitics.
Yet, I eajinot help saying that a great deal of our
euccess depends upon our hitting the judge's fancy
and apprehension ; for which reason, Cicero says,
that an orator should always have a full view of the
judge ; that he may thereby consult his look, in
order to press home what he sees pleases, and avoid
what he thinks disgusts him ; and with regard to
style, we ought to employ that which the judge
can most easily apjirehend.

There is the more reason in this, because an ora-
tor is sometimes obliged to suit himself to the con-
ception of a witness. An orator once asked a
witness whether he knew Amphion ; the witness
said he did not; and then the orator, being a man
of sense, sunk the aspiration, and making the se-
cond syllable of the word short, the witness knew
him very well. In such cases as this, we may
sometimes be obliged to speak differently from what
we write ; because we are not at liberty to speak as
we write.

There is another division of style, which, too,
falls under three kinds, and I think the distinctions
are very proper. The first is the smooth kind, the
next the strong and manly, and the third partaking
of both is the florid. Of these three kinds, the
first, if fitted to inform, the second to move, the last
to please, or, if you will, it is fitted to sooth and con-
ciliate. Now perspicuity is required in informing,
gentleness in conciliating, and power in moving. In
stating, therefore, or proving a case, the smooth man-
ner conducted by perspicuity is most proper, and, in-
dependently of all other properties, is sufficient for
those purposes. The florid is more marked with
metaphors and adorned with figures ; its sallies are
gay, its turns agreeable, and its periods pleasing ;

and

Book Xll. OF ELOQUENCE. 445

and the whole moves with case, like a lucid stream
over-arched from each border by shady groves.
Ikit the strong and manly manner bears all before it;
like a torrent, which resistless in its sway, carries
away whole rocks, disdains a bridge, and breaks
down its banks, it forces along the affection of the
judge, all his resistance is weak, and he must follow
the stream.

Here an orator will raise the dead ; he will bring
an Appius Ca-sus from the grave; he will organise the
inanimate, and, like Cicero in his invective against
Catiline, he will introduce his country holding a dis-
course, or urging a complaint. He will give his
language every power of exaggeration and amplifi-
cation ; he will bring in the voracious Charibdis, and
his indiQ-nation will afterwards rise to the all-devounnti:
ocean; figures of eloquence which are well kno\An
to the studious. He will even introduce, and hold
a conference with the gods. He will call out.
You, ye Alban mounts and groves, 1 impiore
and attest, and you, ye dismantled altars of the Al-
bans, companions and partners with llomans in their
rites !" He will inspire passion and pity ; he will
say, " He saw you, he wept, he implored you ;" and
then he will guide us through every emotion of soul,
while the judge, all the while, insensibly yields to
whatever the orator says, without wanting to be far-
ther informed.

If, therefore, we are obliged to attach ourselves to
one of those manners, can there be a doubt that this
last is preferable to the others ; that it is by far the
most powerful, and the best fitted for causes of great
importance ? Homer assigns to Menelaus the first
kind of eloquence 1 have mentioned, which requires
conciseness, serenity of mind, pro]iriety, by which I
mean, correctness, of style, and ;ui exjjression which
speaks the very thing it ought. Ihe same great poet

makes

4 1^) QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XlT.

makes Nestor to possess an eloquence that flows
sweeter than honey itself, which gives us the highest
idea of dcliirlit. lUit when he comes to characterise

...

l.^lysses, he unites in him both the former manners,
but adds to them power and strength. He, therefore,,
compares iiis eloquence to a stream swelled by win-
ter sno\\s, and his command of w^ords to the ra-
pidity of its torrent. With such a speaker, what
mere mortal will dare to contend ? Mankind surely
will admire him as a god.

Such was the quickness and power which Eupolis
admired in Pericles, and which Aristophanes used to
compare to the thunderbolt : such, in short, are the
proj)crties of true eloquence.

liut eloquence is not to be confined even to those
three manners. For, as there is a large interval be-
tween the smooth, and the strong, manner, so each of
these admits of certain degrees, and a mixture of the
two composes a certain middling style. Now smooth-
ness admits of being more or less smooth, and we
may say the same of strength ; neither manner is to
be always on the full stretch. The florid, gay style,
too, may either soar to the strong, or skim along
the surface of the smooth. Thereby, a vast number
of manners are formed, which in one respect or
other have their several differences. Thus, though we
commonly say, the wind comes from one of the
four cardinal points ; yet, when w^e either travel
or sail, we are sensible there are a great many inter-
mediate points from which it blows. The same ob-
servation holds wnth regard to music ; the harp for
instance, has four capital notes, but each of these ad-
mits of so many subdivisions and degrees, that they
produce an infinite variety of sounds and tunes.

Eloquence, therefore, can assume a great many ap-
pearances, but it would be ridiculous to say which is
most becoming to an orator, or to which species he

should

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 44/

should attach himself; because every species, pro--
vicled it is well tbruicd, has its j)cculiar use, and the bu-
siness of an orator eouipreheuds the whole system of
eloquence. For he will, as occasion calls, suit
every species, not only to the wliole, but to the se-
veral parts of his cause. As he will not speak in
the same manner for a man who is capitally im-
peached, as he would in a matter of inheritance,
suretyship, or debt; so he will observe a dif-
ference of sentiments, when he addresses himself to
the senate, to the people, or to courts of justice;
and he will shift his character of speakinir^ accord-
ing to persons, places, and times. In like manner,
he will know when to rouse resentment, and when
to procure favour ; neither will he address himself in
the same manner to the anger, as to the compassion
of a judge. He wijl inform him in one style, and
he will move him in another. He will not be the
same speaker in the introduction, in the narrative,
the argumentative and the pathetic parts. He will
vary his style through every manner, the grave, th&
austere, the keen, the strong, the spirited, the co-
pious, the severe, the agreeable, the easy, the smooth,
the delicate, the gentle, the sweet, the concise, and
the polite. Thus he will alter his style, yet always be
eloquent, always liimself. By this means he will
speak with effect, power, and success, in what he
aims at, which is the great purpose of eloquence,
and prove a glory not only to learning, but his
countrvmen.

I say, such an orator will be tlie darling of his
countrymen ; for it is an egregious mistake to ima-
gine, that to speak popularily and plausibly, we must
make use of an incorrect, vicious, eloquence ; an
eloquence licentious in expressi(^n to extra vagrancy ;
bespansjled with points even t«j puerility; swelled
fvith fustian ; run mad with bombast, or pranked

out

4iS QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XIL

out with flowei-s so dulicatcly stuck on, that the
slightest l^roatli blows them to the ground ; an elo-
quence tliat mistakes rashness for subhmity, and
runs furious under j)retence of being free. It is not
at all surprising, nor do 1 deny, that this kind of
eloquence has many admirers. For there is some-
what in all kinds of speaking that is pleasing and
amusing, and we love to gratify our curiosity by
hearing every man who speaks in public; witness
the crowds which haranguing mountebanks draw
about their stages. There is, theretore, the less won-
der that ev^ery public speaker should be surrounded
with crowds of gaping admirers.

But when even those crowds hear any thing said
that is uncommonly curious, nay, in any sense, ex-
traordinary, so that they know they themselves could
not have said the same thino- it is no wonder it
they admire it as they do. For it is even no etisy
matter to rise above the vulgar manner of speaking.
But all this fades and dies away, when true eloquence
opens her mouth, " as wool that is dyed with wood,
to use a phrase of Ovid, seems beautiful by itself,
but when compared to true purple, looks dim and
faded." Now if we will bestow some critical obser-
vation upon the vicious, corrupted eloquence, I have
described above, all its beauty vanishes, its colour
proves all a cheat, and it grows pale, languid, and
loathsome; but where the sun of eloquence does not
shine, it may sparkle indeed as glow-worms in the
dark. In short, it is true, that vicious eloquence
has many friends, but it is equally true, that true
eloquence has no foes.

But all those excellencies I have been recom-
mending ought to be executed by an orator, not
only to perfection, but with freedom. For the
highest abilities in speaking never can give us pure
pleasure, if the speaker is haunted with a visibly

anxiety"

Book Xll. OF ELOQUENCE. 44-9

anxiety through the whole of his speech ; if he frets,
and broils to such a degree that it is with difficulty
he articulates his words, and sweats in arranging and
\veighing his expressions. But when a speaker i3
bright, sublime, and rich in himself, then Eloquence
pours all her stores around him, and there is nothing
that he may not command : for we no longer strain
against the steep, when we have reached the sum-
mit. The great toil of a speaker is, when he climbs
from the bottom ; for the higher he advances, the
soil becomes more fertile and pleasant. If his perse-
verance shall gradually carry him to the top, there
he will find fruits and flowers, spontaneously pre-
sented by smiling nature; but, unless they are daily
plucked, they wither and perish.

I have often observed, that, without moderation,
nothing can be either glorious or salutary; therefore,
copiousness itself ought to observe a mean. Brilliancy
should unite with strength, and judgment temper
invention. The result will be somewhat that is great,
without excess ; sublime, without extravagance ;
strong, without rage; serious, without gloom ; grave,
without dullness; cheerful, without wantonness;
gay, without glaring; artd full, without overflowing.
In short, a style thus formed, will unite in it all
jG^ood qualities, by never deviating into an extreme
(fur all extremes are bad), but keeping the safe, mid-
die path.

VOL. TJ. R g CHAP

450 QUIN'CTILIAN'S INSTTTirTES Book XII.

CHAP. 11.

HOW AN ORATOR IS TO LIVE AFTER RETIRF.D FROM THE BAR—
VVini AN ENCOMIUM UPON ELOQUENCE.

He is to leave Business before Bu^ine^s leaves him — then to instruct
•younp; Oratois — The Author's Apology for himself — Every
Man has Abilities to be virtuous, and Time to be learned — Ex-
amples— Exhortation.

After an orator, by such powers of speaking, has
distinguished himseUin courts, in councils, in pubhc
assemblies of the senate, or the people; in short,
after he has discharged every duty of a worthy pa-
triot, he will wish to finish his days in a manner be-
coming the virtue of his person, and the sanctity of
his function. Not that he ought to be tired of doing
good, or that, endowed as he is with inclination and
abilities, he can spend too long a time in this glo-
rious profession; but it well becomes him to provide
against his exercising it with less success than for-
merly. An orator's accompiishments do not lie in
learning only (for learning increases with years), but
in his voice, hjs lungs, and his strength. If these be
broken, or diminished by age or sleekness, he is to
take care, that, in his exertion, he fall not short of
the finished orator; by stopp ng through fatigue, by
not being understood through weakness, and by wish-
ing himself tobethe man he was. 1 remember to have
seen Domitius Afer, w ho was by far the best orator
of all I ever knew, practising at the bar when he was
a very old man ; but he sunk every day from the
reputation he had acquired, and, though all allowed
that he was once at the head of his profession, yet
some were shameless enough to laugh, while others
blushed at his pleading ; and this gave occasion for

2 some

BookXIT. of eloquence. A5\

some to observe, that ho chose rather to sink under
business, than retire from it. Not that he did not always
speak well ; but lie did nots])eak so well as formerly.
Therefore, an orator, rather than he exposed to those
shelves of old age, ought to tack about, and make
for the harbour, while his vessel is yet tight and
strong.

An orator, even when thus retired, may be as use-
fully employed, nay, in his own profession, as ever.
He will compose memorials, or histories, that may be
of service to posterity; or, as Cicero, in his treatises,
makes Lucius Crassus do, he will give opinions to
those who apply to him; he will write upon the art
of elocjuence, or he will lay down the most beautiful
rules of life, with a dignity becoming the subject.
His house, when he is thus retired, will become the
resort of our noblest youths, and they will consult
him as an oracle, upon the true Art of Speaking;
while he, like a parent, will form them to eloquence,
or like an ancient pilot, will instruct them in the
coasts and harbours, how to spy a storm coming,
and how to steer the vessel in fair, as well as in blow-
ing weather. And all this, not only from a principle
of good-nature and love to mankind, but from his
affection to the ait itself. For it is natural for every
man, who has been at the top of a profession, to
wish that it may never go to decay.

Meanwhile, in any case, can any thing l>e more
honourable, than for a man to instruct others in what
he himself knows perfectly ? Thus, Cicero tells us, '
thatCoelius was brought to him by his father for in-
struction. Thus, like a schoolmaster, he trained up
Pansa, Hirtius, and Dolabella, by being sometimes
the speaker, and sometimes the hearer. Nay, to s;»y
the truth, I am not sure, whether we ought not to
think that to be the happiest period of life, when a

man.

4J2 QUINCTIUAN'S INSTITUTES Book X It.

man, icliied, niul, as it were, Imllovved from the world,
tVee tiom envy, nml tar iVoin strife, raises Iiis reputa-
tion above the rtach ot inali(0 ; iind, while alive, sees
the veneration in which Iiis memory will be held by
posterity, and which is seldom paid to others till they
are dead.)( For my own pait, I am conseious, that,
according to the best of my abilities, I have candidly
and unreservedly opened, to all who desired instruc-
tion, all the stores of knowledge 1 was master of
fornjerly, and all 1 have acquired while 1 was com-
posing this \\ ork ; and the best of men can do no more
than tench what they know.

I am nfraid, liowever, that \ mav be thouirht un-
reasonable in requiring an orator to be at once virtu-
ous and eloquent; or in adding to those arts, which
are to be learned in youth, many moral precepts, and
the knowledge of the civil law, besides all the requi-
sites of eloquence. These, indeed, are matters that
1 have judged necessary, in the course of this work,
but the dilficulty of acquiring them may deter some
from the study, and make them despair before they^
attempt it.

But let such gentlemen, in the first place, examine
the vast extent of the human understanding, and
what vast power there is in a willing mind. 1 he arts
of navigation, astronomy, and geometry, though not
near so valuable, are more difficult than that of elo-
quence. Let them, then, look up to the prize that is
set before them, which is great enough to reward the
severest toil. Nay, could they but have an idea of
its greatness, they would apply it with such plea-
sure, that, far from thinking their attempt impracti-
cable, they would scarcely think it painful.

For the chief and principal business of an orator,
which consists in being a man of virtue, depends
chiefly upon himself; because, if he resolves in good

earnest.

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. 43iJ

earnest, to be virtuous, he will easily attain to those
arts which lead to virtue. For all that is requisite
to this ^)urpose is neither so difficult or perplexed,
as not to be acquired in a very tew years. It is our
own repugnancy that creates ditiiculties. Relieve
ine>, the way to truth and haj)piness is short and
practicable to the willing mind. Nature has lormed
it with honest inclinations-, and when we are so in-
clined, it is so very easy to be virtuous, that, if we
seriously retlect, nothing is more astonishing than
to see so many wicked. For to live according to
nature, rather than contradict her, is as agreealile
as ihe water to lishes, the earth to beasts, or the
air to birds.

As to other qualifications, we have years enough
to acquire them, even though we make old-
age no part of life, but con line our time to
youth. For order, consideration, and method,
shorten all labour. But the fundamental fault
lies in the masters, who love to keep a young
gentleman under them, sometimes from greedi-
ness of their paltry fees, so?iietimes from the va-
nity of having their profession thought very dif-
ficult, sometimes through ignorance, and some-
times ihrouuh indolence. The second fault lies
in the yo'ing gentlen.en themselves ; for we
are often more fond of dwelling upon H'hat we
do know, than of learning what we ought to
know.

For (h) conline what I sav to this studv chieflv)
what j)urpose does it serve to spend, as manv do, a
great number of years (nay, some spend the best
part of their life) in learning to declaim at S(!hool ;
and losing so much time upon chima^as, when so
little is required to instruct a young gentlemtm in
real busini\ss, and in training him up tomake a figure

at

^M QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITITTES Book XII.

at the l);ir ; n Inn I say this, I do nut moan, entirely
to disconnunanee the jnactiee ot tieclaniation ; I
only say, we ought not to s])encl too mueh time up-
on one sj)ecies of eKxjnence. For the hours tliat
we loose at school maybe better employed in acquir-
ing; the habits ot' lite, in learning mankind, and, even,
in milking essays at the biir.

Neither the theory nor the practice ot" eloquence
call lor a great many years ot" study; the arts that
are connected with eloquence^, are comprised in a
very few books, and therefore do not require a great
deal of time to be taught or studied, and practice
will soon improve our abilities, and our knowledge
of business will encrease every day. Meanwhile,
it may be necessary to peruse many (though not a
great many) authors, in order to furnish ourselves
with precedents trom h.istory, or practice from ora-
tors. Neither do I deny, that we ought to read the
opinions of philosophers and lawyers, with several
other treatises ; yet all this is possible to be done.
But it is owing to ourselves that our time is so short,
for what a small pittance of it do we allot to study?
We employ sonto hours in paying empty compli-
ments; others in seeing plays; others at public
diversions, and others in eating and drinking ; be-
sides those that are thrown away in gaming, and the
extravagant care of our persons.

We are distracted with the love of seeing foreign
places ; we are enamoured with rural diversions ;
immeasurably fond of dice ; we indulge a thousand
passions ; we love the bottle, and we employ our
whole attention in gratifying shameful pleasures
of every kind. All" this rendeis the hours that
remain unfit for studv. But were we to devote all
our hours to learning, our life would be abun-
dantly long, and wc should have time more than

sufficient

Book XII. OF ELOQUENCE. loS

sutiicient for compassing all 1 require ; even
though we took the clay-time only into our
reckoning, and gave the night to sleep; but even
then we might imj)rovc, for some nights are too
long to he entirely consumed in sleeping. At present
we reckon our life, butnotour studies, by years.

Supposing that certain mathematicians, gram-
marians, and professors of other arts have sj)ent
their whole lives, which sometimes were very
long, upon a favourite study ; yet it does not
follow, that several lives are required to learn several
arts. For those professors did not study till they were
old men, they only contented themselves with study-
ing one art, and the greatest part of their life was
spent, not in learning it, hut in practising it.

Why need 1 to mention Homer, who, in his
works, discovers a perfect, or at least a manifest,
knowledge of every art; or Ilippias of Elis, who
not only professed all the liberal sciences, but
with his own hands made the robe, the ring,
and the shoes he wore, because he was resolved
not to be beholden for any thing to another per-
son ? (ioricias of Leontium, too, after he was a
very old man, used to require his hearers to
prescribe to him any subject of disputation they
pleased. U'as Plato delicient in any part of lite-
rature ? Had Aristotle more lives than one, though
he was not onlv master of all that belonifs to
philo?^ophy and eloquence, but searched nature
through ail the animal and vegetable creation ? Yet
we need only to study. But those great men in-
vented as well as studied. Antiquity has furnished
us with so many masters and so many instruc-
tions, that happy are we to live in this age, which
eniovs the knowledge that cost all former aires such
labour to acquire.

Cato

4o6 QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES Book XH.

Cato the censor was at once an orator, an histo-
rian, a law yer, and a most excellent larnier, and
thouu:h cns^aged in g:reat undertakings in war, and
in sliarp disputes during peace, yet rude as the age
Mas in which he lived, when an old man, he made
hiniseir master of the (Jreek tongue, and tlu-reby
became an example to his countrymen, that if they
set earnestly about it, they may learn even after they
are old. M'hat a storehouse of almost all kinds of
knowledge was Varro > What accompiishmeut re-
quired in eloquence was Cicero void of ? But why
need 1 to multiply instances ? Cornelius Celsus, a
man of but a middling genius, wrote not only upon
all die arts 1 have been recommending, but upon
war, agriculture, and medicine; and in my opinion
even his laudable ambition, had he no other merit,
should induce us to believe that he knew them all.

But say some, it is dilHcult to attain to perfection
(and none have done it hitherto) in so great a work.
But in order to encourage us we are to reflect, that
a thing not having been done, is no argument
that it may not be done. There was a time when
whatever is great and admirable in nature did not
exist; and Demosthenes and Cicero added as much
perfection to eloquence, as Homer and Virgil did to
poetr)'. In short the time was, when the best was
not. But as Cicero observes, it is noble to stand in
the second or third rank, when a man despairs to
stand in the first. If a man cannot be an Achilles
in war, he may have the glory of being an Ajax or
a Diomede. If in poetrj', he cannot be a Homer,
yet he may be a Tyrteus.

Had mankind been always under the mistake of
each thinking it impossible for himself to excel the
best that went before him, we never should have
known what excellence was in the arts. Virgil

3 • never

Book XIT. OF ELOQUENCE. 4-oT

never would have excelled Lucretius nnd Maccr in
poetry; nor Cicero, Crassus and Hortensius in elo-
quence ; nor can any man who shall have that no-
tion ever excel hereafter.

Dut it is glorious to come next to an orator, though
we cannot snrpass him. Pollio and iSlessala began
to j)l(\id, when Cicero swayed the sceptre ol" elo-
tjueMce; and had they not great dignity in life?
Are not their names now glorious, thoug-h thev arc
dead ? Fatal would the service be to mankind in
bringing arts to perfection, should that perfection
ever be at a stand, by discouraging future attempts.
Let me add, that there is great utility in even a
a moderate share of eloquence. And if utility alone
was to be our standard to judge by, eloquence is
jiot now far short of perfection. It would be no
hard matter for me to prove by examples both anci-
ent and modern, that mankind have never arrived
at greater honours, riches, friendships, and present
or future glory, than by eloqncnce. But this consi-
deration is im worthy the dignity of learning, by
diverting us irom contemjjlating the most amiable
object of natnre, the enjoyment of which is so full
of pleasure, for any mercenary consideration. This
would be like the philosophers, who say, that they
do not court virtue for herself, but for the pleasure
which she gives. Let us therefore endeavour with
all oin- abilities, to acquire the majesty of eloquence,
the greatest blessinsr the immortal ccods have criven
to mankind ; for without it all nature would be mute,
and all this creation would be now, and hereafter,
a mere unenlightened mass of matter. Let us
always aspire to excellence, and, in so doing, we
either shall reach the summit, or look down upon
thousands that are below us.

Thus,

468

QUINCTILIAN'S INSTITUTES

Book YAl

Thii<?, my friiiul Marcelhis Victor, 1 have, to
the best of iny abilities, communicated to you ti e
rules which 1 think may tacihtate the ac(juiremt
of eloquence ; and if they do not greatly bene it
young^ students, they will, at least, answer my ia-
tention, which is, to leave them a pledge of my
aftcction, and a proof that I wish them well.

FINIS.

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